"Is there any noise in the streets now?" asked Miss Pross again, presently. Again Mr. Cruncher nodded his head. Madame Defarge made at the door. Miss amazed; "at all events she'll see that." And Pross, on the instinct of the moment, seized she did. her round the waist in both her arms, and held her tight. It was in vain for Madame Defarge to struggle and to strike; Miss Pross, with the vigorous tenacity of love, so much stronger than hate, clasped her tight, and even lifted her from the floor in the struggle that they had. The two hands of Madame Defarge buffeted and tore at her face; but Miss Pross, with her head down, held her round the waist, and clung to her with more than the hold of a drowning woman. Soon Madame Defarge's hands ceased to strike, and felt at her encircled waist. "It is under my arm," said Miss Pross, in smothered tones; "you shall not draw it. I am stronger than you; I bless Heaven for it. I'll hold you till one or other of us faints or dies!" Madame Defarge's hands were at her bosom. Miss Pross looked up, saw what it was, struck at it, struck out a flash and a crash, and stood alone-blinded with smoke. All this was in a second. As the smoke cleared, leaving an awful stillness, it passed out on the air like the soul of the furious woman whose body lay lifeless on the ground. In the first fright and horror of her situation Miss Pross passed the body as far from it as she could, and ran down the stairs to call for fruitless help. Happily she bethought herself of the consequences of what she did in time to check herself and go back. It was dreadful to go in at the door again; but she did go in, and even went near it, to get the bonnet and other things that she must wear. These she put on out on the staircase, first shutting and locking the door, and taking away the key. She then sat down on the stairs a few moments, to breathe and to cry, and then got up and hur. ried away. By good fortune she had a vail on her bonnet, or she could hardly have gone along the streets without being stopped. By good fortune, too, she was naturally so peculiar in appearance as not to show disfigurement like any other woman. She needed both advantages, for the marks of griping fingers were deep in her face, and her hair was torn, and her dress (hastily composed with unsteady hands) was clutched and dragged a hundred ways. In crossing the bridge, she dropped the doorkey in the river. Arriving at the cathedral door some few minutes before her escort, and waiting there, she thought, what if the key were already taken in a net, what if it were identified, what if the door were opened and the remains discovered, what if she were stopped at the gate, sent to prison, and charged with murder! In the midst of these fluttering thoughts the escort appeared, took her in, and took her It was in vain for Mr. Cruncher to repeat "Gone deaf in a hour?" said Mr. Cruncher, ruminating, with his mind much disturbed; "wot's come to her?" "I feel," said Miss Pross, "as if there had been a flash and a crash, and that crash was the last thing I should ever hear in this life." "Blest if she ain't in a queer condition!" said Mr. Cruncher, more and more disturbed. "Wot can she have been a takin', to keep her courage up? Hark! There's the roll of them dreadful carts! You can hear that, miss?" "I can hear," said Miss Pross, seeing that he spoke to her, "nothing. Oh! my good man, there was first a great crash, and then a great stillness, and that stillness seems to be fixed and unchangeable, never to be broken any more as long as my life lasts!" "If she don't hear the roll of those dreadful carts, now very nigh their journey's end," said Mr. Cruncher, glancing over his shoulder, "it's my opinion that indeed she never will hear any thing else in this world." And indeed she never did. what he said; Miss Pross could not hear him. ALONG the Paris streets the dead-carts rum"So I'll nod my head," thought Mr. Cruncher, ble, hollow and harsh. Six tumbrils carry the day's wine to La Guillotine. All the devouring the side of the cart and holds his hand. He and insatiate Monsters imagined since imagination could record itself are fused in the one realization, Guillotine. And yet there is not in France, with its rich variety of soil and climate, a blade, a leaf, a root, a sprig, a peppercorn, which will grow to maturity under conditions more certain than those that have produced this horror. Crush humanity out of shape once more, under similar hammers, and it will twist itself into the same tortured forms. Sow the same seed of rapacious license and oppression ever again, and it will surely yield the same fruit according to its kind. has no curiosity or care for the scene about him, and always speaks to the girl. Here and there in the long street of St. Honoré cries are raised against him. If they move him at all, it is only to a quiet smile as he shakes his hair a little more loosely about his face. He can not easily touch his face, his arms being bound. : On the steps of a church, awaiting the comingup of the tumbrils, stands the Spy and prisonsheep. He looks into the first of them not there. He looks into the second: not there. He already asks himself, "Has he sacrificed me?" when his face clears as he looks into the third. "Which is Evrémonde?" says a man behind him. "That. At the back there." "Yes." The man cries "Down, Evrémonde! To the Guillotine all aristocrats! Down, Evrémonde !" "Hush, hush!" the Spy entreats him, timidly. "And why not, citizen?" Six tumbrils roll along the streets. Change these back again to what they were, thou powerful enchanter, Time, and they shall be seen to be the carriages of absolute monarchs, the equipages of feudal nobles, the toilets of flaring Jezebels, the churches that are not my father's house but dens of thieves, the huts of millions of starving peasants! No; the great magician who majestically works out the appointed order of the Creator never reverses his transformations. "If thou be changed into this shape by the will of God," say the seers to the enchant-paid in five minutes more. Let him be at ed, in the wise Arabian stories, "then remain so! But if thou wear this form through mere passing conjuration, then resume thy former aspect!" Changeless and hopeless, the tumbrils roll along. As the sombre wheels of the six carts go round they seem to plow up a long crooked furrow among the populace in the streets. Ridges of faces are thrown to this side and to that, and the plows go steadily onward. So used are the regular inhabitants of the houses to the spectacle that in many windows there are no people, and in some the occupations of the hands is not so much as suspended, while the eyes survey the faces in the tumbrils. Here and there the inmate has visitors to see the sight; then he points his finger, with something of the complacency of a curator or authorized exponent, to this cart and to this, and seems to tell who sat here yesterday, and who there the day before. Of the riders in the tumbrils some observe these things, and all things on their last roadside, with an impassive stare; others, with a lingering interest in the ways of life and men. Some, seated with drooping heads, are sunk in silent despair; again there are some so heedful of their looks that they cast upon the multitude such glances as they have seen in theatres and in pictures. Several close their eyes and think, or try to get their straying thoughts together. Only one, and he a miserable creature of a crazed aspect, is so shattered and made drunk by horror that he sings and tries to dance. Not one of the whole number appeals, by look or gesture, to the pity of the people. "He is going to pay the forfeit; it will be peace." But the man continuing to exclaim, “Down, Evrémonde!" the face of Evrémonde is for a moment turned toward him. Evrémonde then sees the Spy, and looks attentively at him, and goes his way. The clocks are on the stroke of three, and the furrow plowed among the populace is turning round, to come on into the place of execution, and end. The ridges thrown to this side and to that now crumble in and close behind the last plow as it passes on, for all are following to the Guillotine. In front of it, seated in chairs as in a garden of public diversion, are a number of women, busily knitting. On one of the foremost chairs stands The Vengeance, looking about for her friend. "Thérèse!" she cries, in her shrill tones. "Who has seen her? Thérèse Defarge !" "She never missed before," says a knitting woman of the sisterhood. "No; nor will she miss now," cries The Vengeance, petulantly. "Thérèse !" "Louder," the woman recommends. Ay! Louder, Vengeance, much louder, and still she will scarcely hear thee. Louder yet, Vengeance, with a little oath or so added, and yet it will hardly bring her. Send other women up and down to seek her, lingering somewhere; and yet, although the messengers have done dread deeds, it is questionable whether of their own wills they will go far enough to find her! "Bad Fortune !" cries The Vengeance, stamping her foot in the chair; "and here are the tumbrils! And Evrémonde will be dispatched in a wink, and she not here! See her knitting in my hand, and her empty chair ready for her. I cry with vexation and disappointment!" There is a guard of sundry horsemen riding abreast of the tumbrils, and faces are often turned up to some of them, and they are asked some question. It would seem to he always the same question, for it is always followed by a As The Vengeance descends from her elevapress of people toward the third cart. The tion to do it the tumbrils begin to discharge horsemen abreast of that cart frequently point their loads. The ministers of Sainte Guillotine out one man in it with their swords. The lead-are robed and ready. Crash!-A head is held ing curiosity is to know which is he; he stands at the back of the tumbril with his head bent down to converse with a mere girl who sits on up, and the knitting women, who scarcely lifted their eyes to look at it a moment ago when it could think and speak, count One. "THE TWO STAND IN THE FAST-THINNING THRONG OF VICTIMS," ETC. The second tumbril empties and moves on; | victims, but they speak as if they were alone. the third comes up. Crash!-And the knitting women, never faltering or pausing in their work, count Two. The supposed Evrémonde descends, and the seamstress is lifted out next after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, but still holds it as he promised. He gently places her with her back to the crashing engine, that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into his face and thanks him. "But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have hope and comfort here to-day. I think you were sent to me by Heaven." "Or you to me," says Sydney Carton. "Keep your eyes upon me, dear child, and mind no er object." Eye to eye, voice to voice, hand to hand, heart to heart, these two children of the Universal Mother, else so wide apart and differing, have come together on the dark highway, to repair home together and to rest in her bosom. "Brave and generous friend, will you let me ask you one last question? I am very ignorant, and it troubles me-just a little." "Tell me what it is." "I have a cousin, an only relative, and an orphan, like myself, whom I love very dearly. She is five years younger than I, and she lives in a farmer's house in the south country. Poverty parted us, and she knows nothing of my fate-for I can not write-and if I could, how should I tell her! It is better as it is." "Yes, yes: better as it is." "What I have been thinking as we came oth-along, and what I am still thinking now, as I look into your kind strong face, which gives me so much support, is this: If the Republic really does good to the poor, and they come to be less hungry, and in all ways to suffer less, she may live a long time; she may even live to be old." "What then, my gentle sister ?" "I mind nothing while I hold your hand. I shall mind nothing when I let it go, if they are rapid." 66 "They will be rapid. Fear not!" The two stand in the fast-thinning throng of "Do you think"-the uncomplaining eyes instruction of the old, perishing by this retributive which there is so much endurance, fill with tears, instrument, before it shall cease out of its presand the lips part a little more and tremble-ent use. I see a beautiful city and a brilliant "that it will seem long to me, while I wait for people rising from this abyss, and, in their her in the better land where I trust both you struggles to be truly free, in their triumphs and and I will be mercifully sheltered?" defeats, through long long years to come, I see the evil of this time, and of the previous time of which this is the natural birth, gradually making expiation for itself and wearing out. "It can not be, my child; there is no Time there, and no trouble there." "You comfort me so much! I am so ignorant! Am I to kiss you now? Is the moment come ?" "Yes." She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before him-is gone; the knitting women count Twenty-Two. "I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me, shall never die." The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-Three. "I see the lives for which I lay down my life, peaceful, useful, prosperous, and happy, in that England which I shall see no more. I see Her with a child upon her bosom, who bears my name. I see her father, aged and bent, but otherwise restored, and faithful to all men in his healing office, and at peace. I see the good old man, so long their friend, in ten years' time enriching them with all he has, and passing tranquilly to his reward. "I see that I hold a sanctuary in their hearts, and in the hearts of their descendants, generations hence. I see her, an old woman, weeping for me on the anniversary of this day. I see her and her husband, their course done, lying side by side in their last earthly bed, and I know that each was not more honored and held sacred in the other's soul than I was in the souls of both. 66 "I see that child who lay upon her bosom and bore my name, a man, winning his way up in that path of life which once was mine. I see They said of him, about the city that night, that it was the peacefulest man's face ever beheld there. Many added that he looked sub-him winning it so well that my name is made lime and prophetic. One of the most remarkable sufferers by the same axe—a woman—had asked at the foot of the same scaffold, not long before, to be allowed to write down the thoughts that were inspiring her. If he had given any utterance to his, and they were prophetic, they would have been these: "I see Barsad, and Cly, Defarge, The Vengeance, the Juryman, the Judge, long ranks of the new oppressors who have risen on the de illustrious there by the light of his. I see the blots I threw upon it faded away. I see him, foremost of just judges and honored men, bringing a boy of my name, with a forehead that I know and golden hair, to this place-then fair to look upon, with not a trace of this day's disfigurement-and I hear him tell the child my story with a tender and a faltering voice. "It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known." The Books in this Catalogue are the Best and Latest Publications by the most Popular and Celebrated Writers in the World. They are also the most Readable and Entertaining Books published. Suitable for the Parlor, Library, Sitting Room, Railroad, Steamboat, or Chamber Reading. Published and for Sale by T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Philadelphia. Booksellers, News Agents, Pedlers, etc., will be Supplied at very Low Rates. Copies of any of Petersons' Publications, or any other work or works Advertised, Published, or Noticed by any one at all, in any place, will be sent by us, Free of Postage, on receipt of Price. SPECIAL NOTICE TO BOOKSELLERS AND DEALERS. T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS would state that they are now selling all their Publications at prices which are, in themselves, a very special inducement for dealers, whatever may be the extent of their trade, to open accounts with them for them, direct, instead of ordering them through other houses. But, as an additional inducement for dealers to open accounts with us, we will furnish them with ample supplies of editors' copies of all our new Publications, whether in cloth or paper, together with circulars and show-bills. Our large discounts, as is already well known, are larger than those of any other house in the trade; a fact which will, we trust, induce all dealers who are not already in correspondence with us to give us a trial. We deal in and supply every thing of interest to the Trade, and sell at prices which cannot fail to give the most thorough satisfaction. Trouble, care and attention not regarded as of any moment, so long as they result in satisfying our friends. The attention of the Trade Is solicited to the large list of Useful and Standard Works, Original and Reprint Works, in every department of literature issued by us. This list contains the very best and most saleable works in the market, and will be continually increased by the addition of all the new first-class Pubiications, as well as all the most use ful works of the age. We publish near one hundred editions of Sir Walter Scott's and Charles Dickens' works, alone, as well as Miss Leslie's, Mrs. Widdifield's, Mrs. Hale's, and all the other best Cook Books issued. Country Dealers will find that by ordering from us, all their orders will be filled as quickly, and c as favorable terms, as if they were on the spot themselves. They will find us early, prompt and energetic, and always watchful of their interests. We also wish it distinctly understood, that in order to give our customers extra facilities, we will enclose in the package (without extra charge) any thing else they may order and have to receive from any other house in Philadelphia, so that it may reach them without any extra cost. Dealers and strangers visiting the city, and all others, are invited to call and examine our large and wellassorted stock, embracing ample supplies in every branch of English literature, and comprising works in all styles of bindings, from the most costly to the cheapest editions. Persons wishing any thing from us at all, have only to enclose any amount of money they please, and order what they wish, and they will then receive them at once. TERMS: To those with whom we have no open account, Cash with order, Five per cent. off, or responsible city reference. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ'S WORKS. Price MISS BREMER'S NEW WORKS. Mary Derwent. Two volumes, paper cover. MISS LESLIE'S BEHAVIOUR BOOR. Miss Leslie's Behaviour Book. A complete Guide and Manual for Ladies, as regards their conversation, manners, dress, introduction, entrée to society; shopping; conduct in the street; at places of amusement; in traveling; at the table, either at home, in company, or at hotels; deportment in gen tlemen's society; lips; complexion; teeth; hauds; the hair, &c., &c. With full instructions and advice in letter-writting; receiving presents; incorrect words; borrowing; obligations to gentlemen; decorum in church; at evening parties; and full sugges tions in bad practices and habits easily contracted, which no young lady should be guilty of, &c.. &c. Complete in one large bound volume. Price $1.25. Copies of any of the above Works will be sent by Mail, Free of Postage, on receipt of Price (1) |