few hours. He was like some terrible into the neighborhood of the "red sea," and tocsin, never rung till danger was immi-returned sick and shuddering therefrom. nent, but then arousing cities and nations His person and his eloquence were in

as one man. And thus it was that he keeping with his mind and character. We saved his country and lost himself; re-figure him always after the pattern of Bethpulsed Brunswick, and sunk before Robes-lehem Gabor, as Godwin describes him; pierre. his stature gigantic, his hair a dead black,

It had been otherwise, if his impulses a face in which sagacity and fury struggled had been under the watchful direction of for the mastery-a voice of thunder. His high religious, or moral, or even political mere figure might have saved the utterance principle. This would have secured unity of his watchword, "We must put our eneamong his passions and powers, and led mies in fear." His face was itselfa "Reiga to steady and cumulative efforts. From of Terror." His eloquence was not of the this conscious greatness, and superiority to intellectual, nor of the rhetorical cast. It the men around him, there sprung a fatal was not labored with care, nor moulded by security and a fatal contempt. He sat on art. It was the full, gushing utterance of the Mountain smiling, while his enemies a mind seeing the real merits of the case were undermining his roots; and while in a glare of vision, and announcing them he said "He dares not imprison me," in a tone of absolute assurance. He did Robespierre was calmly muttering, "I not indulge in long arguments or elaborate will."

declamations. His speeches were CycloIt seemed as if even revolution were not pean cries, at the sight of the truth breaka sufficient stimulus to, or a sufficient ing, like the sun, on his mind. Each element for Danton's mighty powers. It speech was a peroration. His imagination was only when war had reached the was fertile, rugged, and grand. Terrible neighborhood of Paris, and added its truth was sheathed in terrible figure. Each hoarse voice to the roar of panic from thought was twin born with poetry-poetry within, that he found a truly Titanic task of a peculiar and most revolutionary stamp. waiting for him. And he did it manfully. It leaped into light, like Minerva, armed His words became "half battles." His with bristling imagery. Danton was a true actions corresponded with, and exceeded poet, and some of his sentences are the his words. He was as calm, too, as if he strangest and most characteristic utterhad created the chaos around him. That ances amid all the wild eloquence the the city was roused, yet concentrated-Revolution produced. His curses are cí furious as Gehenna, but firm as fate, at the streets, not of Paris, but of Pandemothat awful crisis, was all Danton's doing. [nium; his blasphemies were sublime as Paris seemed at the time but a projectile those heard in the trance of Sicilian seer, in his massive hand, ready to be hurled at belched up from fallen giants through the the invading foe. His alleged cruelty was smoke of Etna, or like those which made the result, in a great measure, of this the "burning marl" and the " fiery gult habitual carelessness. Too lazy to super-quake and recoil in fear. intend with sufficient watchfulness the administration of justice, it grew into the Reign of Terror. He was, nevertheles, deeply to blame. He ought to have cried out to the mob, "The way to the prisoners in the Abbaye lies over Danton's dead body;" and not one of them had passed on. He repented, afterwards, of his conduct, and was, in fact, the first martyr to a milder regime Not one of his personal enemies perished in that massaere: hence the name "butcher," applied to him, is not

correct.

Such an extraordinary being was Danton, resembling rather the Mammoths and Megatheriums of geology than modern productions of nature. There was no beauty about him why he should be desired, but there was the power and the terrible brilliance, the rapid rise and rapid subsidence of an Oriental tempest. Peace-the peace of a pyramid, calm-sitting and colossal, amid long desolations, and kindred forms of vast and course sublimity-be to his... ashes!

He did not dabble in blood. He It is lamentable to contemplate the fate made but one fierce and rapid irruption of such a man. Newly married, sobered

VOL. XXXIII--7

the ruffles of her night-cap-so she began to reckon the difference between Mr. Murray's and Fanny's ages, and to think of "probabilities." She wasted at least ten minutes in this manner; then fearing her careless husband might forget to deliver her message, and really liking Alfred Murray, independent of all ulterior motives, she sprang up, and began to dress as fast as she could. Before she had progressed very far, however, with the copious ablutions which are essential to the well-being and comfort of cleanly English people, she heard the house door open and close upon the retiring guest. She waited for Lewis to come back, in order to give a conjugal lecture, for his neglect of her request; her husband did not return, however, but went to his sudy much to her discomfiture. She hurried on her clothes as fast as possible, and hastened after Mr. Carlton as soon as she could.

"Goodness me! Lewis, what are you about? And why did not Alfred Murray stay to breakfast?"

"About, my dear," said the Reverend Lewis, laying down his pen and looking up, with a comical smile upon his usually grave face, "drawing up a certificate of marriage, which I wish you and Fanny, and the Hewitts, and Lord Elkington to witness in a half hour, so please send off these notes to that effect, immediately!"

Mrs. Carlton took the notes dutifullyrang the bell-gave the necessary orders to the domestic who answered it, and then came back to her husband's desk. The

Hewitt's were the American Consul and his family, who lived next door; Lord and Lady Elkington, English people, boarding over the way, members of Mr. Carlton's

fold.

"And now, Lewis! whe is to be married

at this unchristian hour?"

band, told her all about it as much at least as Mr. Murray had told him.

"So it is a runaway match! To think of Alfred Murray's being so romantic-at his age, too! Why, he must be forty-five at least, Lewis !"

Unkind Mrs. Carlton! When she had been planning for Fanny, she had put Mr. Murray down as not over thirty-eight. He really was in his fortieth year, though he did not look over thirty-five.

"Going to marry the daughter of his old friend, too! Don't you remember that Mr. Graham who was here with Alfred Murray in 18-, the year they came from the East-who gave you the Syriac manuscripts ?"

"Bless my soul! so he was, Lucinda! I had forgotten him! A very gentlemanly person he was, and a very valuable copy that is-of St. Matthew. But," said he,

taking out his watch, "you have but little time for any preparations you may desire to make. They will be here presentlyget Fanny wakened up, while I make myself more respectable!"

Mrs. Carlton appreciated the wisdom of her husband's advice, and bustled about like Eve, "on hospitable thoughts intent." She was so pleased at the idea of Alfred Murray's making an elopement, she almost forgave him for getting married and toppling down her castles in the air.

The witnesses soon arrived. Mr. and Mrs. Hewitt-his manly son, and three daughters-all grown up-all clever people-and all on the qui vive for the wedding. Lord and Lady Elkington also made their entrée. His lordship's wig a little awry, and her ladyship's collar not quite straight in its pinning-showing rather unseemly haste; but everybody in high good humor, which was wonderful, considering the son himself had just gotten up, and he ordinarily rose several hours before they did; last of all, stole in pretty Fanny Carlton, with "her shining morning face" looking as fresh as a rose in her pink ginghamn morning dress, with its little white ruffles close around her sweet throat. Mrs. Carlton beamed like another sun. The Reverend Lewis in his white surplice, and the prayer-book open at the marriage serAnd, Lewis being a good natured hus-vice-joked and chatted in a wonderful

"Alfred Murray of Louisiana, to Agnes Graham, spinster, daughter of the late Edward Graham, also of Louisiana," said her husband, reading the names from the certificate he was drawing up.

Mrs. Carlton threw up her eyes and hands—“Well, I never! Mercy on us! Alfred Murray! Tell me all about it, do Lewis ?"

style with his friends. Suddenly, a car riage dashed up. Mr. Murray, aided his bride to alight, gave her his arm, the door was thrown open by the waiting lackey, whe ushered them in with a broad grin. They walked forward and stood before the clergyman.

-

may be most agreeable to Mr. Murray, and will be pleased to become better acquainted with his old friend Mrs. Carlton," said she, smilingly extending her hand to that lady..

"So beautiful! So graceful! Such exquisite manners!" it was a perfect chorus among them.

Mrs. Carlton, charmed with the words and the beautiful smile, as well as pleased Agnes' head drooped upon her bosom with having her own way, took Agnes her long mantle and heavy veil fell around, hand and led her to the breakfast tableher like a pall; but steadily and distinctly, seating her by herself-leaving Mr. Murthough very low, her sweet voice made ray to Fanny and Mr. Carlton. Agnes the responses after Mr. Carlton Mr. Mur- talked, smiled, ate a little. Mr. Murray ray's full tones trembled more than her's had enough to do in watching her, and reAgnes had spent the intervening hours of plying to the Rev. Lewis' innumerable that morning well, in prayer to God, that questions. He looked with surprise at the since it seemed her fate to be the wife of sudden transformation of the pale, weepthis noble, generous man, she might be ing girl of last night into this self-possess able to fulfil her duties faithfully, as a ed, stately lady, who now sat talking with Christian woman ought, to the utmost. Mrs. Carlton. He was delighted, and alThe past was dead. Let it be buried most stopped several times in the midst of now and forever. No weak repinings-no a reply to Mr. Carlton, to listen admiringly girlish sentiment for Agnes Graham-to Agnes. Mr. Carlton forgave his preno shrinking-no looking back. It her occupation. The Murray's left immedi̟path lay over the burning ploughshares, ately after breakfast. The Carlton's were there she would walk unflinchingly, look-charmed, and unanimous in their praises ing to God for strength for herself for him of the bride. to whom she in full understanding of the words now "gave her troth." So her voice never faltered in its calm even tones; and when the service was ended and the And, Mr. Murray, when they were alone, clergyman stepped forward to congratulate the bride, she swept the veil back from her took his wife's hand, pressed it to his lips face, and Mr. Murray's eye filled with and thanked her for the effort she had pride and admiration, as he observed the made for his sake, to gratify his friends. lofty grace and gentle courtesy with which Agnes Murray smiled her peculiar Daseshe received the greetings of his friends, naut smile. There were heights in her The witnesses took their leave. Mrs. Carl-nature even he could not understand, none ton had ordered breakfast to be served im- but a poet could. To make an exhibition mediately after the ceremony was conclud of feeling before "people," at any rate, was ed, and insisted upon the newly wedded pair impossible for Agnes. She had learned partaking of her hospitality before they self-command too early and too thoroughly left-especially as Mr. Murray designed for that. Impassioned natures soon do, but Pride was the heri quitting Naples that very day. Mr. Mur-not passionate ones. ray looked at Agnes, fearful that this would tage of Agnes Graham. It takes protean be beyond her strength. He knew how forms. Besides, it was probably more severely it had already been taxed. She had taken no food that morning he knew. He suspeeted none the day before. He little knew how small had been the portion of nourishment which had passed her lips lately. "Mrs. Carlton is very kind-but I fearing, trembling girl whom he once saw Mrs. Murray-" he began. bending like a flower beneath the ardent Agnes turned quickly towards him,-glances of Robert Selman? No. He had Mrs. Murray will be glad to do whatever not forgotten it--but he admired more this

agreeable to her that they should have been among strangers at that trying hour. Would it have been so-would Agnes have been so calm, so self-possessed, had she loved her husband with a different love? Did Mr. Murray forget the shy, timid, blush

noble woman who now stood beside him, the Rectory, announcing her marriage as his life's companion,-this strong wrest. without any explanation. She felt she had ler who had come out from life's battle- no right, even to them, to violate the confi. field purer, grander than ever, and he was dence which should be sacred. None content. His "heart trusted in her;" no- should ever know that she had been an bly did Agnes meet his trust. She devoted unwilling bride-her husband's honor was herself to her husband. She conformed concerned there. She could not make herself in every way to his wishes. She that return to his noble generosity. Let studied her duties her husband's disposi-them misjudge her. Let them think her tion and tastes. Her's was the larger nature, inconsistent-inconstant-politic--untrue the artistic. It is catholic in its sympathies, to womanhood-better that they should, in its powers of adaptation. Agnes was than ever know the truth from her. They no hypocrite, only a woman of the highest did think her marriage strange-sudden— type. One of her first acts was to take all but they knew her too well to doubt her. the letters-all the souvenirs that, girl-like, Dr. Leonard wrote to Robert, telling him she had carefully cherished before her mar of her marriage without comment. Robriage, and put them in the fire-all but ert replied to the business part of the letone that was the broad, gold-linked brace-ter, but made no allusion to Agnes, nor to let, with its ruby clasp, which she had un- his own life in South America. clasped from her arm just before she went to be married. This she took and sealed in a box, and put it in a secret drawer of her dressing case, locked the drawer and put the key away; during her husband's life that draw was never unlocked. She guarded her very thoughts jealously—for

her own weaknesses she had no mercy. Every talent her husband admired, she cul

tivated. Even her music- that was a trial at first-but if she showed some consciousness of weakness in her careful avoidance of sentimental music; if she never sung love ditties, and there were some operas she "never liked" now; if she avoided all passionate expression in music, conversation or reading, yet who saw the change or missed these chords? not those who listened with rapturous delight to the rich voice in the music of the severer higher masters, or wondered over the brilliancy of the wit and intellect displayed in the conversation of the beautiful Mrs. Murray, "the admired of all admirers," the envied one. Mr. Murray never repented his marriage. Agnes seemed always satisfied to please him.

CHAPTER XXXII.

The spring had passed at Dasenant Rectory, and the long hot summer had begun his tropic reign. Dr. Leonard had just returned from visiting a.patient, and, tired with his dusty ride, was sitting on the shaded gallery outside of the glass door of Mr. Danver's study, enjoying a cigar, petting his little black-tan English terrier, which had clambered upon his knee, occasionally exchanging a word with the occupant of the study, who was reclining upon a couch near the door, with a book in his hand. Mrs. Clark suddenly appeared within the study, evidently somewhat agitated, or what she called "all in a fluster." This responsible individual' had been induced to take up her abode at the Rectory after the burning of Dasenant Hall. She attended to the housekeeping for the two confirmed old bachelors, while her husband found such occupation as pleased him in the garden, or in pretendThe name of her cousin neing to look after the boy who had charge ver passed her lips; she asked no ques- of the Doctor's horses. They were very tions about him in her letters to the Rec-well satisfied-had little to do-good tory. Agnes understood, though they wages, and their own way in everything. had not, Robert's bitter words "all or no- Mrs. Clark, to do her justice, was really thing!" That was true and right! So attached " to the poor dear gentlemen," as those who had begun life's journey, so she called them and looked after their inclosely united, were now nothing" to terests with great fidelity, even if she did each other. Agnes wrote to her friends at principally consult her own comforts a lit