This proposal was unanimously adopted; we were at peace with France, and might possibly remain so; and the curiosity of three ladies, with my own to back it, proved to be totally irresistible. A new sub-prefect also having arrived in the town, came to see us; expressed his regret that the English should have deemed it necessary to quit the place; and gave us a letter of introduction to his wife, who lived in the Rue St. Honoré, at Paris. We all believed there would be no war.
We immediately packed up. I procured three stout horses to my carriage, and away we went after the advanced guard of the (as well as I recollect) 41st regiment. The soldiers seemed to me as if they thought they never could get to Napoleon soon enough: they marched with surprising rapidity; and after a most agreeable journey, we arrived at the good city of Paris without any let or hindrance; having experienced from the dirty doctor every possible attention. We were sure of the best cheer at any place we halted at; and the more so as the advanced guard only preceded us one stage, and the main body of the troops was a stage behind us. We were immediately escorted by four mounted soldiers, who were in attendance upon our medical friend. I have learnt since that this kind and firm-hearted man escaped the campaign and returned to Italy: the colonel was shot dangerously at Quatre Bras, but I understand his wounds did not prove mortal.
Our route from Havre to Paris exhibited one general scene of peace and tranquillity, not dashed by the slightest symptom of revolution. The national guards every where appeared to have got new clothing, and were most assiduously learning in the villages to hold up their heads, and take long strides and lock steps, but (for any thing that appeared to the contrary) solely for their own amusement. The same evidences of undisturbed serenity and good-humour were displayed in all directions, and the practice of military exercises by the national guards was the only warlike indication of any kind throughout the whole extent of country we traversed.
On our arrival at the capital we found no exception therein to the tranquillity of the provinces. People at a distance are apt to conceive that a _revolution_ must necessarily be a most terrific affair—a period of anarchy and confusion, when every thing is in a state of animosity, bustle, and insecurity. This is in some instances a great mistake; (although, generally speaking, true enough;) for, on the other hand, many modern revolutions have been effected, governments upset, dynasties annihilated, and kings trucked, with as little confusion as the exchanging a gig-horse. I have indeed seen more work made about the change of a hat than of a diadem; more anxiety expressed touching a cane than a sceptre; and never did any revolution more completely prove the truth of these remarks than that in France during March, 1815, when Napoleon quietly drove up post, in a chaise and four, to the palace of the Bourbons, and Louis XVIII. as quietly drove _off_ post, in a chaise and four, to avoid his visitor. Both parties, too, were driven back again, within three months, pretty nearly in the same kind of vehicle! Let my reader compare, for his edification, this bloodless revolution with the _attempt_ at revolution in the obscure corner of the globe from whence I sprang, _Anno Domini_ 1798 during the brief summer of which year there was, in secluded Ireland, (the _kingdom_ of Ireland, as it was then called,) more robbery, shooting, hanging, burning, piking, flogging, and picketing, than takes place in half a dozen of the best got-up continental revolutions—always excepting that great convulsion which agitated our French neighbours toward the close of the eighteenth century.