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 470 The attack of the Indians was so sudden and so overpowering, that the whole band of murderers were struck down without resistance; the very man with the cue in his hand, preparing to make his stroke, had not time to straighten himself, but sank down upon the table as if smitten by apoplexy. From the billiard-room the greater part of them rushed into the dining-room, and continued the butchery: none were spared, not even their fair but abandoned companions. When all were stretched upon the ground, the Indians spread themselves about the house, and took possession of everything which excited their admiration. The pillage was soon finished, and at a cry from one of those who kept the door, the last straggler left the house. Two or three then returned and set fire to it in different places, and the entrance was choked up with faggots, and likewise set on fire. The wings being nearly all wood, and desiccated by the hot sun, blazed like paper, and before the Indians had retreated a quarter of a mile, the whole building appeared one huge flame; and the dead, and the living (if there were any) were reduced to ashes together.

I may add, in conclusion, that the men who so recklessly killed each other on the slightest provocation, thought nothing of shooting or stabbing an Indian without any provocation at all—and these brutal murders were followed by bloody reprisals. This last affair was, however, the crowning point. Vigilance committees were established, and Lynch law was accepted by every decent man in California as their only safeguard against murderers, both white and coloured.

2em

German, some years ago, gave much offence in France by gravely propounding the question “Is a Frenchman a responsible being?” The impertinent demand was made, be it repeated, some time ago, and of course before a sudden thought struck France, and she proposed to swear Eternal Friendship with Germany. It was met in various ways, but whether the point was solved to the satisfaction of the Teuton mind is not clear. When private unions are contemplated, it is held meet and right to be quite satisfied upon the subject of sanity, and we will hope that the fair-haired Germania, now so assiduously courted by her dark-eyed neighbour, has ascertained that he is quite competent to manage his own affairs, and has been so from December, 1852.

The German’s question occurred to the mind of the present writer as he was refreshing himself at the Café Cardinal, the other evening, after a visit to the theatre of the Palais Royal. Such a thought was a poor return for the un-English comfort of a cool lounge on the Boulevard, some excellent coffee, some indifferent cognac, and an atrocious cigar; but we, nous autres Anglais, do behave badly abroad, and there is some merit in the Englishman on the Boulevard who only insults his hosts mentally, and dresses himself as they dress, or a little better. At all events, the thought came, induced by a retrospective review of a piece which had been played that evening at the Palais Royal, and is still drawing Paris. The writer is not throwing away a chance of his own, or injuring the chances of any of his British fellow dramatists, by describing this drama, for it was unanimously decided by a small but competent committee of English theatrical writers, who sat the evening in question, with adjournments to the Rotund Caffy and elsewhere, that the piece was quite impossible here. Even with Pluto and Proserpine, who, of course, offered themselves as substitutes for the principal personages hereinafter named, it was felt that the thing would not do. Otherwise, one would have been glad to promote the pecuniary interests of MM. Eugene Grangé and Lambert Thiboust, it being formally announced to the dramatic authors of France that the Adelphi Theatre is prepared to follow the example of Mr. Palgrave Simpson and Mr. Charles Reade, in paying French authors for aught that may be taken from them; and as, of course, other managements will show themselves equally honest. But no francs will accrue to MM. Eugene Grangé and Lambert-Thiboust in respect of an English adaptation of “La Beauté du Diable.” We have not even an equivalent for their title.

“But why ‘responsibility,’ Mr. Wild?” Simply thus. There is one form of responsibility which it would seem that the Frenchman delights in having kept before him. His dramatist, his satirist, his caricaturist, never omit an opportunity of reminding him that mankind hath a certain Enemy, who is always seeking to do mischief, and against whom it behoves Frenchmen—and Frenchwomen—to be perpetually on guard. The name of that Enemy is never out of sight or out of hearing in France. The French teacher is not of those who never mention Him to ears polite. You may see Him in bronze on the Fountain of St. Michael, but prostrate; but, in revenge, you may see Him, nine times as large and ugly, sprawling against the side of a house opposite, erect, and loudly proclaiming where you may purchase what he first made necessary—namely, garments that provoke our pride. But he is chiefly brought to your notice on the playbills. An industrious friend of ours has compiled the following list of pieces which have had the greatest success in Paris, and which, consequently, have incessantly reminded the Parisian of his responsibility:

The list could easily be quadrupled, if one had one of the advertisement sheets of the French Mr. Lacy at hand; but ex pede diabolum. It will be allowed that “retro!” is understood in France in a non-natural sense, and that Frenchmen gallantly echo the cry of Marlborough’s soldiers in the smoke, “Let us see the Enemy.”

The special memorandum of responsibility which was offered at the Palais Royal for the first time