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There
,
too
,
was
the
thing
itself
regarded
with
no
great
wonder
;
where
"
born
noblemen
,
"
both
of
France
and
the
"
Faderland
,
"
may
oft
be
encountered
seeking
an
honest
livelihood
by
the
sweat
of
their
brow
.
A
fig
for
all
patents
of
nobility
--
save
those
stamped
by
the
true
die
of
Nature
!
Such
is
the
sentiment
of
this
far
free
land
.
And
this
sort
of
impress
the
young
Irishman
carries
about
him
--
blazoned
like
the
broad
arrow
.
There
is
no
one
likely
to
mistake
him
for
either
fool
or
villain
.
And
yet
he
stands
in
the
presence
of
an
assembly
,
called
upon
to
regard
him
as
an
assassin
--
one
who
in
the
dead
hour
of
night
has
spilled
innocent
blood
,
and
taken
away
the
life
of
a
fellow-creature
!
Can
the
charge
be
true
?
If
so
,
may
God
have
mercy
on
his
soul
!
Some
such
reflection
passes
through
the
minds
of
the
spectators
,
as
they
stand
with
eyes
fixed
upon
him
,
waiting
for
his
trial
to
begin
.
Some
regard
him
with
glances
of
simple
curiosity
;
others
with
interrogation
;
but
most
with
a
look
that
speaks
of
anger
and
revenge
.
There
is
one
pair
of
eyes
dwelling
upon
him
with
an
expression
altogether
unlike
the
rest
--
a
gaze
soft
,
but
steadfast
--
in
which
fear
and
fondness
seem
strangely
commingled
.
There
are
many
who
notice
that
look
of
the
lady
spectator
,
whose
pale
face
,
half
hid
behind
the
curtains
of
a
calèche
,
is
too
fair
to
escape
observation
.
