"The eve of the predicted day had now arrived; the President never enjoyed better health. His wife and friends began to reckon with confidence on his recovery. But from a feeling of superstitious fear, they not only resolved to change the hour of all the watches and clocks in the house, but they easily obtained permission to make all the clocks within hearing of the President's hotel strike twelve at the hour of eleven. The family gave on that day a grand supper, to which all their intimate friends, the clergyman, and the physician, were invited. M. d'Albi was distressingly agitated; every moment he looked at the clock. They laughed at him, and endeavoured to make him, as well as the guests, merry by a plentiful outpouring of champagne. The pastor himself wore an air of extraordinary good humour to encourage him. In fine, the hands of all the clocks and watches indicated ' twelve !'

"By a singular chance, which no one thought of at that moment, the pendule in the President's chamber had not been advanced. The town clocks having all sounded the hour, the glasses were filled, and every one

rose to drink the President's health. He joined in this compliment with an excellent grace, having quite resumed his serenity. The champagne had inspired him with new life. He sustained with great gaiety the pleasantries which were addressed to him, and even improvised a pretty quatrain upon the interest which he had inspired. This led the company naturally to speak of M. d'Albi's poetical talent, which he had neglected for some years; and the President could not refrain from entertaining his guests with a little poem, which he had composed upon his mental malady, and which they importuned him to favour them with a sight of. M. d'Albi said, that he must go to his dressing-room, as no one else but himself could find it. He took a light, and proceeded towards his apartment. All of a sudden, a pistol-shot was heard. The President's valet-dechambre had just forced open his master's secretaire, for the purpose of robbing him. Surprised in the act, he seized a pistol which lay at his hand, and blew out his master's brains. Midnight sounded at that instant by the clock in the President's chamber!"

F.

I.

CARELESSLY reclining upon a deliciously soft divan, I anxiously awaited the hour of Genevieve's return. I felt that exquisite inward happiness, that perfect beatitude of the soul, which ravishes the true lover, when, at each instant, he stoops to catch the cherished voice, the light step, the rustling of the silken robe of her whose coming he expects.

The pleasing reflections and enchanting remembrances, that filled with nectar-drops the golden hours which it was my fortune to spend in Genevieve's boudoir, where a few rays of the sun, filtered through the blue silk curtains, diffused their mellow light around, the sweet fragrance of the roses, jasmine, and acacias which Genevieve had coquettishly arranged upon a little platform; the luxury and refinement which pervaded the entire chamber, the warm and balmy atmosphere, all contributed to intoxicate my senses, and fill my heart with soft desires. I would willingly, like Rousseau's Saint Preux, have kissed the slipper, or the mantle of Genevieve. With the playful and insoucieux look of infancy, as yet incapable of a thought, I followed on the rich velvet cushions and satin curtains the soft raylets of light which passed, fled, and then reappeared, only to vanish again on the instant.

The

pulsation of my temporal arteries, the monotonous click of the rocaille pendulum on the chimney-piece, alone interrupted this mute ecstasy.

*

Sir John appeared before me! There was nothing indicative of passion in his countenance; but there was in his fixed and glassy eye, his slightly-contracted brow, and compressed lips, an indescribably sinister expression, which announced some desperate resolution. I was unarmed.

A picture of all the disasters to which the happiest lovers are exposed, passed with the rapidity of lightning through my mind.

I knew Sir John's character. My heart shrunk at the idea of his assas

sinating me in cold blood, and in spite of myself I turned pale.

He perceived the thought which agitated me. "You have nothing to fear, Sir," said he; but he added, with cold irony: "Have I, then, the repulsive countenance of an outraged husband ?"

I attempted to not find a word. get up; but the

speak; but could I made an effort to cold calm look of Sir John nailed me to my seat.

He sat down at my side, and with the indifferent air of a man who is about to propose a party of pleasure to his friend, proceeded thus:

"You do not love Genevieve, Sir. You have never loved her; the woman whom a man loves he wishes to see chaste and pure; he wishes to see her worthy of his love; and you have made Genevieve a vile and despicable woman. From an angel, that might have had your exclusive worship, she is become a courtezan whom we both possess. At Paris I know there are women who can consent to divide themselves thus between two men,-one from interest, the other from love. But Genevieve should never have been of this class; and you, Sir, have made her descend to this degree of degradation and infamy. Well! to this woman, thus degraded, I have offered half my fortune-my name-the name of a noble English family, and she has refused all-so much did she dread the forfeiture of your love. You were poor she has given you her heart. I have made every effort, but in vain, to pluck this passion from my bosom. It is a stem which will perish but with the tree itself. I desire to be loved as you are; you must feel, Sir, that one of us must renounce Genevieve, and for ever. I could have insulted you, struck you; but the chances between us would have been unequal. At five and twenty paces, I can with seven balls successively hit the same piece of coin. A duel with you would be an assassination. I have not sufficient

boldness to perpetrate such cowardice. Besides, had you been slain by my hand, Genevieve would have lamented you, and cursed me as your murderer. Let chance decide between us should it be against you, you will break off all communication with Genevieve-you will abandon her for ever. If, on the contrary, chance favour you, you shall retain your love, and possess her alone. I know a remedy for all afflictions."

I had listened to every word that fell from Sir John, without venturing a word in reply. There was in his accent and utterance a passion so profound, such sadness, especially in his last words, that I pitied him in my soul. With a nod of the head I accepted his proposal.

He then took a piece of gold from his pocket. A pile ou face!" said he, throwing it up in the air. "Face!" I cried, throwing my head backward on the divan.

Sir John followed with a tranquil eye the revolutions which the coin made in falling, as if it had been a bet for a few guineas.

For my part, I was breathless : my chest was contracted as if under the weight of a painful dream; my eyes were closed. When I opened them Sir John was gone! A piece of gold lay on the carpet, glistening in the It was head!

sun.

Next morning I went to see Genevieve. The reflection that she was now entirely mine, made her appear more beautiful than ever in my eyes;

a simple white morning dress covered, without hiding, her undulating form. Her hair fell in profusion on her dazzling neck and shoulders; her pretty little feet played in their satin slippers: half reclining upon a causeuse, her elbows leaning on a table, she seemed in deep reverie to ponder over a paper that lay before her; and in her white and tapering hands she held a rose plucked from her little conservatory.

As I gently kissed her forehead, I cast my eyes on the paper. It was a farewell note, announcing the death of Sir John! The rose leaves, which she detached one by one, were thrown as a last tribute upon the tomb of a friend.

I related to her the scene of the previous evening. I saw a big tear escaping from between the long lashes that fringed her sweet blue eyes: the liquid pearl trembled upon the azure pupil; then falling with the rapidity of a little cataract, it rolled down the rosy, satined cheek of Genevieve, and leaving after it a humid trace, lost itself in the sweet dimples that encircled her mouth.

The tribute thus offered to Sir John was simple enough; but Genevieve's tear was so eloquent that I was atrociously jealous. Then, as if to appease me, she turned her moist eye towards me, passed her two arms around my neck, drew me gently towards her, and I kissed from her lips the tear which Sir John had caused to flow.

Н.

CHAPTER I.

ON a gloomy night in the month of December, 179-, there emerged from the door of a heavy brick building in Great Ship-street, a young man whose age might have been about twenty-four or twenty-five years, but the haggard expression of his countenance, the effect, perhaps, of long mental suffering, or continual debauchery, caused him to look at least four or five years older. His attire did not differ, in any respect, from that of the mechanics of the period, except that the cloth might have been a shade finer, and his general appearance somewhat more respectable. He was closely enveloped in the large frieze coat peculiar to the peasantry of Ireland, in the breast of which a pair of horse-pistols were so disposed as to be ready for immediate use, should necessity require it. He paused at the door of the mansion for a moment, and before he ventured forth, threw a close and scrutinizing glance around, when, observing that there seemed no person astir, he stepped boldly forth, and walked quickly along a dirty narrow lane that led into Werburgh-street.

As he passed the church-tower, the chimes of the old clock rang out a quarter past eleven; and the hoarse voices of the different watchmen reechoed the intelligence through the denser parts of the ancient city of Dublin.

The night was a cold, cheerless one. A thick, heavy, pall-like fog hung over the houses, and the dirty, yellow oil lamps, at that time in use, could scarcely make their light visible through the murky atmosphere. Snow was falling very fast; but, with the exception of where a whirling gust of wind caught it up and drove it upon a window-sill, or into the crevices of a shutter or door-way, it became invisible the moment it touched the ground, melting into the wet and mire which covered the streets. At that late hour very few persons were abroad; for the times were disturbed, and it was a feat of danger

and difficulty to pass through that portion of the city which lay between Cork-hill on the one side and James'sgate on the other, after dark, without being well armed, or in company. Notwithstanding that a most complicated system of patrolling was kept up, and that numerous bodies of volunteers and government emissaries were to be met with in every direction, still desperate outrages had taken place; and the disaffected portion of the inhabitants of the metropolis had frequently sallied forth in astonishing and overwhelming numbers from the back streets and narrow lanes of the liberties, at times when the public peace and tranquillity were considered fully secured. A lamentable instance of the uncertainty of the times had occurred shortly previous to the opening of this tale, and the effect had been the adoption of more stringent and energetic measures upon the part of the government, which, instead of subduing the disaffected, seemed only to render them more determined and desperate in their outbreaks; at the same time that they evinced as much caution and secrecy in masking their attempts, and as full a knowledge of the intended movements of their opponents, as they did themselves.

How the "United Irishmen " became so well aware of the movements in contemplation against them, and of every secret of importance which was supposed not to pass beyond the precincts of the door of the Privy Council chamber in Dublin Castle, remains to this day involved in much obscurity; but it is too well and too generally known a fact to admit of the slightest cavil, that if an order was passed in Council to effect some object with the utmost secrecy and despatch, scarcely'an hour had elapsed until means were taken by another council, of a different description, who mustered in Thomas's-street, to render the same effort nugatory.

Having reached the top of Werburgh-street, the young man, with whose movements the chapter has opened, seemed undetermined how

to proceed; for, in the dark gloom of Castle-street, he heard the heavy footsteps of a patrole marching directly towards him. With him to resolve and perform appeared the act of an instant: instead of walking, as seemed his original intention, in the direction of Dame-street, he struck off by a narrow street to the right, which led him closely under the massive walls of Christ-church, and then turning through a dark, gloomy-looking court, he threaded his way, with much caution, but still with the steadiness of one who perfectly knew his path, and was accustomed to the intricacies in which the maze of courts and alleys he was traversing would infallibly have involved a stranger, until he passed the vaults of the old building, and emerged into the comparatively open region of Christ's-church-place. Here he waited for a few minutes, until he heard the steps of the patrole lost in the distance as they marched on through Skinner's-row into Thomas's-street, and so forward to James's-gate, where they were to meet another division with whom it was their duty to co-operate and form a junction, whilst they took a more extended circuit in the neighbourhood of Kilmainham, and thence to Richmond, along the banks of the canal, and into the liberties.

"They are gone," said he, as he listened to their retreating footsteps. "It is not too late yet for my visit to the Fogarties, and it is of importance that I should communicate with them before one."

With this intention, he passed hastily along in the direction in which the patrols had preceded him, until he arrived at the top of Bridge-street, where his further progress was suddenly arrested by the challenging of a sentry, and the ringing sound of half-a-dozen muskets, as they were brought to the charge.

66 Who goes there?"

The person addressed readily returned the usual answer, "A friend!" and was about proceeding onwards, when the party from whom the challenge emanated, advanced from the entry in which they had been concealed, and surrounded him.

"This is an odd hour to be walk

ing the streets, and alone," said one who appeared to be in command.

"It is my fancy," replied the other; "I beg I may be permitted to proceed."

"It is a curious fancy, my man, to be walking alone, particularly in this part of the city, after eleven; can you give no other account of yourself?" "I choose to give none other, Lieutenant Douglas."

"Ha! you know me, then?" "I do, sir: I know you well; and you ought to know also, that if I choose to walk at this hour and alone, I do so at my own risk."

"That is the reason it appears somewhat suspicious to me," replied the officer, "and why I think I must detain you; few men, without good assurance of personal safety, would be wandering in this quarter as you are doing."

"I carry pistols for my protection," said the young man.

"The gleam of the lamp had informed me of that circumstance before you spoke."

"Ah! the butt has projected from my breast, and the flash of the light has caught the brass mounting. I must compliment you, sir, upon your vigilance.'

"It requires one to be vigilant in these times. And, now allow me in return to compliment you upon your accent and address, neither of which I should imagine were acquired in a county Meath cotamore,' (great coat).

"Common courtesy would appear, then, to be a scarce commodity amongst the citizens of Dublin," replied the other, "since the slightest show of it, on my part, calls forth such a remark from you."

"Not at all, sir; we are eminent for it. You will, therefore, forgive me, and if you think fit, pray attribute to my anxiety to cultivate the acquaintance of one possessing so much of it as yourself, the necessity I feel myself under of detaining you until the arrival of my superior."

"You consider me, then, as a suspicious character?" said the young man, with a slight sneer in his man

ner.

"Circumstances do tend, I con