Under which circumstances, is it not singular, and almost touching, to see Paris City drawn out, in the meek May nights, in civic ceremony, which they call ’Souper Fraternel, Brotherly Supper?  Spontaneous, or partially spontaneous, in the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth nights of this May month, it is seen.  Along the Rue Saint-Honore, and main Streets and Spaces, each Citoyen brings forth what of supper the stingy Maximum has yielded him, to the open air; joins it to his neighbour’s supper; and with common table, cheerful light burning frequent, and what due modicum of cut-glasses and other garnish and relish is convenient, they eat frugally together, under the kind stars. (Tableaux de la Revolution, para Soupers Fraternels; Mercier, ii. 150.) See it O Night!  With cheerfully pledged wine-cup, hobnobbing to the Reign of Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood, with their wives in best ribands, with their little ones romping round, the Citoyens, in frugal Love-feast, sit there.  Night in her wide empire sees nothing similar.  O my brothers, why is the reign of Brotherhood not come!  It is come, it shall come, say the Citoyens frugally hobnobbing.—­Ah me! these everlasting stars, do they not look down ’like glistening eyes, bright with immortal pity, over the lot of man!’—­

One lamentable thing, however, is, that individuals will attempt assassination—­of Representatives of the People.  Representative Collot, Member even of Salut, returning home, ‘about one in the morning,’ probably touched with liquor, as he is apt to be, meets on the stairs, the cry “Scelerat!” and also the snap of a pistol:  which latter flashes in the pan; disclosing to him, momentarily, a pair of truculent saucer-eyes, swart grim-clenched countenance; recognisable as that of our little fellow-lodger, Citoyen Amiral, formerly ’a clerk in the Lotteries!; Collot shouts Murder, with lungs fit to awaken all the Rue Favart; Amiral snaps a second time; a second time flashes in the pan; then darts up into his apartment; and, after there firing, still with inadequate effect, one musket at himself and another at his captor, is clutched and locked in Prison. (Riouffe, p. 73; Deux Amis, xii. 298-302.) An indignant little man this Amiral, of Southern temper and complexion, of ‘considerable muscular force.’  He denies not that he meant to “purge France of a tyrant;” nay avows that he had an eye to the Incorruptible himself, but took Collot as more convenient!

Rumour enough hereupon; heaven-high congratulation of Collot, fraternal embracing, at the Jacobins, and elsewhere.  And yet, it would seem the assassin-mood proves catching.  Two days more, it is still but the 23d of May, and towards nine in the evening, Cecile Renault, Paper-dealer’s daughter, a young woman of soft blooming look, presents herself at the Cabinet-maker’s in the Rue Saint-Honore; desires to see Robespierre.  Robespierre cannot be seen:  she grumbles irreverently.  They lay hold of her.  She has left a basket in