CHAPTER XXVII.

MAKE A SPEECH--LECTURE ON IRELAND--POLITICS--PERSONAL

ATTACKS--BECOME A SENATOR--THE "FIFTEEN-GALLON LAW"--A

PAMPHLET IN ITS FAVOR--"MY NEIGHBOR SMITH"--A POLITICAL CAREER

UNPROFITABLE.

The first public speech I ever made was at St. Albans, in England,

in the year 1832, at a grand celebration of the passing of the

Reform Bill; having accompanied thither Sir Francis Vincent, the

representative in Parliament of that ancient borough. More than

three thousand people, men, women, and children, gathered from the

town and the vicinity, were feasted at a long table, set out in the

principal street of the place. After this feast there were various

sports, such as donkey-races, climbing a greased pole, and the like.

At six o'clock, about one hundred and fifty of the gentry and leading

tradesmen and mechanics sat down to a dinner, Sir Francis presiding.

The President of the United States was toasted, and I was called

upon to respond. Entirely taken by surprise, for not a word had been

said to me upon the subject, I made a speech. I could never recall

what I said: all I remember is a whirl of thoughts and emotions as I

rose, occasional cries of "Hear, hear!" as I went on, and a generous

clapping of hands as I concluded. Whether this last was because I

really made a good hit, or from another principle--

"The best of Graham's speeches was _his last_"--

I am totally unable to say.

My next public appearance was in a lecture at the Tremont Temple,

in Boston; my subject being "Ireland and the Irish." Although my

discourse was written, and pretty well committed to memory, yet for

several days before the time appointed for its delivery arrived, when

I thought of my engagement, my heart failed me. When the hour came

I went to the door of the room, but on seeing the throng of persons

collected I felt that my senses were deserting me: turning on my

heel, I went out, and going to an apothecary's, fortified myself with

some peppermint lozenges. When I got back, the house was waiting

with impatience. I was immediately introduced to the audience by Dr.

Walter Channing, and stepping upon the platform, began. After the

first sentence, I was perfectly at my ease. I afterwards delivered

this lecture more than forty times.

In the autumn of 1836 there was a large evening party at Jamaica

Plain, at the house of Mrs. G----, the lady-patroness of the village.

Among the notable men present was Daniel Webster, whom I had

frequently seen, but to whom I was now introduced for the first time.

He spoke to me of many things, and at last of politics, suggesting

that the impending presidential election involved most important

questions, and he deemed it the duty of every man to reflect upon the

subject, and to exert his influence as his conscience might dictate.

Since my residence in Massachusetts, a period of nearly eight years,

I had been engrossed in my business, and had never even voted. Just

at this time I was appointed, without any suggestion of my own, one

of the delegates to the Whig Convention to nominate a person to

represent us, the Ninth Congressional District, in Congress. This

was to take place at Medway, at the upper end of the district. I

went accordingly, and on the first ballot was the highest candidate,

save one--Mr. Hastings, of Mendon. I declined, of course, and he was

unanimously nominated.

The canvass that ensued was a very animated one, Mr. Van Buren being

the democratic candidate for the presidency. He was considered as

the heir-apparent of the policy of Gen. Jackson, and had, indeed,

promised, if elected, to walk in the footsteps of his illustrious

predecessor. Without the personal popularity of that remarkable

man, he became the target for all the hostility which his measures

had excited. He was, however, elected, but to be overwhelmed with a

whirlwind of discontent and opposition four years after.

The candidate for Congress in our district, in opposition to

Mr. Hastings, was Alexander H. Everett, who had been hitherto a

conspicuous Whig, and who had signalized himself by the ability and

bitterness of his attacks on General Jackson and his administration.

He had singled out Mr. Van Buren, for especial vehemence of reproach,

because, being Secretary of State at the time, Mr. Everett was

superseded as Minister to Spain without the customary courtesy of

an official note advising him of the appointment of his successor.

To the amazement of the public in general, and his friends in

particular, on the 8th of January, 1836, Mr. Everett delivered an

oration before the democracy of Salem, in which--ignoring the most

prominent portion of his political life--he came out with the

warmest eulogies upon General Jackson and his administration! About

the first of May, the precise period when it was necessary, in order

to render him eligible to Congress in the Ninth District, he took up

his residence within its precincts, and, as was easily foreseen, was

the democratic candidate for Congress.

The Whig District Committee, of which I was one, and Charles Bowen

(Mr. Everett's publisher), another, issued a pamphlet, collating and

contrasting Mr. Everett's two opinions of General Jackson's policy,

and especially of Mr. Van Buren--the one flatly contradicting the

other, and, in point of date, being but two or three years apart.

This was circulated over the towns of the district. It was a terrible

document, and Mr. Everett felt its force. One of them was left at

his own door in the general distribution. This he took as a personal

insult, and meeting Bowen, knocked him over the head with his

umbrella. Bowen clutched him by the throat, and would have strangled

him but for the timely interference of a bystander.

I had been among Mr. Everett's personal friends, but he now made me

the object of special attack. In a paper, which then circulated a

good deal in the district, I was severely lashed under the name of

Peter Parley, not because I was a candidate for office, but because

I was chairman of the Whig District Committee. I recollect that one

day some rather scandalous thing came out against me in the editorial

columns of this journal, and feeling very indignant, I went to see

the editor. I did not know him personally, but from occasionally

reading his paper I had got the idea that he was a very monster

of violence. He was not at the office, but such was my irritation

and impatience that I went to his house. I rang, and a beautiful

black-eyed girl, some eight years old, came to the door. I asked if

Mr. H---- was in? "Mother," said the child, in a voice of silver, "is

father at home?" At this moment another child, and still younger, its

bullet-pate head all over curls, came to the door. Then a mild and

handsome woman came, and to my inquiry she said that her husband was

out, but would return in a few moments.

My rage was quelled in an instant. "So," said I to myself, "these

children call that man father, and this woman calls him husband.

After all, he cannot be such a monster as I have fancied him, with

such a home." I turned on my heel and went away, my ill-humor having

totally subsided. Some two years after I told him this anecdote,

and we had a good-humored laugh over it. Both of us had learned to

discriminate between political controversy and personal animosity.

The attacks made upon me during this canvass had an effect different

from what was intended. I was compelled to take an active part in

the election, and deeming the success of my party essential to my

own defence, I naturally made more vigorous efforts for that object.

Mr. Everett was defeated by a large majority, and the Whig candidate

triumphed. At the same time I was chosen a member of the legislature

for Roxbury-Jamaica Plain, where I resided, being a parish of that

town. The next year I was a candidate for the Senate, in competition

with Mr. Everett, and was elected. In this manner I was forced into

politics, and was indebted mainly to opposition for my success.

During the ensuing session of the legislature, the winter of

1837-8, the famous "Fifteen-Gallon Law" was passed--that is, a law

prohibiting the sale of intoxicating liquors in less quantities than

fifteen gallons. The county I represented was largely in favor of the

measure, and I voted for it, though I was by no means insensible to

the agitation it was certain to produce. I had determined not to be

a candidate for re-election, and therefore considered myself free to

engage in the discussion which preceded the next election, and which,

of course, mainly turned upon this law. Among other things, I wrote a

little pamphlet, entitled Five Letters to my Neighbor Smith, touching

the Fifteen-Gallon Jug, the main design of which was to persuade

the people of Massachusetts to make the experiment, and see whether

such a restraint upon the sale of intoxicating drinks would not be

beneficial. This was published anonymously, and my intention was to

have the authorship remain unknown. It, however, had an enormous

sale--a hundred thousand copies--in the course of a few months, and

curiosity soon found me out.

Now in the village of Jamaica Plain I had a neighbor, though not

by the name of Smith--a rich liquor-dealer, who did his business

in Boston--a very respectable man, but a vehement opposer of the

"Fifteen-Gallon Law." As the election approached, the citizens of the

state were drawn out in two parties--those in favor of prohibition

on the one side, and the men in favor of free liquor on the other.

My neighbor was the wealthiest, the most respectable, and the most

influential of the latter. He insisted, that by "My Neighbor Smith"

I meant him; and though I had said nothing disagreeable of that

personage, but on the contrary, had drawn his portrait in very

amiable colors, he held that it was a malicious personal attack. In

vain did I deny the charge, and point to the fact that the residence,

character, and qualities of my fictitious hero were inapplicable

to him. Anxious to be persecuted, he insisted upon it that he was

persecuted.

At the county convention, which took place some two months prior to

this election, I declined being a candidate. The members present,

however, clearly discerning the gathering storm, refused to release

me, and I was forced to accept the nomination. The election was to

take place on Monday, in November. On the Saturday previous there was

issued in Boston a pamphlet, entitled the Cracked Jug, a personal and

political attack upon me, written with great malice and some ability.

It was scattered, like snow-flakes, all over the country; and was, I

suspect, the Sunday reading of all the tipplers and taverners of the

country. The bar-room critics esteemed it superior to anything which

had appeared since the Letters of Junius, and, of course, considered

me annihilated.

On Monday, election-day, my family were insulted in the streets of

Jamaica Plain, and as I went into the Town Hall to cast my vote I

heard abundance of gibes cast at me from beneath lowering beavers.

The result was, that there was no choice of senators in the county.

The election, when the people had thus failed to fill their places,

fell upon the legislature, and I was chosen. The storm gradually

passed away. The "Fifteen-Gallon Law" was repealed, but it nearly

overturned the Whig party in the state, which, being in the majority,

was made responsible for it. I deemed it necessary to reply to my

Neighbor Smith's Cracked Jug, and he rejoined. What seemed at the

time a deadly personal struggle, was, ere long, forgotten; neither

party, I believe, carrying, in his character or his feelings, any

of the scars inflicted during the battle. Both had, in some sort,

triumphed; both, in some sort, been beaten; both could, therefore,

afford to return to the amicable relations of village neighborhood.

In the autumn of 1840 the Whigs nominated William Henry Harrison as

the candidate for the presidency, in opposition to Mr. Van Buren. He

had held various civil and military trusts, in which he had displayed

courage, wisdom, and patriotism. His personal character was eminently

winning to the people, being marked with benevolence and simplicity.

He had long retired from public life, and for several years had lived

as a farmer on the "North Bend" of the Ohio, near Cincinnati. The

Democrats ridiculed him as drinking hard cider and living in a log

cabin. The masses, resenting this as coming from those who, having

the Government spoils, were rioting in the White House on champagne,

took these gibes, and displayed them as their mottoes and symbols

upon their banners. They gathered in barns, as was meet for the

friends of the farmer of North Bend, using songs and speeches as

flails, threshing his enemies with a will. The spirit spread over

mountain and valley, and in every part of the country men were seen

leaving their customary employments to assemble in multitudinous

conventions. Many of these gatherings numbered twenty thousand

persons.

During this animated canvass I was not a candidate for office, yet I

took part in the great movement, and made about a hundred speeches in

Massachusetts and Connecticut. Everybody, then, could make a speech,

and everybody could sing a song. Orators sprang up like mushrooms,

and the gift of tongues was not more universal than the gift of

music.

From this period I have taken no active part in politics. In

reviewing the past, while duly appreciating the honor conferred by

the confidence bestowed upon me by the citizens who gave me their

suffrages, I still regard my political career as an unprofitable,

nay, an unhappy episode, alien to my literary position and pursuits,

and every way injurious to my interests and my peace of mind. It gave

me painful glimpses into the littleness, the selfishness, the utter

quackery of a large portion of those politicians who lead, or seem

to lead, the van of parties; and who, pretending to be guided by

patriotism, are usually only using principles and platforms as means

to carry them into office. As some compensation for this, it has also

led me to a conviction that the great mass of the people are governed

by patriotic motives, though even with these I have often noted

curious instances in which the public interests were forgotten in a

desire to achieve some selfish end.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

AN APPOINTED U.S. CONSUL TO PARIS--LOUIS XVIII.--A FEW JOTTINGS

UPON FRENCH NOTABILITIES--CURE FOR HYDROCEPHALUS--UNSETTLED

STATE OF THINGS IN PARIS.

In the autumn of 1846, I went with my family to Paris, partly for

literary purposes, and partly also to give my children advantages of

education, which, in consequence of my absorbing cares for a series

of years, they had been denied. Here they remained for nearly two

years, while I returned home to attend to my affairs, spending the

winters, however, with them.

Toward the close of 1849 I removed to New York, to execute certain

literary engagements. These completed, I went, in December 1850, to

Washington, taking my family with me. Here we remained for three

months, when, having received the appointment of United States Consul

to Paris, I returned to New York, and, after due preparation, sailed

on the 5th of April, 1851, to enter upon the official duties which

thus devolved upon me.

About the middle of April, 1851, I arrived in Paris, and soon after

took charge of the Consulate there. I have frequently been in this

gay city, and I now propose to gather up my recollections of it, and

select therefrom a few items which may fill up the blank that yet

remains in my story.

I first visited Paris in January, 1824, as I have told you. At the

time I first arrived here, this city was very different from what it

now is. Louis XVIII. was upon the throne, and had occupied it for

nine years. During this period he had done almost nothing to repair

the state of waste and dilapidation in which the Allies had left it.

These had taken down the statue of Napoleon on the column of the

Place Vendôme, and left its pedestal vacant; the king had followed up

the reform and erased the offensive name of the exiled Emperor from

the public monuments, and put his own, Louis XVIII., in their place;

he had caused a few churches to be repaired, and some pictures of the

Virgin to be painted and placed in their niches. But ghastly mounds

of rubbish, the wrecks of demolished edifices; scattered heaps of

stones at the foot of half-built walls of buildings,--destined never

to be completed,--these and other unsightly objects were visible on

every hand, marking the recent history of Napoleon, overthrown in

the midst of his mighty projects, and leaving his name and his works

to be desecrated alike by a foreign foe and a more bitter domestic

adversary.

The king, Louis XVIII., was a man of good sense and liberal mind,

for one of his race; but he was wholly unfit to administer the

government. He was a sort of monster of obesity, and, at the time I

speak of, having lost the use of his lower limbs, he could not walk,

and was trundled about the palace of the Tuileries in a wheelchair.

I have often seen him let down in this, through the arch in the

south-eastern angle of the palace, into his coach; and on returning

from his ride, again taken up; and all this more like a helpless

barrel of beef than a sovereign. Had the Allies intended to make

Legitimacy at once odious and ridiculous, they could not better have

contrived it than by squatting down this obese imbecile extinguisher

upon the throne of France, as the successor of Napoleon!

The Parisians are, however, a philosophic race: as they could not

help themselves, they did not spend their lives like children, in

profitless poutings. They had their jokes, and among these, they were

accustomed to call Louis Dix-huit, "_Louis des huîtres_"--a tolerable

pun, which was equivalent to giving him the familiar title of "Oyster

Louis." Deeming it their birthright to have three or four hours of

pleasure every day, whoever may be in power, they still frequented

the promenades, the boulevards, and the theatres.

I cannot, perhaps, do better than transcribe a few passages from the

hasty jottings I made at the time:--

"February 14.--Went to a meeting of the Société Philomatique,

composed of members of the Institute; saw Fourier, the famous

geometrician and physician: Thénard, a famous chemist, associated

with Gay-Lussac: Poisson, one of the first mathematicians in Europe;

and Géoffroy St. Hilaire, a zoologist, second only to Cuvier.

"The proceedings were conducted with order and simplicity, forming a

striking contrast to the pompous declamation I heard in London, at

the Society of Arts, upon hatching eggs.

"February 16.--Went to a meeting of the Institute, held in the Hôtel

Mazarin: one hundred and fifty members present; Arago president. He

is tall, broad-shouldered, and imposing in appearance, with a dark,

swarthy complexion, and a black, piercing eye. Lamarck, the famous

writer on natural history--old, infirm, blind--was led in by another

member, a distinguished entomologist, whose name I have forgotten:

Fontaine, the architect; tall, homely, and aged: Gay-Lussac, a

renowned chemist, under forty, active, fiery in debate: Cuvier,

rather a large man, red face, eyes small, very near-sighted; eyes

near together and oddly appearing and disappearing; features acute,

hair grey, long, and careless: he spoke several times, and with great

pertinency and effect; Lacroix, the mathematician: Laplace, the most

famous living astronomer; tall, thin, and sharp-featured--reminded me

of the portraits of Voltaire; he is about seventy-five, feeble, yet

has all his mental faculties.

"The principal discussion related to gasometers, the police of Paris

having asked the opinion of the Institute as to the safety of certain

new kinds, lately introduced. The subject excited great interest,

and the debate was quite animated. Thénard, Gay-Lussac, Girard,

Laplace, Cuvier, and others, engaged in the debate. Nearly all

expressed themselves with great ease and even volubility. They were

occasionally vehement, and when excited several spoke at once, and

the president was obliged often to ring his bell to preserve order.

"It was strange and striking to see so many old men, just on the

borders of the grave, still retaining such ardor for science as to

appear at a club like this, and enter with passion into all the

questions that came up. Such a spectacle is not to be seen elsewhere

on the earth. The charms of science generally fade to the eye of

threescore and ten: few passions except piety and avarice survive

threescore. It is evident, in studying this Association, that the

highest and most ardent exercises of the mind are here stimulated

by the desire of glory, which is the reward of success. One thing

struck me forcibly in this assembly, and that was, the utter absence

of all French foppery in dress among the members. Their attire was

plain black, and generally as simple as that of so many New England

clergymen.

"In the evening went to the Théâtre Français, to see Talma in the

celebrated tragedy of 'Sylla,' by Jouy. Do not well understand the

French, but could see that the acting is very masterly. In the

passionate parts there was a display of vigor, but at other times

the performance was quiet and natural, without any of the stage

exaggeration I am accustomed to. Most of the scenes were such as

might actually take place under the circumstances indicated in the

play. Talma is said to resemble Napoleon in person: he certainly

looked very much like his portraits. His hair was evidently arranged

to favor the idea of resemblance to the Emperor. He is a very

handsome man, and comes up to my idea of a great actor.

"February 20.--Went to see a new comedy by Casimir Delavigne,

'L'Ecole des Vieillards.' Talma and Mademoiselle Mars played the two

principal parts. The piece consisted of a succession of rather long

dialogues, without any change of scenery. Talma is inimitable in the

character of a refined but somewhat imbecile man, who has passed

the prime of life; and Mademoiselle Mars is, beyond comparison, the

most graceful and pleasing of actresses. I am struck with the strict

propriety, the refinement even, of the manners of the audience.

"February 21st.--Went to the Hospital of La Charité. Saw Laennec,

with his pupils, visiting the patients. He makes great use of the

stethoscope, which is a wooden tube applied to the body, and put to

the ear; by the sound, the state of the lungs and the vital organs

is ascertained. It is like a telescope, by which the interior of the

body is perceived, only that the ear is used instead of the eye. It

is deemed a great improvement. Laennec is the inventor, and has high

reputation in the treatment of diseases of the chest. He has learned

to ascertain the condition of the lungs by thumping on the breast and

back of the patient, and putting the ear to the body at the same time.

"The whole hospital was neat and clean; bedsteads of iron. French

medical practice very light; few medicines given; nursing is a great

part of the treatment.

"Same day, went to Hôtel Dieu, a medical and surgical hospital.

Saw Dupuytren and his pupils visiting the patients. He holds the

very first rank as a surgeon. His operations are surprisingly bold

and skilful. Edward C----, of Philadelphia, who is here studying

medicine, told me a good anecdote of him. He has a notion that he

can instantly detect hydrocephalus in a patient from the manner in

which he carries his head. One day, while he was in the midst of his

scholars at the hospital, he saw a common sort of man standing at

a distance, among several persons who had come for medical advice.

Dupuytren's eye fell upon him, and he said to his pupils,--'Do you

see yonder that fellow that has his hand to his face, and carries

his head almost on his shoulder? Now, take notice: that man has

hydrocephalus. Come here, my good fellow!'

"The man thus called came up. 'Well,' said Dupuytren, 'I know what

ails you; but come, tell us about it yourself. What is the matter

with you?'

"'I've got the toothache!' was the reply.

"'Take that,' said Dupuytren, giving him a box on the ear; 'and go to

the proper department and have it pulled out!'"

I was again in Paris in the summer of 1832. Great changes had

taken place since 1824. Louis XVIII. was dead; Charles X. had

succeeded; and, after a brief reign, had been driven away by the

revolution of the "Three Glorious Days." Louis Philippe was now on

the throne. On the 29th of July, and the two following days, we saw

the celebration of the event which had thus changed the dynasty of

France. It consisted of a grand fête, in the Champs Elysées, closed

by a most imposing military spectacle, in which eighty thousand

troops, extending from the Arc de Triomphe to the Place Vendôme,

marched before the admiring throng. Louis Philippe was himself on

horseback as commander-in-chief, and such was his popularity among

the masses, that, in many instances, I saw men in blouses rush up and

grasp his hand, and insist upon shaking it. Sixteen years after I saw

him hustled into a cab, and flying from the mob for his life--his

family scattered, and he but too happy to get safe to England in the

disguise of a sailor!

As I have said, I established my family in Paris in 1846; that winter

and the following I was also there. I remember that on a certain

Monday in February, 1848, I went up to see our countrywoman, the

Marchioness Lavalette, to arrange with her about an introduction she

had promised me to Guizot. She was not at home, but as I was coming

down the hill from the Place St. George, I met her in her carriage.

She asked me to walk back to her house, and I did so. I observed that

she was much agitated, and asked her the cause. "We are going to have

trouble!" said she. "I have just been to the Chambers: the ministry

have determined to stop the meeting of the Liberals to-morrow; the

proclamation is already being printed."

"Well, and what then?" said I.

"Another 'Three Glorious Days!'"

To this I replied that I conceived her fears groundless, that Louis

Philippe appeared to me strong in the confidence of the people; that

he was noted for his prudence and sagacity; that Guizot, his prime

minister, was a man of great ability; that the whole cabinet, indeed,

were distinguished for their judgment and capacity. The lady shook

her head and rejoined,--

"I know Paris better than you do. We are on the eve of an earthquake!"

Soon after this I took my leave. What speedily ensued may best be

told in another chapter, by a few extracts from a letter I addressed

to a friend in Boston at the time.

CHAPTER XXIX.

LOUIS PHILIPPE AND THE REVOLUTION--LIST OF GRIEVANCES--THE MOB

AT THE MADELEINE--BARRICADES--"DOWN WITH GUIZOT!"--THE FIGHT

COMMENCED--FLIGHT OF THE KING AND QUEEN--SCENE IN THE CHAMBER

OF DEPUTIES--SACK OF THE TUILERIES.

PARIS, March 14th, 1848.

It may be well to state a few particulars as to the political

condition of France at the moment of the revolt.

Louis Philippe commenced his career under fair auspices, and for a

time everything promised a happy fulfilment of what seemed his duty

and his destiny. But by degrees a great change came over the monarch;

the possession of power seduced his heart, and turned his head;

and forgetting his pledges, and blind to his true interest, he set

himself to building up a dynasty that should hand down his name and

fame to posterity.

It seemed, at a superficial glance, that he might realize his dream.

He had acquired the reputation of being the most sagacious monarch

of his time. He had improved and embellished the capital; on all

sides his "image and superscription" were seen in connection with

works of beauty and utility. France was happier than the adjacent

countries. The famine and the pestilence, that had recently desolated

neighboring states, had trod more lightly here. The king was blessed

with a large family. These had all reached maturity, and were

allied to kings and queens, princes and princesses. The upholders

of the Crown in the parliament were men whose names alone were a

tower of strength. Peace reigned at home, and the army abroad had

just succeeded in achieving a signal triumph over an enemy that had

baffled them for years.

Such was the outward seeming of affairs: but there were threatening

fires within which might at any moment produce a conflagration.

Many thinking people were profoundly disgusted with the retrograde

tendency of the Government. Although the march of despotism had been

cautious and stealthy, the people generally began to feel the tyranny

to which they had become subjected.

Among these grievances were the constant increase of the national

debt, and consequent increase of taxation, with the restraints put

upon the liberty of the press and of speech. By a law of some years'

standing the people were prohibited from holding stated meetings of

more than twenty persons without license; and _reform banquets_,

or meetings for the discussion of public affairs--of which about

seventy had been held in different parts of the kingdom within the

last year--were now pronounced illegal by the ministry. Finally,

a determination to suppress one of them, about to be held in the

twelfth ward of Paris, was solemnly announced by the Ministry in the

Chamber of Deputies.

It is material to bear in mind, that there are always in this

metropolis at least one hundred thousand workmen who live from day

to day upon their labor, and who, upon the slightest check to trade,

are plunged into poverty, if not starvation. At the moment of which

we are speaking, this immense body of men, with their families, were

suffering sorely from the stagnation of business in the capital.

There were not less than two hundred thousand persons who, for the

space of three months, had hardly been able to obtain sufficient

food to appease the cravings of hunger. How easy to stir up these

people to rebellion!--how natural for them to turn their indignation

against the king and his government! The "Opposition" members seized

the occasion now afforded them to excite these discontented masses

against the ministry; and the latter, by their rashness, did more

than their enemies to prepare the mind and set the match to the train.

The crisis was now at hand. The "Opposition" deputies declared their

intention to attend the proposed meeting; and in spite of the threats

of the ministry, the preparations for the banquet went vigorously on.

A place was selected in the Champs Elysées, and a building was in

progress of erection for the celebration. The programme of the same

was announced; the toast for the occasion was published; the orator,

O. Barrot, selected. The day was fixed: an ominous day for tyranny,

an auspicious one for human freedom. It was the 22d of February, the

birthday of Washington! Whether it has received a new title to its

place in the calendar of liberty, must be left for the decision of

time.

The evening of the 21st came, and then proclamations were issued,

by the co-operation of the ministry and the police prohibiting the

banquet. This act, though it had been threatened, still fell like a

thunderbolt upon the people. It was known that an immense military

force had been quietly assembled in Paris and the vicinity--eighty

thousand troops, with artillery and ample munitions--and that the

garrisons around the Tuileries had been victualled as if for a

siege. But it had not been believed that an attempt to stifle the

voice of the people, so bold as this, would really be made. Yet such

was the fact. The leaders of the "Opposition" receded from their

ground; and it was announced, in the papers of the 22d, that the

banquet, being forbidden by the Government, would not take place.

The morning of this day was dark and drizzly. I had anticipated some

manifestation of uneasiness, and at half-past nine o'clock went

forth. Groups of people were reading the proclamations posted up at

the corners of the streets, but all was tranquil. I walked along the

Boulevards for a mile yet saw no symptoms of the coming storm.

The designated place of meeting for the banquet was the square of

the Madeleine. This is at the western extremity of the Boulevards,

and near the great central square called the Place de la Concorde, a

point communicating directly with the Chamber of Deputies, the Champs

Elysées, the gardens of the Tuileries, &c. At eleven o'clock, A.M., a

dark mass was seen moving along the Boulevards towards the proposed

place of meeting. This consisted of thousands of workmen from the

faubourgs. In a few moments the entire square of the Madeleine was

filled with these persons, dressed almost exclusively in their

characteristic costume, which consists of a blue tunic, called

_blouse_--a garment which is made very much in the fashion of our

farmers' frocks.

The opening scene of the drama had now begun. The mass rushed and

eddied around the Madeleine, which, by the way, is the finest church

and the finest edifice in Paris. Such was the threatening aspect of

the scene, that the shops were all suddenly shut, and the people

around began to supply themselves, with bread and other food, for

"three days." In a few moments the avalanche took its course down

the Rue Royale, swept across the Place de la Concorde, traversed

the bridge over the Seine, and collected, in swelling and heaving

masses, in the place, or square, before the Chamber of Deputies.

This building is defended in front by a high iron railing. The gate

of this was soon forced, and some hundreds of the people rushed up

the long flight of steps, and, pausing beneath the portico, struck

up the song of the "Marseillaise"--a song, by the way, interdicted

by law on account of its exciting character. The crowd here rapidly

increased: shouts, songs, cries filled the air. East and west, along

the quays, and through the streets behind the Chamber, came long

lines of students from the various schools. Standing upon one of

the pillars of the bridge, I commanded a view of the whole scene.

It was one to fill the heart with the liveliest emotions. A hundred

thousand people were now collected, seeming like an agitated sea,

and sending forth a murmur resembling the voice of many waters.

From the southern gate of the Tuileries now issued two bodies of

troops--one, on horseback, coming along the northern quay. These were

the Municipal Guard, a magnificent corps, richly caparisoned, and

nobly mounted. Being picked men, and well paid, they were the chief

reliance of the Government, and for that very reason were hated by

the people. The other body of troops were infantry of the line, and,

crossing the Pont Royal, came along the southern bank of the river.

Both detachments approached the multitude, and crowding upon them

with a slow advance, succeeded at last in clearing the space before

the Chamber.

The greater part of the throng recrossed the bridge, and spread

themselves over the Place de la Concorde. This square, perhaps the

most beautiful in the world, is about five acres in extent. This vast

area was now crowded with an excited populace, mainly of the working

classes. Their number constantly augmented, and bodies of troops,

foot and horse, arrived from various quarters, till the square was

literally covered. The number of persons here collected in one mass

was over one hundred thousand.

At the commencement, the mob amused themselves with songs and shouts;

but in clearing the space before the Chamber, and driving the people

across the bridge, the guards had displayed great rudeness. They

pressed upon the masses, and one woman was crushed to death beneath

the hoofs of the horses. Pebbles now began to be hurled at the troops

from the square. Dashing in among the people, sword in hand, the

cavalry drove them away; but as they cleared one spot, another was

immediately filled. The effect of this was to chafe and irritate the

mob, who now began to seize sticks and stones, and hurl them in good

earnest at their assailants.

While this petty war was going on, some thousands of the rioters

dispersed themselves through the Champs Elysées, and began to

build barricades across the main avenue. The chairs, amounting to

many hundreds, were immediately disposed in three lines across the

street. Benches, trellises, boxes, fences--every movable thing

within reach--were soon added to the barricades. An omnibus passing

by was captured, detached from the horses, and tumbled into one of

the lines. The flag was taken from the Panorama near by, and a vast

procession paraded through the grounds, singing the "Marseillaise,"

the "Parisienne," and other patriotic airs.

Meanwhile, a small detachment of foot guards advanced to the scene

of action; but they were pelted with stones, and took shelter in

their guard-house. This was assailed with a shower of missiles, which

rattled like hail upon its roof. The windows were dashed in, and a

heap of brush near by was laid to the wall, and set on fire. A body

of horse guards soon arrived, and dispersed the rioters; but the

latter crossed to the northern side of the Champs Elysées, attacked

another guard-house, and set it on fire. A company of the line came

to the spot, but the mob cheered them, and they remained inactive.

The revel proceeded, and, in the face of the soldiers, the people fed

the fire with fuel from the surrounding trees and fences, sang their

songs, cracked their jokes, and cried "Down with Guizot!" "Vive la

Réforme!" &c. In these scenes the boys took the lead, performing the

most desperate feats, and inspiring the rest by their intrepidity. A

remarkable air of fun and frolic characterized the mob--jokes flew as

freely on all sides as stones and sticks.

Such was the course of events the first day, so far as they fell

under my own observation. It appears from the papers that similar

proceedings, though in some cases of a more serious character, took

place elsewhere. Great masses of people gathered at various points.

They made hostile demonstrations before the Office of Foreign

Affairs, crying out, "Down with Guizot!" Some person called for

the minister. "He is not here," said one; "he is with the Countess

Lieven,"--a remark which the _habitués_ of Paris will understand as

conveying a keen satire. At other points a spirit of insubordination

was manifested. Bakers' shops were broken open, armories forced,

and barricades begun. Everywhere the hymn of the "Marseillaise" and

"Mourir pour la Patrie" were sung--often by hundreds of voices, and

with thrilling effect. The rappel for calling out the National Guard

was beaten in several quarters. As night closed in, heavy masses of

soldiery, horse and foot, with trains of artillery, were seen at

various points. The Place du Carrousel was full of troops, and at

evening they were reviewed by the King and the Dukes of Nemours and

Montpensier. Six thousand soldiers were disposed along the boulevards

from the Madeleine to the Porte St. Martin. Patrols were seen in

different quarters during the whole night. About twelve tranquillity

reigned over the city, disturbed only in a few remote and obscure

places by the building of barricades, the arrest of rioters, and one

or two combats, in which several persons were killed. Such was the

first day's work--the prelude to the drama about to follow.

Wednesday, the 23d, was fair, with dashes of rain at intervals, as

in our April. I was early abroad, and soon noticed that companies of

National Guards were on duty. Only regular troops had been called

out the day before--a fact which showed the distrust of the National

Guards entertained by the king. This was remarked by the latter, and

was doubtless one of the causes which hastened the destruction of the

Government.

At nine o'clock I passed up the Boulevards. Most of the shops were

shut, and an air of uneasiness prevailed among the people. At the

Porte St. Denis there was a great throng, and a considerable mass

of troops. Barricades were soon after erected in the streets of St.

Denis, Cléry, St. Eustache, Cadran, &c. Several fusilades took place

between the people at these points and the soldiers, and a number of

persons were killed.

Some contests occurred in other quarters during the morning. At two

o'clock the Boulevards, the Rues St. Denis, St. Martin, Montmartre,

St. Honoré--in short, all the great thoroughfares--were literally

crammed with people. Bodies of horse and foot, either stationary or

patrolling, were everywhere to be seen. It was about this time that

some officers of the National Guard ordered their men to fire, but

they refused. In one instance four hundred National Guards were seen

marching, in uniform, but without arms. It became evident that the

soldiers generally were taking part with the people. This news was

carried to the palace, and Count Molé was called in to form a new

ministry. He undertook the task, and orders were immediately given to

spread the intelligence of this through the city.

Meanwhile the riot and revel went on in various quarters. The police

were active, and hundreds of persons were arrested and lodged in

prison. Skirmishes took place, here and there, between the soldiers

and the people; long processions were seen, attended by persons who

sang choruses, and shouted "Down with Guizot!" "Vive la Réforme!"

About four o'clock the news of the downfall of the Guizot ministry

was spread along the Boulevards. The joyful intelligence ran over

the city with the speed of light. It was everywhere received with

acclamations. The people and the troops, a short time before looking

at each other in deadly hostility, were seen shaking hands, and

expressing congratulations. An immense population--men, women, and

children--poured into the Boulevards, to share in the jubilation.

Large parties of the National Guard paraded the streets, the officers

and men shouting "Vive la Réforme!" and the crowd cheering loudly.

Bands of five hundred to fifteen hundred men and boys went about

making noisy demonstrations of joy. On being met by the troops, they

divided to let them pass, and immediately resumed their cries and

their songs.

Toward half-past six o'clock in the evening an illumination

was spoken of, and many persons lighted up spontaneously. The

illumination soon became more general, and the populace, in large

numbers, went through the streets, calling, "Light up!" Numerous

bands, alone or following detachments of the National Guards, went

about, shouting "Vive le Roi!" "Vive la Réforme!" and singing the

"Marseillaise." At many points, where barricades had been erected,

and the people were resisting the troops, they ceased when they heard

the news of the resignations, and the troops retired. "It is all

over!" was the general cry; and a feeling of relief seemed to pervade

every bosom.

There can be no doubt that, but for a fatal occurrence which soon

after took place, the further progress of the revolt might have

been stayed. Many wise people now say, indeed, that the revolution

was all planned beforehand; they had foreseen and predicted it: and

from the beginning of the outbreak everything tended to this point.

The fact is unquestionably otherwise. The "Opposition," with their

various clubs and societies distributed through all classes in Paris,

and holding constant communication with the workmen or blousemen,

no doubt stood ready to take advantage of any violence on the part

of the Government which might justify resistance; but they had not

anticipated such a contingency on the present occasion. It is not

probable that the Molé ministry, had it been consummated, would have

satisfied the people; but the king had yielded; Guizot, the special

object of hatred, had fallen, and it was supposed that further

concessions would be made, as concession had begun. But accident,

which often rules the fate of empires and dynasties, now stepped

in to govern the course of events, and give them a character which

should astonish the world.

In the course of the evening a large mass of people had collected

on the Boulevard, in the region of Guizot's office--the Hôtel des

Affaires Etrangères. The troops here had unfortunately threatened

the people, by rushing at them with fixed bayonets, after the

announcement of the resignation of the ministry, and when a good

feeling prevailed among all classes. This irritated the mob, and

was partly, no doubt, the occasion of the large gathering in this

quarter. For some reason, not well explained, a great many troops had

also assembled here and in the vicinity. At ten o'clock, the street

from the Madeleine to the Rue de la Paix was thronged with soldiers

and people. There was, however, no riot and no symptom of disorder.

At this moment a collection of persons, mostly young men, about

sixty in number, came along the Boulevard, on the side opposite to

the soldiers and the Foreign Office. It is said that the colonel

anticipated some attack, though nothing of the kind was threatened.

It appears that the soldiers stood ready to fire, when one of their

muskets went off, and wounded the commander's horse in the leg. He

mistook this for a shot from the crowd, and gave instant orders to

fire. A fusilade immediately followed. Twenty persons fell dead,

and forty were wounded. The scene which ensued baffles description.

The immense masses dispersed in terror, and carried panic in all

directions. The groans of the dying and the screams of the wounded

filled the air. Shops and houses around were turned into hospitals.

"We are betrayed! we are betrayed!"--"Revenge! revenge!" was the cry

of the masses.

From this moment the doom of the monarchy was sealed. The leaders

of the clubs, no doubt, took their measures for revolution. An

immense waggon was soon brought to the scene of the massacre; the

dead bodies were laid on it, and flaring torches were lighted over

it. The ghastly spectacle was paraded through the streets, and the

mute lips of the corpses doubtless spoke more effectively than those

of the living. Large masses of people, pale with excitement and

uttering execrations upon the murderers, followed in the train of the

waggon, as it passed through the more populous streets of the city,

and especially in those quarters inhabited by the lower classes.

The effect was such as might have been anticipated. At midnight the

barricades were begun, and at sunrise the streets of Paris displayed

a network of fortifications from the Place St. George to the church

of Notre Dame, which set the troops at defiance. More than a thousand

barricades, some of them ten feet in height, were thrown up during

that memorable night; yet such were the suddenness and silence of

the operations, that most of the inhabitants of the city slept in

security, fondly dreaming that the tempest had passed, and that the

morning would greet them in peace.

On Thursday, the decisive day, the weather was still mild and without

rain, though the sky was dimmed with clouds. At eleven in the morning

I sallied forth. I cannot express my astonishment at the scene. The

whole Boulevard was a spectacle of desolation. From the Rue de la

Paix to the Rue Montmartre--the finest part of Paris, the glory of

the city--every tree was cut down, all the public monuments reduced

to heaps of ruins, the pavements torn up, and the entire wreck

tumbled into a succession of barricades. Every street leading into

this portion of the Boulevard was strongly barricaded. Such giant

operations seemed like the work of enchantment.

But my wonder had only begun. At the point where the Rue Montmartre

crosses the Boulevard, the entire pavement was torn up, and something

like a square breastwork was formed, in which a cannon was planted.

The whole space around was crowded with the populace. As I stood

for a moment surveying the scene, a young man, about twenty, passed

through the crowd, and stepping upon the carriage of the cannon,

cried out, "Down with Louis Philippe!" The energy with which this

was spoken sent a thrill through every bosom; and the remarkable

appearance of the youth gave additional effect to his words. He was

short, broad-shouldered, and full-chested. His face was pale, his

cheek spotted with blood, and his head, without hat or cap, was

bound with a handkerchief. His features were keen, and his deep-set

eye was lit with a spark that seemed borrowed from a tiger. As he

left the throng he came near me, and I said, inquiringly, "Down with

Louis Philippe?" "Yes!" was his reply. "And what then?" said I. "A

republic!" was his answer; and he passed on, giving the watchword of

"Down with Louis Philippe!" to the masses he encountered. This was

the first instance in which I heard the overthrow of the king and the

adoption of a republic proposed.

In pursuing my walk, I noticed that the population were now

abundantly supplied with weapons. On the two first days they were

unarmed; but after the slaughter at the Foreign Office they went to

all the houses and demanded weapons. These were given, for refusal

would have been vain. An evidence of the consideration of the

populace, even in their hour of wrath, is furnished by the fact, that

in all cases where the arms had been surrendered, they wrote on the

doors in chalk, "_Armes données_"--Arms given up; so as to prevent

the annoyance of a second call.

It might seem a fearful thing to behold a mob, such as that of Paris,

brandishing guns, fowling-pieces, swords, cutlasses, hatchets, and

axes; but I must say that I felt not the slightest fear in passing

among their thickest masses. Some of them, who had doubtless never

handled arms before, seemed a little jaunty and jubilant. The

_gamins_--the leaders in riots, rows, and rebellions--were swarming

on all sides, and seemed to feel a head taller in the possession

of their weapons. I saw several of these unwashed imps strutting

about with red sashes around the waist, supporting pistols, dirks,

cutlasses, &c.; yet I must state that over the whole scene there was

an air of good-breeding, which seemed a guarantee against insult or

violence. I may also remark here, that during the whole three days I

did not observe a scuffle or wrangle among the people; I did not hear

an insulting word, nor did I see a menace offered, save in conflicts

between the soldiers and the populace. I can add, that I did not see

a drunken person during the whole period, with the single exception

which I shall hereafter mention.

I took a wide circuit in the region of the Rue Montmartre, the

Bourse, the Rue Vivienne, St. Honoré, and the Palais Royal.

Everywhere there were enormous barricades and crowds of armed people.

Soon after--that is, about twelve o'clock--I passed the southern

quadrangle of the Palais Royal, which, lately the residence of the

brother of the King of Naples, was now attacked and taken by the

populace. The beautiful suite of rooms was richly furnished, and

decorated with costly pictures, statues, bronzes, and other specimens

of art. These were unsparingly tumbled into the square and the

street, and consigned to the flames. At the distance of one hundred

and fifty feet from the front of the Palais Royal was the Château

d'Eau, a massive stone building occupied as a barrack, and at this

moment garrisoned by one hundred and eighty municipal guards. In

most parts of the city, seeing that the troops fraternized with the

people, the Government had given them orders not to fire. These

guards, however, attacked the insurgents in and about the Palais

Royal. Their fire was returned, and a desperate conflict ensued. The

battle lasted for more than an hour, the people rushing in the very

face of the muskets, of the guard, as they blazed from the grated

windows. At last the barrack was set on fire, and the guard yielded,

though not till many of their number had fallen, and the rest were

nearly dead with suffocation. The Château d'Eau is now a mere ruin,

its mottled walls giving evidence of the shower of bullets that had

been poured upon it.

No sooner had the Château d'Eau surrendered, than the flushed victors

took their course towards the Tuileries, which was near at hand;

shouting, singing, roaring, they came like a surge, bearing all

before them. The Place du Carrousel was filled with troops; but not a

sword was unsheathed--not a bayonet pointed--not a musket or a cannon

fired. There stood, idle and motionless, the mighty armament which

the king had appointed for his defence. How vain had his calculations

proved! for, alas! they were founded in a radical error. The

soldiers would not massacre their brethren, to sustain a throne which

they now despised.

But we must now enter the Tuileries. For several days previous to

the events we have described, some anxiety had been entertained by

persons in and about the palace. The king, however, had no fears.

He appeared in unusual spirits; and, if any intimation of danger

was given, he turned it aside with a sneer or a joke. Even so late

as Wednesday, after he had called upon Count Molé to form a new

ministry, he remarked that he was so "firmly seated in the saddle,

that nothing could throw him off."

Molé soon found it impossible, with the materials at hand, to

construct a ministry. Thiers was then called in; and, after a

long course of higgling and chaffering on the part of the king,

it was agreed that he and Barrot should undertake to carry on the

Government. This was announced by them in person, as they rode

through the streets on Thursday morning. These concessions, however,

came too late. The cry for a republic was bursting from the lips of

the million. The abdication of the king was decreed, and a raging

multitude were demanding this at the very gates of the palace.

Overborne by the crisis, the king agreed to abdicate in favor of

the Duke de Nemours. Some better tidings were brought him, and he

retracted what he had just done. A moment after it became certain

that the insurgents would shortly burst into the palace. In great

trepidation, the king agreed to resign the crown in favor of his

grandson, the young Count de Paris; yet, still clinging to the hope,

he shuffled and hesitated before he would put his name to the act of

abdication. This, however, was at last done, and the king and queen,

dressed in black, and accompanied by a few individuals who remained

faithful in this trying moment, passed from the Tuileries to the

Place de la Concorde, through the subterranean passage constructed

many years previously for the walks of the infant King of Rome. They

here entered a small, one-horse vehicle, and, after a rapid and

successful flight, landed safely at Dover, in England.

Meanwhile, the mob had seized the royal carriages, fourteen in

number, and made a bonfire of them, near the celebrated arch in the

Place du Carrousel. Soon after, they forced the railing at several

points, and came rushing across the square toward the palace.

Scarcely had the various members of the royal family time to escape

on one side of the building, when the mob broke in at the other.

I have not time to follow the adventures of these several

individuals. We cannot but sympathize with them in their misfortunes;

but we may remark, that the fall of the Orleans dynasty was not

broken by a single act of courage or dignity on the part of any one

of the family. Their flight seemed a vulgar scramble for mere life.

Even the king was reduced to the most common place disguises--the

shaving of his whiskers, the change of his dress, the adopting an

"alias!" I may add here, that they have all escaped; and while

everybody seems glad of this, there is no one behind who mourns their

loss. None are more loud in denouncing the besotted confidence of the

king than his two hundred and twenty-five purchased deputies, who

were so loyal in the days of prosperity.

A short time after the king and queen had passed the Place de la

Concorde I chanced to be there. In a few moments Odillon Barrot

appeared from the gate of the Tuileries, and, followed by a long

train of persons, proceeded to the Chamber of Deputies. It was now

understood that the king had abdicated, and that Thiers and Barrot

were to propose the Count de Paris as king, under the regency of his

mother, the Duchess of Orleans. The most profound emotion seemed

to occupy the immense multitude. All were hushed into silence by

the rapid succession of astonishing events. After a short space

the Duchess of Orleans, with her two sons, the Count de Paris and

the Duke de Chartres, were seen on foot coming toward the Chamber,

encircled by a strong escort. She was dressed in deep mourning, her

face bent to the ground. She moved across the bridge, and passing to

the rear of the building, entered it through the gardens. Shortly

after this the Duke de Nemours, attended by several gentlemen on

horseback, rode up, and also entered the building.

The scene that ensued within is said to have presented an

extraordinary mixture of the solemn and the ludicrous. The duchess

being present, Barrot proceeded to state the abdication of the king,

and to propose the regency. It was then that Lamartine seemed to

shake off the poet and philosopher, and suddenly to become a man of

action. Seizing the critical moment, he declared his conviction that

the days of monarchy were numbered; that the proposed regency was

not suited to the crisis; and that a republic alone would meet the

emergency and the wishes of France. These opinions, happily expressed

and strenuously enforced, became decisive in their effect.

Several other speeches were made, and a scene of great confusion

followed. A considerable number of the mob had broken into the room,

and occupied the galleries and the floor. One of them brought his

firelock to his shoulder, and took aim at M. Sauzet, the president.

Entirely losing his self-possession, he abdicated with great speed,

and disappeared. In the midst of the hubbub a Provisional Government

was announced, and the leading members were named. Some of the more

obnoxious deputies were aimed at by the muskets of the mob, and

skulking behind benches and pillars, they oozed out at back-doors

and windows. A blouseman came up to the Duke de Nemours, who drew

his sword. The man took it from him, broke it over his knee, and

counselled his highness to depart. This he did forthwith, having

borrowed a coat and hat for the purpose of disguise. A call was made

for the members of the Provisional Government to proceed to the

Hôtel de Ville. The assembly broke up, and the curtain fell upon the

last sitting of the Chamber of Deputies--the closing scene of Louis

Philippe's government.

It was about three o'clock in the afternoon that I retraced my steps

toward the Tuileries. The Place de la Concorde was crowded with

soldiers, and fifty cannon were ranged in front of the gardens.

Yet this mighty force seemed struck with paralysis. Long lines of

infantry stood mute and motionless, and heavy masses of cavalry

seemed converted into so many statues. Immediately before the eyes of

those soldiers was the palace of the Tuileries in full possession of

the mob, but not a muscle moved for their expulsion!

Passing into the gardens, I noticed that thousands of persons were

spread over their surface, and a rattling discharge of fire-arms

was heard on all sides. Looking about for the cause of this, I

perceived that hundreds of men and boys were amusing themselves with

shooting sparrows and pigeons, which had hitherto found a secure

resting-place in this favorite resort of leisure and luxury. Others

were discharging their muskets for the mere fun of making a noise.

Proceeding through the gardens, I came at last to the palace. It

had now been, for more than an hour, in full possession of the

insurgents. All description fails to depict a scene like this. The

whole front of the Tuileries, one-eighth of a mile in length, seemed

gushing at doors, windows, balconies, and galleries, with living

multitudes--a mighty beehive of men, in the very act of swarming. A

confused hubbub filled the air, and bewildered the senses with its

chaotic sounds.

At the moment I arrived the throne of the king was borne away by a

jubilant band of revellers; and, after being paraded through the

streets, was burned at the Place de la Bastille.

I entered the palace, and passed through the long suites of

apartments devoted to occasions of ceremony. A year before I had

seen these gorgeous halls filled with the flush and the fair--kings,

princes, and nobles--gathered to this focal point of luxury,

refinement, and taste from every quarter of the world. How little

did Louis Philippe, at that moment, dream of "coming events!" How

little did the stately queen--a proud obelisk of silk, and lace,

and diamonds--foresee the change that was at hand! I recollected

well the effect of this scene upon my own mind, and felt the full

force of the contrast which the present moment offered. In the very

room where I had seen the pensive and pensile Princess de Joinville

and the Duchess de Montpensier--the latter then fresh from the

hymeneal altar, her raven hair studded with diamonds like evening

stars--whirling in the mazy dance, I now beheld a band of creatures

like Calibans, gambolling to the song of the "Marseillaise!"

On every side my eye fell upon scenes of destruction. Passing to

the other end of the palace, I beheld a mob in the chambers of the

princesses. Some rolled themselves in the downy beds, others anointed

their shaggy heads with choice pomatum, exclaiming, "Dieu! how sweet

it smells!" One of the _gamins_, grimed with gunpowder, blood, and

dirt, seized a tooth-brush, and placing himself before a mirror,

seemed delighted at the manifest improvement which he produced upon

his ivory.

On leaving the palace, I saw numbers of the men drinking wine from

bottles taken from the well-stocked cellars. None of them were

positively drunk. To use the words of "Tam O'Shanter," "They were na

fou, but just had plenty"--perhaps a little more. They flourished

their guns and pistols, brandished their swords, and performed

various antics, but they offered no insult to any one. They seemed

in excellent humor, and made more than an ordinary display of French

_politesse_. They complimented the women, of whom there was no lack;

and one of them, resembling a figure of Pan, seized a maiden by the

waist, and both rigadooned merrily over the floor.

Leaving this scene of wreck, confusion, and uproar, I proceeded

toward the gate of the gardens leading into the Rue de Rivoli. I

was surprised to find here a couple of ruthless-looking blousemen,

armed with pistols, keeping guard. On inquiry, I found that the mob

themselves had instituted a sort of government. One fellow, in the

midst of the devastation in the palace, seeing a man put something

into his pocket, wrote on the wall, "Death to thieves!" The Draconian

code was immediately adopted by the people, and became the law of

Paris. Five persons, taken in acts of robbery, were shot down by the

people, and their bodies exposed in the streets, with the label of

"Thief" on their breast. Thus order and law seemed to spring up from

the instincts of society, in the midst of uproar and confusion, as

crystals are seen shooting from the chaos of the elements.

Three days had now passed, and the revolution was accomplished.

The people soon returned to their wonted habits; the Provisional

Government proceeded in its duties; the barricades disappeared; and

in a single week the more obtrusive traces of the storm that had

passed had vanished from the streets and squares of Paris.

CHAPTER XXX.

AFTER THE REVOLUTION--"FUNERAL OF THE VICTIMS"--THE CONSTITUENT

ASSEMBLY--PARIS IN A STATE OF SIEGE--CAVAIGNAC--LOUIS NAPOLEON

CHOSEN PRESIDENT.

It is not my design to enter into the history of the revolution

in detail, but I may sketch a few of the prominent events which

followed. For this purpose, I make an extract from an account I have

elsewhere given:--

For several weeks and months Paris was a scene of extraordinary

excitement. The Provisional Government had announced that they would

provide the people with labor. Consequently, deputations of tailors,

hatters, engravers, musicians, paviors, cabinet-makers, seamstresses,

and a multitude of other trades and vocations, flocked in long

lines to the Hôtel de Ville to solicit the favor of the Government.

Vast crowds of people perpetually haunted this place, and, in one

instance, a raging multitude came thundering at the doors, demanding

that the blood-red flag of the former revolution should be the

banner of the new republic! It was on this occasion that Lamartine

addressed the people, and with such eloquence as to allay the storm

which threatened again to deluge France in blood. The members of

the Government were so besieged and pressed by business, that for

several weeks they slept in the Hôtel de Ville. They proceeded with

a bold hand to announce and establish the republic. In order to

make a favorable impression upon the people, they decreed a gorgeous

ceremony at the foot of the column of July, on Sunday, February 27th,

by which they solemnly inaugurated the new republic. All the members

of the Provisional Government were present on horseback; there were

sixty thousand troops and two hundred thousand people to witness the

spectacle.

Another still more imposing celebration took place on the 4th of

March. This was called the "Funeral of the Victims." After religious

ceremonies at the Madeleine, the members of the Government, with a

long train of public officers and an immense _cortège_ of military,

proceeded to the July column, conducting a superb funeral-car, drawn

by eight cream-colored horses. This contained most of the bodies of

those slain in the revolution--about two hundred and fifty. These

were deposited in the vault of the column, with the victims of the

revolution of 1830.

Nothing can adequately portray this spectacle. A tri-colored flag was

stretched on each side of the Boulevards, from the Madeleine to the

July column--a distance of three miles. As this consisted of three

strips of cloth, the length of the whole was eighteen miles! The

solemn movement of the funeral procession, the dirge-like music, the

march of nearly a hundred thousand soldiers, and the sympathizing

presence of three hundred thousand souls, rendered it a scene never

surpassed and rarely equalled, either by the magnificence of the

panorama or the solemn and touching sentiments excited.

Still other spectacles succeeded; and in the summer four hundred

thousand people assembled in the Champs Elysées to witness the

Presentation of Flags to the assembled National Guards, eighty

thousand being present. Such scenes can only be witnessed in Paris.

Events proceeded with strange rapidity. A Constituent Assembly was

called by the Provisional Government to form a constitution. The

members were elected by ballot, the suffrage being universal--that

is, open to all Frenchmen over twenty-one. The election took place

in April, and on the 4th of May the first session was held, being

officially announced to the assembled people from the steps of the

Chamber of Deputies. On the 15th of May a conspiracy was disclosed,

the leaders of which were Raspail, Barbès, Sobrier, Caussidière,

Blanqui, Flotte, Albert, and Louis Blanc--the two last having been

members of the Provisional Government. Caussidière was prefect of

police.

The Assembly proceeded in the work of framing a constitution,

administering the government in the mean time. On the 24th of June a

terrific insurrection broke out, promoted by the leaders of various

factions, all desiring the overthrow of the republic which had been

inaugurated. Cavaignac, who was minister of war, was appointed

dictator, and Paris was declared in a state of siege. The insurgents

confined their operations chiefly to the faubourgs of St. Jacques

and St. Antoine. They got possession of these, and formed skilful

and able plans of operation, which had for their ultimate object the

surrounding of the city and getting possession of certain important

points, including the Chamber--thus securing the government in their

own hands.

Cavaignac proceeded to attack the barricades, thus clearing the

streets one by one. The fighting was terrible. For four days the

battle continued, the sound of cannon frequently filling the ears of

the people all over the city. Night and day the inhabitants were

shut up in their houses, ignorant of all, save that the conflict was

raging. The women found employment in scraping lint for the wounded.

All Paris was a camp. The windows were closed; the soldiers and

sentinels passed their watchwords; litters, carrying the dead and

wounded, were borne along the streets; the tramp of marching columns

and the thunder of rushing cavalry broke upon the ear!

At last the conflict was over; the insurgents were beaten--Cavaignac

triumphed. But the victory was dearly purchased. Between two and

three thousand persons were killed, and among them no less than seven

general officers had fallen. The insurgents fought like tigers. Many

women were in the ranks, using the musket, carrying the banners,

rearing barricades, and cheering the fight. Boys and girls mingled

in the conflict. The National Guards who combated them had equal

courage and superior discipline. One of the Garde Mobile--Hyacinthe

Martin, a youth of fourteen--took four standards from the tops of

the barricades. His gallantry excited great interest, and Cavaignac

decorated him with the cross of the Legion of Honor. He became a hero

of the day; but--sad to relate!--being invited to fêtes, banquets,

and repasts, his head was turned, and he was soon a ruined profligate.

The leaders in this terrific insurrection were never detected. It

is certain that the movement was headed by able men, and directed

by skilful engineers. The masses who fought were roused to fury by

poverty and distress--by disappointment at finding the national

workshops discontinued, and by stimulating excitements furnished by

Socialist clubs and newspapers. It is computed that forty thousand

insurgents were in arms, and eighty thousand government soldiers were

brought against them. It may be considered that this struggle was

the remote but inevitable result of the course of the Provisional

Government in adopting the doctrine of obligation, on the part of the

State, to supply work and wages to the people, and in establishing

national workshops in pursuance of this idea. Still, it may be said,

on the other hand, that nothing but such a step could have enabled

the Provisional Government to maintain itself during three months,

and give being to an organized Assembly from which a legitimate

government could proceed.

The Constitution was finished in the autumn, and promulgated on

the 19th of November, 1848. On the 10th of December following, the

election of President took place, and it appeared that Louis Napoleon

Bonaparte had five million out of seven million votes. He was duly

inaugurated about a week after the election, and entered upon the

high duties which thus devolved upon him.

CHAPTER XXXI.

THE AUTHOR'S DUTIES AS CONSUL--ASPECT OF THINGS IN PARIS--LOUIS

NAPOLEON'S DESIGNS--THE 2ND OF DECEMBER, 1852--THE NEW

REIGN OF TERROR COMPLETE--LOUIS NAPOLEON AS EMPEROR--OUT OF

OFFICE--RETURN TO NEW YORK--CONCLUSION.

I now come to the period of 1851, when I entered upon the consulate.

Of the space during which I was permitted to hold this office I have

no very remarkable personal incidents to relate. The certifying of

invoices, and the legalizing of deeds and powers of attorney, are

the chief technical duties of the American Consul at Paris. If he

desires to enlarge the circle of his operations, however, he can

find various ways of doing it. As, for instance, in supplying the

wants of distressed Poles, Hungarians, Italians, and others, who

are martyrs to liberty, and suppose the American heart and purse

always open to those who are thus afflicted; in answering questions

from notaries, merchants, lawyers, as to the laws of the different

American States upon marriage, inheritance, and the like; in advising

emigrants whether to settle in Iowa, or Illinois, or Missouri, or

Texas; in listening to inquiries made by deserted wives as to where

their errant husbands may be found, who left France ten, or twenty,

or thirty years ago, and went to America, by which is generally

understood St. Domingo or Martinique. A considerable business may

be done in lending money to foreigners, who pretend to have been

naturalized in the United States, and are, therefore, entitled to

consideration and sympathy: it being, of course, well understood that

money lent to such persons will never be repaid. Some time and cash

may also be invested in listening to the stories and contributing

to the wants of promising young American artists, who are striving

to get to Italy to pursue their studies--such persons usually being

graduates of the London school of artful dodgers. Some waste leisure

and a good deal of postage may be disposed of in correspondence with

ingenious Americans, inventors and discoverers: as, for instance,

with a man in Arkansas or Minnesota, who informs you that he has

contrived a new and infallible method of heating and ventilating

European cities, and wishes it brought to the notice of the

authorities there, it being deemed the duty of the American Consul

to give attention to such matters. These monotonies are occasionally

diversified by a letter from some unfortunate fellow-countryman

who is detained at Mazas or Clichy, and begs to be extricated; or

some couple who wish to be put under the bonds of wedlock; or some

enterprising wife, all the way from Tennessee, in chase of a runaway

husband; or some inexperienced but indignant youth who has been

fleeced by his landlord.

Such are the duties which devolve upon the American Consul at Paris,

the incidents alluded to having come under my notice while I was

there in that capacity. I must now speak of certain public events

which transpired at that period, and which will ever be regarded as

among the most remarkable in modern history.

I have told you how Louis Napoleon, in consequence of the Revolution

of 1848, became President of the Republic. When I arrived in Paris,

in April, 1851, he was officiating in that capacity, his residence

being the little palace of the Elysée Bourbon, situated between the

Faubourg St. Honoré and the Champs Elysées. The National Assembly,

consisting of seven hundred and fifty members, held their sessions at

the building called the Chamber of Deputies. The Government had been

in operation somewhat over two years.

To the casual observer, the external aspect of things was not very

different from what it had been under the monarchy of Louis Philippe.

It is true that the palace of the Tuileries was vacant; no royal

coaches were seen dashing through the avenues; the public monuments

everywhere proclaimed "liberty, equality, fraternity." But still,

the streets were filled with soldiers as before. Armed sentinels

were stationed at the entrances of all the public buildings. The

barracks were, as usual, swarming with soldiers, and large masses

of horse and foot were training at the Champ de Mars and at Satory.

Martial reviews and exercises were, indeed, the chief amusement of

the metropolis. The President's house was a palace, and all around it

was bristling with bayonets. It was obvious that, whatever name the

Government might bear, military force lay at the bottom of it; and

if to-day this might be its defence, to-morrow it might also be its

overthrow.

It is now ascertained that Louis Napoleon, from the beginning, had

his mind fixed upon the restoration of the Empire. In accepting the

presidency of the Republic, and even in swearing fidelity to the

Constitution, he considered himself only as mounting the steps of the

Imperial throne.

In order to prepare the nation for the revolution which he

meditated, Louis Napoleon caused agitating and alarming rumors

to be circulated of a terrible plot, planned by the Democrats,

Republicans, and Socialists of France, the object of which was

to overturn the whole fabric of society, to destroy religion, to

sweep away the obligations of marriage, to strip the rich of their

property, and make a general distribution of it among the masses.

Other conspiracies, having similar designs, were said to exist in

all the surrounding countries of Europe, and the time was now near

at hand when the fearful explosion would take place. The police of

France, subject to the control and direction of the President, were

instructed to discover evidences of this infernal plot, and they

were so successful, that the public mind was filled with a vague but

anxious apprehension that society was reposing upon a volcano, which

might soon burst forth and overwhelm the whole country in chaos.

The National Assembly acted in a manner to favor these schemes of

the Presidents. They were divided into four or five factions, and

spent their time chiefly in angry disputes and selfish intrigues.

A portion of them were monarchists; and, though they had acquired

their seats by pledges of devotion to the republic, they were

now plotting its overthrow; a part being for the restoration of

the Orleanists, and a part for the Bourbons. Another faction was

for Louis Napoleon, and actively promoted his schemes. By the

Constitution he was ineligible for a second term, and his friends

were seeking the means of overcoming the difficulty, and giving him

a re-election, by fair means or foul. The Liberals were divided into

several shades of opinion--some being Republicans, after the model of

General Cavaignac; some being Democrats, like Victor Hugo; and some

Socialists, after the fashion of Pierre Leroux. In such a state of

things there was a vast deal of idle debate, while the substantial

interests of the country seemed, if not totally forgotten, at

least secondary to the interests of parties, and the passions and

prejudices of individuals.

I remember that on a certain Monday evening, the 1st of December,

1852, I was present at the Elysée, and was then first introduced

to Louis Napoleon. I found him to be an ordinary-looking person,

rather under size, but well formed, and with a dull expression of

countenance. The room was tolerably full, the company consisting, as

is usual in such cases, of diplomats, military officers, and court

officials, with a sprinkling of citizens, in black coats. I was

forcibly struck by the preponderance of soldiers in the assembly,

and I said several times to my companions that it seemed more like a

camp than a palace. The whole scene was dull; the President himself

appeared preoccupied, and was not master of his usual urbanity;

General Magnan walked from room to room with a ruminating air,

occasionally sending his keen glances around, as if searching for

something which he could not find. There was no music--no dancing.

That gayety which almost always pervades a festive party in Paris

was wholly wanting. There was no ringing laughter--no merry hum of

conversation. I noticed all this, but I did not suspect the cause.

At eleven o'clock the assembly broke up, and the guests departed. At

twelve, the conspirators, gathered for their several tasks, commenced

their operations.

About four in the morning the leading members of the Assembly

were seized in their beds, and hurried to prison. Troops were

distributed at various points, so as to secure the city. When the

light of day came, proclamations were posted at the corners of the

streets, announcing to the citizens that the National Assembly was

dissolved; that universal suffrage was decreed; that the Republic

was established! Such was the general unpopularity of the Assembly,

that the first impression of the people was that of delight at its

overthrow. Throughout the first day the streets of Paris were like a

swarming hive, filled with masses of people, yet, for the most part,

in good-humor. The second day they had reflected, and began to frown,

but yet there was no general spirit of revolt. A few barricades were

attempted, but the operators were easily dispersed. The third day

came; and although there was some agitation among the masses, there

was evidently no preparation, no combination for general resistance.

As late as ten o'clock in the forenoon I met one of the Republicans

whom I knew, and asked him what was to be done. His reply was,--

"We can do nothing; our leaders are in prison; we are bound hand

and foot. I am ready to give my life at the barricades, if with the

chance of benefit; but I do not like to throw it away. We can do

nothing!"

Soon after this I perceived heavy columns of troops--some four

thousand men--marching through the Rue de la Paix, and then

proceeding along the Boulevards towards the Port St. Denis. These

were soon followed by a body of about a thousand horse. I was told

that similar bodies were moving to the same point through other

avenues of the city. In a short time the whole Boulevard, from the

Rue de la Paix to the Place de la Bastille, an extent of two miles,

was filled with troops. My office was on the Boulevard des Italiens,

and was now fronted by a dense body of lancers, each man with his

cocked pistol in his hand. Except the murmur of the horses' hoofs,

there was a general stillness over the city. The side-walks were

filled with people; and though there was no visible cause for alarm,

yet there was still a vague apprehension which cast pallor and gloom

upon the faces of all.

Suddenly a few shots were heard in the direction of the Boulevard

Montmartre, and then a confused hum, and soon a furious clatter of

hoofs. A moment after, the whole body of horse started into a gallop,

and rushed by as if in flight; presently they halted, however,

wheeled slowly, and gradually moved back, taking up their former

position. The men looked keenly at the houses on either side, and

pointed their pistols threateningly at all whom they saw at the

windows. It afterward appeared, that when the troops had been drawn

out in line and stationed along the Boulevard, some half-dozen shots

were fired into them from the tops of buildings and from windows:

this created a sudden panic; the troops ran, and, crowding upon

others, caused the sudden movement I have described. In a few moments

the heavy, sickening sound of muskets came from the Porte St. Denis.

Volley succeeded volley, and after some time the people were seen

rushing madly along the pavements of the Boulevard, as if to escape.

The gate of our hôtel was now closed, and, at the earnest request of

the throng that had gathered for shelter in the court of the hôtel, I

put out the "Stars and Stripes"--the first and last time that I ever

deemed it necessary. The dull roar of muskets, with the occasional

boom of cannon, continued at intervals for nearly half-an-hour.

Silence at last succeeded, and the people ventured into the streets.

About four in the afternoon I walked for a mile along the Boulevard.

The pavements were strewn with the fragments of shattered windows,

broken cornices, and shivered doorways. Many of the buildings,

especially those on the southern side of the street, were thickly

spattered with bullet-marks, especially around the windows. One

edifice was riddled through and through with cannon-shot. Frequent

spots of blood stained the sidewalk, and along the Boulevard

Montmartre, particularly around the doorways, there were pools like

those of the shambles; it being evident that the reckless soldiers

had shot down in heaps the fugitives who, taken by surprise, strove

to obtain shelter at the entrances of the hôtels upon the street.

The morning came, and the triumph of the Reign of Terror was

complete. What was enacted in Paris was imitated all over France.

Nearly every department was declared in a state of siege; revolt was

punished with death, and doubt or hesitation with imprisonment. Forty

thousand persons were hurried to the dungeons, without even the form

or pretence of trial. All over the country the press was silenced,

as it had been in Paris; save only a few obsequious prints, which

published what was dictated to them. These declared that all this

bloodshed and violence were the necessary result of the Socialist

conspiracy, which threatened to overturn society; happily, as they

contended, Louis Napoleon, like a beneficent Providence, had crushed

the monster, and he now asked the people to ratify what he had done,

by making him President for ten years. In the midst of agitation,

delusion, and panic, the vote was taken, and Louis Napoleon was

elected by a vote of eight millions of suffrages! The nominal

Republic thus established soon gave way to the Empire; the President

reached the Imperial throne, and now stands before the world as

Napoleon III.!

Since his acquisition of a throne Louis Napoleon has conducted the

government with ability, and he has certainly been seconded by

fortune. He married a lady who has shed lustre upon her high position

by her gentle virtues and gracious manners. He engaged in the Eastern

War, and triumphed. He has greatly improved and embellished the

capital, and made Paris the most charming city in the world: nowhere

else does life seem to flow on so cheerfully and so tranquilly

as here. He has gradually softened the rigors of his government;

and though some noble spirits still pine in exile, he has taken

frequent advantage of opportunity to diminish the number. The people

of France, at the present time, appear to be satisfied with the

government, and, no doubt, a large majority, could the question be

proposed to them, would vote for its continuance.

* * * * *

In the summer of 1853, I was politely advised from the State

Department that President Pierce had appointed my successor in the

consulate. Thus, having held the place a little over two years,

on the 1st of August, 1853, I was restored to the privileges of

private-citizen life. As I had various engagements which forbade me

immediately to leave France, I hired a small house at Courbevoie,

which I made my residence till my departure for America.

In the autumn of 1854 I set out with my family for a short tour in

Italy. In all my wanderings I had never visited this famous country;

and as I was not likely ever to have another opportunity, I felt it

to be a kind of duty to avail myself of a few unappropriated weeks to

accomplish this object. After visiting Florence, Rome, and Naples, we

returned to Paris. Tarrying there for a short time, for the purpose

of seeing the International Exhibition of 1855, we finally left

Europe in October, and in the next month found a new home in New York.

* * * * *

I have now come to my farewell. Leave-takings are in general somewhat

melancholy, and it is best to make them as brief as possible. Mine

shall consist of a single train of thought, and that suggestive of

cheerful rather than mournful feelings. Like a traveller approaching

the end of his journey, I naturally cast a look backward, and

surveying the monuments which rise up in the distance, seek to

estimate the nature and tendency of the march of events which I have

witnessed, and in which I have participated.

One general remark appears to me applicable to the half century over

which my observation has extended; which is, that everywhere there

has been improvement. I know of no department of human knowledge,

no sphere of human inquiry, no race of men, no region of the earth,

where there has been retrogression. On the whole, the age has been

alike fruitful in discovery, and in the practical, beneficial

results of discovery. Science has advanced with giant strides; and

it is the distinguishing characteristic of modern science that it

is not the mere toy of the philosopher, nor the hidden mystery of

the laboratory, but the hard-working servant of the manufactory, the

workshop, and the kitchen.

On every hand are the evidences of improvement. What advances have

been made in agriculture; in the analysis of soils, the preparation

of manures, the improvement of implements, from the spade to the

steam-reaper; in the manufacture of textile fabrics by the inventions

of Jacquard and others in weaving, and innumerable devices in

spinning; in the working of iron--cutting, melting, moulding,

rolling, shaping it like dough, whereby it is applied to a thousand

new uses; in commerce and navigation, by improved models of ships,

improved chronometers, barometers, and quadrants--in chain-pumps

and wheel-rudders; in printing, by the use of the steam-press,

throwing off a hundred thousand impressions instead of two thousand

in a day; in microscopes, which have revealed new worlds in the

infinity of littleness, as well as in telescopes, which have unfolded

immeasurable depths of space before hidden from the view. How has

travelling been changed, from jolting along at the rate of six miles

an hour over rough roads in a stage-coach, to putting one's self

comfortably to bed in a steamboat and going fifteen miles an hour; or

sitting down in a railway-carriage to read a novel, and before you

have finished it to find yourself two hundred miles away!

And in the moral world, the last fifty years appear to me to have

shown an improvement, if not as marked, yet as certain and positive,

as in the material world. Everywhere, as I believe, the standard of

humanity is more elevated than before. If in some things, with the

increase of wealth and luxury, we have degenerated, on the whole

there has been an immense advance, as well in technical morals as in

those large humanities which aim at the good of all mankind.

In looking at the political condition of our country, there are

no doubt threatening clouds in the sky and mutterings of ominous

thunders in the distance. I have, however, known such things before;

I have seen the country shaken to its centre by the fierce collision

of parties, and the open assaults of the spirit of disunion. But

these dangers passed away. Within my memory, the states of the Union

have been doubled in number, and the territory of the Union has been

trebled in extent. This I have seen; and as such has been the fact,

so may be, and so I trust will be, the future. Farewell!

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE DEATH OF PETER PARLEY.

_From the London Welcome Guest._

Friend of my youth! Delightful instructor of my early days! Thou

kindly soul, who labored so patiently to expand my unopened mind,

and inspire it with a becoming interest in the world in which it

had but lately awakened! Benevolent traveller, who led my innocence

gently by the hand through all the countries of the earth, and

chatted intelligibly with me of their strangely varying customs,

their wonderful histories, their diverse climates, and productions,

and capacities! Thou that, in the first budding of my young ideas,

pointed out to me the glories of the starry night, and the marvels of

the vasty deep; that couldst sympathize with my untaught childhood,

and adapt thy immeasurable learning to its little wants, and

powers, and likings, and intertwine thy omniscient narrative with

absorbing adventures that enthralled its whole soul, and thrilled

its wondering bosom, and upraised the hairs that as yet but thinly

covered its tender pate! May my right hand forget its cunning, thou

large-hearted benefactor, if I permit thee to pass away into Hades

all unheralded! That stingy paragraph in a print that is read to-day

and handed into oblivion to-morrow, is no meed worthy of thee, Peter

Parley. Thou meritest a more bounteous memorial. Thy name is known

far and wide; and countless eyes, as they read in these pages that

thou hast entered the Land of Shadows, shall be dimmed with grateful

recollection.

If it may be allowed a copy of the WELCOME GUEST to journey beyond

the postal arrangements of this world, and to meet the disembodied

eyes of the other one, I wish that the concession may be made to this

current number, and that it may be placed in Peter Parley's hands, as

he sits in honor amid his new fellows. Then shall his gentle shade

rejoice to know that we, his children, who used to gather around his

knees, so to say, when he was still in the flesh, many long years

since, are not ungrateful for his care of us, but cherish a most fond

remembrance of it!

It was but last May the hand that had written so pleasantly and so

usefully grew chill, and the pen fell from its unnerved grasp. No

fresh travels of Peter Parley shall we have reported to us. Whatever

his journeyings may not be--however weirdly novel, and thrilling,

and strange--we cannot hope for any record of them. No sojourner in

that land has ever yet returned to give us his account of it. No

pencillings by the way, no fine descriptions of landscape or people,

no notes of its ways and manners, ever reach us from the other side

of the dividing river. So Peter Parley will observe and record for us

never again.

Which of Peter Parley's numerous writings did you give the preference

to, my reader? There was a capital story about a sailor boy in the

_Tales of the Sea_, if you remember. To me that young Crusoe endeared

the whole volume. I confess the facts with which every page was

stored have escaped me somewhat; but oh! how well I recollect the

sailor boy!

Do you remember that picture which served as the frontispiece of the

_Tales of the Stars_? There was old Peter himself, with a crowd of

us--his curly-headed darlings--all round him. The stars, if my memory

serves me, are shining with unwonted brightness upon the interesting

group, and upon a celestial globe which occupies the left side of the

scene. If my memory serves me, I say; but ay me! the lapse of many

years has much impaired it, I fear, and the vision I call before me

of that primeval period, is somewhat a broken and fragmentary one.

I cannot stay to mention all the members of the library with which

Peter Parley and our governess, acting with a sweet consent, supplied

us. There were some pleasant passages in the _Tales of Animals_. I

still vividly remember the panther and the lion, which appeared upon

that stage. I cannot say why I remember them above all others, any

more than I can say why many things connected with my early youth

have remained in my memory, whilst a thousand other incidents of

equal importance have vanished utterly from it. All I know is, that I

especially remember the panther and the lion in Mr. Parley's famous

zoological work.

But, in my opinion, Peter Parley's most triumphant effusion--his

_chef d'oeuvre_--the work on which his fame will undoubtedly rest

in the judgment of an admiring posterity of infants--the _ne plus

ultra_ of his great powers, in which the astonishing grace of his

style reaches its highest perfection, and his knowledge is surpassed

only by the facility and the kindliness with which he imparts it--his

crowning effort is--need I name it? Shall I not be accused of

penning truisms? Of course I mean his _Travels through Europe, Asia,

Africa, and America_.

Let that be a red-lettered day in my calendar when I entered upon

those travels. Blessed be the dear maternal hand that gave them to

me! Once more, standing by _her_ side--the kind hand the while, I

doubt not, smoothing my roughened locks, the gentle tongue patiently

helping my tardy utterance--I spell out the opening chapters. Gather

round me now, O pleasant company, into which I was then introduced.

Be seated again at thy round table, O Parley! with those delightful

guests around thee, and let me listen to thy wonderful stories.

Be present with me, ye shades. If, O Pluto! thou hast them in thy

keeping, I pray thee to grant them a brief furlough, that I may know

them once more.

Come, O Jenkins! bravest of men; come in that pea-green jacket, in

which thou presentest thyself to the astonished Parley at the end of

the travels in Europe. 'Tis a bleak night, and Parley, resting by

his blazing fire from all his Continental labors, thinks, good soul!

of his absent friends, and of course of thee, Jenkins. Presently a

knock is heard at the door, and Parley, answering it--he kept no

lounging John Thomases in his unostentatious establishment--beholds

a pea-green jacket. Enters the jacket, and shakes itself. Wonders

the simple Parley, not having the remotest idea, you know, who this

intruding garment is. Can it be?--yes of course, it is--Jenkins.

Is not that a grand _denouement_? I say the recognition of Orestes

by Electra, in the Greek play, so much bragged about by the

Scholiasts and that lot, is not fit to hold a candle to it, to speak

metaphorically. Is it not Jenkins that I see in Asia, defending

himself stoutly, in the midst of an arid plain, against a mounted

Arab? The child of the desert is urging his barb straight upon the

brave fellow. Hard by may be seen a small fire of sticks, which our

hungry but injudicious friend has kindled, with a view to cooking him

a mutton chop, or some such dainty. My wishes are for thy welfare,

Jenkins! My blessings on thy valor, incomparable man!

That is Leo, I think, that I see in such a heartrending condition on

board, or rather on the boards of yonder wreck, while the omnipresent

genius of Peter Parley is being tossed in wave-blankets some little

way off. Yes, I know him; that _is_ Leo. Parley, the chivalrous

Parley, saves his life upon that occasion, and earns his lasting

gratitude. I doubt whether Leo's character will bear investigation;

he comes to great grief in the end. But I like him for his grateful

services to his deliverer; and I like him for the mysterious air

there is about him, and for his thrilling adventures. He wanders

all over the world in a black mantle, nobody knows why; at least

I do not, and have no desire to know. I suppose he found a secret

satisfaction in roaming everywhere inside that cloak, and that is

enough for me. There are three pictures in the whole work that I feel

an intense interest in; and one has to do with Leo. It is when he

escapes from that prison built into the lake; just as the prisoner

of Chillon would have been overjoyed to escape, had he had the knack

and vigor of our hero. The particular scene of the act which the

delightful artist (what was _his_ name? which are his pictures in the

National Gallery?) has been good enough to delineate, is our Jack

Shepherd holding on to his prison-window by the only remaining bar.

Of course he is accompanied by the cloak, which the breezes of the

night are swelling into a globular form. Some dozen feet below the

cloak, sparkles in the moonlight the water, into which the fugitive

proposes to drop, as soon as the artist has done with him. 'Tis a

dismal prospect for thee, Leo. May the daughters of the lake bear

up thy chin! I have a fond belief that he is not to be drowned at

present. We are only in Asia now, and we shall want him many a time

yet in the other two quarters.

Who is that sailor I see crouching on that bank? Above his head is a

most truculent-looking tiger; below him is an infuriated crocodile.

Do you talk to me of dramatic effect, Aristarchus, in those tomes

you are always maudling over? I defy you and your tribe, sirrah, to

produce me a situation so breath-stopping, so blood-chilling, so

every way effective, as the opening scene of Asia. That is a good

hit in the Winter's Tale, by a play-wright called Shakspeare, when

"exit Antigonus, pursued by a bear." But can it be compared--I appeal

to all unprejudiced infants--with that first chapter of our Second

Expedition? Was ever a mortal in so dire an extremity? Scylla and

Charybdis, to my mind, are a joke to it. But Parley rescues him, and

without any of your _Dei ex machina_; though, if there ever was a

knot that seemed to require a Deity's fingers for its unravelling,

this surely was it. Of course, he rescues him; for it is not Parley's

way, whatever other people may do, to hurl his valiant souls

prematurely into Hades, and make them a prey to dogs and vultures.

I have said that there were three pictures in the Travels that

especially entranced me, and I have mentioned one of them. Now for

the other two. The first represents the famous Parley himself, the

English Herodotus, playing with a spider in that unwholesome dungeon

at Tripoli. Poor Parley! He had his little troubles now and then.

There can be no doubt that he is in a tremendous scrape at this

time. But his genial temper is unruffled; he makes friends at once

with his tiny fellow-tenant, and I dare say is, even now, meditating

some Tales of Insects for your and my benefit. He reminds me rather

of Goldsmith, making observations for his History of the Earth and

Animated Nature. There is the same innocence, the same benignity,

the same childish look of innocence about him. I have no doubt the

spider is become much attached to him. I lisp out my good wishes

for thee, thou even-minded captive. I place my small palm upon thy

unkempt head, and bless thee. We are not kept long in suspense about

him. A night soon arrives when Leo's cloak insinuates itself into

his cell, and a voice is heard in its folds saying, "Follow me," and

Parley follows, even as St. Peter followed the angel, and they reach

a wharf, and fire a pistol, and a boat pulls in to the shore, and

they embark in it, and Parley is once more a free man, and addresses

himself afresh to his travels.

My last wood-cut portrays this indefatigable wanderer a second time

oppressed by the hard fates. He is in America this time, and by some

misfortune (a great good fortune to me and to you, my young brethren

and sisters of the nursery) has been made the prey of an Indian

tribe. _Me miserum!_ The savages have tied him to a tree. There are

those hands that have guided that immortal pen through Europe, Asia,

and Africa, corded stringently to a _triste lignum_ in America! There

he stands, denuded of his raiment, and with a writhing expression all

over him; for the sportive innocents of the tribe are amusing their

leisure hours by shooting their youthful arrows at him. Yes; they are

making a target of poor P. P. O! my fellow-students, think what this

great heart suffers for us! During all that agony he is gathering

information for our benefit, is writing for us another incomparable

chapter, is taking stock of yonder wigwams.

But the page is growing indistinct before me, and I hear voices

saluting me from the nursery, not as a child, but as a veteran. Can

it be? No; impossible! And Peter Parley and his brave company recede

mournfully to their land, wherever it is, and my hair is a trifle

grey, or that mirror lies.

Farewell, my good Peter. Fare ye well, my stout Jenkins, my

mysterious Leo, and all ye other fine fellows. I rejoice to have met

you once more, and to have spent a pleasant hour with you, and talked

over our old companionship.

THE END.

* * * * *

Transcriber's Notes:

Obvious typographical errors have been repaired.

_Underscores_ surround italicized text.

P. 73: Words surrounded <as shown here> are transliterated from the

Greek script.

End of Project Gutenberg's Peter Parley's Own Story, by Samuel G. Goodrich