than ever existed in the shallow heads of, or could ever be executed by the coward hearts of, their soldiery.  Where is that plot?  In the streets?  No.  The courage of our brave patriots is as proof against corruption as against fear.”  This was followed by a shout from the gallery.  “Is it in the Tuileries?  No; there the national sabre has cut down the tree which cast its deadly fruits among the nation.  Where then is the focus of the plot—­where the gathering of the storm that is to shake the battlements of the Republic—­where that terrible deposit of combustibles which the noble has gathered, the priest has piled, and the king has prepared to kindle?  Brave citizens, that spot is ——­,” he paused, looking mysteriously round, while a silence deep as death pervaded the multitude; then, as if suddenly recovering himself, he thundered out—­“The Temple!” No language can describe the shout or the scene that followed.  The daring word was now spoken which all anticipated; but which Danton alone had the desperate audacity to utter.  The gallery screamed, howled, roared, embraced each other, danced, flourished their weapons, and sang the Marseillaise and the Carmagnole.  The club below were scarcely less violent in their demonstrations of furious joy.  Danton had now accomplished his task; but his vanity thirsted for additional applause, and he entered into a catalogue of his services to Republicanism.  In the midst of the detail, a low but singularly clear voice was heard, from the extremity of the hall.

“Descend, man of massacre!”

I saw Danton start back as if he had been shot.  At length, recovering his breath, he said feebly—­

“Citizens, of what am I accused?”

“Of the three days of September,” uttered the voice again, in a tone so strongly sepulchral, that it palpably awed the whole assemblage.

“Who is it that insults me? who dares to malign me?  What spy of the Girondists, what traitor of the Bourbons, what hireling of the gold of Pitt, is among us?” exclaimed the bold ruffian, yet with a visage which, even at the distance, I could observe had lost its usual fiery hue, and turned clay-colour.  “Who accuses me?”

“I!” replied the voice, and I saw a thin tall figure stalk up the length of the hall, and stand at the foot of the tribune.  “Descend!” was the only word which he spoke; and Danton, as if under a spell, to my astonishment, obeyed without a word, and came down.  The stranger took his place, none knew his name; and the rapidity and boldness of his assault suspended all in wonder like my own.  I can give but a most incomplete conception of the extraordinary eloquence of this mysterious intruder.  He openly charged Danton with having constructed the whole conspiracy against the unfortunate prisoners of September; with having deceived the people by imaginary alarms of the approach of the enemy; with having plundered the national treasury to pay the assassins; and, last and most deadly charge of all, with having formed