sometimes that sixty thousand, 'will march to illuminate you.' The Paris
Districts are astir; Petitions signing: Saint-Huruge sets forth from the
Palais Royal, with an escort of fifteen hundred individuals, to petition
in person. Resolute, or seemingly so, is the tall shaggy Marquis, is
the Cafe de Foy: but resolute also is Commandant-General Lafayette.
The streets are all beset by Patrols: Saint-Huruge is stopped at the
Barriere des Bon Hommes; he may bellow like the bulls of Bashan; but
absolutely must return. The brethren of the Palais Royal 'circulate all
night,' and make motions, under the open canopy; all Coffee-houses being
shut. Nevertheless Lafayette and the Townhall do prevail: Saint-Huruge
is thrown into prison; Veto Absolu adjusts itself into Suspensive Veto,
prohibition not forever, but for a term of time; and this doom's-clamour
will grow silent, as the others have done.

So far has Consolidation prospered, though with difficulty; repressing
the Nether Sansculottic world; and the Constitution shall be made. With
difficulty: amid jubilee and scarcity; Patriotic Gifts, Bakers'-queues;
Abbe-Fauchet Harangues, with their Amen of platoon-musketry! Scipio
Americanus has deserved thanks from the National Assembly and France.
They offer him stipends and emoluments, to a handsome extent; all which
stipends and emoluments he, covetous of far other blessedness than mere
money, does, in his chivalrous way, without scruple, refuse.

To the Parisian common man, meanwhile, one thing remains inconceivable:
that now when the Bastille is down, and French Liberty restored, grain
should continue so dear. Our Rights of Man are voted, Feudalism and
all Tyranny abolished; yet behold we stand in queue! Is it Aristocrat
forestallers; a Court still bent on intrigues? Something is rotten,
somewhere.