The first that your uncle Nicky undertook to correct, was Jimmy Johns, who had pretended to have a great friendship for him, for reasons to be found in Jimmy's deportment to John Reynolds. "Jimmy," said Bugg," you surely are not going to vote for that fool, Darby Anvil ?" “Yes I is," said Jimmy; "and the more and the better of it is, I mean to give him a plumper too." "What, to such a despicable character!" "Yes; despical or no despical character, I can't go agin a persecuted man, with a wife and ten children-Miss Anvil is "But it's no persecution to tell the truth on a man; especially when the truth goes to show that he is unfit for an office to which he is aspiring. Your way of reasoning will make rascality a passport to office." “Oh, I don't blame you, uncle Nicky-I know what you did was for the best: but now you'll confess yourself—now won't you, uncle Nicky?-that if he was 'spirin,' and 'passport,' you aughtn't to come down on him as you did, right at the 'lection. That was rubbin him too hard-now wa'n't it, uncle Nicky? "Twas enough to make any body feel sorry for him, and Miss Anvil—” “What difference does it make, when or where you expose a villain? And what has Miss Anvil to do with it? Is she a candidate?" Here they ate, drank, sang vulgar songs, and told more vulgar stories, until about one o'clock; when they, or some of them, sallied forth, and with drum and fife and yells, drove sleep from the village, until the dawn. An inveterate hostility between Smith and Jones followed this election, the traces of which may be seen in their descendants to this day. Darby was elected again and again; and though he did nothing in the legislature but vote as Smith voted, and drink grog in the recess of the session, he always returned to his constituents with wonderful stores of what "we did," and "we tried to do." In the mean time, things about home began to run rapidly to decay. Sambo and Cuffy worked up immense quantities of iron, for they both worked a great deal harder, as they said themselves, when massa was away than when he was there; "jist dat white folks might see dat nigger didn't want no watching; and that massa might know how to trust 'em," but then they had little or nothing to show for it. A number of good customers deserted the shop; some from political hostility to the owner, and others because Sambo and Cuffy were always too busy to attend to them. Mrs. Anvil grew dissatisfied with politics, as soon as Darby returned the first time from the legislature with no money in his pockets; for she had taken up the idea that all who stepped into the assembly, stepped into a fortune; she therefore advised Darby "to quit it, as not bein' the thing it was cracked up to be; and to come home and mind his own business." But Darby had become too much enamored of the public service to take her counsel. He told her it would never do in the world for him to take his name down-his party would never forgive him. This logic was unsatisfactory to Nancy, at first, and it became still more so as troubles thickened about the house; she therefore became crusty, petulent and boisterous by turns; greatly to the disturbance of Darby's domestic peace and tranquillity. He had anticipated this emergency, and took to drink privately, before hand; but he now began to come home drunk, out of spite; and Nancy gave him spite for spite. Still, however, wife-like, she struggled hard to keep things together, and save her family from ruin; and her increased industry and economy would probably have balanced Darby's waste from drink, and kept a supIn this way did your uncle Nicky proceed to port in hand till he burnt out; but alas! tickets dispense light among the plebs, until he raised a began to pour in upon them by the deck, from the battle-royal in the court-yard. At one time I ob- courts of conscience, and other more unconscionaserved not less than eight couple, who were en-ble courts, inviting Darby to appear here and apgaged in interchanging uncle Nicky's ethics. pear there, to answer for countless debts of his The day rolled away, and at 10 o'clock at night constituents. Then came the officers of justice the state of the polls was announced. Darby and and reduced them to beggary. A little before Smith were elected. They were both hoisted, and matters reached this crisis, Darby was beaten for borne about on the shoulders of their friends, with the legislature; and it distressed him beyond meahuzzas of triumph. They then invited all who sure. The friends for whom he had done the most, Ingered about the court-yard at that late hour to a were the first to desert him; alleging as a reason, supper at one of the public houses of the village. 'his want of qualification, and their thorough con "No, but she's a mighty good woman, and you know yourself, uncle Nicky, she a'n't to blame. And wouldn't it be wrong to hurt her charricter? now, I leave it to yourself, uncle Nicky. Jist take it to yourself-s'pose you'd been guilty o' parj'ry and Miss Bugg—" "Stop a little Jimmy," said Bugg, very calmly, "until your uncle Nicky tries another argument better suited to your capacity, and which I think will brighten your ideas." So saying, he "fetched Jimmy a sentimental jolt," (as one afterwards described it.) in the burr of the ear, that laid him out in short order. Jimmy “hollo'd" in time to arrest uncle Nicky's experimental philosophy at the first blow and the second kick. Jimmy would have fought longer with another man; but with uncle Nicky, he knew that the longer he fought, the worse he would be fogged; so he acted wise for once at least. viction, after three years' reflection, that the Virginia | certificates were true. Thus ended Darby's nomothetic career; but here ended not the consequences of it. Encouraged by his success, worthless candidates sprung up in every county. If. their presumption was rebuked, they silenced the reprover and repressed their own shame, with "I know that I am better qualified than Darby Anvil.” Under this plea, and by such artifices as Anvil On his lips and cheeks, his eyes and brow; "Nay, Lady, I ask no place but this To be the scene of our wedded bliss." "Lord! His Ghost would haunt us and I should scream; Don't you think 'twere better to turn the stream?" had used, they made their way to the councils of DE MORTIER; A TALE OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. Old times were changed-old manners gone, Louis totters on his throne. I have scented the coming storm, and believe me, La Frere, winter comes not in peace to France. BALDWIN. WIDOWED GRIEF; A PAIR OF PORTRAITS. "LOOK ON THIS PICTURE." There is a look of uncomplaining sadness List to that song! How cheerful is the strain! 66 AND ON THIS." The Lady sat by a new-made grave, That stream had witnessed the plighted vow On the youth who would thus her woes beguile; You may be a true prophet, Duc, but I doubt it. Whence think you the storm menaces, and whom? Ere long, and Louis ceases to tenant the throne of his fathers. He has trampled upon a peoplethat people will turn and sting him. Oppression has nerved them to despair-they have nothing to lose, every thing to gain; muttered discontent, and sullen endurance will give place to mad defiance and unbridled license. A people will burst from their thraldom, and the excesses of the emeute will blow the spark of rebellion into the flame of revolution. And why-Think you the Canaille of Paris can subvert a throne strengthened by an existence of centuries? The mob may be spurred by oppression and misery to madness: they may turn with their unarmed hands upon their tyrants, and drench a street with gore, or wrap a Faubourg in flames; but, as their madness knows no bounds when the passion is upon them, so will the fever heat of destruction soon cool in their veins, or the bayonets of the National Guard quench it in their blood. Rebellion there may be, but revolution never. The Aye, revolution, and at no distant day. torrent of their sufferance has been too long pent up, and when goaded into desperation they burst its barriers, it will gush forth strong and powerful, bearing upon it the corse of Louis and the fragmentary wrecks of royalty. They have before their eyes the shining example of America, and already dream of republicanism and liberty. France never can be free, but she will struggle manfully with her oppressors. We shall soon see the day when the country will be deluged with blood, and Paris be but one great shamble for the best and bravest. De Mortier, you are mad! exclaimed his friend. The cause of the king will succeed, and the Canaille are as contemptible as rebellious. But beware how you speak thus. Those who know you not so well might think you too would stir the people to the commission of the folly you predict. The name of De Mortier alone would refute the suspicion. Hated as I am by Barentin, he dare not yield. breathe against me the slander. I favor not rebel-bly. They may dictate, but I much fear they will lion, but noble as I am, would give to the people that representative weight which is justly their right. I would stand between the oppressor and his victim, not urge the oppressed to imbrue their hands in the blood of their tyrants. Will not the attempt prove futile and dangerous? True, they would stretch their regal power too far; but will not they who seek to place the crown, the noblesse and the Teirs Etats upon their proper respective footing, only bury themselves in the ruins of the temple they seek to rear? Yield! never. There are too many who have staked their hopes upon the throw now to be made. Few waver, and the burning appeals of the eloquent Mirabeau will confirm them in their determination. What is the next scene in the play is more than I can tell; but, be it what it may, 'tis fraught with mighty interest to France. * On the second floor of La Bassiemiere, the eastern of the huge towers of the Bastile, was a long, It low passage, floored and arched with rough dark granite. On either side massy doors, secured with bar, and bolt, and chain, afforded entrance into narrow cells intended for the confinement of state prisoners. It may be, gloomily responded De Mortier. may be—it may fall and crush us; but man can not die in a nobler cause, or one more worthy the noble, the patriot, or the philanthropist. For me, it would be better far than to find a living grave in the dungeons of the Bastile, or fall in the indis- At the farther end of this vaulted corridor was criminate slaughter of a Jacquerie. And though a small cell whose only furniture was a low camp my imagination may conjure into being scenes bed, a ricketty table, and an old worm eaten chair. which may never exist, there sits brooding upon By a small window, which, though closely grated my very soul a dark and fearful presentiment that, and strengthened with heavy stancheons, commandunless we can place the government upon the pro-ed a view of a portion of Rue St. Antoine, leaned posed basis, the one or the other will be my fate, and if mine, that of many of my peers. How, think you that Louis or his ministers dare lay hands upon men who would give to the crown its legitimate power? a young man scarce three-and-twenty, though the sternly compressed mouth and lofty brow, marked with deep lines of careful thought, would, in the eyes of the casual observer, have given him ten years more. He was tall, and while his proportions were symmetrical and graceful, his whole appearance bespoke a physical power second only to his intellectual strength. He had been no false prophet. With his compeers in the struggle, he had sought to curb too closely the sovereign will, and like them had been borne by a lettre de cachet to that prison house, which sad presentiment had whispered as his home. Ere he had been incarcerated, he had seen more than one step of his prophecy fulfilled. Noble after noble, and common after common had been made away with by the same means, and the crown had seen, as its reward, the clamorous threatening and angry denunciations of the mob stepping into the ranks, where, hitherto, delegated authority alone had hoisted the standard of opposition. Not if they would measure that legitimacy by the standard of kingly will, but when they dare say to royalty that it shall not grasp the sceptre of a despot, and bend alike the necks of a people and the laws of a nation for its foot to trample on. Are not nobles nightly snatched from their homes, and immured in dungeons because they would set a limit to the prerogative of their king-a king weak and passionate, the tool of designing women and intriguing ministers, battling with his parliament for that he should not dare to ask, and seeking to rear a standard under which no honorable man can enlist; resorting to the infamous means of Lettres du Cachet to place at his power a body, which has shown, that although willing to support a throne, that throne must be held by one who can learn a lesson of wisdom and moderation. Look at the It was the fourteenth of July, and he saw the Royal Sitting of this morning, how, with a despot's human mass eddying to and fro in the narrow street voice, he quashed the resolutions of the assembly, which lay open to his view. He knew that the denied the recognition of the Tiers Etat and de- wild spirit of the people was uncaged-a people manded submission to the mad dictates of his im-goaded to madness by suffering, and borne on by perious will, seeking, with threats and menaces, to the whirlwind of passion and revenge. As yet, awe men whose souls, fired with the love of liberty, nothing was to be heard but the sullen tramp of are led on by such a man as Mirabeau. The royal thousands, save when the breeze bore fitfully to his madman acts as such men as Barentin, Condé, Ar-ear an execration or a yell. He knew that there tois and Conti direct, for Necker has shown his was some dark work to be done that those who hand and plays now for the people. He goes to the Bastile, or is an exile before he grows many days older. guided that mighty mass, had not called their latent ferocity into action for naught. Some great scene of violence was to be enacted-there was to be I dread not the Canaille, but more that the des- open rupture between the rulers and the ruled. He potism of the fourteenth Louis may be erected read it in all around him; what it was, he could upon the ruins of the awed and conquered assem- not, dare not, surmise. Sick at heart, he turned from the window, and down upon us, how often there breaks through the cast himself upon his low, mean couch. Hiding gloom some soul cheering ray, and though it may his face in his hands, he fell into deep and melan- produce a pang, by showing us how deep is the decholy reverie. solation in which we are shrouded, it ofttimes lights He thought not of himself, though painfully us along our path, cheering us onward, when, were aware that the power in whose hands he was was it reft away, even hope would settle down into destranger alike to justice and clemency. A dun- spair. And how often do the events of a moment geon beneath the mote; imprisonment for life, tor-change the current of existence, rendering tenants ture, starvation, or the block might be his fate; yet, of our hearts feelings and emotions hitherto stranwith this fearful uncertainty hanging over him, and gers, and expelling those heretofore most firmly danger menacing in a thousand forms, he thought and deeply rooted. not of himself, nor of that France, which, loving even better than life, he saw, when he essayed to look into the future, either prostrate beneath the feet of an incensed tyrant, or torn and dismembered by lawless irresponsible factions and unbridled mobs. When first he had entered that gloomy abode, his attention was diverted from his own situation by a cortége which at that moment arrived from an opposite direction. Closely guarded, came the old Count Reilley, whose tottering gait and snowy head might well have secured the short remnant of his days from the cruel imprisonment he was compelled to undergo. But the object of De Mortier's attention was the youthful Countess Anne, who had been included in the punishment of her father. Scarcely seventeen, her figure was already fully developed, and the most perfect beauty pervaded her slight but striking shape. To a mind which had already won for her distinction in the fashionable and literary circles in which she sometimes mingled, she united that pure feminine beauty which was so well adorned by her queenlike carriage and grace of manner. She was beautiful, supremely beautiful, and to yield the palm to the youthful Countess Anne was no detraction from the claims of the loveliest lady who adorned that brilliant court. Thus, for the first time, they met-each preëminent in those qualities which adorn their sex, each indeed unfortunate. The eye of De Mortier was rivetted upon her, and his brow grew darker when he saw that tyranny could stoop to wreak its vengeance upon so fair a victim; and, if his heart ever grew bitter against a throne, stained by a thousand acts of oppression, it was when he contemplated this its work. She did not pass him by unobserved, and though maidenly modesty denied her the same means of evidencing her interest, he felt his heart throb more quickly as, when he stood aside to give precedence to her cortége, she returned his involuntary bow with a melancholy, yet pitying smile. Following close upon their footsteps, he saw Delaury close upon her the door of the cell next to the one destined for his own reception, and he entered his narrow home with a lighter heart, for she was near him. How strangely are we influenced! When we believe the dark cloud of adversity to have settled Weeks had rolled by, and that face was before the mind's eye of De Mortier. Oft had it presented itself, and he thought it but the natural result of circumstances. But again and again it came. It flitted before him in the long lonely hours of the day, in the dark watches of the night. "Twas present in his dreams, and whether sleeping fancies placed him in the gay salon, the royal banquet hall, the noisy assembly, or the quiet retreat of his own dear home, it was there. He met her in the romantic valleys of his own domain-gracing the courts of foreign climes-in exile in distant landsthe mob was deluging Paris with noble gore, his hand alone could wrest her from their grasp-he stood upon the scaffold waiting to bare his neck to the glaive, and she too was there, with the same sad smile of resignation as when he had met her for the first, last and only time. He looked anxiously into his own heart, for surely it could not be mere passing fancy which brought her image so constantly to his thoughts, associating her as it were with his very being. He felt that it was a deep enduring love, his first, he believed it would be his last. He loved and yet must nurse his passion unwhispered to its object. He could not even look upon her, and willingly would he have added another year to an imprisonment which was to last he knew not how long, for one short hour's converse with her. Deep, deep was his reverie. He thought of her and her future lot-what might it not be? Callous regarding his own, he was fearfully sensitive respecting hers. How was she even now? Imprisonment and sickness might have wasted her fair frame, and death, even now, stand waiting for its victim. If not, might not a more fearful fate await her? She might be doomed to die by inches upon the rack-they might hurry her to the block, or freeing her from the prison walls, yield her up to the tender mercies of the mob. He saw her in their hands, her name hooted in derision, insults heaped upon her head, her person violated by the licentious passions of the Canaille, and in momentary delirium the Duc leaped to his feet, and rushed toward the door. Scarce had he advanced a step, when there broke upon his ears a fearful and unusual din. Ten thousand voices hoarsely echoed, "The Bastile! The Bastile!" while, sharp above the human tempest, rang "Mon Père Nourricier," exclaimed De Mortier, "again you have saved my poor life." 66 Aye, and will do it again if you'll only give me half a chance," answered the happy smith; "but mon Charle, are you safe-if the scoundrels have hurt a hair I'll make❞—— the blows of huge hammers upon the gates. The | but you shall," and snatching the ponderous sledge Emeate was gathering without, and every moment from his companion's hand he dealt a blow upon came the shouts wilder and fiercer. Now there was the door with all his strength-another, it yielda pause more fearful to the astonished prisoner than ed-a third, and he fairly hurled it into the room. the din which had preceded it. In that ominous Springing into the cell, he threw his weapon upon silence, nothing was heard but the heavy tread of the floor, and catching up the Duc in his arms, men without and his own hurried breathing. Then could only mutter, as the tears ran down his swarlouder and more wrathful came the cry, "down thy cheek, "Mon Cher Maitre." with the Bastile !" eddying up from fifty thousand human throats, and piercing through those massy walls, rang echoing through corridor and cell. Scarcely had the sound broken fairly upon the ear, when it was drowned in the sharp rattling of musquetry. Thus was the enigma solved-the pealing musquetry and vengeful yells told that the Bastile "Safe, all well, Francois; but what has become was the aim of the infuriated multitude-that gar- of her," he interrupted, as springing from the artirison and mob battled for the mastery. How fear-san's embrace, he caught up the sledge and rushed fully broke the conviction in upon him. Would it from the apartment. give freedom or death to her? Should the garrison hold out, her fate would be no better-nay, fear of their liberation might hurry them the more quickly to the block. If the mob triumphed, might they not escape, or would the mass, frenzied by resistance, in the mad exultation of victory, give them to a speedy death? Well, well, better die with her, than live imprisoned and alone. "Whew! hot as ever, and a sweetheart here in the bargain," laughed the smith, but his foster-son was away before the words were half uttered. Rushing to the door he found several mechanics endeavoring to force it-he motioned them away, but they paid him little heed. "Clear the track there, boys," shouted Francois, "I am something of a man myself, but I'm a baby to him, young as he is. Back I tell ye." with a single arm around his head, De Mortier brought it against the lock, shivering it into atoms. Bang! bang! crash! and some mighty weight came thundering to the earth. De Mortier rushed "Cut loose then, Citizen," laughed a huge mato the window, but nothing was visible except that son, "but if you knock that door open, you are a unbounded sea of human heads. Had the draw-stronger boy than I take you to be. Bon Dieu but bridge fallen! It must be so, for nearer came those you are," he continued, as, whirling the sledge shouts and yells and execrations. Again rattled the musquetry, and louder and louder roared the multitude, while every weapon seemed to play a part in the wild clashing. On they came-louder and louder and then the old walls shook 'neath the rumbling peal of cannon. Mixed with the shouts of the assailants, were the shrieks of the wounded, and the ear scarce could compass the deafening elamor. Silence reigned once more, and then the heavy tread of feet echoed through the gallery. Entering the cell, he beheld the object of his solicitude, kneeling in the attitude of prayer. Impelled by her example, he too bent his head in humble adoration to his God, while the rude men without, watching the contagion and casting aside the ferocity of their mirth, bowed their heads in respectful silence. A few moments and he raised his head. She "Now shall I know my fate," muttered De Mor- still kneeled-no motion gave evidence of life, nor tier. "I can but die, and will meet death as a was any change of position visible. Springing brave man should. And she!--but I will not think | forward, he clasped her in his arms; she was as of her, 'twill but bring bitterness to death," and inanimate and inert as death. Placing his hands with folded arms and stern compressed lip, the to her mouth he found that she had ceased to brave young noble calmly waited whatever des- breathe, but her heart still beat, and there was hope. tiny might befal him. "Water, Francois, water!" he exclaimed," she has fainted." "The gray haired scoundrel said he had caged him in the last hole," exclaimed a strong, manly Placing her upon her narrow couch, he bathed voice," he might have lied, but I'll set him free, her brow with water, at the same time chafing her or make every scamp in this cursed slaughter-wrists and temples. Presently she moved, and house pay for it," as some one strode to the door her large full eyes opened, but they were dim and and struck it with his heavy weapon. Quick and lustily fell the blows upon the heavy bolt and hinges, but they defied his greatest exertions. glazed. "Mortier," she murmured, and was again as powerless as before. "Mort de ma vie," shouted the enraged man, "they were determined to mew him up safely enough. Here, Jacques, your hammer, 'tis twice a heavy as this plaything of mine. Hah! you wont, soon open the pretty bird's bright eyes." "Here, Anne, here, safe and at your side, all"— "Give her a little of this brandy, Citizen," interrupted the mason, handing him a flask; “Twill |