mob in front chanting the "MARSEILLAISE," the national war hymn,
grave and powerful, sweetened by the night air - though night in
these splendid streets was turned into day, every window was filled
with lamps, dim torches were tossing in the crowd . . . for Guizot
has late this night given in his resignation, and this was an
improvised illumination.

'I and my father had turned with the crowd, and were close behind
the second troop of vagabonds. Joy was on every face. I remarked
to papa that "I would not have missed the scene for anything, I
might never see such a splendid one," when PLONG went one shot -
every face went pale - R-R-R-R-R went the whole detachment, [and]
the whole crowd of gentlemen and ladies turned and cut. Such a
scene! - ladies, gentlemen, and vagabonds went sprawling in the
mud, not shot but tripped up; and those that went down could not
rise, they were trampled over. . . . I ran a short time straight on
and did not fall, then turned down a side street, ran fifty yards
and felt tolerably safe; looked for papa, did not see him; so
walked on quickly, giving the news as I went.' [It appears, from
another letter, the boy was the first to carry word of the firing
to the Rue St. Honore; and that his news wherever he brought it was
received with hurrahs. It was an odd entrance upon life for a
little English lad, thus to play the part of rumour in such a
crisis of the history of France.]

'But now a new fear came over me. I had little doubt but my papa
was safe, but my fear was that he should arrive at home before me
and tell the story; in that case I knew my mamma would go half mad
with fright, so on I went as quick as possible. I heard no more
discharges. When I got half way home, I found my way blocked up by