"If thou canst hate, as, oh! that soul must hate Which loves the virtuous and reveres the great; If thou canst loathe and execrate with me That gallic garbage of philosophy,-- That nauseous slaver of these frantic times, With which false liberty dilutes her crimes; If thou hast got within thy free-born breast One pulse that beats more proudly than the rest With honest scorn for that inglorious soul Which creeps and winds beneath a mob's control. Which courts the rabble's smile, the rabble's nod, And makes, like Egypt, every beast its God!" _August 4th_.--The King has left Rambouillot, alarmed by the report of the approach of the vast multitude who had left, or were leaving, Paris, with hostile intentions towards the royal family. The scenes that took place then, previously to his departure, are represented as being most affecting. An old man, overpowered by mental and bodily sufferings, remembering the terrible days of a former revolution, brought with a fearful vividness to his mind by the appalling change effected within the last few eventful days, he had lost all presence of mind, and with it his confidence in those whom he might have safely trusted, while he yielded it to those whose interests were wholly opposed to his. Nor is the deplorable effect produced on his mind by recent events to be wondered at. Adversity is the only school in which monarchs can acquire wisdom, and it almost always comes too late to enable them to profit by its bitter lessons. The defection of those hitherto supposed to be devoted friends, the altered looks of faces never before beheld without being dressed in smiles, the unceremoniousness of courtiers who never previously had dared to have an opinion before royalty had decided what it should be, might well have shook firmer nerves, and touched a sterner heart, than belonged to the old, grey-headed monarch, who saw himself betrayed without comprehending by whom, and who used his authority as sovereign and father, over his religiously obedient son, to extort an abdication of his right, as well as an approval of the resignation of his own. Like another Lear, this poor old man has been driven forth "to bide the pelting of the pitiless storm" of a revolution, followed by his widowed daughter-in-law and her helpless son, that child orphaned ere yet he saw the light, and by Frenchmen who now condemn him to exile! They have taken the route to Cherbourg, there to embark; and of those who lately bent the knee before them, how few have followed their now gloomy fortunes! One, at least, has not left, and will not forsake them. The Duc de Guiche, the kindest husband and father perhaps in France, sacrifices his feelings of domestic affection to his sense of duty, and accompanies the exiled family! CHAPTER XXVI.