Meanwhile, from all points of the compass, Federates are arriving:  fervid children of the South, ‘who glory in their Mirabeau;’ considerate North-blooded Mountaineers of Jura; sharp Bretons, with their Gaelic suddenness; Normans not to be overreached in bargain:  all now animated with one noblest fire of Patriotism.  Whom the Paris brethren march forth to receive; with military solemnities, with fraternal embracing, and a hospitality worthy of the heroic ages.  They assist at the Assembly’s Debates, these Federates:  the Galleries are reserved for them.  They assist in the toils of the Champ-de-Mars; each new troop will put its hand to the spade; lift a hod of earth on the Altar of the Fatherland.  But the flourishes of rhetoric, for it is a gesticulating People; the moral-sublime of those Addresses to an august Assembly, to a Patriot Restorer!  Our Breton Captain of Federates kneels even, in a fit of enthusiasm, and gives up his sword; he wet-eyed to a King wet-eyed.  Poor Louis!  These, as he said afterwards, were among the bright days of his life.

Reviews also there must be; royal Federate-reviews, with King, Queen and tricolor Court looking on:  at lowest, if, as is too common, it rains, our Federate Volunteers will file through the inner gateways, Royalty standing dry.  Nay there, should some stop occur, the beautifullest fingers in France may take you softly by the lapelle, and, in mild flute-voice, ask:  “Monsieur, of what Province are you?” Happy he who can reply, chivalrously lowering his sword’s point, “Madame, from the Province your ancestors reigned over.”  He that happy ’Provincial Advocate,’ now Provincial Federate, shall be rewarded by a sun-smile, and such melodious glad words addressed to a King:  “Sire, these are your faithful Lorrainers.”  Cheerier verily, in these holidays, is this ‘skyblue faced with red’ of a National Guardsman, than the dull black and gray of a Provincial Advocate, which in workdays one was used to.  For the same thrice-blessed Lorrainer shall, this evening, stand sentry at a Queen’s door; and feel that he could die a thousand deaths for her:  then again, at the outer gate, and even a third time, she shall see him; nay he will make her do it; presenting arms with emphasis, ’making his musket jingle again’:  and in her salute there shall again be a sun-smile, and that little blonde-locked too hasty Dauphin shall be admonished, “Salute then, Monsieur, don’t be unpolite;” and therewith she, like a bright Sky-wanderer or Planet with her little Moon, issues forth peculiar. (Narrative by a Lorraine Federate (given in Hist.  Parl. vi. 389-91).)

But at night, when Patriot spadework is over, figure the sacred rights of hospitality!  Lepelletier Saint-Fargeau, a mere private senator, but with great possessions, has daily his ‘hundred dinner-guests;’ the table of Generalissimo Lafayette may double that number.  In lowly parlour, as in lofty saloon, the wine-cup passes round; crowned by the smiles of Beauty; be it of lightly-tripping Grisette, or of high-sailing Dame, for both equally have beauty, and smiles precious to the brave.