“The brave man is not he who feels no fear For that were stupid and unnatural; But he whose spirit triumphs o’er his fear, And boldly dares the danger Nature shrinks from.” JOANNA BAILLIE. Has the reader ever pictured to himself what, at the time of the Reign of Terror, must have been the emotions of some noble victim borne towards the fatal guillotine? Imagine the sensations of some nobleman, fostered in the lap of luxury, accustomed to every indulgence, full of the pride of birth, when the rolling death-cart brings him suddenly in view of the horrible engine of destruction, and the dense crowd of eager spectators assembled to witness his cruel end! A sense of personal dignity struggles with that of mortal fear. He must not show the inward agony that chills his shuddering frame; he must be firm and calm before the gaze of those thousand curious eyes; and yet the horror of that hour almost overcomes his self-command, and he fears that his resolution may give way in the fiery trial! He who can realize to himself this picture, will be able to enter into the sensations of the unhappy earl, when from his carriage window he first beheld the huge globe, towering high above the surrounding crowd, and heard the sound of the cheers which greeted his own tardy appearance on the spot. The vain hopes which he had clung to vanished in a moment from his mind. Mr. Verdon had not disappointed his friend,—no accident had marred the balloon in its transit to Augustine’s house; no, there it was ready, quivering as if with eager joy to welcome its victim! How Dashleigh would have blessed any mischievous urchin who should, by fire or steel, have clipped for ever the wings of the _Eaglet_! Let it not be supposed, however, that the Earl of Dashleigh was a coward. The testimony borne by Augustine Aumerle had been simply just. As a soldier the earl would have done his duty, and earned an honourable name; he would not have blenched on a field of battle, and if wounded, would have endured in silence the anguish caused by the probe or the knife. But his physical constitution was such that he could hardly look down from the height of an ordinary wall without a giddy sensation. His head seemed to turn round on the brink of a chasm, and the horror of falling down a precipice haunted him even in his dreams! It was not to be wondered at that to such a man the idea of gazing down thousands of feet from the clouds was fraught with unutterable terror; and the earl looked so ill when Augustine Aumerle came forth from the door to meet him, that his friend involuntarily exclaimed, “Dashleigh! you are not fit to ascend!” “I must, I must,” was the muttered reply, as with an ice-cold hand the earl returned the grasp of his host. “Come first into the house and refresh yourself; I am certain that you are not well;” and so saying, Augustine led the way into a room where a cold collation had been spread out for his guests.