Thus then, we perceive, this confusedly electric Erebus-cloud of Revolutionary Government has altered its shape somewhat.  Two masses, or wings, belonging to it; an over-electric mass of Cordelier Rabids, and an under-electric of Dantonist Moderates and Clemency-men,—­these two masses, shooting bolts at one another, so to speak, have annihilated one another.  For the Erebus-cloud, as we often remark, is of suicidal nature; and, in jagged irregularity, darts its lightning withal into itself.  But now these two discrepant masses being mutually annihilated, it is as if the Erebus-cloud had got to internal composure; and did only pour its hellfire lightning on the World that lay under it.  In plain words, Terror of the Guillotine was never terrible till now.  Systole, diastole, swift and ever swifter goes the Axe of Samson.  Indictments cease by degrees to have so much as plausibility:  Fouquier chooses from the Twelve houses of Arrest what he calls Batches, ‘Fournees,’ a score or more at a time; his Jurymen are charged to make feu de file, fire-filing till the ground be clear.  Citizen Laflotte’s report of Plot in the Luxembourg is verily bearing fruit!  If no speakable charge exist against a man, or Batch of men, Fouquier has always this:  a Plot in the Prison.  Swift and ever swifter goes Samson; up, finally, to three score and more at a Batch!  It is the highday of Death:  none but the Dead return not.

O dusky d’Espremenil, what a day is this, the 22d of April, thy last day!  The Palais Hall here is the same stone Hall, where thou, five years ago, stoodest perorating, amid endless pathos of rebellious Parlement, in the grey of the morning; bound to march with d’Agoust to the Isles of Hieres.  The stones are the same stones:  but the rest, Men, Rebellion, Pathos, Peroration, see! it has all fled, like a gibbering troop of ghosts, like the phantasms of a dying brain!  With d’Espremenil, in the same line of Tumbrils, goes the mournfullest medley.  Chapelier goes, ci-devant popular President of the Constituent; whom the Menads and Maillard met in his carriage, on the Versailles Road.  Thouret likewise, ci-devant President, father of Constitutional Law-acts; he whom we heard saying, long since, with a loud voice, “The Constituent Assembly has fulfilled its mission!” And the noble old Malesherbes, who defended Louis and could not speak, like a grey old rock dissolving into sudden water:  he journeys here now, with his kindred, daughters, sons and grandsons, his Lamoignons, Chateaubriands; silent, towards Death.—­One young Chateaubriand alone is wandering amid the Natchez, by the roar of Niagara Falls, the moan of endless forests:  Welcome thou great Nature, savage, but not false, not unkind, unmotherly; no Formula thou, or rapid jangle of Hypothesis, Parliamentary Eloquence, Constitution-building and the Guillotine; speak thou to me, O Mother, and sing my sick heart thy mystic everlasting lullaby-song, and let all the rest be far!—­