tion of neutrality had been trampled in the dust by him, and that his insolent assumption of authority was fast implicating the country in a conflict with Great Britain.

But what at first might have seemed an alarming onset, in point of fact turned out the greatest piece of good fortune. So outrageous became the action of Mr. Genest, so offensive his mode of treating the Government, that he began to fall in the popular esteem as fast as he had ever risen. Most especially did it place Mr. Jefferson, his most natural friend, in an attitude in which he had no alternative but to disavow all sympathy whatever with his proceedings. Mortifying as it must have been to give up the policy which he had cherished, he showed no hesitation in his course. On him it necessarily devolved to conduct the official correspondence with Mr. Genest, on behalf of the Administration. The papers, as they stand on the record, tell their own story. Considering the sacrifice he had to make of all his cherished notions, nothing in the long and brilliant career of that gentleman seems to me more honorable than the way he acquitted himself on that occasion. The conclusion of it all was, the utter failure of the whole project of France, the material diminution of the popular sympathy with that Republic, the recall of Mr. Genest in disgrace at the request of the President, and the confirmation of the policy of neutrality which this assault had been intended to overthrow.

And the great sea-waves below,
Puise of the midnight beating slow.

From the brief dream of a bride
She hath wakened, at his side.
With half-uttered shriek and start,-
Feels she not his beating heart?
And the pressure of his arm,

And his breathing near and warm ?

Lightly from the bridal bed
Springs that fair dishevelled head,
And a feeling, new, intense,
Half of shame, half innocence,

Maiden fear and wonder speaks

Through her lips and changing cheeks.

From the oaken mantel glowing
Faintest light the lamp is throwing
On the mirror's antique mould,
High-backed chair, and wainscot old,
And, through faded curtains stealing,
His dark sleeping face revealing.

Listless lies the strong man there,
Silver-streaked his careless hair;
Lips of love have left no trace
On that hard and haughty face;
And that forehead's knitted thought
Love's soft hand hath not unwrought.

"Yet," she sighs, "he loves me well,
More than these calm lips will tell.
Stooping to my lowly state,
He hath made me rich and great,
And I bless him, though he be
Hard and stern to all save me!"

While she speaketh, falls the light
O'er her fingers small and white;
Gold and gem, and costly ring
Back the timid lustre fling,-
Love's selectest gifts, and rare,
His proud hand had fastened there.

Gratefully she marks the glow
From those tapering lines of snow;
Fondly o'er the sleeper bending
His black hair with golden blending,
In her soft and light caress,
Cheek and lip together press.