cely noticed this, for, at the time, I heard the knob of the
shop-door turn quickly, and the door was shaken violently. It was
probably the night-watchman going his rounds; but, in my alarm and
excitement, I thought we were betrayed. I stepped swiftly to the door,
and pushed an extra bolt inside.

"Monsieur!" I cried, under my breath, "hide! hide yourself! Quick! in
the name of Heaven!"

But he did not answer, and, hastening to his side, I saw the faint
outlines of that shadowy visitant growing indistinct and disappearing.
As it vanished, Monsieur turned deliberately toward me; his eyes were
clear, the faintness was over; his voice was grave and steady, as he
said,--

"Christine! I have seen it. It is the warning of death. There is
no future and no escape for me. The retribution is at hand,"--and
stooping swiftly down, he lifted the tiny cup brimming to his lips.
"Go you," he said, huskily, "to the sea-shore. I have an errand
elsewhere."

In the morning came the officers of justice; my dim eyes saw them, my
ears heard unshrinking their stern voices demanding Monsieur C----. I
did not answer; I pointed vaguely forward; and forward they marched,
with a heavy tramp, to where the one whom they were seeking lay prone
upon the marble floor, his head hanging nervelessly down over the
water. He had been arrested by a Higher Power. Monsieur C---- was
dead.

BOSTON HYMN.

The word of the Lord by night
To the watching Pilgrims came,
As they sat by the sea-side,
And filled their hearts with flame.

God said,--I am tired of kings,
I suffer them no more;
Up to my ear the morning brings
The outrage of the poor.

Think ye I made this ball
A field of havoc and war,
Where tyrants great and tyrants small
Might harry the weak and poor?

My angel,--his name is Freedom,
Choose him to be your king;
He shall cut pathways east and west,
And fend you with his wing.

Lo! I uncover the land
Which I hid of old time in the West,
As the sculptor uncovers his statue,
When he has wrought his best.

I show Columbia, of the rocks
Which dip their foot in the seas
And soar to the air-borne flocks
Of clouds, and the boreal fleece.

I will divide my goods,
Call in the wretch and slave:
None shall rule but the humble,
And none but Toil shall have.

I will have never a noble,
No lineage counted great:
Fishers and choppers and ploughmen
Shall constitute a Sta