One night, when St. Andre was given over, Blanche, seated sorrowfully on the bed-side, was observing with deeper attention and compassion, the unhappy object of so much care and anxiety. The paleness of death overspread his features; but the traces of youth were still visible, and rendered them more afflicting. His closed eyes seemed closed for ever: one of his hands were extended on the bed. "Blanche, with an irresistible impulse, dropped one of her hands on his, and finding it - cold and lifeless, she thought him dead.- O Heaven!' she exclaimed, it is all over unfortunate young man!'-Terror, compassion, a softer emotion still, now deprived her of all utterance, and she sunk down on the bed, without sense or motion. At this instant St. Andre opens his eyes, and the first object that strikes him, is Blanche near him in a swoon-it is youth and beauty surrounded by the shades of death. He utters a piercing cry; assistance arrives; and Blanche is recovered. This affecting scene is explained; and St. Andre revives, only to feel all the emotions of the most passionate gratitude, Thus, in the midst of painful horrors, and on the borders of the grave, did Love unite for ever two unfortunate hearts.

St. Andre, who soon began to be sensible of his gradual recovery yielded to the dangerous impression of a passion, that for the first time he now experienced. He soon obtained the confession on which his happiness depended. Blanche had betrayed herself even before she was beloved; and now, happy and tranquil, confirmed by transport of joy, what her despair had already declared. Bertrand himself, impelled by pity, tenderness, and perhaps ambition, consented, after a faint resistance, to the united entreaties of St. Andre and his daughter. He approved of the idea of a secret union; and St. Andre, six months after his illness, being then twenty-five, married Blanche, and attained the height of his wishes. Neither desiring, nor expecting any assistance from his father, he resolved to conceal his marriage, and to take the first favourable opportunity of returning to the East Indies, accompanied by his wife and her father. He took the necessary measures; and, by the assistance of his reputation and his friends, soon saw the possibility of being employed in an advantageous manner. In the mean time Blanche became pregnant. This induced him to urge his solicitations with more earnestness, in the hope of being able to set sail, and to arrive in India before his wife could be delivered. But unexpected delays occuring, he perceived, at last, that it would be impossible to avoid the fatal discovery, that must render his secret public. Indeed, it began now to be no longer a mystery in the town, He therefore took the resolution to communicate it himself to his father; which he did in the following letter:

Sir,

Can you recollect the name and existence of an unfortunate man, who has been so long forgotten? I ought to suppose, that you have for ever renounced that right over my destiny which Nature gave you. I - know what were my early errors. If my youth could not then render them excuseable in your eyes, I have sometimes flattered myself since, that an exile of six years, spent in useful, and (I may presume to add) glorious labours, may have induced you to forget them? Nevertheless, cruelly forsaken in my last misfortunes, I have found in a stranger only the compassion, assistance, and tenderness of a father. Without renouncing him who has rejected me, I have thought myself at liberty to

adopt him, whose virtue and beneficence render him worthy of such a sacred title. The father I have chosen is in obscure and needy circum stances; he is neither distinguished by family hor fortune, but he is virtuous and sensible. By accepting his favour, by entering into his family, and marrying his daughter, I am become his son; and the happiness he has conferred on me, far exceeds, as a compensation, all the misery I have endured. I have a due respect for the distinctions established in society; and had I been of a rank that such an alliance would bave dishonoured, I should have had the resolution to sacrifice my passion, and with it the whole happiness of my life, to the honour of my family. But, I thank God, no such obstacle existed. My wife's birth: is equal to my own; and her fortune is not inferior to mine. Her father, indeed, is poor, and mine is rich: which constitutés all the difference between us. No reason, therefore, could or ought to have diverted me from this step. Bound by a tie, which Love and Honour render equally dear and sacred, I entreat you to believe, that ambition, authority, and even the laws themselves, would be armed in vain to dissolve it. I

am going to the East-Indies, to begin a new career. I conjure you not to trouble my destiny, by clamours which cannot change it. I desire only peace, and that I may totally forget a country, which I abandon perhaps for ever. This is the only favour I can presume to implore; I hope I expect it from your justice'

I have the honour to be, &c.'

This letter excited the most terrible emotions in the breast of M. de Vilmore. His vanity was too deeply hurt, not to raise the utmost fury of indignation. The comparison between his family and that of Bertrand, appeared to him the height of insult. He instantly procured two letters de cachet. St. Andre was torn from the arms of his distracted wife: he was hurried, loaded with irons, into a dungeon; and Blanche, notwithstanding her youth and condition, met with a similar fate. In her prison, this unhappy woman brought into the world the unfortunate fruit of her love for St. Andre. They would have robbed her of her infant; but her resistance, her lamentations, and her tears, were powerful enough to melt the savage bosoms, that now for the first time, were sensible to pity. They permitted her child to remain, and, that she might preserve his life, she was careful of her own. In the mean time, St. Andre, driven to desperation, raving and furious, invoked vengeance, and demanded Blanche or death. Three months were passed in this dreadful situation. At length, he was informed, that a per son was arrived, with a message to him from his father. My father!" he exclaimed, I have no father! At this instant, he beheld a person, whom he knew to be a steward of M. de Vilmore. Ah! cried St. Andre, has the barbarian, who sent you, at last heard my prayers? Are you the messenger of death? That is the only favour I can expect from him. Compose yourself, Sir,' answered the steward, compose yourself. I am come to announce to you, that good fortune to which you could have no reason to aspire. While you were accusing Fortune, she was active in your favour. Your brother is dead, and you are become the natural heir of a father, who is still disposed to pardon you, and to receive you with open arms. What! interrupted St. Andre, is my brother dead! Heaven is just: it has torn from my persecutor the object which his pride rendered so dear to him; and I, the victim of his cruel ambition, have not in vain called for vengeance' Here me,' resumed

the steward: instead of invective, endeavour rather, by penitence, to merit this returning goodness. M. de Vilmore, has been the creator of his own fortune, and can dispose of it as he pleases. He has two daughters, whom he can enrich at your expence. But having no grandchild of his name, and pitying your errors and misfortunes, he invites you to that succession from which death has just snatched your brother. But you must imagine what an absolute submission is requisite to purchase this paternal bounty.' Speak, Sir,' coldly replied St. Andre; a father, who would at length acknowledge me, who calls for my hand to wipe away his tears, is certainly incapable of requiring any disgraceful conditions. Speak, therefore; I listen to you, without fearing such.' -You must then,' replied the steward, for ever renounce a degrading as well as illegal marriage. A decent situation in life shall compensate Blanche for the distressing consequences of your mutual imprudence. Your consent alone is wanting to dissolve this shameful connection: every other step is alreay taken; in a word, it is on these terms only that you can aspire.' Enough,' interrupted St. Andre, I foresaw this detestable proposal from the beginning. I have had the patience to hear you; and now, in your turn, observe my answer. I may be persecuted and oppressed; my wife and child may be torn from me; and I may be deprived of life itself: all these cruelties may be inflicted by tyranny armed with power: but honour is a jewel they can never tear from me: I will ever preserve it pure and unspotted; and I shall be happy to suffer all for the dear objects of my esteem and love. This is my final and irrevocable resolution. Neither violence, nor tortures, nor the dreadful apparatus of death; nothing in the universe shall ever compel me to change it.'The steward would have replied; but St. Andre refusing to hear another word, he retired, with the shame and regret of having in vain endeavoured to seduce an incorruptible man. Blanche, in her prison, experiences a persecution still more odious and unjust. They importune her to renounce her rights, and her title of wife of St. Andre. They propose, on these terms, an advantageous settlement for herself and child. Entreaties and menaces are employed by turns. Her invariable answer was, that she expected from her husband the example she ought to imitate. She hoped for an example that would evince his courage and fidelity: and she added, that, in every thing, she was determined her conduct should be conformable to his.... M. de Vilmore, despairing to vanquish such inflexible resistance, abandoned himself to all the outrages, which pride and resentment could excite in the most cruel and obdurate mind. From the weeping mother's arms they tore that dear child, the only support, the only consolation of her life. The unhappy pair were loaded with heavier chains. Their imprisonment was rendered more cruel and more dreadful still; and, to heighten this barbarity, they were informed, that such was the treatment they were ever to expect. Four years elapsed in this horrible. situation. St. Andre, however, supported by Love, made it is duty to live and suffer for the dear objects that were torn from him. By indefatigable pains and perseverance, he at last succeeded, in some measure, in influencing one of his gaolers; who, although he could not be prevailed upon to connive at his escape, procured him the consolation of pens, ink, and paper. He then drew up a memorial, in which he wrote a very circumstantial history of his life. This he concluded, by declaring, that he demanded no other favour than his liberty, his wife, and

child; and that he had no pretensions whatever to his father's fortune, nor even to his own legal portion. This memorial was inscribed with these word: To my country. It began thus: I have shed my blood for my country. I am an obscure citizen, but innocent and persecuted. My cause is the cause of every virtuous and feeling heart. Loaded with chains, forlorn and dying in an infamous dungeon; as a father, husband and son equally unfortunate; I throw myself on the virtue and magnanimity of the first of my countrymen, into whose hands this memorial may fall; and I conjure him to have the generous compassion, to exert himself in the protection and defence of an unfortunate man, who, for near five years has been enchained by violence and oppression. May a beneficent and virtuous hand lay this memorial at the foot of that august Tribunal, which is the protector of injured innocence; and may I, one day, in embracing my wife and son, forget for ever, in their arms, all the torments I have suffered.'

The

The man, whom St. Andre had gained, caused this memorial to be secretly printed; and many copies of it were soon dispersed. A Counsellor, celebrated for great talents and public virtue, was deeply affected by the perusal of this history; and he was nobly ambitious of the glory of supporting such a singular and interesting cause. In spite of the influence and opposition of M. de Vilmore, he soon made the courts of law resound with the cries of the unfortunate St. Andre. He enquired after the fate of Bertrand; and he found that grief had put a period to his days about six months before. Those who detained the young son of St. Andre were compelled to deliver him into his hand; and he obtained an order for the immediate enlargement of the unhappy pair. He then repaired to the prison where Blanche was confined: she was quite ignorant of the measures he had taken; and in the agonies of despair, she expected from death alone the period of all her woes. generous Counsellor, led by humanity, entered this dreary abode, where youth, beauty, and virtue, in distress, presented a most affecting picture. He held St. Andre's child in his arms; and, by the gloomy light of a lamp, he saw Blanche lying upon straw, in a horrid dungeon; her hair dishevelled! with no other covering than rags; her face drowned in tears; and her hands, loaded with chains, lifted up to heaven. He stopped; and, with a pity mingled with admiration, contemplates her youth, her beauty, and the horrors that surrounded her. Blanche, imagining him to be the gaoler, lifts up her languid head, and with a faint and dying voice, demands what was intended.......' I am come,' cries the Counsellor, to pay my homage to suffering Virtue, and to terminate its sorrows.......He then prostrates himself at her feet, and presents her child to her. Blanche recollecting him, exclaims, Ah! if he be restored to me, life is yet supportable !......She would embrace this dear child, but the effort is too much. The excess of joy, the transports of her soul, with the weakness to which she is reduced, exhaust her little remaining strength, and she faints in the arms of her deliverer. Who can express the emotions of surprise and ecstacy in this virtuous and feeling heart, when, on recovering her senses, she is informed, that she is now going to see her husband; that liberty is restored to both; and that the beneficence of an utter stranger would reunite them for ever? Come,' said the Counsellor, leave this dreadful place, that has too long witnessed the lamentations of innocence. Come, that I may restore to the arms of a father and a husband two objects so

VOL. II.

S

6

dear to his heart. But,' continued he, you cannot depart in this unworthy dress; I have foreseen every thing. In this bundle you will find whatever is necessary. Dress yourself, while I go to the gaoler, to shew him my order, and, in a quarter of an hour, I will return to you. He left her, without waiting for an answer; and Blanche, opening the bundle finds linen, and a complete dress, in which nothing had been forgotten. She bedews with her tears these precious pledges of a goodness at once so delicate and considerate; and her soul, now open once more to happiness, is overcome with the unutterable sensations of grateful joy.

The Counsellor returns; not less delighted, nor less affected than Blanche He presents to her a trembling hand; he assists her in carrying her son; and he takes her with transport from the abode of bitter. ness and woe. A coach in waiting soon conveys them to the prison of St. Andre. They are admitted. Blanche, fondly clasping her son, runs to throw herself in the arms of her husband. At this moment, they experienced whatever love and joy can inspire in two fond hearts, exalted suddenly from the depth of despair to the summit of felicity. The Counsellor stood opposite to them, contemplating with rapture this delightful scene. Ah,' thought he, this is my work;' and doubtless, he was not the least happy of the three. On a sudden, Blanche tears herself from her husband's arms, and throws herself at the feet of her generous benefactor. Here,' says she, is that guardian angel, that godlike being, that restores to thee thy wife, thy son, thy liberty!'..... She cannot proceed: her tears, her sobbings deprive her of utterance. St. Andre flies......he prostrates himself by her side: Ah!' he exclaims, my heart, that has been tainted for five years past by the black sensations of hatred, renounce, from this instant, every idea of anger and revenge. Henceforth, it shall be only occupied by gratitude and love. Yes, I forget my persecutors and my misfortunes. renounce the torment of hating; and I devote, for ever, every sentiment of my soul to the dear objects that are restored to me, and to the most generous of men.'

I

But the misfortunes of St. Andre were not exhausted yet. After this affecting scene, the remainder of his life presents nothing

But a long series of perpetual woe.'

He

I will relate the most interesting events of it. The counsellor, his benefactor, received him into his family, and settled him, with his wife, in his country seat. There St. Andre lived in tranquillity for the space of several years. Having engaged himself in the management of the farm, his care and industry almost doubled its yearly produce, and afforded bim the delight of being able to be useful to his generous friend. often endeavoured to enter again into the service; but he constantly found insurmountable obstructions in the active and incessant hatred of M. de Vilmore. He had the misfortune to lose his son, and, some tinte after, his benefactor and sole support. Overwhelmed with grief, he removed from the vicinity of Paris, with his wife, and bore his misery and afflictions to a remote province, where he resolved to live unknown by the labour of his hands. It was in Auvergne that he fixed his wretched destiny. His talents for husbandry, with the fortitude and resolution which this hapless pair exerted, enabled them to procure the means of subsistence; and they both entered into the service of a rich farmer. St. Andre cultivated the earth; while his wife, forgetting the natural deli