no alternative but to put our heads under water as he passed, which was every half-hour.

At length, after nine hours of incessant alarm and exertion, after having worked out the stones one by one, we succeeded in making, in a wall four feet six inches thick, a hole sufficiently wide, and we both crept through. We were giving way to our transports, when we fell into a danger which we had not foreseen, and which nearly proved fatal to us. In crossing the ditch St. Antoine to get into the road to Bercy, we fell into the aqueduct which was in the middle. This aqueduct had ten feet water over our heads, and two feet of mud on the side.

D'Alegre fell on me, and nearly carried me down. Had that misfortune happened we were lost, for we had not strength enough left to get up again, and we must have been drowned. Finding myself laid hold of by D'Alegre, I gave him a blow with my fist, which made him let go; and at the same instant throwing myself forward, I got out of the aqueduct. I then felt for D'Alegre, and getting hold of his hair, drew him to me. We were soon out of the ditch, and just as the clock struck five were on the highroad. Penetrated by the same feeling, we threw ourselves into each other's arms, and after a long embrace we fell on our knees to offer our thanks to the Almighty, who had snatched us from so many dangers.

Know
ye not

Who would be free themselves must strike the blow?

By their right arms the conquest must be wrought.—Byron.

50. L'ALLEGRO.

Hence, loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born
In Stygian cave forlorn,

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sounds. unholy !

Find out some uncouth cell,

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings;

There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.

But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne......

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

Jest, and youthful Jollity,

Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,
Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles,

Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;

And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And, if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,

To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And, singing, startle the dull Night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled Dawn doth rise;
Then to come, in spite of Sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,

Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine;

While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of Darkness thin,
And to the stack or the barn-door
Stoutly struts his dames before
Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering Morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill-
Some time walking, not unseen,
By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate

Where the great Sun begins his state,
Robed in flames and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrowed land;
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.

MILTON.

+

Who the melodies of morn can tell-
The wild brook babbling down the mountain side;
The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell;
The pipe of early shepherd dim descried
In the lone valley; echoing far and wide
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

51. IL PENSEROSO.

Hence, vain deluding Joys,

The brood of Folly without father bred!
How little you bestead,

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!
Dwell in some idle brain,

And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless

As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, Or likest hovering dreams

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. But, hail! thou Goddess, sage and holy ! Hail, divinest Melancholy !

Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view

O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue......

Come! but keep thy wonted state,
With even step, and musing gait,
And looks commércing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
There, held in holy passion still,
Forget thyself to marble, till,
With a sad leaden downward cast,

Thou fix them on the earth as fast.

And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring

Aye round about Jove's altar sing;
And add to these retirèd Leisure,

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;
But, first and chiefest, with thee bring
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The Cherub Contemplation;

And the mute Silence hist along,
'Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest, saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke
Gently o'er the accustomed oak.

Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,

Most musical, most melancholy!

Thee, chantress, oft the woods among

I woo, to hear thy even-song;
And, missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that hath been led astray
Through the heaven's pathless way,
And oft, as if her head she bowed,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft, on a plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off curfew sound,
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar ;
Or, if the air will not permit,
Some still removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach Light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,

Save the cricket on the hearth,

For those whom wisdom and whom nature charm,
To steal themselves from the degenerate crowd,
And soar above this little scene of things;
To tread low-thoughted vice beneath their feet;
To soothe the throbbing passions into peace,
And woo lone Quiet in her silent walks.-Thomson.