Our worst fears are confirmed. Grave disorders of a seditious character have broken out. A band of rioters, numbering about three thousand, have detached themselves from the army, with the avowed intention of exciting the animal kingdom to revolt. Sword in hand, or sting in tail, they clamour for what they are pleased to term “general reform.” This band is led by a notorious Wasp, famed for his poison and {215} the purity of his principles. In vain have a number of venerable flies striven to calm the popular tumult. Their words have been misunderstood. Happen what may, we are prepared to tide over the storm, and to defeat these odious attempts to uproot the constitution. “Troubles,” said Montesquieu, “build up empires.” [Illustration] [Illustration] The captain of our winged guards, Lord Humble Bee, has not succeeded in dispersing the rioters; he thought—and rightly—that it would be advisable to withdraw before shedding blood, contenting himself by cutting off the food supplies and hemming in the insurgents, who, after a few hours, would thus be compelled to capitulate or starve. The humanity of this noble leader is worthy of all praise. The insurgents are throwing up barricades of grass and dried twigs, and are prepared, it is said, to sustain a regular siege. The field they occupy is at least eighteen inches wide by ten inches long. The most contradictory rumours are spread abroad. Some of the rebels accuse us of indirectly stirring up revolt. “Tyrants of the deepest dye,” said one, “maintain their power by setting their subjects one against the other, so that in their petty strife they may overlook the defects of government.” What can we say of such absurdities. If the {216} rulers of states had nothing to fear save the unity of the people, they would sleep on downy pillows! [Illustration] It is reported that the disaffected flies are everywhere rousing the nation. One of them the Clarion, a clever musician, has composed a war march entitled, “The Roll Call of the Flies.” We can now hear the tones of this impious music floating over Paris. It is wafted from a thousand instruments at the Pantheon, the Val de Grace, the tour Saint Jacques la Boucherie, the Salpîtrière, the Père Lachaise, where the emissaries have been stationed by the leaders of the movement. A number of prisoners have been arrested, but they refuse to disclose their principles. “We are of snow-white purity!” say they. “Why should such innocents be arrested? Take our heads!” “Your heads! what can we do with a fly’s head? Nevertheless we will consider this proposition.” [Illustration: EXAMINING THE FLY’S HEAD.]