The Garden of the Tuileries brings to my recollection the famous story of the Knights of the Poignard, when on February 23, 1791, a number of the Knights of S. Louis were _supposed_ to have entered into a conspiracy to carry off the King. I was present on the occasion, and a spectator of the scene. An immense concourse of people collected about the Palace, and there was much noisy talk about concealed daggers, but I saw none, nor any blade save that of La Fayette’s[1] sword, who, mounted on his white charger, galloped to and fro as if the fate of the world depended on his actions. One moment he formed the National Guard into line. At the next he ordered them to file off, then he dismounted and bolted into the Palace--in a trice he was again on horseback--in short he created more alarm among the people than if an Austrian army had reached the barriers. At length, after a great deal of marching, counter-marching, bustling and puffing, the Marquis assured the mob that all was safe. Here followed great applause, and the populace quietly dispersed. Some Knights of S. Louis were present and were very roughly handled by the people, but no other motive had carried them to the Tuileries except an anxious desire to defend the King against attacks by the mob. There is one fact established by this event, that even at that period Louis XVI. was respected by the people, and they considered their security to be identified by his person. I have not the least doubt that a decided majority of the people of France would at this day rejoice in the restoration of their ancient line of Princes. The Hall used by the National Convention stands on one side of the Tuileries garden. It was formerly the King’s stables. It is the intention of the First Consul to restore it to its original purpose. Curiosity induced me to enter a place which had been the focus of so many revolutions, where the Republic was declared, the unhappy King tried, and more bloody tragedies performed in one twelvemonth than in all Europe in the space of two hundred years. I found it completely dismantled, the galleries, the Tribune, the flag of Liberty that was planted over the Bastille and suspended in triumph over the centre of the hall, all have been destroyed, even the floor removed, and we trod upon the bare earth. The place was, however, so familiar to me that I was able to give my companion a very accurate description of it, and to point out the spot on which the unfortunate King was placed during his trial.