Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 March 1893 — The Boy-King and a French Mob. [ARTICLE]

The Boy-King and a French Mob.

It was a rule of the old French law that monarch 9 come of age at 13. Louis was rapidly approaching the momentous birthday. He had grown Into a tall, fine-looking lad; his manners were good; he was an excellent horseman; he danced admirably, as we have seen; and he had already shown that taste for elaborate dress and ceremony which later years were so strongly to develop. But before he reached the eventful day, the royal pair passed through a trying experien; e. It was night time. Suddenly a rumor spread abroad that the king and his mother were trying to escape out of their unfriendly capital. Bells rang, the people turned out, all Paris was in an uproar, and marched down upon the Palais Royal. Arrived at the palace gates, the people shouted their will “Our king! show us our king!” they cried. Within the palace were dismay nnd fear. The queen’s ladies, rale and trembling, clung to her; she alone was nndtsmayed. Hearing the shout for the king, she—his mother—calmly ordered the doors to be thrown open wide. She faced 'the mob of those who would enter, and asked what they wanted. “To see the king,” they anfewered, “and assure ourselves that you do not intend to steal him away.” “The king sleeps,” replied the queen. “I will show him to you." With all the regal grace for which she was famous, Anne slowly led the way down the gallery to her son’s room. She was followed by as motley a crew as ever the Palais Royal had seen within its walls. On the threshold she paused to put her finger significantly on her lips, then stepped forward to the bed, pulled wide the curluins, end displayed to the people the young king seemingly asleep. He was only feigning slumber. Louis the Fourteenth lay there with eyelids tight shut, but it was to keep back the tears of helpless anger that welled up from his heart. For two hours the queen stood beside his pillow, and did the honors of his supposed slumber, while the rabble of Paris filed past in whisp red admiration. Such nights as these in the lives of kings either dethrone them or make them tyrants.—St. Nicho as.