Paris, March 14th, 1848.

As it has been my fortune to be in Paris, and an observer of many of the most stirring and striking occurrences during the late revolution, I propose to give you a brief consecutive narrative of what I saw and heard, embracing a sketch of other leading events. My purpose will be to take you with me, and make you a participator, as far as possible, in the scenes witnessed and emotions experienced by one who was on the spot.

Before I begin, it may be well to state a few particulars as to the political condition of France at the moment of the revolt. It is well known that Louis Philippe accepted the crown at the hands of Lafayette, after the struggle of July, 1830, the latter saying, as he presented the king and charter to the people--"We give you the best of monarchies--the best of republics!" The circumstances, all considered, pledged Louis Philippe to a liberal government, in which the good of the people should be the supreme object, and the popular will the predominating element.

He commenced his career under fair auspices, and for a time every thing promised a happy fulfillment 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 statues, fountains, edifices, and 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 bad all readied maturity, and were allied to kings and queens, princes and prin-

cesses. 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 seventeen 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, with the corruption of its officers, the gradual subsidizing of the legislature by the crown, and the concentration of all the powers of the state in the hands of one man, who was now using them for family aggrandizement. Although the march of despotism had been cautious and stealthy, the plainest mind could see, and indeed the people generally began to feel, many galling evidences of the tyranny to which they had become actually 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 them 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 it may be added that the latter, by their rashness, did more than their enemies to prepare the mine 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 victualed 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, toward 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. In the center is the far-famed obelisk of Luxor; on either side of this is a splendid fountain, which was in full action during the scenes we describe. To the east is the garden of the Tuileries; to the west are the Champs Elysées. This vast area, so associated with art, and luxury, and beauty, 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, shouts, and pasquinades; 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 these 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 footguards 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 Elysees, 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 Reforme!" &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 fan and frolic characterized the mob--wit flew as freely on all sides as stones and sticks; every missile seemed winged with a joke.

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 Dumas' touching death-song of the Girondins, 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 there 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 mighty 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 entertained by the king of the National Guards. 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, Clery, 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. Honore--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 Mole 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 reforme!"

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 reforme!" 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 reforme!" 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 every thing 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 Mole 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 been 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 Etrangéres. 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 then measures for revolution. An immense wagon 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 para-

ded 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 wagon, 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 net-work of fortifications from the place St. George to the church of Noire 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 can not 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 seemed the very demon of revolution. 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, a peculiar race of enterprising, daring, desperate boys--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 guaranty 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 Hue Montmartre, the Bourse, the Rue Vivienne, St. Honore, 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 suit of rooms were 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 Chateau 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 Chateau 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 toward 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 defense. 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 be 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 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 can not but sympathize with them in their misfortunes; but we may remark, that the fall of the Orleans dy-

nasty 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.

We must now turn our attention toward another scene--the Chamber of Deputies. This body met on Tuesday, at the usual hour--twelve o'clock. While the riotous scenes we have described were transpiring during that day, in full view of the place where they had assembled, the deputies, as if in mockery of the agitation without, were occupied in a languid discussion upon the affairs of a broken country bank. Toward the close of the sitting, Odillon Barrot read from the tribune a solemn act of impeachment of the ministers. The next day, Wednesday, the Chamber again met, and Guizot in the afternoon announced that Count Molé was attempting to form a new ministry. It does not appear that Guizot or his colleagues were afterward seen in the Chamber. It is said that they met at the house of Duchatel on Thursday morning, and after consultation adopted the significant motto of Napoleon after the battle of Waterloo--"Sauve qui peut!"--Save himself who can. I am happy to add that the fugitives seem to have made good their retreat. It is said that Soult, disdaining to fly, remains at his house. I need not say that he will not be molested, for there is no sanguinary feeling toward any one, and Napoleon's old favorite, the victor in so many battles, would more readily find a Parisian populace to protect than injure him.

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, follow-

ed 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, O. 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 skulk-

ing 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 counseled 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 Hotel 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 these 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 revelers; and after being paraded through the streets, was burned at the Place de la Bastille--a significant episode in this tale of wonders. The colossal statue of Spartacus, which faces the main door of the palace, toward the gardens, was now decorated with a piece of gilt cloth torn from the throne and wreathed like a turban around his head. In his hand was a gorgeous bouquet of artificial flowers. It seemed as if the frowning gladiator had suddenly caught the spirit of the revel, and was about to descend from his pedestal and mingle in the masquerade.

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, gamboling 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 luscious 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 the thief!" 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 "Thieves" 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. A mighty shock has, however, been given to society, which still swells and undulates like the sea after a storm. The adjacent countries seem to feel the movement, and all Europe is in a state of agitation. What must be the final re-

suit, can not now be foreseen; but I fear that, ere the sky be cleared, still further tempests must sweep over France and the surrounding nations. The day of reckoning for long years of tyranny and corruption has come, and the sun of liberty can hardly be expected to shine full on the scene, till a night of fear, and agitation, and tears has been passed.

"Gentlemen, members of the Provisional Government of the French People--As citizens of the United States of America, and spectators of recent events in Paris, we come to offer you our congratulations, A grateful recollection of the past, and the ties of amity which have existed between your country and ours, prompt us to be among the first to testify to you, and to the people of France, the sympathy, the respect, and the admiration which those events inspire. Acknowledging the right of every nation to form its own government, we may still be permitted to felicitate France upon the choice of a system which recognizes as its basis the great principles of rational liberty and political equality.

"In the progress of the recent struggle here, we have admired the magnanimity of the French people, their self-command in the hour of triumph, and their speedy return to order and law, after the tumult and confusion of revolution. We see in these circumstances, happy omens of good to France and to mankind--assurances that what has been so nobly begun will be consummated in the permanent establishment of a just and liberal government, and the consequent enjoyment of liberty, peace, and prosperity, among the citizens of this great country. Accept this testimo-

nial of the sentiments which fill our hearts at the present moment, and be assured that the news of the revolution which you have just achieved, will be hailed by our countrymen on the other side of the Atlantic, with no other emotions than those of hope and joy for France and for the world."

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 Hotel 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 Hotel 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 cortege 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 tricolored 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 equaled,

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, Barbés, Sobrier, Caussidiére, Blanqui, Flotte, Albert, and Louis Blanc*--the two last having been members of the Provisional Government. Caussidiere 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 St. Jacques and St. Antoine. They got possession of these, and formed skillful 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 seen 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 bad 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 fetes, 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 skillful 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 inevita-

ble 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 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.

Paris, February 10, 1853.

To Hon. Edward Everett, Secretary of State.

Sir--Your letter of the 30th December, inclosing one from Hon. Jeremiah Clemens, asking information as to the family of André Hentz, was duly received.

Soon after its receipt, I proceeded to No. 9, Rue St. Appoline, Paris, the last known residence of Madame Hentz, but I could obtain no traces of her or her family. I then wrote to the Mayor of Conflans St. Honorine, where she once lived, and received a reply which directed me to make inquiry at the neighboring village of Grenelle. Thither I proceeded, and applied as advised, to No. 5 Rue Fondry. Here I failed, but was led to suppose

that I might get a clew at No. 115 Rue Vieille du Temple, Paris. I returned thither, and on application at the place indicated, was told that no person by the name of Hentz had ever lived there. On going out, I observed that the numbering over the door was freshly painted, and soon discovered that the whole numbering of the street had recently been changed. I now sought the old No. 115, and was here informed that I might perhaps find the person I was looking after at No. 6 Rue Thorigny. I proceeded thither, but was informed that M. Hentz was not there, but perhaps might be found at No. 4. Finally, at No. 4, on the fifth story, I found Henry Hentz and his mother, in rather humble but very neat apartments, and apparently in comfortable circumstances. I told them the object of my visit, and they promised immediately to write to Mr. André Hentz, of whom they had lost all trace, and of whom they were rejoiced to receive intelligence.

I write these particulars, supposing they may be interesting to Mr. Clemens's client.

I am, with great respect, yours, &c.,

S. G. Goodrich.

Paris, February 7, 1853.

To the Editors of the "Archives des Homines du Jour."

Gentlemen--I have received, besides several other letters from you, one of the 3d instant, which seems to demand an answer.

Some weeks since, you addressed me a complimentary note, saying that you proposed to insert in the Archives des Homines du Jour, a biographical sketch of myself, and desired me to fill up with facts an outline which you sent me.

You gave me no intimation that you expected me to pay for the proposed insertion. Nothing in the specimen of the Journal you sent, led me to suspect that there was any lurking signification beneath your polite proposal. I judged of the matter by my own experience, and very innocently supposing that I was merely fulfilling a comity due to men of letters, I complied with your request by getting a friend to furnish the facts you desired.

I have since learned that my experience in the United States has not instructed me in all the customs of Paris.

When the article in question was in proof, a gentleman, professing to be your representative, called on me, and proposed to furnish me with five hundred copies of the sketch, "at the exceedingly low price of three hundred and fifty francs!" I replied that I did not require nor desire any copies of the work; that while I appreciated the politeness of the editors of the Journal, I had not sought the insertion of the biography, and knew of no earthly interest of mine that could be promoted by it. I further stated that my sense of propriety would be shocked at the idea of rendering pecuniary compensation, for a eulogistic notice of myself. For all these reasons I declined accepting the propo-

sition, and the more emphatically, as it was very strongly urged upon me.

All this was of course communicated to you: nevertheless, in the letter referred to, you insist upon my paying for the insertion, and for five hundred extra copies, printed by you, after I had positively refused to take them.

Your claim is urged on two grounds: first, that you have expended money, and conferred on me a benefit; and, second, that what you ask is sanctioned by high example, and the practice of years, and has therefore the force of an agreement between you and me.

To this I beg to reply, of course judging from my point of view, that I can not admit that you have done me a service. It seems to me rather an occasion of humiliation to see one's self praised in a journal, which must be regarded as a collection of eulogistic biographies, paid for by the parties eulogized. Whatever may be the rank of the names, by the side of mine, the impression upon my mind is that of degradation.

In reply to your argument that I am bound by usage, permit me to say that in order to make your logic effective, you should show that the usage referred to is public and not secret, and furthermore that it is a commendable usage.

Now, in this case, the practice of your journal is not stated, nor intimated, either in the title-page or preface, or upon the cover, nor did you state any thing of the kind in your note to me. My literary experience has never furnished me with an example of a work conducted on these principles.

Perhaps it would be inconvenient to label your work according to its true character, and that may be a reason with you for concealing it, but at the same time it excludes all idea of mutuality of understanding between you and me, and puts an end to your claim founded upon implied agreement. The consent of both parties is essential to a compact: in this case, you have only the consent of yourselves.

As to the character of the usage you adopt, I am aware that

you cite high authority. You assure me that the "Emperor of France," the "Queen of Spain," "Our holy Father the Pope," "Ministers of religion, Marshals of the empire, Councillors of State, with others down to the pettiest Consul," have all complied with your custom, and paid for their eulogies which appear in your ten annual volumes of the " Archives des Hommes du Jour!" Had you not asserted this as a matter of fact, I should have denied it as impossible, as a shame to literature, a scandal against great names, a defamation of society and civilization in. France and in Europe. As you affirm it, however, I pronounce no harsh judgment, and content myself by saying that while I allow others to form standards of conduct for themselves, I must claim and exercise the same privilege for myself.

The custom you insist upon, therefore, can form no rule for me. I can not consent to pay for the insertion of the memoir, as done in my behalf; certainly not for any extra copies of the article itself. I inclose to you, however, one hundred and fifty francs as penance for my ignorance and simplicity in this transaction, with the request that, if convenient, my name may be altogether obliterated from your journal.

I beg you to observe that in all this, I do not seek to impugn your principles or your conduct: I simply state my own opinions, and explain myself by reference to these, without insisting that from your point of view you may not be as correct as I am, from mine. Men's principles may differ, yet there is no necessity that irritation should follow.

I am sorry that any occasion should arise for so long and so formal a letter as this: I trust, however, that it will prove satisfactory, and I am, very respectfully, yours,

S. G. Goodrich.