complish it, I lost my hold, fell down the hatchway (the gratings having been carried away with the long-boat), and was for some minutes entangled there amongst a heap of packages, which the violent fluctuations of the water had collected on the lee side. As the vessel moved with the sea, and the water flowed in, the packages and I were rolled together......sometimes one, sometimes another, uppermost; so that I began to be apprehensive I should not be able to extricate myself: by the meerest accident, however, I grasped something that lay in my way, made a vigorous spring, and gained the lee shrouds. Mr. Hall, who followed me, in seizing the shrouds, came thump against me with such violence that I could scarcely retain my hold of the rigging. Compelled by the perilous situation in which I stood, I called out to him for God's sake to keep off, for that I was rendered quite breathless and worn out: he generously endeavoured to make way for me, and, in doing so, unfortunately lost his hold, and went down under the ship's side. Never, never, shall I forget my sensations at this melancholy incident ......I would have given millions of worlds that I could have recalled the words which made him move; my mind was wound up to the last pitch of anguish; I may truly say, that this was the most bitter of all the bitter moments of my life, compared with which the other circum stances of the shipwreck seemed lessened......for I had insensibly ac quired an unusual esteem and warm attachment for him, and was doubtful whether, after being even the innocent occasion of his falling, I ought to take further pains to preserve my own life. All those sensations were passing with the rapidity of lightning through my thoughts, when, as much to my astonishment as to my joy, I saw him borne by a returning wave, and thrown among the very packages from which I had but just before, with such labour and difficulty, extricated myself...... In the end he proved equally fortunate, but after a much longer and harder struggle, and after sustaining much more injury.

"I once more changed my station, and made my way to the poop, where I found myself rather more sheltered......I earnestly wished Mr. Hall to be with me, whatever might be my ultimate fate....and beckoned to him to come to me; but he only answered by shaking his head, in a feeble, desponding manner......staring at the same time wildly about him: even his spirit was subdued; and despair, I perceived, had begun to take possessson of his mind.

Being a little more at ease in my new station than I had been before, I had more time to deliberate, and more power to judge. I recollected, that, according to the course of time, the day was far gone, and the night quickly approaching: I reflected, that for any enterprize whatsoever, day was much preferable to night; and above all I considered, that the vessel could not hold long together......I therefore thought, that the best mode I could adopt would be, to take to the water with the first buoyant thing I could see; and, as the wind and water both seemed to run to the shore, to take my chance in that way of reaching it. In pursuance of this resolution, I tore off my shirt, having before that thrown off the other parts of my dress......I looked at my sleeve buttons, in which was set the hair of my departed children...... and, by an involuntary act of the imagination, asked myself the question, "Shall I be happy enough to meet them where I am now about to go?......shall those dear last remains, too, become a prey to the de vouring deep?"......In that instant, reason, suspended by the horrors of

the scene, gave way to instinct; and I rolled my shirt up, and very carefully thrust it into a hole between decks, with the wild hopes that the sleeve buttons might yet escape untouched. Watching my opportunity, I saw a log of wood floating near the vessel, and waving my hand to Mr. Hall as a last adieu, jumped after it. Here again I was doomed to aggravated hardships; I had scarcely touched the log when a great sea snatched it from my hold: still as it came near me, I grasped at it ineffectually, till at last it was completely carried away, but not before it had cut and battered and bruised me in several places, and in a manner that at any other time I should have thought dreadful.

"Death seemed inevitable; and all that occurred to me now to do was to accelerate it, and get out of its pangs as speedily as possible; for, though I knew how to swim, the tremendous surf rendered swimming useless, and all hope from it would have been ridiculous. I therefore began to swallow as much water as possible; yet, still rising by the buoyant principle of the waves to the surface, my former thoughts began to recur; and whether it was that, or natural instinct, which survived the temporary impressions of despair, I know not......but I endeavoured to swim, which I had not done long when I again discovered the log of wood I had lost floating near me, and with some difficulty caught it: hardly had it been an instant in my hands, when, by the same unlucky means, I lost it again. I had often heard it said in Scotland, that if a man will throw himself flat on his back in the water, lie quite straight and stiff, and suffer himself to sink till the water gets into his ears, he will continue to float so for ever: this occurred to me now, and I determined to try the experiment; so I threw myself on my back in the manner I have described, and left myself to the disposal of Providence; nor was I long till I found the truth of the saying, for I floated with hardly an effort, and began for the first time to conceive something like hopes of preservation.

66

After lying in this manner, committed to the discretion of the tide, I soon saw the vessel......saw that it was at a considerable distance behind me. Liveliest hope began to play about my heart, and joy fluttered with a thousand gay faucies in my mind; I began to form the favourable conclusion, that the tide was carrying me rapidly to land from the vessel, and that I should soon once more touch terra firma.

"This expectation was a cordial that revived my exhausted spirits: I took courage, and left myself still to the same all-directing Power that had hitherto preserved me, scarcely doubting that I should soon reach the land. Nor was I mistaken; for in a short time more, without effort or exertion, and without once turning from off my back, I found myself strike against the sandy beach. Over-joyed, as you may well suppose, to the bighest pitch of transport at my providential deliverance, I made a convulsive spring, and ran up a little distance on the shore ; but was so weak and worn down by fatigue, and so unable to clear my stomach of the salt water with which it was loaded, that I suddenly grew deadly sick, and apprehended that I had only exchanged one death for another; and in minute or two fainted away."

4

THE

HISTORY OF SAINT ANDRE.

From Adela and Theodore,

THE

HE father of our venerable guide, was called Monsieur de Vilmore. He was a man of mean extraction; but, in a few years, had amassed a prodigious fortune. He had several children, of whom our good St. Andre was the youngest. M. de Vilmore aspired to the honour of marrying his daughters into some noble families, in order to give distinction to his own by the splendour of his alliances; and being desirous, moreover, to leave his eldest son in the possession of a vast estate and of exalted rank, he scrupled not to sacrifice the young St. Andre to these ambitious views. He sent this prescribed son to a distant and mean boarding school, where his education was quite neglected; but having naturally a fine genius and excellent understanding, the youth soon surpassed the expectations of his masters. When he arrived at his sixteenth year, he was informed that the church was the only choice he had to make. A lively imagination, powerful passions, and his knowledge of the affluent circumstances of his family, all inspired him with an insurmountable aversion for that profession. Desirous of diverting his father from a resolution which was so fatal to his peace, he requested leave to return home, that he might open his mind to him. M. de Vilmore, as he had no suspicion of these views, had no objection to grant him this favour; and consequently, after a kind of exile ever since he was five years old, he revisited his father and his family for the first time, at the age of sixteen. He arrived at his father's house on the very day when one of his sisters was married to the Marquis de C****. In the scenes of opulence and grandeur which he now beheld, he saw his brother and sisters treat him as a stranger, and even his father behave to him with indifference and contempt. From such a welcome he soon divined what misfortunes were to await him. He persisted, however, in communicating his sentiments to his father, to whom he addressed himself with equal firmness and respect; I do not ask, Sir,' said he, for affluence; a moderate competency will content me; but do not deprive me of my liberty, nor compel me to enter into a state to which I have an invincible aversion.'-M. de Vilmore, enraged at this unexpected opposition, loaded the generous youth with the most severe reproaches: Your obstinacy,' said he will ruin you. But my kindness induces me to give you yet sometime for reflection. I will send you to one of your aunts in Flanders, where

you shall remain six months; and if, at the expiration of that time, you do not submit to my pleasure, I shall employ the most forcible means to make you sensible of your duty.'

The unfortunate St. Andre set out for Lisle, overwhelmed with the deepest affliction, but unshaken in his resolution. A captivating person, an amiable character, and a certain sweetness and dignity in his manners, attracted universal notice in an exile, the severity of which was softened by the pleasures of society. Of an easy temper, and perfectly inexperienced, he knew not how to resist the solicitations of a variety of new friends, by whom his company was perpetually courted. The regiment of **** was then at Lisle: the officers played very high; and knowing the vast riches of M. de Vilmore, they frequently engaged his son in their dangerous parties. He began, as is most commonly the case, by winning; and he ended, which is still more inevitable, by losing. The hope of recovering his money plunged him into deeper play, till, at last, his honour was engaged for 24,000 francs.* In this extremity he wrote to his father, and confessed his folly in the most pathetic terms. He received no answer; but he was arrested, and confined in the castle of Saumur. To this punishment he submitted with a resignation, which no one could have expected from a temper that was naturally violent. Knowing that all his debts were paid, he felf sentiments of gratitude, that enabled him to endure patiently a treatment, which he had no reason to imagine would be of long duration. But he had yet no idea of the inexorable cruelty of his father. Contrary to his expectations, he was detained a prisoner two years. At length, the doors of his prison were opened, and he heard this sentence announced: You must either give your word of honour to enter into holy orders, or go out a cadet to the East Indies.'- I do not hesitate a moment,' answered St. Andre; I shall rejoice to leave a country, which is now a foreign one to me, since it no longer contains either a father, a relation, or a friend.'- -This answer determined his fate: he was sent to Brest, where he embarked two days after. Thus did an unnatural father send beyond the seas a youth of eighteen, of the most promising expectations, without money, without connections, and without rank; and with the hope, perhaps, that surrounded by perils, and overwhelmed by misery and grief, he might there terminate his unfortunate life.

A fine constitution, however, enabled him to support the most severe fatigues; while fortitude and bravery rendered him superior to his misfortune. He distinguished himself greatly; he rose to preferment; and soon emerged from poverty and obscurity. These early successes were productive of others more advantageous still. Having acquired reputation and friends, he was associated in several enterprizes, which, in a country at that time so fertile in resources, in less than five years secured him a happy and independant situation. Content with a moderate fortune, in the acquisition of which he had not once deviated from virtue; and having risen to an honourable post in the service of the Company; he now began to turn his thoughts towards his native country. Still young, his heart was not insensible to the desire which vanity inspired, of displaying before his family the rapid produce of his services; with a resolution, however, of returning to the East Indies,

10501. Sterling.

although not as the slave of necessity, but as ardently aspiring still to superior honours. His father, informed of his good fortune, had condescended for two years past, to acknowledge him as his son. He even wrote to him, and appeared to have got the better, at last, of all his former prejudices. St. Andre embarked, with his whole fortune in paper. A truce, concluded between the two rival Companies for a year, seemed to promise that security in his voyage, which could not permit him to defer it. This imprudence was the source of all his subsequent misfortunes. He was scarcely at sea, when the truce was broken, his ship was attacked by the English, and he was conveyed a prisoner to Falmouth, a port town on the southern coast of England. He lost, at once, his liberty and fortune; and all his flattering prospects instantly vanished. He wrote to his father; but to augment his calamity, the only answer he received, was full of the most bitter reproaches.

At the expiration of six months he was released from confinement. He embarked at Falmouth, and soon beheld his native shore, but with emotions far different from those he had fondly hoped to experience; and he arrived at Brest, nearly in the same situation in which he had left it six years before. Without money, without the common necessaries of life, and without resources, he recollected a surgeon, named Bertrand, at whose house he had formerly lodged, and from whom he had received many proofs of friendship. He soon found this worthy. man, who offered him his house, his purse, and all the service in his power. St. Andre did not blush to be indebted to the kind offices of friendship. He wrote to his father; and, having never received his portion, which in happier times he had even forgotten, he now found himself obliged to demand it. M. de Vilmore answered, that he would give him no money, but on condition, that he would immediately embark again for the East-Indies, in a ship that was just ready to sail. This unexampled severity now entirely alienated a heart, which had long before been sufficiently exasperated. In the anguish of resentment and despair, his fortitude forsook him. He fell dangerously ill, and was soon reduced to the last extremity. Bertrand left him neither night nor day; but was lavish in all the attentions of tenderness, which the most generous friendship could inspire. This good man had a daughter about eighteen, who, imagining that she only obeyed the dictates of virtuous compassion, was constantly at the bed-side of the unfortunate St. Andre, and joined with her father in the employment of a nurse. Bertrand related to her the adventures of his unhappy. patient, with his great prosperity in the East-Indies; he extolled his: courage, perseverance, and good conduct, of which there were many witnesses then at Brest; and they both bewail a fate that was so calamitous and unmerited. St. Andre, who, from the commencement of his illness, had been delirious, was not in a situation to enjoy this affecting goodness; and having been before oppressed with the unutterable an guish of grief, he had so constantly kept in his chamber, that he had hardly even seen Blanche, (which was the name of Bertrand's daughter) nor had he ever taken any notice of her. But this young woman,* notwithstanding her father was in very humble circumstances, was celebrated in Brest for an education superior to her birth, for the beauty of her person, and the inexpressible modesty and sweetness of her deportment.