M. d'Aimeri, trembling, turned towards the affecting object, that was now to tear open afresh all the wounds of his heart. On a pedestal, he saw a statue of white marble, representing Fidelity weeping. This figure held in one hand some long and beautiful tresses of light hair, and with the other she pressed to her heart a letter half-folded, of which not a word could be seen but the name, in large letters of gold, CECILIA. At this sight, your unhappy friend, petrified with astonishment and` grief, is for a moment motionless. Then looking with a distracted eye at M. d'Anglures, trembling, tottering, and leaning against a pillar, What!' said he, the Chevalier de Murville!'.....Yes, himself,' interrupted M. d'Anglures; yes, I am that unfortunate....the Chevalier de Murville, thy implacable enemy'...... Oh! my daughter!' exclaimed M. d'Aimeri: he could say no more: his sobs deprived him of utterance......' Inhuman man,' resumed M. d'Anglures, of what felicity has thy execrable ambition robbed me! It is just, that at length that very ambition should now contribute to augment thy confusion and remorse. Know what fortune I possess. Behold these riches which I despise, and of which I could never know the value but in sharing them with the object I adored, that innocent victim of thy cruelty, as susceptible, alas! as she was unfortunate: for, if thou art still ignorant of it, learn now that I was loved!...... Yes! barbarian, Cecilia loved me; and, notwithstanding thy atrocious cruelty, it is she who ordered me to respect thy life......it is she only who could withhold this desperate arm. ......I abandoned my country; I retired to this spot, to seek in vain for that repose which thou hast torn from me for ever. A faithful friend, the only one I have left in France, gives me every year some intelligence of Cecilia. I know that she is still living......be grateful to Heaven......so long as she is in being, thou hast nothing to dread from my resentment; but'...... Ah! then' interrupted M. d'Aimeri, follow the suggestions of your rage......your friend deceives you......Cecilia is no more.......' She is no more! cried the Chevalier de Murville, Cecilia no more......and art thou still alive?'......Thunderstruck, frantic, he was now rushing furiously towards M. d'Aimeri. I threw myself between them. At this instant, young Charles, impelled by his apprehensions for his grandfather's safety, hastily entered the room, and seeing that I was holding the Chevalier de Murville, What!' said he, addressing himself to him, do you deceive me? What means this furious passion? If my grandfather is the object of it, here am I, who insist upon satisfaction.......These words restored the Chevalier de Murville to himself. The countenance of Charles, and the sound of his voice, operated upon him like an irresistible charm. To this transport of fury succeeded the most tender emotions; his eyes were bedewed with tears; and turning to M. d'Aimeri, Ah!' cried he, give me this youth, and I can pardon all the pangs with which you have embittered my life.'......M. d'Aimeri, so far from being capable of answering his address, did not eyen hear it. Plunged in the deepest reverie; his eyes fixed on his unhappy daughter's hair; he was intent alone on this distressing object. I approached him, and taking him by the arm, Come,' said I, let us leave the Chevalier de Murville to his own reflections: he will doubtless soon reproach himself for having thus aggravated sufferings a thousand times inore poignant than his own." "Yes, Sir,' I continued, going up to the Chevalier de Murville, I was ignorant of your name and of your passion for the unfortunate Cecilia; but I knew that she expired in her

father's arms, and that this wretched father, inconsolable for her loss, and overwhelmed with sorrow, could never have supported life, but for the sake of this young man......Cecilia's nephew, and the only son that Heaven has left him.'....' What!' returned the Chevalier, is his son dead ? Does he lament Cecilia? Ah! if he is wretched, I alone am now guilty.' ...... Cease,' cried M. d'Aimeri, to reproach yourself for a transport of rage, which is but a consequence of the vengeance of Heaven that pursues me. If it be true, that a strong resentment can last for ever in a generous heart, you ought never to forgive me, and I......I am bound to pardon every thing in you.......M d'Aimeri, supported between me and Charles, now left the house, and with what painful sensations, you may easily imagine. I conveyed him back to *****, in a situation that truly claimed compassion. I spent the evening with him, and in the presence of the Chevalier de Valmont, he related his whole history, which he concluded with this exhortation to his grandson: You will one day be a father: be careful not to make any one of f your children an object of partiality. Suggestions of preference will render you blind to the vices and imperfections of the favourite child, and unjust and cruel to all the others.'

The next morning, I returned alone to the Chevalier de Murville. I found him under the greatest dejection of mind, severely reproaching himself for his behaviour the preceding day. I made him more wretched still, by informing him of all the particulars which M. d'Aimeri had been relating to me. He burst into tears while I was describing the affecting scene in the cottage, where Cecilia received the impression that was so fatal to her; and you may imagine his emotions, while I was relating to him all the particulars of her last sickness and death. After answering all his enquiries, I put some questions to him in my turn. He told me that he had voluntarily exiled himself, that Cecilia might never more hear of him, and that he might never be in the way of meeting her father; that he had kept up a correspondence in France with one person only, whom he had enjoined never to mention the name of M. d'Aimeri, that time and reason, although they had allayed the first turbulent emotions of despair, had never been able to eradicate his passion from a heart, in which Cecilia would live for ever; in fine, that his desire of appearing worthy of the favour and confidence of a great Prince, had excited some sentiments of ambition; but that he had found no real consolation but in retirement, study, and pleasure of doing good. Before we parted, he wrote a letter to M. d'Aimeri, containing the most pathetic apoligies; which he desired me to deliver. M. d'Aimeri could not receive it without great expressions of sensibility. That very evening, we were informed that the Chevalier de Murville was extremely ill, and had sent for a physician. He is much better to-day. When he is perfectly recovered, and in a situation to receive us, I will accompany my young Prince to the house and gardens, which he has not yet seen; and M. d'Aimeri has requested me to take that opportunity of gratifying the curiosity of the Chevalier de Valmont. I hope, therefore, that no animosity will now subsist between these worthy men.

PATERNAL FORGIVENESS.

AIKIN.

IND

N the West of England lived Mr. Spencer, a gentleman of handsome fortune, who was left a widower at an early age with one infant daughter. The only consolation he felt after the loss of a partner whom he entirely loved, was in the contemplation of the opening charms and grace of his little Maria, who soon promised to become all that he had so much admired in her deceased mother. He attended to her educa. tion with the utmost care and assiduity; procuring her instructors of every kind, of approved merit, and often taking that pleasing office upon himself, for which his good sense and knowledge eminently fitted him.

With these advantages she grew up lovely and accomplished in an uncommon degree; and seemed in every respect formed to complete the warmest wishes of a parent. He accordingly doated on her with the extremest fondness, and formed no other desire or purpose in life than that of seeing her happily and honourably established:

eyes

In pursuit of this design he did not, like most parents, cast his on wealth or rank. Convinced, from impartial observation, that happiness, in the conjugal state, is only to be expected from a mutual confirmed relish for sober and rational felicity, the first and greatest requisite' he looked for in a son-in-law was a mind formed to steady and habitual virtue. The character usually distinguished by the title of a man of pleasure was therefore the object of his most rooted aversion and dread.

Maria had received from nature that dubious gift a heart of exquisite tenderness and sensibility. This, while it made her return her father's fondness with the warmest filial affection, rendered her also liable to at tachments of a stronger and more dangerous kind..... Unpractised in the world, she did not look at mankind with the discerning eyes of her father; and where she saw an amiable appearance, she was casily led to imagine that every thing else was correspondent.

A young officer happened to be quartered in the town where she lived, who, to a most pleasing figure and address, added a manner and conversation the most specious and insinuating that could be conceived. He appeared all softness and refinement, at the time that his heart was vitiated by the loosest principles, and most confirmed habits of debauchery. Accident gave him an opportunity of commencing an acquain

tance with Maria, before her father was aware of the danger to which she was exposed. The impression he made was too strong to be eradicated; and although her father, as soon as he discovered the connexion, used every art of persuasion, and every exertion of parental authority to dissolve it, he was unable to succeed.

As Mr. Spencer constantly refused his consent to an union, the unhappy consequences of which he clearly foresaw, the lovers had no other resource to gratify their passion than an elopement. It was long before one educated in the habits and principles that had so carefully been implanted in Maria, could resolve upon so rash and guilty a step; but at length is was determined on and effected; and the unfortunate daughter was too late convinced of the dreadful exchange she had made, of the caresses of the most indulgent of parents, for the fugitive embraces of an abandoned and faithless husband.

Justly incensed as her father was, she durst not attempt to soften his resentment, which, founded upon an act of disobedience that overthrew all his dearest hopes, was likely to be stedfast and durable. After suffering a variety of misery, both in body and mind, in following a husband who treated her with brutal neglect, she buried him in a garrison abroad, and returned to England in the utmost indigence, the third year after her marriage, with a son about two

years old.

She had the good fortune to meet with a comfortable asylum, soon after her arrival, at the house of a lady who had been her mother's most intimate friend....By her, she was treated with all the kindness of a parent; and her benefactor, desirous of doing her still more essential service, resolved to attempt the arduous task of reconciling her to her father. As this lady's good sense was equal to her benevolence, she was sensible that in order to succeed in such an attempt, it was not adviseable to make a direct application, which would give resentment an opportunity of being heard as well as natural affection; but first to awaken his paternal feelings, and then urge the suit while the impression was still warm. She had soon an opportunity for executing her plan..

Mr. Spencer, who had always kept up an intercourse of strict friendship with her, came to pay her a visit......It was contrived that Maria's child, one of the loveliest children ever beheld, should carelessly enter the room, and play about among the company. It soon caught the eye of Mr. Spencer, who was always extremely fond of children, and he asked the lady to whom the charming boy belonged. To a friend of mine,' she slightly answered, and turned the discourse to some other subject. The child attracted more and more of Mr. Spencer's notice. He called it to him, set it on his knee, and by several acts of endearment rendered it familiar with him. The boy, pleased with the notice taken of him, exerted all his little powers of engaging, and at length entirely won the heart of his unknown grandfather.

The lady of the house, who had been an attentive though silent ob.. server of this progress of affection, now came up, took the little one in her arms, and, kissing it, cried, Heaven help thee, sweet boy! thou hast a troublesome, world, to struggle through! This little child,' continued she, addressing herself to Mr. Spencer, has already lost his father......and his mother, a most amiable creature, is left almost destitute of support. Mr. Spencer was touched to the soul.....He took the child,