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With a voice husky from emotion, he detailed the circumstances of the case. He admitted his father's loyalty, but over against this he set his own long allegiance to the republican cause, and the evils he had endured in consequence. He dwelt upon the services of the baron in former days to their common country, and alluded to his advanced age, both as a reason for clinging to old opinions and as a claim to sympathy. As he went on to describe not only his own fate, but that of a daughter, a sister, a fair maiden, as involved in the decision, and moreover, as dependant also upon it, the happiness of another as ardent a Jacobin as ever shouted in the Cordeliers, (for such was Henri's reputation,) Danton was moved. It was not any thing so peculiar in the circumstances ; it was the mournful and touching tone in which Despair and Hope struggled together, the imploring eye, every accent and gesture, bespeaking the deepest filial love, and that too toward one who, by his own confession, had cast him off for his republicanism, that found a sympathetic chord in the heart of this man; and when he finally declared that he would pledge his honor that his father should leave the country without an hour's delay, if released, the executioner relented. There was a pause for a moment as the speaker ceased. Danton thought perhaps he was thinking of his own fair wife, and perhaps he caught a shadowy image of his own fate, torn from his heart's idol and consigned to a public death. He consented to the release. This is the thirty-first of August,' said the Minister of Justice; 'to-morrow will be the first of September. On the morning of the second the pardon and passports shall be ready.' Pouring out his expressions of fervent gratitude to the preserver of his family, Auguste withdrew. Danton's parting words were, 'Remember, on the morning of the second; be prepared.'

With this glad news Auguste regained his rooms. What was his surprise to find all deserted. During the two days since the domiciliary visit, Emilie had rapidly regained strength; Auguste had been absent since three o'clock, and Henri soon appearing, set his mind at ease about her; for, regardless of every thing but her father, she had persuaded Henri to accompany her to the prison, with the design of visiting her parent and returning speedily. She had found him so feeble and apparently failing, however, that she had remained with him, to cheer and comfort him. It mattered little, Auguste said, as release was so near at hand; and on the next day, the first of September, the two made preparations for their departure. They arranged a rapid conveyance to Havre, from whence they could easily avail themselves of the first vessel going to England or America.

The morning of the second of September rose cloudless upon Paris. How dark was to be its setting on that devoted city! Auguste remembered that Danton had given a strange emphasis to the word morning, in fixing the time for the reception of his papers. Ill-defined suspicions rose in his breast, and he remained at home during all the forenoon, in expectation of their arrival. But none came, and scarcely knowing what to fear, he regretted that he had allowed Henri to leave to attend to the journey; for if he sought

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Danton, they might come in his absence. At length, however, he concluded that the best plan would be, as he had waited so long, to try to find Danton, who might, he thought, have forgotten the matter. But he did not find him at the Commune, and when he got to the Jacobins, he was told that the minister had just left for the Cordeliers ; in short, he hunted for him ineffectually during the remainder of the day; for Danton was in fact visible to no one on that day, save the emissaries of his dark plot. With gloomy feelings, Auguste returned home; and here to his surprise he found that a messenger had called with papers for him, and declaring them to be of too much importance to leave, had set out for the assembly, supposing Auguste to be there. It was now night-fall, and there was no resource but to await his return in patience. The messenger had been arrested by one of the disorderly patrols, through mistake, and though he easily exculpated himself, he was detained some time, and Auguste waited in vain.

During these hours the plot of Danton had hastened to its consummation. We have seen Emilie on the morning of this day visit her father in the prison, and remain with him; for an unwonted feeling of horror seemed to pervade the place, to which none were insensible. Preparations appeared making for something important. The gaoler looked alarmed, and as he cautiously removed the knives from the table at dinner, he muttered some words to the effect that

the young woman had better go home. But these suspicious circumstances only confirmed Emilie in her determination to remain and share her father's fortunes.

About dark the inmates of the prison were alarmed by the deep reverberation of the alarm gun, and the clang of the tocsin sounded unusually prolonged. Shortly after, the populace, men and women, raging like furies, stormed around the Abbaye ; from her position at the window, Emilie could see and report to her father all their proceedings. Throwing down the huge gate of the court-yard, They called for the keys of the cells, and commenced the appalling work without delay, amid unearthly yells and gestures of the wildest description : for the mob, vast even for those days, was rendered furious by the murders they had already been committing, and they panted eagerly for slaughter. The terrified jailers yielded readily to all their demands. Their rude preparations completed, a gang, without waiting to unlock them, tore down the wicket-gate, and one after another dragged the miserable prisoners into the main hall, which opened into the court.

Here, at the end opposite the entrance, on an elevated seat, a rough table before him, sat one of the most ferocious of the rioters, who had been named their judge by acclamation. It was the plebeian, Maillard Torches flamed around him, and gave a more than funereal hue to that Court of Death. Himself fresh from murder, the robes of the judge were drenched in blood; a drawn sabre yet reeking lay before him, and his repulsive face was rendered ghastly by a deep cut, which was still bleeding. Around him were his selfconstituted officers, brutal and scarred and stained with gore like himself; while ever and anon he smiled grimly as he crossed off one more name from the list in his hand and directed the victim to the door; the unsuspecting man often went voluntarily. The gate swung behind him ; the forest of pikes and swords received him, and the mangled corpse was tossed on with savage exultation, until a louder howl announced that a new victim was thrust out to them.

It was after a momentary pause in the proceeding, during which, as if to inflame them still farther, wine had been given to the assassins, that the baron was brought before the merciless tribunal. Maillard's eyes gleamed with delight, as he drew his mark against the title of nobility, and simply asking if the name was correct, consigned him to “La Force. But Emilie clung around the old man's neck, and as the horrid sight burst upon her with the closing door, her agonizing screams and supplications to the slayers seemed to melt even their hearts. Despair gave her new courage; she rushed first to one and then to another; kneeling before them, she clung to the arms upraised to strike. For the moment pity prevailed, and she was allowed to conduct her charge nearly through the dense mass in safety. By her side, during all that perilous progress, alternately commanding and entreating, now defending and now almost assailing, was one of the roughest of the sanguinary crew; he seemed determined to protect her at the hazard of his life. Already had he received several slight sabre-cuts, but intent only on his end, he did not turn to avenge them.

Two thirds of the court-yard was now passed. But the people on the outside, who rarely got a chance at a living victim, seemed resolved not to forgo this opportunity. In vain did Emilie, her fair skin polluted with the dripping gore, torn and almost mangled, beseech and imprecate in turn. In vain did her defender struggle against the throng fast inclosing him. In vain did he strive to persuade his comrades, declaring that the girl and her father were republicans unjustly condemned. Many women who had as yet only seen the deaths at a distance, clamored for blood. Henri, for it was he, who had mingled with the mob, determined to save the baron or fall in the effort, was now all but exhausted ; a sword pierced the uplifted hand of the old man, and a rude arm clutched the daughter in its embrace. Grasping his pike, Henri braced himself for the attack; he was resolved at least to kill the most blood-thirsty of the wretches about him, before he and his companions were sacrificed; but as he gave one last glance around, he saw turning through the great gate an officer of the Commune, and to his glad surprise, Auguste was with him ; and he shouted with the energy of desperation. Spurring their jaded horses recklessly through the mob, trampling them down indiscriminately in their hot haste, the commander displayed the broad scarf of authority, and before the rabble had rallied from their surprise sufficiently to defy them, they seized the destined victims and bore them away.

A post and passports had been all provided, and the united family, insensible from terror and wounds, dashed along the road to Rouen. A few hours spent in that town revived and reassured them sufficiently to speak of their escape; and Auguste informed them that he had remained at his hotel in great anguish, fearing to go, and still more fearing to stay, until the uproar convinced him that a new massacre was in progress. Coupling what he saw with Danton's emphatic words to him, a horrible surmise entered his mind : like a madman he ran to the office of the minister, summoning no one, and refusing to be restrained by any of the attendants, he burst from room to room till he found Danton. Clasping his knees, he had only strength to ejaculate, · The Count ! the Count! my father!' Even in the midst of the enormities then perpetrating by his order, such an anomaly was the heart of this man, that he was agitated by the kindest anxiety for the baron, whom he had supposed already in safety. Instantly summoning a mounted guard, he commanded the leader at his peril to rescue the Count de Chabotte, but without implicating the name of the minister. We have accordingly seen their opportune arrival.

We may not follow farther this scene from the French Revolution. Suffice it to say, that the humbled circumstances and the heroic self-devotion of Henri prevailed over any lurking scruples of the noble exile; and Auguste had the happiness of seeing his sister and his friend, united, upon English shores. For a short time he remained there with them; then he returned to his post in the Convention. Unlike the nobility of France, this hour of danger seemed to him to demand the presence and counsel of her sons. His patriotism was indeed sincere and ardent; too devoted, unhappily, for his own welfare; for on the same spot where Democracy decapitated the King, he and his associates perished with the same high fortitude.

E. G. P.

THE MA RIN E R'S AD I EU.

BY E. CURTISS HINE.

• My Native Land, good night!'- BYROX.
FAREWELL! farewell, my COUNTRY dear!

Thou 'rt sinking in the boundless sea;
The wail of wintry winds I hear,

That bear my white-winged bark from thee;
Far inland tower the cold pale hills, in shrouds of snow,
Like spectres of the summer hours, with looks of wo.

The rainbow's robe that autumn gave

For change of garb to forests green,
Has fallen on the lowly grave

Of Summer's faded Queen.
Farewell again, my own loved COUNTRY dear,

While sounds of wintry winds are in my ear.
U. S. Sloop Albany,' at Sea, Nov. 28, 1846.

THE LOVER'S INVOCATION.

BY MRS. JAMES BALL.

Come to the trysting, come!

The night is cold and drear,
The stars shine dim from their shrouded home,

Bring me sweet morning here :
The morning and the summer's smile

Are in thy presence rife,
Though the breath of the wintry wind the while

Breathes chill o'er the tide of life !!!

II.

The cold night passed, and the icy morn,

And sun-beams waked the flowers of spring,
And incense gifts on the light breeze borne,

Rose from their gay enamelling.
And still it sounded low,

That sad imploring strain,
The prayer that passed where the flower-scents go,

Ne'er to return again!

III.

Come to the trysting, here !

The glorious moon is high,
The stars are burning warm and clear

Far up the vaulted sky;
But the breath of flowers is breathed in vain :

All heavily and drear!
And the star-light loads my heart with pain;

Thou dost not meet me here!

iv.

Spring's glories from the earth are gone,

The rosy flowers lie crushed and dead;
The song has ceased in forest lone,

The summer minstrels all are fled.
List! for the wailing cry,

List! for the sorrowing moan;
Seeks it in yonder blessed sky

Love's blossom, lost and gone ?

• Come to the trysting now!

Love's voice is not in vain,
If earth yet holds thy being, thou !

Come to my heart again.
No more ; and from the stars above

I hear thy summons now,
It calls me by thy changeless love,

Come to the trysting, thou !'

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