nnounces that the
troops, and all causes of offence, are gone, and henceforth there shall
be nothing but trust, reconcilement, good-will; whereof he 'permits
and even requests,' a National Assembly to assure Paris in his name!
Acclamation, as of men suddenly delivered from death, gives answer.
The whole Assembly spontaneously rises to escort his Majesty back;
'interlacing their arms to keep off the excessive pressure from him;'
for all Versailles is crowding and shouting. The Chateau Musicians, with
a felicitous promptitude, strike up the Sein de sa Famille (Bosom of
one's Family): the Queen appears at the balcony with her little boy
and girl, 'kissing them several times;' infinite Vivats spread far and
wide;--and suddenly there has come, as it were, a new Heaven-on-Earth.

Eighty-eight august Senators, Bailly, Lafayette, and our repentant
Archbishop among them, take coach for Paris, with the great
intelligence; benedictions without end on their heads. From the Place
Louis Quinze, where they alight, all the way to the Hotel-de-Ville, it
is one sea of Tricolor cockades, of clear National muskets; one
tempest of huzzaings, hand-clappings, aided by 'occasional rollings' of
drum-music. Harangues of due fervour are delivered; especially by Lally
Tollendal, pious son of the ill-fated murdered Lally; on whose head,
in consequence, a civic crown (of oak or parsley) is forced,--which he
forcibly transfers to Bailly's.

But surely, for one thing, the National Guard must have a General!
Moreau de Saint-Mery, he of the 'three thousand orders,' casts one of
his significant glances on the Bust of Lafayette, which has stood there
ever since the American War of Liberty. Whereupon, by acclamation,
Lafayette is nominated. Again, in room of the slain traitor or
quasi-traitor Flesselles, President Bailly shall be--Provost of the
Merchants? No: Mayor of Paris! So be it. Maire de Paris! Mayor
Bailly, General Lafayette; vive Bailly, vive Lafayette--the universal
out-of-doors multitude rends the welkin in confirmation.--And now,
finally, let us to Notre-Dame for a Te Deum.

Towards Notre-Dame Cathedral, in glad procession, these Regenerators of
the Country walk, through a jubilant people; in fraternal manner; Abbe
Lefevre, still black with his gunpowder services, walking arm in arm
with the white-stoled Archbishop. Poor Bailly comes upon the Foundling
Children, sent to kneel to him; and 'weeps.' Te Deum, our Archbishop
officiating, is not o