h Jacobinism disputes; being trampled down
with his Red Flag in the riot about grains. At which Festival the Public
again assists, unapplausive: not we.

On the whole, Festivals are not wanting; beautiful rainbow-spray when
all is now rushing treble-quick towards its Niagara Fall. National
repasts there are; countenanced by Mayor Petion; Saint-Antoine, and
the Strong Ones of the Halles defiling through Jacobin Club, "their
felicity," according to Santerre, "not perfect otherwise;" singing
many-voiced their ca-ira, dancing their ronde patriotique. Among whom
one is glad to discern Saint-Huruge, expressly 'in white hat,' the
Saint-Christopher of the Carmagnole. Nay a certain, Tambour or National
Drummer, having just been presented with a little daughter, determines
to have the new Frenchwoman christened on Fatherland's Altar then and
there. Repast once over, he accordingly has her christened; Fauchet the
Te-Deum Bishop acting in chief, Thuriot and honourable persons standing
gossips: by the name, Petion-National-Pique! (Patriote-Francais
(Brissot's Newspaper), in Hist. Parl. xiii. 451.) Does this remarkable
Citizeness, now past the meridian of life, still walk the Earth? Or did
she die perhaps of teething? Universal History is not indifferent.

Chapter 2.5.XI.

The Hereditary Representative.

And yet it is not by carmagnole-dances and singing of ca-ira, that the
work can be done. Duke Brunswick is not dancing carmagnoles, but has his
drill serjeants busy.

On the Frontiers, our Armies, be it treason or not, behave in the worst
way. Troops badly commanded, shall we say? Or troops intrinsically bad?
Unappointed, undisciplined, mutinous; that, in a thirty-years peace,
have never seen fire? In any case, Lafayette's and Rochambeau's little
clutch, which they made at Austrian Flanders, has prospered as badly
as clutch need do: soldiers starting at their own shadow; suddenly
shrieking, "On nous trahit," and flying off in wild panic, at or before
the first shot;--managing only to hang some two or three Prisoners they
had picked up, and massacre their own Commander, poor Theobald Dillon,
driven into a granary by them in the Town of Lille.

And poor Gouvion: he who sat shiftless in that Insurrection of Women!
Gouvion quitted the Legislative Hall and Parliamentary duties, in
disgust and despair, when those Galley-slaves of Chateau-Vieux were
admitted there. He said, "Between the Austrians and the Jacobins there
is nothing