reconnoitre in the enemy’s trenches, and recommended that he should disguise himself, for fear of his being discovered. ‘Never,’ replied he. ‘Do you take me for a spy? I will go in my uniform, though I should never return.’ And, in effect, he set out instantly, dressed as he was, and had the good fortune to come back unhurt. Napoleon immediately recommended him for promotion, and never lost sight of his courageous secretary. He was Junot, afterwards Marshal of France, and Duke of Abrantes.” Notwithstanding the utmost bravery on the part of the defenders, and of the Royals in particular, the fortress had become no longer tenable from the alarming successes of the enemy. Accordingly, on the night of the 19th December, 1794, the army, with as many of the citizens as could be crowded into the fleet, were embarked, all that might be useful to the foe was destroyed or committed to the flames, and the city abandoned. The scene which ensued is one of the most touchingly interesting and afflicting in the dark story of the Revolution, especially when considered in the light of the cruel fate which awaited the unfortunates who could not find room in the fleet, and who, left behind, must meet the merciless wrath of the Parisian demagogues. Alison thus pictures the sad episode:— “No words can do justice to the horrors of the scene which ensued, when the last columns of the allied troops commenced their embarkation. Cries, screams, and lamentations arose in every quarter; the frantic clamour, heard even across the harbour, announced to the soldiers in the Republican camp that the last hope of the Royalists was giving way. The sad remnant of those who had favoured the royal cause, and who had neglected to go off in the first embarkation, came flying to the beach, and invoked, with tears and prayers, the aid of their British friends. Mothers, clasping their babes to their bosoms, helpless children, and decrepid old men, might be seen stretching their hands towards the harbour, shuddering at every sound behind them, and even rushing into the waves to escape the less merciful death which awaited them from their countrymen. Some had the generosity to throw themselves into the sea, to save, by their self-sacrifice, the lives of their parents, in danger of being swamped in the boats. Vast numbers perished from falling into the sea, or by the swamping of boats, into which multitudes crowded, loaded with their most valuable effects, or bearing their parents or children on their shoulders. Such as could seize upon boats, rushed into them with frantic vehemence, pushed from the beach without oars, and directed their unsteady and dangerous course towards their former protectors. The scene resembled those mournful catastrophes recorded by the historians of antiquity, when the inhabitants of whole cities in Asia Minor or Greece fled to the sea at the approach of their enemies, and steered away by the light of their burning habitations. Sir