keep that oath." Whereupon the Galleries all rise with explosion;
brandishing weapons, some of them; and rush out saying: "Allons, then;
we must save our country!" Such a Session is this of Sunday the second
of June.

Churches fill, over Christian Europe, and then empty themselves; but
this Convention empties not, the while: a day of shrieking contention,
of agony, humiliation and tearing of coatskirts; illa suprema dies!
Round stand Henriot and his Hundred Thousand, copiously refreshed
from tray and basket: nay he is 'distributing five francs a-piece;' we
Girondins saw it with our eyes; five francs to keep them in heart! And
distraction of armed riot encumbers our borders, jangles at our Bar; we
are prisoners in our own Hall: Bishop Gregoire could not get out for
a besoin actuel without four gendarmes to wait on him! What is the
character of a National Representative become? And now the sunlight
falls yellower on western windows, and the chimney-tops are flinging
longer shadows; the refreshed Hundred Thousand, nor their shadows, stir
not! What to resolve on? Motion rises, superfluous one would think, That
the Convention go forth in a body; ascertain with its own eyes
whether it is free or not. Lo, therefore, from the Eastern Gate of the
Tuileries, a distressed Convention issuing; handsome Herault Sechelles
at their head; he with hat on, in sign of public calamity, the rest
bareheaded,--towards the Gate of the Carrousel; wondrous to see: towards
Henriot and his plumed staff. "In the name of the National Convention,
make way!" Not an inch of the way does Henriot make: "I receive no
orders, till the Sovereign, yours and mine, has been obeyed." The
Convention presses on; Henriot prances back, with his staff, some
fifteen paces, "To arms! Cannoneers to your guns!"--flashes out his
puissant sword, as the Staff all do, and the Hussars all do. Cannoneers
brandish the lit match; Infantry present arms,--alas, in the level way,
as if for firing! Hatted Herault leads his distressed flock, through
their pinfold of a Tuileries again; across the Garden, to the Gate on
the opposite side. Here is Feuillans Terrace, alas, there is our old
Salle de Manege; but neither at this Gate of the Pont Tournant is there
egress. Try the other; and the other: no egress! We wander disconsolate
through armed ranks; who indeed salute with Live the Republic, but also
with Die the Gironde. Other such sight, in the year One of Liberty, the
westering sun