funeral." They effusively felicitated him on the signal overthrow and final dispersion of his adversaries. Ireland is now your own, John," said one of them; "you have conquered all along the line. You must be as happy as a king!" He smiled his cold sad smile, and said, Yes, to be sure he was. At home in Ireland his own journal, and all the Liberal Government organs, were never tired of sounding his praise and proclaiming his triumph over the dead Lucas and the exiled Duffy.

Nightly, after leaving the House of Commons, John Sadleir sat up late in the private study of his town house, 11, Glo'ster Terrace, Hyde Park. Morning often dawned and found him at his lonely labors. What were they?

In the stillness and secrecy of those midnight hours John Sadleir, the man of success, the millionaire, the Lord of the Treasury that had been, the peer of the realm that was to be, was occupied in forging deeds, conveyances, and bills for hundreds of thousands of pounds!

some yet unexhausted means of raising this money. He had already gone so far, so perilously far, that there was no possible quarter in which earnest application might not lead to suspicions that would involve discovery! He drove into the city. Mr. Wilkinson, of Nicholas Lane, telling the sad affair subsequently, says, "He came to me on the morning of Saturday, and suggested that I could raise some money with the view of assisting the Tipperary Bank. He showed me some telegraphic messages he had received from Ireland on the subject of their wants. He had several schemes by which he thought I could assist him in raising money; but after going into them I told him I could not help him, the schemes being such as I could not recommend or adopt. He then became very excited, put his hand to his head, and said, Good God! if the Tipperary Bank should fail the fault will be entirely mine, and I shall have been the ruin of hundreds and thousands.' He walked about the office in a very excited state, and urged me to try and help him, because, he said, he could not live to see the pain and ruin inflicted on others by the cessation of the bank. The interview ended in this, that I was unable to assist him

Still, accumulating disaster overpowered even these resources of fraud. In the second week of February, 1856, some one of his numerous desperate financial expedients hap-in his plans to raise money." pened to miscarry for a day, and the drafts of the Tipperary Bank were dishonored at Glyn's. The news came with a stunning shock on most people; but quickly, next day, an announcement was issued that it was all a mistake, the drafts presented anew had been duly met, and the mischance would not again befall. The alarm, however, had reached Ireland, and at several of the branches something akin to a run took place. If only a panic could be averted, and twenty or thirty thousand pounds obtained, all might be saved. So, at least, declared Mr. James Sadleir, M. P., who was in charge of affairs in Ireland, telegraphing to John on the morning of Saturday, 16th of February.* Twenty or thirty thousand pounds. Once it was a bagatelle in his estimation; but now! had lain on no bed the night before. haggard and excited this message found him. James little knew all when he thus lightly spoke of twenty or thirty thousand pounds, by way of reassuring his hapless brother. The wretched man strove in vain to devise

In this case, what he feared in so many others exactly occurred. Mr. Wilkinson had previously advanced him large sums, for which, to be sure, Mr. Sadleir, on request, had given security,-one of those numerous title-deeds which he had fabricated during the past year. Mr. Wilkinson that same Saturday night despatched his partner, Mr. Stevens, to Dublin, to look after the matter. On Monday this gentleman found that the deed was a forgery. But by that time a still more dreadful tale was known to all the world.

He

All

There is reason to think John Sadleir knew of Mr. Stevens's start for Dublin before ten o'clock that evening. His intimate friend, Mr. Norris, solicitor, of Bedford Row, called on him about half-past ten, and remained half an hour. The fact was discussed between them that the Tipperary Bank must stop payment on Monday morning.

John Sadleir sat him down, all alone, in that study, and callous must be the heart that can contemplate him in that hour and not compassionate his agony. All was over: he must die. He was yet, indeed, in the prime *"Feb. 16, 1856.-Telegram from James Sadleir, 30 and vigor of manhood. 'Considerably above Merion Square South, Dublin, to John Sadleir, Esq., M. the middle height," says one who knew him P., Reform Club, London: All right at all the branches; well, "his figure was youthful, but his face, only a few small things refused there. If from twenty-that was indeed remarkable. Strongly to thirty thousand over here on Monday morning all is

safe."

marked, sallow, eyes and hair intensely black, and the lines of the mouth worn into

So crooned one day, close by Limoux,
A peasant double-bent with age.
"Rise up, my friend," said I: "with you
I'll go upon this pilgrimage."

We left next morning his abode,

But (Heaven forgive him!) halfway on,
The old man died upon the road:
He never gazed on Carcassonne.
Each mortal has his Carcassonne !
-Lippincott's Magazine.

A NIGHT OF TERROR.

PAUL LOUIS COURIER.

PAUL LOUIS COURIER, one of the most noted of French pamphleteers, born 1772, died 1825, was a Liberal in politics, and had great repute as an eloquent and satiri

cal writer.

I was one day traveling in Calabria; a country of people who, I believe, have no great liking to anybody, and are particularly ill-disposed towards the French. To tell you why would be a long affair. It is enough that they hate us to death, and that the unhappy being who should chance to fall into their hands would not pass his time in the most agreeable manner. I had for my companion a worthy young fellow; I do not say this to interest you, but because it is the truth. In these mountains the roads are precipices, and our horses advanced with the greatest difficulty. My comrade going first, a track which appeared to him more practicable and shorter than the regular path, led us astray. It was my fault. Ought I to have trusted to a head of twenty years? We sought our way out of the wood while it was yet light; but the more we looked for the path, the further we were off it.

soon one of the family. He laughed, he chatted with them; and with an imprudence which I ought to have prevented, he at once said where we came from, where we were going, and that we were Frenchmen. Think of our situation. Here we were among our mortal enemies-alone, benighted, and far from all human aid. That nothing might be omitted that could tend to our destruction, he must, forsooth, play the rich man, promising these folks to pay them well for their hospitality and then he must prate about his portmanteau, earnestly beseeching them to take care of it, and put it at the head of his bed, for he wanted no other pillow. Ah, youth, youth! how art thou to be pitied! Cousin, they might have thought that we carried the diamonds of the crown: and yet the treasure in his portmanteau, which gave him so much anxiety, consisted only of some private letters.

Supper ended, they left us. Our hosts slept below; we on the story where we had been eating. In a sort of platform raised seven or eight feet, where we were to mount by a ladder, was the bed that awaited us—a nest into which we had to introduce ourselves by jumping over barrels filled with provisions for all the year. My comrade seized upon the bed above, and was soon fast asleep, with his head upon the precious portmanteau. I was determined to keep awake, so I made a good fire, and sat myself down. The night was almost passed over tranquilly enough, and I was beginning to be comfortable, when just at the time it appeared to me that day was about to break, I heard our host and his wife talking and disputing below me; and, putting my ear into the chimney, which communicated with the lower room, I perfectly distinguished these exact words of the husband: "Well, well, let us see-must we kill them both ?" To which the wife replied, "Yes!" and I heard no more.

How should I tell you the rest? I could scarcely breathe; my whole body was cold as marble; had you seen me you could not have told whether I was dead or alive. Even now the thought of my condition is enough. We two were almost without arms; against us, were twelve or fifteen persons who had plenty of weapons. And then my comrade was overwhelmed with sleep. To call him up, to make a noise, was more than I dared; to escape alone was an impossibility. The window was not very high; but under it were two great dogs, howling like wolves. Imagine, if you can, the distress I was in.

It was a very black night, when we came close upon a very black house. We went in, and not without suspicion. But what was to be done? There we found a whole family of charcoal-burners at table. At the first word they invited us to join them. My young man did not stop for much ceremony. In a minute or two we were eating and drinking in right earnest he at least; for my own part I could not help glancing about at the place and the people. Our hosts, indeed, looked like charcoal-burners; but the house! you would have taken it for an arsenal. There was nothing to be seen but muskets, pistols, sabres, knives, cutlasses. Everything dis-of a quarter of an hour, which seemed to be pleased me, and I saw that I was in no favor an age, I heard some one on the staircase, myself. My comrade, on the contrary, was and through the chink of the door, I saw the

At the end

PARALLEL BETWEEN WILLIAM PENN AND JOHN LOCKE.

63

old man with a lamp in one hand, and one of cheerful humanity was irrepressibly strong his great knives in the other. The crisis was now come.

his wife followed him; I was behind the door. He opened it; but before he entered he put down the lamp, which his wife took up, and coming in, with his feet naked, she being behind him, said in a smothered voice, hiding the light partially with her fingers-" Gently, go gently." On reaching the ladder he mounted, with his knife between his teeth, and going to the head of the bed where that poor young man lay with his throat uncovered, with one hand he took the knife, and with the other-ah, my cousin!-he SEIZED-a ham which hung from the roof,-cut a slice, and retired as he had come in!

in his bosom; as with John Eliot and Roger He mounted-Williams, benevolence gushed prodigally from his ever overflowing heart; and when, in his late old age, his intellect was impaired and his reason prostrated by apoplexy, his sweetness of disposition rose serenely over the clouds of disease. Possessing an extraordinary greatness of mind, vast conceptions, remarkable for their universality and precision, and "surpassing in speculative endowments; ' conversant with men, and books, and governments, with various languages, and the forms of political combinations, as they existed in England and France, in Holland and the principalities and free cities of Germany, he yet sought the source of wisdom in his own soul. Humane by nature and by suffering; familiar with the royal family; intimate with Sunderland and Sydney; acquainted with Russell, Halifax, Shaftesbury, and Buckingham; as a member of the Royal Society, the peer of Newton and the great scholars of his age,—he valued the promptings of a free mind above the awards of the learned, and reverenced the singleminded sincerity of the Nottingham shepherd more than the authority of colleges and the wisdom of philosophers. And now, being in the meridian of life, but a year older than was Locke when, twelve years before, he had framed the constitution for Carolina, the come to the New Quaker legislator was he imitate the vaunted system of the great World to lay the foundations of states. Would philosopher? Locke, like William Penn, was tolerant; both loved freedom; both cherished

When the day appeared, all the family, with a great noise, came to arouse us as we had desired. They brought us plenty to eat; they served us up, I assure you, a capital breakfast. Two chickens formed a part of it, the hostess saying, "You must eat one, and carry away the other." When I saw them, I at once comprehended the meaning of those terrible words, "Must we kill them both?”

PARALLEL BETWEEN WILLIAM PENN
AND JOHN LOCKE.

GEORGE BANCROFT, born at Worcester, Mass., Oct. 3, 1800, liberally educated at Harvard and Göttingen. He early devoted himself to historical writing, publishing

the first volume of his "History of the United States" in

1334. This great work is characterized (in the language of the historian Prescott,) "by a brilliant and daring style, picturesque sketches of character and incident, acute reasoning and compass of erudition." Ten volumes have appeared, bringing the work down to the close of the Revolution in 1782, and two concluding

volumes, closing with the constitutional period, 1739, are to be issued in 1881. Mr. Bancroft's public services, as Secretary of the Navy in 1845-6, minister to Great Britain 1846-49, and minister to Germany in 1867-74, have conferred additional distinction upon himself and upon his country. Removing to Washington upon his return from Europe in 1874, and surrounded with one of the richest collections of books and minuscripts ever gathered, Mr. Bancroft enjoys a serene old age, addicted to those historical studies for which his wide converse with books and with men, and his native zest for keen philosophical inquiry have eminently fitted him.

Penn, despairing of relief in Europe, bent the energy of his mind to the establishment of a free government in the New World. For that heavenly end" he was prepared by the severe discipline of life, and the love, without dissimulation, which formed the basis of his character. The sentiment of

truth in sincerity. But Locke kindled the torch of liberty at the fires of tradition; Penn, at the living light in the soul. Locke sought world; Penn looked inward to the divine truth through the senses and the outward revelations in every mind. Locke compared the soul to a sheet of white paper, just as Hobbes had compared it to a slate, on which time and chance scrawled their experience; to Penn, the soul was an organ which of itself instinctively breathes divine harmonies, like those musical instruments which are so curiously and perfectly framed that, when once set in motion, they of themselves give forth all the melodies designed by the artist that made them. To Locke, "Conscience is nothing else than our own opinion of our own actions;" to Penn, it is the image of God, and his oracle in the soul. Locke, who was never a father, esteemed "the duty of parents to preserve their children not to be understood without reward and punishment;" Penn loved his children without a thought for the consequences. Locke, who was