With straining eyes, and bloodless cheeks, Marigny saw Duprat take his position in the middle row of his companions, who stood in three ranks of seven each. Then the awful spectacle of the execution began. After the first seven deputies had suffered there was a pause; the horrible traces of the judicial massacre were being removed. When the execution proceeded, Duprat was the third taken from the middle rank of the condemned. As he came forward, and stood for an instant erect under the guillotine, he looked with a smile on his friend, and repeated in a clear voice the word, “_Remember!_”—then bowed himself on the block. The blood stood still at Marigny’s heart, as he looked and listened, during the moment of silence that followed. That moment past, the church clock of Paris struck. He dropped down on the cart, and covered his face with his hands; for through the heavy beat of the hour he heard the fall of the fatal steel. * * * * * “Pray, sir, was it nine or ten that struck just now?” said one of Marigny’s fellow prisoners to an officer of the guard, who stood near the cart. The person addressed referred to his watch, and answered—“Nine o’clock!” * * * * * =VIRGINIA DARE.= =BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.= [The first-born child of English parents in the Western World was the granddaughter of Governor White, who planted a short-lived colony at Roanoke, Virginia, in the year 1587.] ’Twas lovely in the deep greenwood Of old Virginia’s glade, Ere the sharp axe amid its boughs A fearful chasm had made; Long spikes of rich catalpa flowers Hung pendent from the tree, And the maqudia’s ample cup O’erflowed with fragrance free; And through the shades the antlered deer Like fairy visions flew, And mighty vines from tree to tree Their wealth of clusters threw, While wingéd odors from the hills Reviving welcome bore, To greet the stranger bands that come From Albion’s distant shore. Up rose their roofs in copse and dell, Outpealed the laborer’s horn, And graceful through the broken mould Peered forth their tasseled corn: While from one rose-encircled bower, Hid in the nested grove, Came, blending with the robin’s lay, The lullaby of love.