armed him against the man, was too good-natured, and too much of a practical democrat, to allow them to influence him; and they moved at once towards the tavern. Its little, dirty, dark sitting-room was vacant. "Two bottles of good red wine, bread, cheese, and a half pound of ham," said Paul. Duchesne's eyes twinkled, and he rubbed his hands. His gaunt, pale, hollow cheeks were for a moment touched with crimson. "You are a prince!" he cried. 'Un Francais amateur du beau, Parlant des députés, disait a Mirabeau ; Leur orateurs sont incroyables "What a canaille!" said the woman, "but for the assignats I know not what I should do. The rascally aristocrats have exported the numeraire.” "If they had only done this?" replied Paul Ledru. "The devil!" replied Paul, hurriedly, "do you insult || calling for brandy. me?" "What mean you?" "Prince is the worst affront you could give me." "But why?" "They are a l'index." "Have they offended the King?" "There is no king, or will be soon none." "You craze me. Where is he?—is he dead, dying?" "We upset him yesterday, and the National Assembly will proclaim his déchéance to-day." Infame! Men inimical to the Revolution, and wishing to precipitate the people into misery, imagined a diabolical scheme. They went round into the markets, and bought up all the corn and flour they could get, to hide it away in woods, caves, and barns. With a splendid harvest we have had famine. Then they incited the people to lay the fault on the bakers, and got up riots, notably that of Francois, whom they pushed the people to kill." "The gredins!" "But the Assembly routed them out; and what then "A bah!-Why, it seems you've been at work since I think you they did? They threw bread into rivers, sacks of flour were destroyed by thousands, whole fields of corn were laid low in the night by fire, and all to breed famine and discontent, and bring back the old system." Paul Ledru spoke not half the truth. Such were but "Paul, you're taking advantage of my two years' a trifle of the acts which the infamous party of the emiabsence." gration, the hired agents of the aristocracy, and the foreigners, were guilty of. It was this series of events which, maddening the people, made them turn on their oppressors, and seek to drown in blood the infamies of their enemies. Not a head fell but the enemies of the country were answerable for it. "Not a whit! there's not a stone of it standing. Ask Palloy, who calls himself entrepreneur de la demolition de la Bastille; he took it in a day. He pulled it down in a year, made medals of the iron chairs, busts of Rousseau and Mirabeau of the stones, and models too of the prison." "Bah!" said Duchesne, as the breakfast was laid before him, "but just tell me all about this." "The shortest way will be to tell you my life since we parted," replied Paul Ledru. "The very thing," said Duchesne, his mouth half he is not used to drink." full. Paul began and sketched rapidly his existence since the day of the Reveillon riot. The ex-hangman made no remarks, he was too busy eating. At last, however, the narrative stopped. "And that's where we are now," he exclaimed. "Exactly." "And what are you about just now ?" asked Duchesne. "That's a secret, which seek not to violate. I am acting for others. I must leave you now, but will not forget you. Take a bed here, and I will come and see you in a day or two. In the meanwhile live on this." And he handed him a sheet of paper. "What is this?" "An assignat of fifty francs." "But what good is it?" "Try." Duchesne called the woman of the house, and handed her, with an air of considerable doubt, the dirty rumpled piece of paper. "I will get change, citoyen," said the woman; and in a few minutes she brought a bundle of similar rags, worth ten, twenty, a hundred sous, and gave change. The hangman looked puzzled. "It's all right," exclaimed Paul Ledru, laughing, "this good woman is a better patriot than Bergasse, who said Paul Ledru, who was a little behindhand, moved rapidly onward; but, to avoid the crowd which he could see round the Tuileries and the Louvre, descended to the Pont Neuf. As he came up, he saw a crowd of féderés marching, banner flying; while one at their head, who wore a crown of laurel, waved a sword in his hand. It was l'Ami du Peuple, the citoyen Marat. Paul Ledru recognized both his face and his rags. "Good day, citizen Ledru," exclaimed the fervent Revolutionist. "Good day," said Marat ; "this is a day. crushed the infame. No twentieth of June now. got him safe." We have We've "And what dost thou mean to do with him?" asked Ledru. "Try him," replied Marat. "And then?" "Judge him." "And then?" "Execute him!" said the tribune, fiercely. At the head of the bridge they parted, after shaking hands and expressing mutual hopes of the triumph of liberty. It was with difficulty Ledru gained the Rue Grenelle, the confluence of people in the quarter being immense; but at last he entered the street, and stopped before the [[ated was now assembled to rejoice over the degradation of house. The shop was open, despite the excitement and the Monarchy, which, however, was in a few years again alarm. to rule that great city. Ledru occupied but a few minutes in settling his business and giving all the necessary orders. He then came out and turned towards his home again. As he did so, two men paused on the opposite side of the way and took note of the house. They then followed Paul, taking the opposite side of the way, and stopped only when they saw him safe in the Hotel of the Rue Dominique. They were M. Brown and the Count Leopold. CHAPTER X. THE REMOVAL. "Ah! Papa Veto!" cried one. "Louis Capet," said another. Bonjour, Monsieur Capet," said a third. "A fine messe rouge we'll have one of these days," said another. "Take care of your head," cried one. "A fine day for a ride, Capet." "Who is that they are insulting?" said the Duke in a whisper. He had been kept back. "The King," whispered Adela. The old man groaned, but his act passed unnoticed; and next minute the slow mourning cortege had passed, and the way up the Rue St. Honore was free. "Come away," said Adela, who noticed how her father trembled. The arrangements for the removal of Adela and the Duke from the Rue Dominique were not completed until the Monday about two o'clock in the afternoon, when the whole party, dressed in the simplest manner, issued from the hotel as if about to take a walk. They moved slowly || round by the Pont Louis XVI., then Pont de la Revolu- The whole party passed rapidly along the now nearly tion, now de la Concorde. There was Adela and the empty street, and hurried towards the Rue Greselle. The Duke, Charles Clement, Gracchus Antiboul and the Coun-old man was violently agitated, as were Miranda and tess Miranda. Paul Ledru and his wife had gone on before. Crossing the Place de la Revolution, they gained the Rue St. Honore, but found it, near the Place Vendome, choked up by a dense crowd. They filled both ends of the Rue St. Honore—the rue now called Castiglione, but then I forget what. They were waiting evidently for some spectacle. Adela. دو "Where will it all end?" groaned the old man. "Hush," said Charles; "just now such words are dangerous. We know not who may hear us.' "But," whispered Miranda, "what will they do with the King?" "We must wait and see," replied Charles; "events will much influence the people. If they get peace, and the "What is all this crowd?" asked the Duke, tremb-Royalist party have sense to resign pretensions which are ling. "I know not," replied Charles Clement. "It's Louis Capet going to the Temple," said a woman near at hand. "Where?" asked Gracchus, hiding with difficulty a radiant smile. "To the prison of the Temple," replied the woman; "ah! ah! the Assembly wanted to send them to the Luxembourg, in grand style, but the Commune wouldn't have it." "And they were right," said another man. "Vive Danton !" "Vive Robespierre !" "Vive Marat!" "Vive Santerre !" "Vive la Republique!" cried Gracchus Antiboul, disgusted at the array of names which the crowd put forth in their zeal. henceforth useless, he will escape; but, in the face of foreign and civil war, he will perish. His brothers and adherents will be his murderers." : It is an awful state of things.” "But do not blame us, dear lady, as do the ignorant, the prejudiced, and the vile. Blame the vile rulers who, by their infamies, have driven us to this. Had not the Monarchy been a succession of iniquities, this would not have happened." "But pity 'tis these should pay for the bad men who have gone before them." "They pay the penalty of blindness and obstinacy in themselves," replied Charles. "Woe is me, my friend, but we have fallen on evil days. But now hasten, I pray you, your union with that dear girl; and let us hope for the best." "Generous Miranda," replied Clement; "always thinking of others. Would, indeed, our union had taken place; “Vive la Republique !" shouted the crowd in return. for each day, I fear me, times will be more troublous." It was a quarter past three o'clock. At this instant a confused mass of cries hailed the arrival of two carriages. They were open, and surrounded by pikemen and gendarmes. In the first rode Louis XVI., with Pétion and Manuel. The second carriage contained the Queen, Madame Elizabeth, and the children. They moved slowly. It was the revenge of the people. In that city where kings and queens had tyrannized and towered-where they had trodden underfoot every sentiment of decency, humanity, and justice-where wretches like Louis XI., Henry III., Charles IX., Louis XIII., Louis XIV. and Louis XV. had gloated over popular suffering and wretchedness-the very mob their vices had cre | "Pause not a day," continued Miranda, "or the death of the Duke will indefinitely delay it." "This is Monday. On Thursday our union shall take place. Do you know a priest?" "The King's confessor, M. de Firmont." "Oh, yes! he often came to the palace, and I took his address down. I will give it you. " "I will find him out to-morrow," said Charles, warmly; "but here we are." They had reached the shop of Paul and Marie Ledru, who were standing outside waiting their arrival. * Execution, "Thank God!" said the Duke, "for my legs were trembling under me." The whole party passed through the shop, and the back sort of parlour, where dinner awaited them. The apartments formerly occupied by Charles Clement and Gracchus Antiboul were set apart for the Duke and his daughter; who, however, for the sake of variety and|| liveliness, and to prevent the necessity of trusting an officieux, or servant, were to take their meals in the apartment of the Ledrus. Miranda, wishing to pass her chief time with them, requested Charles so to arrange that she could return somewhat late at night. Charles undertook to get her a certificate of good patriotism. This settled, and despite the importance of events occurring without, the friends passed a long evening together, and it was nearly midnight ere they parted. Gracchus Antiboul went to the Jacobins about ten, and Charles undertook to see Miranda home. The young man wore a sword and a brace of pistols, and he hesitated not a moment to turn through the narrow || streets which led to the dwelling-place of Miranda, where Rose had preceded her. They moved along some time in silence. They were thinking; but how different were their thoughts. Charles was dwelling on the dear hopes which lay before him; Miranda was asking of the future its unfathomable secrets. "It is strange," she suddenly exclaimed, with a short laugh, "to see us walk along thus silent." "Pardon me, Miranda," said Charles, recovering himself. "No pardon, Charles; but let me ask you a question. Could I use my position and my fortune in any way to be useful to the Revolution, and at the same time to ourselves?" "Indeed you could, dear lady," exclaimed Charles Clement, eagerly; "open your salons to the leaders of the popular party, both Girondin and Mountain; make yourself agreeable to them, and no one can say how much influence you might have on all our destinies." "I will do it. Give me a list of persons to invite, point out to me how to receive them, come too, and I will devote my whole energies to the task." "And great will be the good done. Danton you have already secured, but you must not neglect him for that. It may be of incalculable use to make friends with men whose power will soon be dictatorial." They had reached the door of Miranda's house. Charles Clement prepared to bid her farewell. "Will you not come in?" said Miranda, almost faintly. "I should like to talk over this plan of ours, as well as of your marriage." Charles Clement gladly assented, and they went in. Rose was waiting with supper laid in the delicious boudoir which, in days gone past, she had so delighted to adorn. They sat down, and, Rose waiting on them, supped alone for the first time. Both started, and both coloured violently. "Well, it does look like it," exclaimed Miranda, with a forced laugh, while Charles apologized for his silence. Conversation now began freely, and both entered into the spirit of the talk with zest and interest. It was the Revolution they spoke of chiefly, and here they agreed. Miranda's warm Italian heart sided with the people, and she had little maudlin and sentimental pity for their oppressors. They were each equally delighted with the other's conversation, and it was with surprise and shame that they heard the clock strike three. "Heavens Charles, it is very thoughtless of me to have kept you thus," said Miranda; "the streets may be dangerous.' "Not to a patriot, and an armed one," replied Charles Clement, rising; "but I thank you for a most charming hour. Will you be in the Rue Grenelle at twelve?" “Without fail,” said Miranda quickly. They shook hands and parted. Miranda sent her maid to bed, buried her face in her hands, and wept. Charles felt a kind of strange feeling at the heart he did not understand. But neither ever spoke of that interview to any one, neither next day nor ever afterwards. Why? CHAPTER XI. THE SANS-CULOTTE. The reign of the sans-culottes may now be said to have commenced. The pikemen and the sans-culottes were one. When at first citizen soldiers put on uniform and mounted guard, many did their duty in their working clothes and cotton caps. They were the bisets of '89, whom, what was called the habits-bleus never forgot to insult, and whom they kept at the very bottom of the corps-de-garde, sending them out to mount guard between midnight and four in the morning. They were prohibited from appearing on parade; the bonnets-de-laine would have dishonoured the dandy gentlemen in fine uniforms, varnished leather collars, and powdered shoulders. But they were patient, for they had their hope of triumphing in their turn, and they supported with perfect resignation all the sarcasms which these aristocrats of a new kind poured on them. Many public writers defended them; and this alone was hope and encouragement. Some journalists even prophesied the reign of the cotton caps; and they mounted guard in the night gaily, looking to the future. Called sans-culottes, they gloried in the name. Prudhomme wrote, in 1793, "the true sans-culotte is a natural man, or a man who has preserved all the energy of one in the bosom of a civil society, regenerated by the Revolution. He is a patriot, robust in head as in body, who has always exposed his person, and made a step in advance, and who, in consequence, never waited for his country to call him. It is this workman and father of a They knew not why, for there are secrets in our hearts we know not of ourselves, but both Charles and Mi-family, who, gifted with right sense, instead of giving to randa felt a strange restraint. They ate almost in silence, mechanically. The lovely Italian was pale in the extreme, while Charles Clement, with a frown on his face, sought to sound the depths of his heart. "Well," said Rose, suddenly, "I hope you are like an old married couple, who have said all they have to say, and can't think of anything new.” the Republic the leavings of his time, thought himself in permanent requisition in person and faculties, from the 12th July, 1789. A true sans-culotte is what was once called the man of the people, frank, cordial, sometimes rude, but always humane, even at those revolutionary moments when one is compelled to cast a veil on the statue of humanity. The true sans-culotte willed the death of the despot and of all conspirators; he is seen on the road [the sans-culottes. Their costume and medal ensuring imof all traitors going to punishment; he even presses roundpunity, it was put on by many royalists and re-actionists, the scaffold, because humanity excludes not justice." who calculating that the more bloody the Revolution was, After the tenth August the National Guard disappeared, and the pikemen and sans-culottes took their place. The latter were never more than 5,000 in number. It was about eleven o'clock, and Paul Ledru, now citoyen Regulus Ledru, was at his counter serving a young girl, when a man suddenly entered who seemed to be the very essence of a patriot, or a sans-culotte, but one of an aristocratic order. He wore a red felt hat, approaching somewhat the shape of the cap of liberty, while his face was covered with a profusion of hair, which, mixing with that of his head, made a perfect forest. His coat was of rude blue, while his waistcoat was a very tri-coloured flag of itself. His pantaloons were made of three stripes of red, white, and blue, while a bundle of heavy metal seals and keys hung from his waistcoat. In his hand was a huge stick. This picture is a little flattered, though the true sans- the sooner it would be over, assumed the guise of patriotculotte was really enthusiastic, patriotic, sincere, disinte-ism, and impelled the Revolution to its bloodiest excesses. rested; while rich scoundrels, in their disguise, to avoid suspicion, exaggerated patriotism, and, to save their own necks, were terribly lavish of other people's. The leading type of the sans-culotte was his devotion. Poor, it would have been expected that he would have divided his time into three parts-one for earning his living, one for his country, one for rest. He did nothing of the kind. His whole time was given to his country. The Republic was his devotion. He took the republican precept of contempt for riches in its most serious point of view, and also the necessity of sacrificing his individual comfort and that of his family to the common weal. Like devotees in re- || ligion, he looked upon lukewarmness and indifference in politics as crimes. Zealous clubbist, he remained at the club meetings, or those of his section, until midnight, eating a bit of bread between whiles, while he never missed emeute, fête, execution, or political assembly, At the first tap of the drum, down came the sans-culotte into the street; rush- || ing into the midst of a group, he was the first to incite to combat. The upper classes used the word sans-culotte as a term of contempt. It is said that one day Maury, speaking at the national tribune, was hissed by some women on account of his unpopular sentiments. He looked at them with scorn, and cried, " Mr. President, silence those sansculottes." This pun of the Abbé Maury was successful, and political women were often called, on the strength of their not wearing the garment peculiarly adapted to man, by this name, which properly belonged to the army of the Revolution. On the 20th June, the sans-culotte was also called piquier. Wearing the carmagnole, wooden shoes, and a red cap, he invaded the Tuileries; on the 10th August he renewed his visit, but this time with a musket, which he threw away, the victory once gained, and mounted guard with his pike. The uniforms having always carried the musket, made the sans-culotte stick to his pike. Another characteristic was in his name. He was never called Peter, Paul, James, or John, that was all very well for ei-divants; he was named Scipio, Brutus, Anaxagoras, Regulus, Aristides; while he had an intense reverence for Diogenes and his tub. The pike was held in great veneration in all Paris, and women wore pike ear-rings, while the Place Vendome became Place de Piques, and the Rue Louis-le-Grand was Rue de Piques to 1799. But the sans-culotte was the great popularity; and to be dressed in rags, proving disinterestedness, was a great merit. Pictures of sans-culottes without number appeared. A section was called section des sans-culottes, a man-of-war was called "The Sans-culotte," a regiment the legion of sans-culottes, while the supplementary days at the end of the year were called sansculottides. They were the subject of jokes, too, and their name, served as the food for pleasantry. A picture representing l'amour sans-culotte was published, at the bottom of which was written: "Quand l'amour en bonnet se trouve sans-culotte, La Liberté lui plait il en fait sa marotte." || "Salut and fraternity, citizen," he said, in a rough voice. "Salut," replied Ledru. "Hast thou a red cap, a true liberty covering?" "I have," answered Ledru, showing several. "Citizen," said the energetic visitor, seating himself, "I have to complain of thy civism." "How so?" "Thou art never at thy section. Ten thousand cannon balls! but a man must devote himself to his country." "But, citoyen, I only came in yesterday." "Ah! that accounts for thy face being unknown to me. Know, then, citoyen Ledru, that I am president of the Club des Sans-culottes, true patriots all. Wilt thou be one of us!" "I will attend one of thy meetings.' "We never meet. Dost thou take us for lawyers? We've something else to do besides talking." "The work is❞ "That of aristocrat hunting. We have vowed eternal war to the race; and we spend our days and nights in routing them up." "Hum!" said Ledru, who had paled somewhat, "it's rude work." "Rude! I expect it is; but patriotism is its own reward. Thou art a brother; I am thirsty, give me a glass of water. Between true men these things may be asked without ceremony." Ledru intimated his willingness, and moved inwards. At the same instant a man, followed by half-a-dozen sansculottes, entered the shop. "In there," said the aristocrat hunter. The party burst into the little back parlour of the shop, where sat the Duke, Adela, and the wife of Ledru. "Arrest those two ex-nobles," cried the man of the red cap; "I denounce them." "Scoundrel!" cried Ledru, gazing wildly at the party; "Ah! M. Broun; you will protect us." "He said you," said the aristocrat hunter. "I perform my duty," replied M. Broun, doggedly. There was one grave inconvenience in connexion with Lady Adela his daughter. There are they; are they not?" "And who touches them ?" cried Charles Clement, bounding in, followed by Gracchus Antiboul. Ledru took courage, and seized a pair of pistols. M. Broun politely explained the state of affairs. "And this rascally denouncer?" said Charles Clement, pale with rage and horror. Charles Clement and Antiboul rushed forth. The four sans-culottes had dragged the Count Leopold beneath a lamp supported by a projecting piece of iron, and across this they had thrown a long rope, procured from the first shop. A crowd had collected, who, hearing that it was intended to hang an aristocrat for assuming the disguise of a patriot, and thus serving private revenge, all ex-joined heartily in the tragedy. The Count struggled violently; but they had succeeded in binding his hands behind him, and placing him on a stool. "I am a true patriot," replied the man, sullenly. "Then show thyself in thy true colours, ex-thief! aristocrat!” cried Charles, tearing away his beard and hair. The eye of a rival had been clear. It was Count Leopold. "My nephew!" shouted the Duke. 66 My cousin!" cried Adela. "Now, am I not revenged?" said the Count Leopold,|| folding his arms and gazing on them with satanic fury. "Oh! oh!" cried one of the sans-culottes, “this quidam is a ci-devant, who uses the sacred cloak of patriotism to seck private revenge. Comrades, we must punish this villainy.” "A la lanterne with the spy," said another. In the instant the Count Leopold was seized by four of the sans-culottes, inflexible against aristocrats, but furious at being made the tools of private revenge. The disguised man struggled violently, but in vain. In a few minutes he was out in the street. M. Broun made not an effort to save him. "But I must take these two persons to the Conciergerie," he observed, coldly. "Why?" cried Charles, while the whole party looked on in mute despair. "It is the order of the Commune.” "Bear up, uncle dear, Adela dear," said the young man,|| bitterly; "go with them. I will to Robespierre-Gracchus to Danton-and your release shall be signed within an hour." The sans-culottes started. The Count, his body covered with rags, his face haggard and pale, cast his eyes round the crowd in search of one look of pity or encouragement. Not one responded to his hope. "Off with him," cried one. "Santé marquis!” said another. "Bis!" shrieked a third. "Take him to the Conciergerie," put in Charles Cle ment. "Let him have a trial," cried Gracchus. "Dost thou wish to join him?" said one of the sansculottes, menacingly. "Will no man save me from these devils?" cried the Count, in a faint voice; “ I am a true patriot." "A ci-devant," answered one. "An aristocrat." "A spy." "I am a true patriot; ask Danton, ask Robespierre"— "Silence, liar," thundered the sans-culotte who had threatened Charles and Gracchus, kicking the stool from under him. The Count whirled round with a convulsive shudder; and, when the rope hung straight and steady, he was a corpse. Charles Clement and Gracchus returned to the shop, "Thou wilt scarcely be so successful," said Broun, where they found Miranda weeping in the arms of Marie sneeringly. Ledru. M. Broun had hurried away with the Duke and Adela, while the above tragedy was taking place. "Close the shop," said Charles, sombrely, "and let us discuss the means of saving our friends." The shop was rapidly closed, to open no more; and all gathered round a table. "Not to have let me go with them,” said Miranda, sobbing. "You shall soon be with her," exclaimed Charles, kindly; "there is no evidence against them. Let us lose no time. Ledru, see the Countess home, while I go to Robespierre's." "And I to Danton," said Gracchus. And they went out. MACAULAY'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.* THIS work has been preceded in the world by many skilful preparatives. Small paragraphs in the miscellaneous columns of newspapers have informed their readers that the Honourable Mr. Macaulay was engaged in writing a history of England, and new sets came forth regularly whenever the previous announcement was supposed to have completed the round. Even Mr. Macaulay's defeat at Edinburgh was made subservient to the success of his great work. Edinburgh had disgraced itself—but the gain would fall to England and the world, in the possession of a history that would fascinate and instruct mankind through many weary ages, and in all lands. Few works of any description have been so much talked of before their appearance as this history. Great tact was exhibited in this mode of advertising, and it has been eminently successful in * 2 vols. 8vo. London; Longman & Co, |