Well might a great Italian writer pronounce revolutions to be the carnivals of history.  This one seems to be not only a carnival but Saturnalia, for the ebriety of the slaves of liberty is well calculated to disgust the friends; and those who witness this intoxication are reminded of the observation of Voltaire, that “Les Francais goutent de la liberte comme des liqueurs fortes avec lesquelles ils s’enivrent." A revolution affected by physical instead of moral force, is a grave wound inflicted on social order and civilization—­a wound which it takes ages to heal.

When on the point of sitting down to our dejeuner a la fourchette (for people will eat while thrones are crumbling), repeated knockings, at the porte-cochere induced us to look from the window in order to see who the persons were who thus loudly demanded admittance, when it was discovered that they were Doctors Pasquier and De Guise.  They had been dressing the wounded at the hospital in the Faubourg du Roule, and finding on their return that the Champs-Elysees and Rue St.-Honore were the scenes of combat, had bethought themselves of our vicinity, and sought shelter.  When our unexpected visitants, deeming themselves fortunate in having found a refuge, prepared to join our repast, it was ludicrous to observe the lengthened faces of our servants at this addition to our party.  They, having previously lamented the paucity of provisions in the larder, and being aware of the difficulty, if not impossibility, of procuring a further supply, looked on the new-comers as interlopers, who would inevitably diminish the already too limited stock.

We had not been seated above five minutes at table, when the report of fire-arms announced that hostilities were renewed, and we hurried to the drawing-room to observe what was going on.  The servants looked as if they rather enjoyed the interruption to the morning’s meal, thinking no doubt that it would preserve the provisions, now so precious in their eyes, and they prepared to remove the viands with unusual alacrity; but their visages lengthened when told to let them remain on the table, and became still longer when we shortly after resumed our places at the board.

An Englishwoman, in the kitchen establishment, has just performed a feat that has elevated her into a heroine in the eyes of the rest of the servants.  Finding the larder not sufficiently supplied, she sallied forth into the street, passed through the Rue St.-Honore, while the fighting was going on, and returned bearing a basket of meat, obtained certainly at the risk of her life, as shots were flying around her.  As none of the men offered to undertake this action, she is now considered little less than an amazon, and her amour-propre being excited by the commendations bestowed on her courage, she declares that she will go forth for all that may be required, as she despises fear.

We have now entrenched ourselves in the front drawing-rooms, with the external shutters, which are stuffed to exclude noise, closed, but which we open occasionally, in order to see what is going on.  Sitting in darkness, with the sound of firing, and the shouts of the people, continually in our ears, I can hardly bring myself to think that all that is now passing is not a dream.