Finally, on Friday the 15th of July 1791, the National Assembly decides; in what negatory manner we know.  Whereupon the Theatres all close, the Bourne-stones and Portable-chairs begin spouting, Municipal Placards flaming on the walls, and Proclamations published by sound of trumpet, ‘invite to repose;’ with small effect.  And so, on Sunday the 17th, there shall be a thing seen, worthy of remembering.  Scroll of a Petition, drawn up by Brissots, Dantons, by Cordeliers, Jacobins; for the thing was infinitely shaken and manipulated, and many had a hand in it:  such Scroll lies now visible, on the wooden framework of the Fatherland’s Altar, for signature.  Unworking Paris, male and female, is crowding thither, all day, to sign or to see.  Our fair Roland herself the eye of History can discern there, ‘in the morning;’ (Madame Roland, ii. 74.) not without interest.  In few weeks the fair Patriot will quit Paris; yet perhaps only to return.

But, what with sorrow of baulked Patriotism, what with closed theatres, and Proclamations still publishing themselves by sound of trumpet, the fervour of men’s minds, this day, is great.  Nay, over and above, there has fallen out an incident, of the nature of Farce-Tragedy and Riddle; enough to stimulate all creatures.  Early in the day, a Patriot (or some say, it was a Patriotess, and indeed Truth is undiscoverable), while standing on the firm deal-board of Fatherland’s Altar, feels suddenly, with indescribable torpedo-shock of amazement, his bootsole pricked through from below; he clutches up suddenly this electrified bootsole and foot; discerns next instant—­the point of a gimlet or brad-awl playing up, through the firm deal-board, and now hastily drawing itself back!  Mystery, perhaps Treason?  The wooden frame-work is impetuously broken up; and behold, verily a mystery; never explicable fully to the end of the world!  Two human individuals, of mean aspect, one of them with a wooden leg, lie ensconced there, gimlet in hand:  they must have come in overnight; they have a supply of provisions,—­no ’barrel of gunpowder’ that one can see; they affect to be asleep; look blank enough, and give the lamest account of themselves.  “Mere curiosity; they were boring up to get an eye-hole; to see, perhaps ‘with lubricity,’ whatsoever, from that new point of vision, could be seen:”—­little that was edifying, one would think!  But indeed what stupidest thing may not human Dulness, Pruriency, Lubricity, Chance and the Devil, choosing Two out of Half-a-million idle human heads, tempt them to? (Hist.  Parl. xi. 104-7.)

Sure enough, the two human individuals with their gimlet are there.  Ill-starred pair of individuals!  For the result of it all is that Patriotism, fretting itself, in this state of nervous excitability, with hypotheses, suspicions and reports, keeps questioning these two distracted human individuals, and again questioning them; claps them into the nearest Guardhouse, clutches them out again; one hypothetic group snatching