The gendarmes themselves seemed disposed to yield easily before these superior numbers. They waited only a gesture of the marshal, but he was too confident of his acquittal to wish an escape. Our readers know that he was tried by the Chamber of Peers, 161 Peers (an unusual number) being present, they were unanimously of opinion that he was guilty: 139 voted for his death, and 22 voted for his transportation. He was shot. The arrest of Labédoyère was due to his own inexcusable imprudence. He had received warning of the contents of the royal ordinance, and he had left Paris for the environs of Clermont in the department of the Puy de Dome; his flight was protected by passports, which Fouché had delivered blank, knowing very well for whom they were intended. Every one thought he entertained the wise plan of going to Switzerland, and from thence to England: nothing was easier than the voyage from Clermont to the Swiss frontier; but what does the colonel? He returns to Paris, and selecting of all vehicles in the world, the public diligence, to accomplish his journey; among the passengers was an officer of the gendarmerie, who recognized him. When the diligence reached the Barrière de Fontainebleau (the name of one of the gates of Paris), and while the octroi officers were making their usual searches, the officer of the gendarmerie took a hack and hastened to the Prefecture of Police. The Prefect of Police was absent; he communicated his secret to the Commissary of Police on duty; the latter went to the diligence office, and found the coach had arrived, and that the colonel had already gone; but the police obtained the number of the hack he had taken, and they soon ascertained that he had gone to a house in the Faubourg Poissonnière. They asked the porter of the house what had become of the traveller who had arrived an hour before. He replied that he was still with the person who lived on the Entresol. They went up stairs and arrested him. All this was over when the Prefect of Police returned to his office. That day Fouché gave a grand ball in honor of his marriage with Mademoiselle de Castellane; he had invited all of his friends of the Faubourg St. Germain to it, and scarcely one of them had failed to come. It was during this ball, and in the midst of dances, Fouché heard of Labédoyère's arrest; it gave him the greatest pain. A new conspiracy had just been discovered in Paris, and the government concluded that the colonel had come up to take a part in it. Labédoyère was scarcely thirty years old; he was a handsome young man, a brilliant and promising officer. When he joined Napoleon after the return from Elba, it was because his regiment had forced him away with them. His punishment would have been comparatively light, but for the unfortunate coincidence of the plot discovered the eve of his arrival in Paris. He had ardent friends in all parties; most of the members of his family were royalists. They resolved to contrive an escape from jail; an obstinate fatality averted this plan, even after the jailer had been gained: everything was ready, even six thousand dollars, the sum required to remove the last difficulties, had been procured, when the person who conducted the plan of evasion (a lady) talked about it to an officier de paix, who she believed was in the secret, but who knew nothing about it; he made a noise about it; the unfortunate lady was arrested and sent to jail, where she was immediately examined; she nobly avowed her whole scheme, and the depth of her affection for Labédoyère. She was released the day after he was shot. He resigned his life with the greatest cour age. The The Count de Valette was more fortunate. His arrest, too, was due entirely to his own negligence. He had several times been warned of the danger which menaced him; he took no notice of these friendly admonitions. police officer who arrested him, called in the morning to tell him he should arrest him at night. Still he did not fly! At six o'clock in the evening, as he was about sitting down to dinner, he was arrested in his house in the Rue de Grenelle. His wife was a tall and a spare woman; he was very short, and very fat. Tried before the Court of Assizes, he was condemned to death. He appealed to another Court-the sentence was confirmed. He craved the royal mercy: M. de La Valette inspired a great deal of interest-he had a great many and warm friends. The crime imputed to him was not of especial gravity, but the party then in the majority in both Chambers demanded his blood with an inflexible cruelty. The king, always disposed to leniency, urged that before this vehement hostility, he was not in a vo sition to hearken to the dictates of his heart, and that if the blood of M. de La Valette was spared, it would cause torrents of blood to flow, for his pardon would cause the overthrow of the Ministry, and it would be replaced by men belonging to the powerful majority, who, once in office, would pursue other victims with relentless cruelty. M. Decares (then Minister of Police) thought that if the Duchess d'Angoulême could be induced to intercede with the king for the pardon of M. de La Valette, the king's fears would be dissipated. The king approved the plan, and thought it excellent. M. Decares engaged the Duke de Richelieu to win the Duchess d'Angoulême's consent. The duke spoke to her eloquently and warmly, and at the last he touched her heart; she promised to intercede, provided her friends did not object to it. The method of obtaining the pardon was formed by M. Decares and Marshal Marmont, who was a devoted friend of M. de La Valette; it was agreed that Madame de La Valette would fall at the king's feet, and that at the same time she should invoke Madame's (the Duchess d'Angoulême) pity; when Madame joining her prayers to those of the petitioner, the king would grant their request. The Duke de Richelieu had been authorized to say so much to Madame in the name of the king. But the friends Madame consulted, dissuaded her from exerting any influence in the matter, and the next day (which was the day appointed by M. Decares and Marshal Marmont for this scene) the strictest orders were given that no women should be allowed to enter the Salle des When MarMaréchaux in the Tuileries. mont (who knew nothing of this order) came there with Madame de La Valette on his arm, the garde du corps on duty said: "Madame, my orders are that no ladies shall be admitted." Marmont replied: "Are you ordered too to keep me out?" "No, Marshal." "Then I shall go in," and he entered, forcing THE MOUNTAIN WINDS. SATE upon the lofty Tryon's brow, While yet the sun was struggling up the east; The plains, with summer fruits and flowers increased. On beauty; and the exquisite repose Of nature, from the striving world released, Taught me forgetfulness of mortal throes, Life's toils, and all the cares that wait on mortal woes. Never was day more cloudless in the sky, Rose-hued, the mountain summits gathered high, Stood robed for ceremonial, as the sun, Rose gradual in his grandeur, till he grew Their God, and sovereign devotion won, Lighting the loftiest towers as at a service done. Nor was the service silent; for the choir Of mountain winds took up the solemn sense Of that great advent of the central fire, And pour'd rejoicing as in recompense: One hardly knew their place of birth, or whence Their coming; but through gorges of the hills, Swift stealing, yet scarce breathing, they went thence To gather on the plain, which straightway thrills With mightiest strain that soon the whole wide empire fills. From gloomy caverns of the Cherokee; From gorges of Saluda; from the groves Of laurel, stretching far as eye may see, In valleys of Iselica; from great coves Of Tensas, where the untamed panther roves, The joyous and exulting winds troop forth, Singing the mountain strain that freedom loves A wild but generous song of eagle birth That summons, far and near, the choral strains of earth. They come from height and plain-from mount and sea- Glorious in roar and billow, as it breaks O'er earth's base barriers: first, ascending slow, The mighty march its stately progress takes, But, rushing with its rise, its roar the mountain shakes. O winds! that have o'erswept the viewless waste With flowers more sweet than e'er in garden smiled, * Mount Tryon, a lofty summit, looking into South Carolina. That longs for marvels, in its longings bold, The story of your flight, the experience yet untold. The world is yours, for ever, generous winds! The waters in ice-fetters, nor have crept, Have brought the doom to flowers, that, unbewept, Your wrong, to share with us your strange intelligence. The cultured and the wild, the height, the plain, Yours only!-Oh! how boundless are your stores Methinks, as now your billows from below Roll upwards, and with generous embrace The actors into action;-art with grace Appealing to the kindred in our art, 'Till all grows life and light, for fancy and the heart. I climb the mighty pyramids, and scan The boundless desert-vacaut, vast, and wild; Rending his way to power;-his nature fill'd While vengeance broods above, nor spares the usurper long. How, as your murmurs swell upon the sense, The Imagination, in its dream intense, By natural consequence becomes the seer; The gates of Nimroud open: o'er the plain Stream forth the servile myriads, dark and fair, In fatal pomp, the power is wed to pain— Sennacherib leads the host, and piles the fields with slain. And Judah, as a captive in his hands, Droops to his dungeon. The sad wife and maid Go to their lowly toils in stranger lands; Their silent harps among the willows laid, Resound not, though by the fierce conqueror bade, Respect the glorious God-rejoicing strains That ever, morn and eve, glad tribute paid To the great Giver of their happy gains, Ere guilty deeds had changed their raptures into pains. Their mournful harps, yet swept with trailing wings, Of love and worship: the consoling tear Though salt had yet its sweetness, and made clear Jehovah's promise of that coming hour, Howe'er remote, the dawn of happier year, When in the fullness of his wakening power, The widowed bride should wear, once more, the bridal flower. Thus, on your wings ye bear to unknown times, The Empire's conquering shout, the captain's song; Your voices are the voices of all climes, All ages--rise and fall-the weak, the strong; Will strain through space though they no longer burn on high. I list ye, and these valleys teem with life; Of purpose and performance even more Legions of glorious aspects ye restore- Shades of these mighty minstrels who have sung I travel with ye o'er each sacred spot, Made holy by the march of mightiest men; Here was the altar-place: this mystic grot Harbored a muse: within yon wooded glen, Pan marshalled all his satyrs;-here, again, Gathered the little phalanx of the free, Prepared to welcome the last struggle there, For shrines and temples, dear to liberty, The gift of shadowy fires, that watch'd the strife to see. Where the glad nation, lapsed in summer bliss, Forgot her vigilance-where the conquering race Each circumstance of power, and pride, and grace, What empires ye unfold to me, blest airs, That travel o'er all wastes of time and earth;- Ye swept the plain, and to the soul of worth |