—BRENDON. E. F. The soldiers surrounded the cart, drew their swords, and by striking the rioters first with the blunt edge of their blades, and afterwards with the sharp points, succeeded in driving them back. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. He glanced downwards at the impetuous torrent, which he could perceive shooting past him with lightning swiftness in the gloom. You never saw him before yesterday. “Well, you know. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. Brendon and Courtlaw who had been watching for her, met her at the door. .
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