rated remains to the unholy purposes of sorcery! and on these
counts have I been indicted, found guilty, and sentenced to be burnt as a
sacrilegious heretic, an unnatural robber, and a formidable wizard!
Antonia, the mother of seven children, is to be--like the unchaste
vestal--immured! Oh Heaven! whilst Druso the Informer, receiving at the
same time the portion of a prince for his venal treachery, will celebrate
his union with Phaedera, amidst the shrieks and groans of his expiring
victims!

I cannot now proceed: ere I am bound to the fatal stake, methinks I shall
die of shame, grief, and terror. And did the friends of my infancy, my
parents, suffer as I shall suffer? Then, welcome death! welcome, hated
dawn of my last day, for innocence and truth are banished from the earth!
Hark! the key turning in the lock of my cell! Hark! those boding and
pitying voices without! Father Dominick! Servilius! Andrea! kindest! best!
--I die--but I die innocent, the victim only-----Hah! to burn--burn--burn!
Gracious Heaven! pardon the strife of nature! My brain whirls!--my eyes
cloud!--my black, dry, swollen lips,--throat--bosom--heart--O mother of
God!--O! Saviour--Redeemer--pardon, pardon!--Father of Mercies,---receive
me!

_Great Marlow, Bucks._

* * * * *

SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

* * * * *

SCENES FROM THE (OLD) FRENCH REVOLUTION.

(_From the "Quarterly" Review of Madame Junot's Memoirs_.)

About the beginning of the revolution, a working-man, by name Thirion, had
established himself in a little stall (in Paris,) where he carried on his
business as a mender of carpets. He called one morning to ask M. Permon's
(a Royalist[1]) custom, but was civilly told that the family had long
employed a tradesman of his class, and could not change for a stranger:
the man took the refusal so insolently, that he was at last turned out of
doors, vowing revenge. M. Permon, the ports being still open, makes a run
over to London to place some money in our funds. Meantime "the Sections
are organized," and Thirion becomes "Secretaire, Greffier, President, je
ne scai quoi, de la notre." The morning after his return to Paris, M.
Permon had just risen, when footsteps were heard loud on the staircase,
and in burst Citizen Thirion, two other patriots of the Sectional
Committee, and the carpetman's shopboy. (Madame Junot's Narrative
commences here.)

"My father was shaving