hang forward to their waists, a kind of lapels about a quarter of a yard wide at top, and wider at bottom, made of cloth of gold. On benches, which reached quite across the hall, and facing the stage, sat the representatives of the people clothed in black. In the space between the clergy and nobles, directly in front of the representatives of the people, and facing the throne, stood the heralds-at-arms, with their staves and in very rich dresses. [Footnote 39: From a letter written in 1789 and addrest to Mrs. Morris of Philadelphia. Copyright, 1888, by Charles Scribner's Sons.] When the King entered, he was saluted with a shout of applause. Some time after he had taken his seat, he put on a round beaver, ornamented with white plumes, the part in front turned up, with a large diamond button in the center. He read his speech well, and was interrupted at a part which affected his audience by a loud shout of _Vive le Roi_. After this had subsided, he finished his speech, and received again an animated acclamation of applause. He then took off his hat, and after a while put it on again, at which the nobles also put on their hats, which resembled the King's, excepting the button. The effect of this display of plumage was fine. The Keeper of the Seals then performed his genuflexions to the throne, and mumbled out, in a very ungraceful manner, a speech of considerable length, which nobody pretends to judge of, because nobody heard it. He was succeeded by M. Necker,[40] who soon handed his speech to his clerk, being unable to go through with it. The clerk delivered it much better than the minister, and that is no great praise. It was three hours long, contained many excellent things, but too much of compliment, too much of repetition, and indeed too much of everything, for it was too long by two hours, and yet fell short in some capital points of great expectation. He received, however, very repeated plaudits from the audience, some of which were merited, but more were certainly paid to his character than to his composition. M. Necker's long speech now comes to a close, and the King rises to depart. The hall resounds with a long loud _Vive le Roi_. He passes the Queen, who rises to follow him. At this moment some one, imbued with the milk of human kindness, originates a faint _Vive la Reine_. She makes a humble courtesy and presents the sinking of the high Austrian spirit; a livelier acclamation in return, and to this her lowlier bending, which is succeeded by a shout of loud applause. Here drops the curtain on the first great act of this great drama, in which Bourbon gives freedom. His courtiers seem to feel what he seems to be insensible of, the pang of greatness going off.