"All know the frightful story of the day after this. Albert's anxiety for us makes him brave every danger, and he comes to us again. The first person he sees at our door is Jaquemart, in the costume of the most atrocious of bandits; our ladies had not dared to bid him go away, but his appearance made them tremble. 'I did not desire you to come hither, but to stay here,' he said; 'why have I not been obeyed?' 'Why do you speak so—was this house particularly menaced?' 'I know nothing of that—at such a moment one should fear everything.'"
"We heard groans, weeping, all Paris had not been at the massacre. It was late. They pressed Albert to stay, but he would not. He promised, however, to come back next morning.——That day he was obliged to stay at home till about three o'clock, arranging and burning papers. He then came out to visit us, and found himself in the midst of crowds of men, drunken and bloody; many were naked to the waist, their breasts covered with blood. They carried fragments of clothing on their pikes and sabres—their faces were inflamed, their eyes haggard, the whole scene hideous. These groups became more and more frequent and numerous as he advanced. In mortal anxiety for us, he determined to push through everything, and, urging his horse to its speed, reached at length the front of the Hôtel Beaumarchais. There he was stopped by an immense crowd—always the same figures naked and bloodstained, but here their looks were those of enraged fiends. They shout, they scream, they sing, they dance—the saturnalia of hell. On seeing Albert's cabriolet, they redoubled their cries—'An aristocrat! give it him, give it him!' In a moment the cabriolet is surrounded, and from the midst of the crowd an object rises and moves towards him. His agitation perplexes his view—he perceives long fair tresses dabbled with blood—a countenance beautiful even yet. It approaches—it is thrust upon his face; he recognises the features—it is the head of Madame de Lamballe!"
"The servant whips the horse with all the strength of his arm. The generous animal, with the instinctive horror of his race for dead bodies, springs with redoubled speed from the spectacle of horror. The frightful trophy, and the cannibals that bore it, had been overturned in the mud—screams and imprecations pursued Albert, stretched senseless at the bottom of the cabriolet. The servant had kept the reins, and whipped the more fiercely, because he could perceive, from the motion of the carriage, that some one had got up behind it, and hoped that the rapidity of its progress would shake him off."
"In a few minutes Albert reached our door—judge of our alarm!—pale, still quite senseless, not breathing. The moment the cabriolet stopped, the man behind jumped down, took my brother in his arms, as if he had been a child, and carried him into the house. It was Jaquemart. 'The monsters,' said he, 'the monsters! the poor young man, they have killed him too.' What could Jaquemart have been doing in such a garb, and among such a troop o' ruffians?"
THE GATHERER.
The Paris correspondent of the Court Journal gives the following incident at the King's Ball, about a fortnight since. I happened to be near his majesty when he addressed himself to an Englishman, wearing the Cross of Three Days. "Where did you signalize yourself, sir?" inquired the monarch. "At the Tuilleries, sire," was the answer. "C'est aux braves de Juillet que je dois ma couronne," said his majesty. The gentleman thus honoured was M. Bennis, [8] in whose literary establishment the king seems to take much interest.
GUTTING THE FISH.
One evening a red-headed Connaught swell, of no small aristocratic pretensions in his own eyes, sent his servant, whom he had just imported from the long-horned kingdom, in all the rough majesty of a creature fresh from the "wilds," to purchase a hundred of oysters on the City-quay. Paddy staid so long away, that Squire Trigger got quite impatient and unhappy lest his "body man" might have slipt into the Liffey; however, to his infinite relief, Paddy soon made his appearance, puffing and blowing like a disabled bellows, but carrying his load seemingly in great triumph. "Well, Pat," cried the master, "what the devil kept you so long?" "Long! a thin, may be it's what you'd have me to come home with half my arrant?" says Pat. "Half the oysters?" says the master. "No; but too much of the fish." says Pat. "What fish?" says he. "The oysters, to be sure," says Pat. "What do you mean, blockhead?" says he. "I mean," says Pat, "that there was no use with loading myself with more nor was useful." "Will you explain yourself?" says he. "I will," says Pat laying down his load. "Well then, you see, plaise your Honour, as I was coming home along the quay, mighty peaceable, who should I meet but Shammus Maginnis; 'Good morrow, Shamien,' sis I; 'Good morrow kindly, Paudeen,' sis he; 'What is it you have in the sack?' sis he; 'A Cwt. of oysters,' sis I; 'Let us look at them,' says he; 'I will, and welcome,' sis I; 'Orah! thunder and pratees!' sis he, openin the sack an examinin them; 'who sowld you these?' 'One Tom Kinahan that keeps a small ship there below,' sis I; 'Musha then, bad luck to that same Tom that sowld the likes to you,' sis he; 'Arrah, why, avic?' sis I; 'To make a Bolshour ov you an give thim to you without gutting thim,' sis he; 'An arn't they gutted, Jim, aroon,' sis I; 'Oh! bad luck to the one o' thim,' sis he; 'Musha then,' sis I, 'what the dhoul will I do at all at all, fur the master will be mad;' 'Do!' sis he, 'why I'd rather do the thing for you mysel nor you should lose your place,' sis he; so wid that he begins to gut them wid his knife, nate and clain, an afeereed ov dirtying the flags, begor, he swallowed the guts himself from beginnin to ind, tal he had thim as dacent as you see thim here"—dashing down at his master's feet his bag of oyster shells, to the no small amazement of the Connaught worthy, as you may suppose.—Dublin Comet.