I had often looked towards the gallery door, during the night, for the means of escape; but my police friend had forbade my moving before his return.  I therefore remained until the club were breaking up, and the gallery began to clear.  Cautious as I had been, I could not help exhibiting, from time to time, some disturbance at the atrocities of the night, and especially at the condemnation of the helpless king.  In all this I had found a sympathizing neighbour, who had exhibited marked civility in explaining the peculiarities of the place, and giving me brief sketches of the speakers as they rose in succession.  He had especially agreed with me in deprecating the cruelty of the regicidal sentence.  I now rose to bid my gentlemanlike cicerone good-night; but, to my surprise, I saw him make a sign to two loiterers near the door, who instantly pinioned me.

“We cannot part quite so soon, Monsieur l’Aristocrat,” said he; “and, though I much regret that I cannot have the honour of accommodating you in the Temple, near your friend Monsieur Louis Capet, yet you may rely on my services in procuring a lodging for you in one of the most agreeable prisons in Paris.”

I had been entrapped in the most established style, and I had nothing to thank for it but fortune.  Resistance was in vain, for they pointed to the pistols within their coats; and with a vexed heart, and making many an angry remark on the treachery of the villain who had ensnared me—­matters which fell on his ear probably with about the same effect as water on the pavement at my feet—­I was put into a close carriage, and, with ny captors, carried off to the nearest barrier, and consigned to the governor of the well-known and hideous St Lazare.

* * * * *

The Olympic Jupiter.

  Calm the Olympian God sat in his marble fane,
  High and complete in beauty too pure and vast to wane;
  Full in his ample form, Nature appear’d to spread;
  Thought and sovran Rule beam’d in his earnest head;
  From the lofty foliaged brow, and the mightily bearded chin,
  Down over all his frame was the strength of a life within.

  Lovely a maid in twilight before the vision knelt,
  Looking with upturn’d gaze the awe that her spirit felt. 
  Hung like the skies above her was bow’d the monarch mild,
  Hearing the whisper’d words of the fair and panting child. 
  —­Could she be dear to him as dews to ocean are,
  Be in his wreath a leaf, on his robes a golden star! 
  Could she as incense float around his eternal throne,
  Sound as the note of a hymn to his deep ear alone!

  Lo! while her heart adoring still to the God exhales,
  Speech from his glimmering lips on the silent air prevails: 
  —­“Child of this earth, bewilder’d in thine aerial dream,
  Turn thee to Powers that are, and not to those that seem. 
  All of fairest and noblest filling my graven form
  First in a human spirit was breathing alive and warm. 
  Seek thou in him all else that he can evoke from nought,
  Seek the creative master, the king of beautiful thought.”