upon traducers, who asserted that his pen was hired by a party, to go and see him dine. In his wrath he called his countrymen frivolous and ungrateful, and reproached them that they burned incense under the nostrils of their tyrants, and neglected their friends. Still the authorities, by their persecutions, increased his rage. Perhaps his most famous inflammatory publication, wherein he is seen at white-heat, is that which fell into the hands of the Parisians on the 26th of July 1790. It was entitled, It is all up with us,-C'en est fait de nous.

No more.

Herein he cries to arms with all his might. Frenchmen of all ages and ranks are exhorted to rush, weapon in hand, to St. Cloud, to seize the king and the dauphin; to put the ministers in irons; to become masters of the artillery of the Rue Verte. Then follows his famous sentence, which made every man in France shudder. "Five to six hundred heads lopped off would have assured you repose, liberty, happiness. A false sense of security has withheld your arms, and delayed the blow; and now a million of your brothers will be sacrificed." "Five to six hundred heads!" Paris shivered. Royalist priests denounced the blood-thirsty demagogue. Baillio, in the Lantern, said that perhaps Marat was an honest man, but that he was in a delirium. The ferocious fellow was asked to blot out his pestiferous pamphlet with his tears. Marat's tears! they would not have washed away a dot from an i. It was now time for friend Camille Desmoulins to read him a lesson. "Why," cried this one in fantastic rage, "in your tragedy you would kill all the characters, even to the prompter!" Lemaire, in the Père Duchesne, announced a blow upon the snout for Marat, and called him names not printable in these prim days. But these cudgellings fell harmless upon the tough hide of Marat. He went on fulminating. The patriots were to set to work, by taking the precautions customary with tyrants. We understand the precaution intended. All people in authority were spies and alguazils and thieves: ministers, deputies, generals, and mayors. These, not holding Marat's opinions, must be content to fall under his lash, and to be called Blacks and Arch-blacks.

Persecution gave Marat importance; and his blows at the Constituent Assembly shook it, till it fell. Then he returned upon the Girondin chiefs, and nicknamed them the Faction of the Sleepers. The new ministers were of course traitors. A few of his prognostications had been verified by time; and hence he obtained a vast influence over the masses. He was the daily denunciator, and by him the hatred of the people for the court was kept alive. His exile of four months in England returned him to his native country not cured of his desire for from "five to six hundred heads." A great deputation of Cordeliers waited upon him, and begged that he would resume his "energetic pen." He assented. The Friend of the People appeared, with one or two interruptions, that only increased the people's desire to read their champion, in 1791 and 1792. In the latter year the king is Louis Capet, and beyond hope of help

from foreign bayonets. Marat is radiant. He has had a sight of a few heads on account. He was elected, for Paris, to the National Convention, and was very vain about this distinction. He and a few friends were to be the saviours of the nation; but he was saviour-in-chief. He declared, however, that the reflection which weighed upon his mind was, that all his efforts to save the people would be useless without another insurrection. And then he calls to Frenchmen: "O gossiping people, if you knew how to act!" The Convention replied by an attack. Then Marat hissed in their teeth, that a strong hand was wanted to direct the dictature of the people. "If, at the taking of the Bastille, the necessity for this measure had been understood, fiveh undred scoundrels' heads would have fallen at the sound of my voice, and peace would have been established from that moment." He would have had a dictator appointed for a few days only, whose authority should have been limited to the condemnation of traitors, and he should have worn a cannon-ball at his ankle, to keep him always under the thumb of the people. Strange, wild man: this is all, he cries, for the good of his country. Doubt his honesty, and he answers, I might have been gorged with gold; and I am poor, and have lived in cellars, and written my opinions, with the rats for my only companions. When the Girondins threatened him, he carried a pistol to the Assembly; and had his arrest been carried, would have blown his brains out at the Tribune. A turbulent, vain, irrepressible spirit was that of Marat, and it was full of courage also. His vote when king Louis was brought to judgment was for "death within twenty-four hours."

When there was a cry for a maximum price to be fixed for articles of food, Marat was for bold measures. On the 25th of February 1793, in the morning he suggested the pillage of a few shops, with a few rascally shopkeepers to be hanged at their own doors. In the evening some shops were duly pillaged. Hereupon a sharp debate in the Convention, in the course of which it was suggested that Marat should be declared a dangerous madman, and be locked up. Marat called the Girondins pigs and fools. He contrived to keep the people with him, and to make them believe that his enemies were not only pigs and fools, but knaves also. When again they sought to accuse him, the Jacobins invaded the tribunes of the Convention. Let us crush this man, whose whole soul is calumny, cried Buzot. It was then that Robespierre rose in behalf of the Friend of the People. Marat's vanity must have been at its height. The Jacobins toasted him as "an austere philosopher, developed by misfortune and meditation." And presently they carried the triumphant journalist, in the arms of some vigorous sappers, and surrounded by a shouting mob, to the Tuileries. One of the sappers brandished his hatchet, and bade the Girondins observe that Marat would always be befriended by the people, as he was the People's Friend. And there he stands, his savage head crowned with an oak-leaf chaplet. He is cheered and embraced. He is carried back to the Jacobin Club, to be crowned by women, ay, by

a child. Here, again, his talk is of hanging: he wants to put the rope about the neck of an infamous faction. He has the victory; and, alas for the Girondins, they may prepare the toilette of death, and ask pardon for their sins. He calls for a Committee of Public Safety, and a Public Salvation Committee, to guard the threatened Republic. The Girondins may escape yet, if they will consent to put a price on the heads of Orleans' sons and all the Capets.

But his advice was unheeded: so he set to work in his journal to organise the moral insurrection for the expulsion of the Girondins, whom he hated. Once on their way to trial, the relentless pen of Marat dogged them hour by hour. He worked day and night. Sickness overcame him; but he flamed and denounced from his bed. In his last letter to the Convention he advised the trial of the Bourbons still in the hands of the Republic, and that a price should be put on the heads of those beyond the frontiers.

The Girondins had gone to Caen. Penetrated with pity for their misfortunes, hating the savage writings of demoniacal Marat, we all remember how a young girl of noble birth took diligence to Paris, and found Marat in his bath. The manner of his death is known to every schoolboy; but these were intimate passages of his strange, vain, and savage life, it has appeared to me worth dwelling upon.

B. J.

Passed by.

I HAD prayed, as the dying pray for life,

With outstretched hands and with bitter groans; I had cried, as the starving cry for bread,

With wailing tears and with hungry moans,— That once again, ere life closed for me,

I might see her face whom I pined to see.

I had boasted, that if but her garment's hem

Should touch me by chance as she passed me by,
I should know, by a strange, mysterious thrill

Through my lonely heart, that my Love was nigh;
And I said, "Though we meet in a heaving crowd,
My love and my grief must cry aloud."

It chanced one day, when long years had past,—
Years of lonely pain and of longing prayer,-
That the lady I loved, for whose sweet sake,

For whose loss, my life was oppressed with care,
Crossed my path, in her beauty all complete,
From the shining head to the dainty feet.

Did I feel the strange, mysterious thrill,

Sent to warn my heart that my Love was nigh? Did I speak my love and my grief aloud,

And fall at her feet with a bitter cry?

I had madly boasted I knew not what;
For she passed, and, by Heav'n, I saw her not!

A. DONALDSON.

TEMPLE BAR.

JUNE 1862.

The Strange Adventures of Captain Dangerous ;

A NARRATIVE IN PLAIN ENGLISH,

ATTEMPTED BY

GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA.

TH

CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.

OF OTHER MY ADVENTURES UNTIL MY COMING TO BE A MAN.

HUS in a sultry colony, among Black Negroes and their cruel Taskmasters, and I the clerk to a Mulotter Washerwoman, did I come to be full sixteen years of age, and a stalwart Lad of my inches. But for that Fate, which from the first irrevocably decreed that mine was to be a Roving Life, almost to its end, I might have continued in the employ of Maum Buckey until Manhood overtook me. The Dame was not unfavourable towards me; and, without vanity, may I say that, had I waited my occasion, 'tis not unlikely but that I might have married her, and become the possessor of her plump Money-Bags, full of Moidores, pilar Dollars, and pieces of Eight. Happily I was not permitted so to disparage my lineage, and put a coffee-coloured blot on my escutcheon. No, my Lilias is no Mulotter Quartercaste. "Twas my roving propensity that made me set but little store by the sugar-eyes and Molasses-speech which Madam Soapsuds was not loth to bestow on me, a tall and likely Lad. I valued her sweetness just as though it had been so much canetrash. With much impatience I had waited for the coming back of my friendly skipper, that he might advise me as to my future career. But, as I have already warned the Reader, it was fated that I was to see that kindly shipmaster no more. Once, indeed, the old ship came into Port Royal, and right eagerly did I take boat and board her. But her name had been changed from The Humane Hopwood to The Protestant Pledge. She was in the Guinea trade now, and brought Negroes, poor souls! to slave in our Plantations. The Mariner that was her commander had but dismal news to tell me of my friendly Handsell. He, returning to the