of chilling tenor, on the very Rights of Man! Likewise, may not all
persons, the Bakers'-queues themselves discern on the streets of Paris,
the most astonishing number of Officers on furlough, Crosses of St.
Louis, and such like? Some reckon 'from a thousand to twelve hundred.'
Officers of all uniforms; nay one uniform never before seen by eye:
green faced with red! The tricolor cockade is not always visible: but
what, in the name of Heaven, may these black cockades, which some wear,
foreshadow?

Hunger whets everything, especially Suspicion and Indignation. Realities
themselves, in this Paris, have grown unreal: preternatural. Phantasms
once more stalk through the brain of hungry France. O ye laggards and
dastards, cry shrill voices from the Queues, if ye had the hearts of
men, ye would take your pikes and secondhand firelocks, and look into
it; not leave your wives and daughters to be starved, murdered, and
worse!--Peace, women! The heart of man is bitter and heavy; Patriotism,
driven out by Patrollotism, knows not what to resolve on.

The truth is, the Oeil-de-Boeuf has rallied; to a certain unknown
extent. A changed Oeil-de-Boeuf; with Versailles National Guards, in
their tricolor cockades, doing duty there; a Court all flaring with
tricolor! Yet even to a tricolor Court men will rally. Ye loyal hearts,
burnt-out Seigneurs, rally round your Queen! With wishes; which will
produce hopes; which will produce attempts!

For indeed self-preservation being such a law of Nature, what can a
rallied Court do, but attempt and endeavour, or call it plot,--with such
wisdom and unwisdom as it has? They will fly, escorted, to Metz,
where brave Bouille commands; they will raise the Royal Standard: the
Bond-signatures shall become armed men. Were not the King so