Roget heard no more, but hastened to the place where he had concealed the fugitives. "You have quitted this retreat!" he exclaimed: "You have been recognised and denounced, and by one of your servants, Ducone Brutus Menjand." "Is it possible that a man on whom I have heaped kindness can be such an ingrate !” cried the poor old nobleman. "What is now to become of us, young sir?" You must separate-there is no help for it. Look you, Monsieur le Duc, I have written a passport, in which I state you to be my servant, travelling in pursuit of a ci-devant, and I call on the authorities to aid you in your journey. Take it, and fly-it may cost me my head, but I will save you, if possible. At Dover you'll find Madame de Sémonville." "My mother, Roget! and has she escaped by your means?" Your mother should have reached Dover this morning, Mademoiselle. And now the Duc must fly." "And Emilie?" said the old man. Must remain at present. But fear not, my life shall guard hers. The Duc embraced and blessed Emilie, pressed Roget to his heart, and left the room. The young man opened the window, and as soon as he saw him quit the house, shouted" Robert!" The Duc had forgotten that that was now his name, and walked on until it again echoed in his ears in tones of thunder; then he paused, and looked up. "Robert, I'll thank you to go a little faster, you'll find a horse at the inn just without the gates on the road to Calais : mount, and ride for your life! If you let that person escape you, mark my words, you shall smart for it." The Duc set off as fast as his legs could carry him; and the stragglers, who had stopped to listen to Roget's peroration, shouted Vive Citizen Roget!" “Vive la Republique! and thanks to you, good citizens !" returned the young man, closing the window. For the first time for several years Roget was once more alone with Emilie; but he had now no thought but of her danger; he showed her in a sachet the rose-leaf she had given him long ago, and bade her confide in the bearer of that token whenever it might be sent to her. Then he promised to procure for her the attire of a peasant, and bade her summon all her fortitude, and endeavour to witness, without betrayal of her horror, the executions which were to take place at noon; after which she could quit the town with the crowd of peasantry and marketwomen. Emilie shuddered, and sank on her knees in prayer. About eleven Roget came again, bringing her disguise, and rouge to hide the paleness he well knew horror would create. Courage, Mademoiselle!" he said, when she appeared ready to accompany him. "Oh, Roget, my soul recoils from this awful sight! Do not, do not leave me." "Indeed I pity you, Mademoiselle, and would spare you; but it is necessary to your safety that you seem one of the people. Courage, and trust in heaven!" "And in you, dear Roget. You have saved the mother, forsake not the child!" "I will not, Emilie! My life-my soul shall be devoted to your service." They passed on towards the market-place; the dull roll of drums, and the cries of the populace, guided them; and presently they came up with the lugubrious procession. Two carts contained the eighteen victims, who were tied together like cattle to be conveyed to the slaughter-house; a dense mob almost hid the piquet of troops, and swayed to and fro in unison to the chaunt which roared from the throats of old and young, male and female. No one who ever heard the Marseillaise thus sung could ever forget it; the blood ran cold in one's veins when it arose thus like a storm-wind on the air; while the fearful axe of the guillotine might be compared to the lightning's flash striking down a victim at every glare, and the heavy plash of blood-drops symbolized the rain. "Twere vain to attempt to paint the emotions of Emilie; her trembling limbs tottered beneath her weight, and but for Roget she would have sunk down and been trampled to death. Her eyes seemed spell-bound by some horrid fascination which compelled them to gaze on the instrument of death. Every time the triangular blade fell with its heavy dull sound, a shudder shook her whole frame; and when the populace yelled with savage joy, she shrank, appalled by the fear that some eye had marked and recognized her. At length the hideous tragedy was played out, the crowd began to disperse, and Roget and Emilie went with that stream which directed itself to the gate on the road to Calais. While in the crowd, Roget had remarked a man with sandy moustaches, a torn blouse, and a ragged hat crouched down over his face, who seemed to watch them, and had approached once or twice, and who followed their steps when they quitted the market-place, but ere they reached the gates he lost sight of him; and having escorted Emilie a little distance on the road, and appointed a place of rendezvous, he bade her adieu, promising very shortly to be with her himself, or send her a friend. On his return to his chambers, Roget found a summons from his chief, and therefore hastily wrote a few lines to Emilie, and enclosing the rose-leaf, dispatched his servant with it, telling him where to find the citoyenne to whom this letter was addressed, and bidding him obey her orders, and return to him afterwards to give him intelligence of what was done. The man departed, and Roget hastened to his chief. 66 Well, my boy," said this latter, "I've news for you. Your fair inamorata is taken.” "Taken!" exclaimed Roget. 66 Well, not exactly so yet. But she and her husband are safe to be in prison before night. Q I will not forget my promise. You shall have a lock of the hair of the beautiful jilt." Roget shuddered; a vision of the man who had watched them so closely, and followed their steps some distance, crossed his memory; could that have been the spy?" "What ails you, lad?" You look as if you saw a ghost. Is it the spirit of the old or the young Duchess which haunts you. By-the-bye, the former will cease from troubling' to morrow." "Indeed!" "Yes, indeed! Do you think she is never to be crossed off? Here, sit down, and attend to those papers; and prithee forget women, old and young, for a while." That evening Roget and his chief attended the theatre; then came a supper, and it was not until after midnight that our hero could retire as he longed to do, hoping to find his servant, and hear news of Emilie. The man had returned, but sad was his news. He had found the young citoyenne; she had perused the letter, and bade the man accompany her to the place the letter designated; but ere they reached it, a ragged, beggarly-looking fellow, with sandy moustaches, had come up, produced a warrant for her arrest, and borne her away towards Arras. Roget doubted not that this was Brutus Menjand; distractedly he rushed to the prison, but there had been no one arrested that day; slowly he retraced his steps, his eyes cast down, his arms crossed. "Now, don't run over me, lad! Why, what ails thee now. Is your Duchess arrested? By my word, I would she were safe in London, and you looking happier." "She is not yet arrested, citizen-at least is not yet in prison. Oh! if you have any regard for the youth you have taught and advanced, and treated so kindly, grant me yet one more favour." "You know I love you, boy! Tell me, what is it ?" "Grant me a certificate of marriage with her." "You are mad, Roget-this cannot be; it is contrary to law to wed one that is denounced." "Ante-date it-on my knees I entreat you! She was denounced but yesterday-make it appear as if the marriage contract had existed some time." Calm yourself, Roget, and come home with me. I do not wish to make a fool of myself in the street, as I shall do if you go on thus. Come along-you shall have the certficate, if that will make you happy, for it grieves me truly to see you so cast down." Roget gratefully pressed the hand his friend extended to him, and followed him home, where he received the certificate, which saved the life of Emilie; for the law stated, that if a woman became the wife of a republican, she was cleansed from the taint of nobility, and entitled to all the privileges of a citizeness. But where to seek her? Must he wait until Brutus conducted her to the tribunal to deliver her to death. Wait who knows all the anguish, all the anxieties, all the miseries contained in that word? Well has a poet said, "In joy or sorrow, to wait is to suffer." Suddenly it struck him that Emilie might have escaped, and continued her flight; and in pursuance of this idea, he hastily scrawled a few words to his chief, ordered his horse to be saddled, and set off at full gallop on the road to Calais. We must now return to Emilie, who had sunk almost fainting at the feet of her captor, when he paused in his hasty march; but the words he uttered restored her fleeting senses. "Do not tremble so, Madame la Ďuchesse, I am Brutus Menjand, one of the Duc de Montferrand's most faithful servants; I did but contrive this stratagem in order to save you; I have money and jewels about my person, and please God, will soon convey you safe to England.” Travelling on as rapidly, yet as quickly as possible, the fugitives at length reached Calais. Here commenced a trial more fearful than aught they had yet met with. At every sea-port gangs of mercenary wretches had established themselves, who drove a fearful traffic in human blood; they haunted the coast night and day, watching for all who would embark; they scrutinized every fresh arrival from inland, seeking out the refugees, penetrating the best disguises, and delivering up those who possessed not withal to buy their silence. Leaving Emilie at an inn, the faithful servant went out to discover when the next vessel would sail, and his plebeian form and manners protected him from espionage. A passage-boat was to sail at eight o'clock on the following morn ing, and Brutus returned to prepare his mistress for all the perils of flight. Early as was the hour, the fugitives found the jetty covered with people, many of whom were of the lowest order. Brutus smoked a short clay pipe, and endeavoured to assume a careless air. Emilie carried a bundle on her back, and tottered, less from its weight than from fear. "Hilloa! who are these swallows, about to wing their flight to other climes ?" exclaimed a common-looking man, intercepting their passage, and staring rudely at Emilie. "Surely I should know that face. This is not one of us good people; no, a ci-devant hides in these peasants' clothes." "Go your ways, citizen, and let my daughter alone. You are drunk somewhat early this morning," said Brutus, elbowing a passage through the gathering crowd. "Drunk, forsooth! No, no, I only see too clearly to suit your purpose. Fellow citizens, stop these people. I swear that girl is an aristocrat." "Death to the aristocrats!" shouted the mob, closing round the fugitives. "What is this-give way, good people! Why do you obstruct the path of this female?" exclaimed a young officer, riding up on a horse panting and covered with foam. "She is an aristocrat! Down with her! A la lanterne with her!" screamed the mob. “You rave, fellow citizens; this is my wife,' he said, dismounting, and throwing his arm "Do you doubt me? Read this, around her. then, if any of ye know how." "It is relative to a contract of marriage existing between you and her." "And she would have it annulled?" Bid her destroy the certificate, it was never regisOne snatched the certificate, and read it tered, therefore in law is null and void. I thank aloud; the name of the Representative who had her for her delicacy in consulting me-for her signed it was one well known and loved, nor was kind remembrance! She is well, I think you that of Roget a stranger to their ears; and with said? You ask me if I remember her-Look :" true popular versatility they escorted the citoy- he drew from his breast a small, faded case. enne Roget in triumph to the edge of the jetty" This contains a rose-leaf which she gave me with loud vivas, and then retired. A few hasty more than twenty years ago. And her mother, words explained to Roget that Brutus was no does she still live?" traitor; a few more informed Brutus that Roget had saved his master, and likewise the Dowager Duchesse. The captain hailed them, and desired that those who intended coming on board should do so without delay. The horrors of the Revolution were over; the Representative had perished on the scaffold to which he had sent so many victims; Roget had shared the campaigns of Italy and Egypt, risen to the rank of general, and received the Cross of the Legion of Honour from the hands of Napoleon himself. He had been badly wounded, and was now at Paris on leave. One day as he sat in lonely musing, his servant entered, announcing that two ladies wished to speak with him. They followed close on the man's steps, and advanced towards the couch on which the officer rested. One was bent with age, yet it was easy to perceive she was a lady; the other, who hung back, was a woman in the prime of life, handsome, elegant, and well dressed. "You will excuse my rising, ladies," said Roget. "Louis, set chairs! Pray be seated! And now may I inquire to what I owe the honour of this visit?" "Doubtless you remember Emilie de Sémon ville? I come with a message from her, which she gave me while in England." "Do I remember her, Madame! well. Your message, I pray." Oh yes, "She does, General." "And are they still in England?" "No, they have returned some months, and have been living in Paris." "In Paris? and I cannot go to seek them." "But they can seek you, Roget. Will you not recognise me-have you lost all memory of the poor woman you rescued from prison and the guillotine?" "Ah, Madam! Is it possible? But Emilie, speak to me of her-where is she?" "Here, Roget!" said the younger female, advancing and kneeling down by his side, and pressing his wasted hand to her lips: "here, dear Roget, to nurse you, and perform a wife's duties, if you will permit her." "Emilie! my love! my own! Bear with me, I am very weak-even joy overpowers me!" There is little to add. The marriage was celebrated very shortly; Napoleon himself gave the bride, who wore on her bosom a broach formed of a rose-leaf set round with diamonds. Let us hope they were as happy as mortals can expect to be in this transitory world. away SONGS OF ADELE. No. III. BY CALDER CAMPBELL. "Oh, how I love the Summer flowers" So fertile in the blowing! Nor less I love the Autumn flowers, Though they be somewhat fewer; But oh! I love the Winter flowers, Nor are they bright or many. But when the snow falls thick, and frost SOUTHEY'S LIFE AND CORRESPONDENCE, VOL. II. "He had written praises of a regicide, (Continued from page 109.) He had written praises of all kings whatever, He had written for republics far and wide, And then against them, bitterer than ever." It was thus that Byron, too severely-for his provocation was quite inadequate to the ferocity of his vindictive onslaught-satirized the Laureate Southey; a kindly critic might, with more justice, have applied to him Dr. Johnson's fine eulogium upon Goldsmith-" He left scarce any species of composition unattempted, and attempted nothing that he did not embellish." As the "Vision of Judgment" is with reason universally admired, it is right that its readers should be reminded, versatility is not necessarily tergiversation. Some two months subsequent to his re-union with his Edith, Southey took up his abode at Westbury, where he supported himself by reviewing, and writing leaders for the Whig newspapers. "He had been gradually working his way up hill, and the booksellers were ready enough to find him abundant periodical employment.' His affectionate biographer laments that no list of these contributions is in existence; may we be pardoned if we suggest that a careful search could hardly fail to be well recompensed, and that a republication of his best essays uniform with Macaulay, Jeffery, Macintosh, and Sidney Smith, would form at once an acceptable offering to the reading public, and an enduring monument of his erudition and comprehensive genius. The stage, with its traditionary, alas! too often visionary emoluments; its third, sixth, and if the audience endured the piece so long, its ninth night's receipts-there were in those "Acts for the Protection of Dramatic days no Copyright"-next tempted Southey. A grand spectacle, founded on "the escape of a Pythoness * Couriers and Stars, sedition's evening host, Thou Morning Chronicle, and Morning Post, Whether ye make the Rights of Man' your theme, Your country libel and your God blaspheme, Or dirt on private worth and virtue throw, Still blasphemous or blackguard, praise Lepaux. To most of the journals above enumerated by Mr. Canning, Southey frequently contributed. The Star and Courier have been for some years discontinued; the Morning Post has now become Conservative. The Morning Chronicle remains, as it has ever been, staunch liberal. M. Pauw, as he called himself, or Lepaux, as Canning flippantly misdescribed him, was a Parisian savant and eminent politician, about the commencement of the first French Revolution.-Biographie Universelle, vol. 33. with a young Thessalian;" a Spartan tragedy, Loathing the law, Southey "still thought it right to continue to keep his terms at Gray's Inn;" his friends encouraged him to persevere, and he received a generous offer of assistance a rising junior," from Basil Montague, then “ * "Crypteia" was the appellation given to those time to time when they deemed the Helots dangerous. secret murders which the Spartans perpetrated from During the Peloponessian war, an expedition under Brasidas was fitted out, to aid the Chalcidians against Athens; but ere the army marched, the home government, alarmed lest their oppressed bondsmen should rise during its absence and regain their liberdone most service in war to stand a scrutiny of their ties, "invited all such helots as thought they had conduct, promising freedom to the most deserving. Two thousand being chosen were crowned with garlands as freemen, and solemnly marched round the temples. Soon after, all disappeared, and no one knew how each was murdered."-Hist. Greece (Society for Diffusion of Useful Knowledge), p. 68. Slavery, with its invariable concomitants, distrust in the bosom of the tyrant, and a yearning hunger for revenge on the part of his oppressed victim, is, we see, alike fruitful in atrocity under the despotism of the Pharaohs, and the oligarchy of the so-called Spartan commonwealth. The hint may not be useless to republicans on either side the Atlantic. "Things ill begun, strengthen themselves in ill." -B. now the Nestor of his profession, and known to all the literary world as the affectionate, enthusiastic, and we should add, able editor of Bacon. 66 A friend of Wordsworth's has been uncommonly kind to me, Basil Montague. He offered me his assistance as a special pleader, and said, if he could save me 100 guineas, it would give him more than 100 guineas' worth of pleasure. "Poor H―, he has literally killed himself by the law, which I believe kills more than any disease which takes its place in the bills of mortality. Blackstone is a needful book, and my Coke is a borrowed one; but I have one law-book whereof to make an auto-da-fé, and burnt he shall be,"* &c., &c. "I commit wilful murder on my own intellect by drudging at law, but I trust the guilt is partly expiated by the candle-light hours allotted to Madoc." "That poem," (Madoc), added Southey, to S. T. Coleridge, "advances very slowly." Still more tardy were the advances of its author in the acquisition of professional information, until wearied and disgusted, he at length, like Scott's Darsie Latimer, "made his bow to Themis, and declined the honour of following her any further." In May, 1799, Southey visited his friends in Paternoster-row, who informed him, as he in turn informed his anxious Edith, that his works 66 sold very well." Bookstall hunting, an amusement for which we too entertain strong predilections, for some time detained him; but amidst all the allurements of the metropolis he languished for his cottage home. On his return to Bristol he made the acquaintance of Sir Humphrey Davy, whom he thus describes in a letter to his friend, Grosvenor Bedford. Davy, the Pneumatic Institution experimentalist, is a first-rate man, conversable on all subjects, and learnable-from (which, by-the-bye, is as fine a Germanly compounded word as you may expect to sce). I am going to breathe some wonder-working gas, which excites all possible mental and muscular energy, and induces almost a delirium of pleasurable excitement without any subsequent dejection." *Mr. Southey's estimate of law and lawyers coincides remarkably with one recorded by the younger Anstey : "Of that wise prince and potentate, PETER THE CZAR, surnamed THE GREAT, And to those realms should Heaven once more Pleader's Guide, part ii. lec. 6. This wonder-working elixir was, in fact, nitrous oxide, known to the uninitiated as " laughing gas." Those who have inhaled it describe the consequences as highly pleasurable, but the wild excitement and extraordinary frenzy fits which almost invariably supervene, and which we have ourselves occasionally witnessed with alarm, exhaust the system, and are not unfrequently extremely dangerous. The first dose exhilarated Southey's imagination vehemently. "Oh, Tom! such a gas has Davy discovered; the gaseous oxide! Oh, Tom! I have had some; it made me laugh and tingle in every toe and fingertip! Davy has actually invented a new pleasure for which language has no name. Oh, Tom! I am going for more this evening; it makes one strong, and so happy, so gloriously happy; and without any after-debility; but instead of it increased Tom! I am sure the air of Heaven must be this strength of mind and body. Oh, excellent air-bag! wonder-working gas of delight." Thus far, at all events, the gaseous oxide resembles the "Pierian Spring" "Its shallow draughts intoxicate the brain." that "drinking largely," far from "sobering," But Davy knew that their similarity ceased here; would be to incur a fearful peril, and we much doubt whether his philosophic caution allowed his friend to risk a second inhalation. A potent sedative, however, was at hand in the matter-offact philanthropist, John Rickman, of the House of Commons, who in a letter written exactly half a century ago, while admitting "poetry has its use and its place," and that "like some human superfluities, we should feel awkward without it," vigorously exerted himself to withdraw Southey from the worship of the Muses to an unflinching advocacy of the rights of women, or, in his own racy language, "the employment, and consequent amelioration of womankind." Mr. Rickman's theory, that the true remedy for most, and the surest amelioration of all mental sorrows, consists in active well-directed industry, is with us not merely a cherished opinion, but an eternal axiom-a truth invaluable, sacred, and universal. "You, Southey," writes this blunt and sturdy moralist, “like women better than I do; therefore I think it likely that you may take as much trouble to benefit the sex as I to benefit the community by their means. For all this," he adds, "I have been in love these ten years." The poet warmly sympathized, and entered eagerly into his companion's schemes. As their plans, however, combined practical utility with unostentatious virtue, and had little reference to money-making or party politics, their progress was, as might have been anticipated, tardy. Yet something, if but little, has been effected during the last fifty years; inveterate prejudices, though uneradicated, have been weakened; and the sheer necessity, consequent upon confined territory and increasing population, has aided vigorously to dispel the sickly, frivolous, and debasing phantasy, so long perversely misen |