A great Thing is now therefore in open progress; all men, in all lands, watching it.  By what Forms and Methods shall the Convention acquit itself, in such manner that there rest not on it even the suspicion of blame?  Difficult that will be!  The Convention, really much at a loss, discusses and deliberates.  All day from morning to night, day after day, the Tribune drones with oratory on this matter; one must stretch the old Formula to cover the new Thing.  The Patriots of the Mountain, whetted ever keener, clamour for despatch above all; the only good Form will be a swift one.  Nevertheless the Convention deliberates; the Tribune drones,—­drowned indeed in tenor, and even in treble, from time to time; the whole Hall shrilling up round it into pretty frequent wrath and provocation.  It has droned and shrilled wellnigh a fortnight, before we can decide, this shrillness getting ever shriller, That on Wednesday 26th of December, Louis shall appear, and plead.  His Advocates complain that it is fatally soon; which they well might as Advocates:  but without remedy; to Patriotism it seems endlessly late.

On Wednesday, therefore, at the cold dark hour of eight in the morning, all Senators are at their post.  Indeed they warm the cold hour, as we find, by a violent effervescence, such as is too common now; some Louvet or Buzot attacking some Tallien, Chabot; and so the whole Mountain effervescing against the whole Gironde.  Scarcely is this done, at nine, when Louis and his three Advocates, escorted by the clang of arms and Santerre’s National force, enter the Hall.

Deseze unfolds his papers; honourably fulfilling his perilous office, pleads for the space of three hours.  An honourable Pleading, ’composed almost overnight;’ courageous yet discreet; not without ingenuity, and soft pathetic eloquence:  Louis fell on his neck, when they had withdrawn, and said with tears, Mon pauvre Deseze.  Louis himself, before withdrawing, had added a few words, “perhaps the last he would utter to them:”  how it pained his heart, above all things, to be held guilty of that bloodshed on the Tenth of August; or of ever shedding or wishing to shed French blood.  So saying, he withdrew from that Hall;—­having indeed finished his work there.  Many are the strange errands he has had thither; but this strange one is the last.

And now, why will the Convention loiter?  Here is the Indictment and Evidence; here is the Pleading:  does not the rest follow of itself?  The Mountain, and Patriotism in general, clamours still louder for despatch; for Permanent-session, till the task be done.  Nevertheless a doubting, apprehensive Convention decides that it will still deliberate first; that all Members, who desire it, shall have leave to speak.—­To your desks, therefore, ye eloquent Members!  Down with your thoughts, your echoes and hearsays of thoughts:  now is the time to shew oneself; France and the Universe listens!  Members are not wanting:  Oration spoken Pamphlet follows spoken Pamphlet, with what eloquence it can:  President’s List swells ever higher with names claiming to speak; from day to day, all days and all hours, the constant Tribune drones;—­shrill Galleries supplying, very variably, the tenor and treble.  It were a dull tune otherwise.