"It was in the decline of the summer of 18 that a young officer of noble appearance, dressed in splendid uniform, entered S- on horseback, attended by a single servant. I stood at the drawingroom window as he passed by, and called my father to look at the stranger, thinking he might recognize in him some companion in arms. My father instantly exclaimed

it was F

of whom he had before spoken to us, and who saved his life at the wood of Hougomont, when, owing to the restiveness of his horse, he had been separated from his soldiers after a furious charge upon the French imperialists. My father followed F- to the inn, and shortly returned, bringing him to our house. He presented him to us as his gallant preserver. F- added to a noble figure, and a dignified, open countenance, the most elegant and fascinating manners. In short, 'tis useless to conceal the fact, the first moment he entered the room, he became the idol of my heart. It need not excite surprise that a young female, whose hours had been devoted exclusively to the society of her parents, both of whom were considerably past the meridian of life, should feel emotions at sight of an elegant and attractive young man, to which till then she had been a stranger. F — evidently perceived the confusion into which his appearance had thrown me; and something like awkwardness was visible in his manner, as with a slight glow on his cheek he took my hand after my father had introduced me to him. Our eyes also met, and the rencontre did not tend to relieve our mutual embarrassment. Form, however, was soon laid aside, and the conversation naturally turned on the late war. My father became warm in his recitals, and F- - was enthusiastic; they went again and again over hardfoughten fields, and it was not until a late hour (midnight or nearly so,) that F

returned to the inn, after giving a promise to meet us at breakfast the following morning.

"As soon as Fwas gone, we retired to rest; but there was a something prevented my sleeping, and I arose in the morning little refreshed. From some cause or other, however, I had delayed going down into the breakfast room at the proper time, and my servant came to announce the arrival of F and my father's inquiry whether illness detained me in my chamber beyond the usual time. Till thus

105.-VOL. IX.

aroused, I was unconscious of what I was doing. I found that my hair had been adjusted with more than ordinary care, and several morning dresses lay before me which had evidently been taken out to select the most becoming. I blushed at the preparations I had made, and answered the servant that I would attend the breakfast table immediately.

"When I went into the breakfast room, F was seated opposite the door; his eyes encountered mine as I entered, and the accident occasioned some little confusion in both. But after the compliments of meeting had passed, it gradually wore away, and the conversation became easy and unembarrassed. My father pressed upon F to stay some months with us, to which the latter unreluctantly consented. When breakfast was ended, my father engaged F to ride out with him, and they departed, promising to return at four to dinner. My mother employed the interval of their absence in domestic arrangements for our guest, and I repaired early to my toilet. Never before had I paid so much attention to my dress, as I did on that day. At dinner Fand I sat opposite to each other, and interchanged looks which neither could misinterpret. The evening flew by, and we separated for the night.-But why should I dwell on minute circumstances, which, however important to me, cannot but tire you in the recital; let me hurry on to the close of my narration.

"About six weeks after the arrival of F --, an incident occurred that served to unveil our hearts to each other. A large company had been invited to our house, (for since the arrival of Fwe had entered more into society,) and amongst the rest, a young lady of beauty and fortune, the daughter of an illustrious deceased officer in the British army. She was no sooner introduced, than I perceived that F's eyes were riveted on her, and during the day his attentions were in a great measure directed exclusively to her. I now felt the extent of his influence in my bosom, and could not endure the agony that arose from the idea of not being beloved; and taking opportunity to retire from the company, I wandered into the garden, and sitting down in an alcove, gave vent to my feelings in a flood of tears. I had hid my face in my handkerchief, and when, the paroxysm of grief having subsided, I raised my head, judge of my feelings, F

was

standing before me leaning on a marble tablet that was near. 'Pardon me, madam,' said he for intruding upon your sorrow

3 F

VOWS.

"Time flew rapidly away, and the period fixed by F for his departure was drawing nigh. To part from him was impossible, for our intimacy had been too familiar to allow of a separation without devoting me to shame. Oh! how easy is the fall from virtue. He poured his poison into my ears, and under its malign effects led me to my ruin. I implored him to make me his wife immediately, but he replied that circumstances rendered it impossible at present, and intreated me in turn to desert my parents and elope with him. What could I do? I was despoiled of my innocence, and if I remained with my parents, my shame must ultimately be discovered. I consented to go with him. He procured a chaise and four, and in the darkness of the night, carried off his prey, leaving desolation and despair where he had found hospitality and happiness.

"Amidst the scenes of dissipation to which I was now introduced, I could not avoid the pangs which must ever attend a guilty conscience. I again implored Fto save my honour and that of my family, by repairing the injury he had done me. He answered soothingly, but in a few days after deserted me, leaving me friendless, and without even the means of immediate support. Shame withheld me from writing to my father, and I wandered from place to place, soliciting, in the last extremities of hunger and fatigue, the offices of charity. When I entered the miserable cottage in which you found me, I had been walking throughout the day without sustenance, and I felt that the hour of expiation was near; that I could not much longer pollute the earth I trod. But a constitution naturally strong withstood my sufferings, and I awoke on the following morning to a full sense of my miseries."

Here she ended her narrative.

Her

sunk into a chair, and it was with much difficulty that we restored her from successive hysterical faintings. We endeavoured to comfort her, but unless we could have brought again the days and years that made her happy, it was a vain effort to attempt consoling her. She was evidently fast sinking under the pressure of mental agony, and a period of trial was approaching, which, in her present state, she could hardly be expected to survive. It was necessary that whatever we did should be done immediately. We determined to inform her father as carefully as possible of his daughter's situation, and to beg that he and her mother would not delay coming to her. She objected at first to our plan, and said that her friends would not think of her more. Then again she dwelt on her father's kindness, and the affection which her mother bore for her, and at last allowed the letter to be sent. Two days brought an answer. She took it herself, and, with a trembling hand, and a countenance bearing more resemblance to the dead than the living, opened it. She had not read far when she uttered a shriek that would have pierced a heart of stone, and fell senseless to the ground. We read the letter. Her mother had died in a month after her leaving home. Her father was

fast approaching to the grave, but hoped to be permitted to see his lost child, and bestow on her his forgiveness.

We conveyed this daughter of affliction to her chamber. The pains of parturiency had been prematurely brought on by the sudden shock, and she was delivered of a dead child. The accoucheur gave no hopes of her long continuance, but thought it probable she might have one lucid interval before she entered on her long bourne.

In the afternoon her father arrived, he had set off shortly after the messenger who brought the letter. The chaise drove furiously into the village, and as soon as it stopped in the court-yard, he had left it, and was asking for his child. We persuaded him to wait till we had prepared her to meet him, and were careful in concealing from him the event that had just taken place, and her dangerous situation. The unhappy girl had awakened from a doze as we entered the room; she at first looked wildly upon us, and then bursting into tears appeared completely sensible of her miseries. "I wish my father were come," she said, "I shall die unforgiven!" We cautiously informed her of his arrival. She looked wild again, and called upon her father. He heard his daughter's voice, and flew to her. The poor old man took her in his

PERSECUTION IN FRANCE.

66

found but the child of a soldier, to be a public shame? Did not my father come from the war-field in triumph? Did he not delight in his child? And is shame the bitter cup reserved for the hero of twenty battles?-See!" she exclaimed, with an hysterical laugh, "the poor old man's mad! Look-how he tears his hair and beats his breast, and seems to ask for his child. His wife and child are both in the cold grave, and he is alone. Poor old man! why does not some one comfort him? She turned her face full upon her father—" Thou art he!" said she. Contending passions worked strongly within her, but at length nature overcame, and tears restored her to reason. My father! my dear unhappy father!" she exclaimed. "My poor child!" was all the answer the afflicted parent could give. The moment of dissolution was at hand; he felt her sinking in his arms. She must not pass without her father's blessing and forgiveness.—"Bless thee, bless thee, my child! God forgive thee." She collected the remains of her strength, and spoke in a sepulchral tone: "Oh, God, forsake not the sharer of my guilt, but lead him to a sense of his errors, and to the means of thy forgiveness. Take me, oh God, in mercy to Thyself. father! the Almighty protect and comfort thee."-She smiled faintly on her parent, and expired.

My

She was buried in our church-yard, and her father now resides in the village, that he may be near his daughter's grave. A very few years at farthest will lay him by her side, and he indulges in the hope (as soothing to humanity as it is consistent with a future state,) that the joys they once experienced in this world will be uninterruptedly renewed in the next. There can be no doubt that the sufferings of both will have finally ended, when this unhappy father shall have laid down the burden of the flesh, and been re-admitted to his daughter in that land-"where the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest." THOMAS ROSE.*

Priestgate, Peterborough.

T. R. wishes in this place to make the observation, that he formerly contributed to the Imperial Magazine under the signature Zelim, not with an idea that the "Nomen stat in umbra" would procure him additional fame, but solely from a wish to remain unobtrusive.

Ir has been generally allowed that close application to certain sciences and professions will give a peculiar bias to the dispo

mind, and exalt its feelings, while others debase the mental powers, and harden the heart. A truth so evident scarcely requires illustration; yet we may be allowed to observe, that if you would solicit an act of friendship from a mathematician who has always been accustomed to look for demonstration, you must address yourself to his reason, and prove the fitness of your request by argument; but if your patron be a poet, or a young artist blest in love and marriage, appeal to his imagination, to his feelings, if you would gain your cause, for there he will be most vulnerable.-Or, suppose a fellow-being like the unfortunate “Samaritan, who, from ill-usage or accident, was stretched helpless on the highway, disabled by complicated fractures, and a crowd gathering round him. Is it not natural to imagine that his misery will excite more sympathy and compassion from women, or from yourg men just entering the world, than it will from the butcher accustomed to the sight of blood and animal suffering, from the slave driver who inflicts anguish, or from the curious anatomist, whose ardour in the cause of his favourite science will blind him to the agony of the wretch he contemplates? If such be the effect of habit, on men all boin with the same kindly dispositions; may we not ascribe to established religion a corresponding effect upon national character? Christianity has every where softened and improved markind: and among Christians, the Protestant faith has every where allayed dissension, dispelled prejudice, and promoted universal charity. Can we then be sufficiently thankful for the blessings we enjoy under the government of Great Britain, where the established church ensures toleration?

Whatever may be urged respecting the improved spirit of the Church of Rome, there is but too much reason to believe that however mild and amiable many of her members may be, and certainly are, yet her tenets are as intolerant now, as they were at the last council of Trent; and of their influence upon practice, let any one judge by the following extracts, faithfully translated from a well-known French author, whose authenticity must be undoubted, since he gives names and dates of facts which have occurred within the recollection of most of your readers. It is true, the religious dissensions in Nimes commenced at the clos

of the last century, but they raged with dreadful violence in the year 1815. I may add, that during my own residence in France, one of those unfortunate Protestant sufferers, a French woman whose husband and, two children had been massacred in the general slaughter at Nîmes, applied to me for relief. She related her misfortunes, and displayed the scars of the wounds she had received upon her head before she made her escape. Her account was corroborated by the most respectable testimony.

Passages respecting the Massacre at Nimes in France, from a popular French Writer.

"In approaching Nîmes, the philosophical traveller will have much pleasure in contemplating the firm union of about twenty villages, peopled with simple peasants, who all profess the reformed religion, are attached with enthusiasm to their own mode of worship, and whose fidelity to government has ever been unshaken. They present the sole phenomenon in Europe of ten or twelve thousand agriculturists united like brethren, and living, not only in ease, but in a state of plenty which admits some degree of luxury.

"I should not speak of their wealth, if I had not occasion to praise their virtue." "As I entered the village of Milhaud, I perceived I was near Nîmes. The first house on the right of the high-road had nothing standing but the outside walls. After having been pillaged, it had been set fire to, and was at length demolished. This house belonged to M. Teulon. add that he is a Protestant?"

Need I

"Arrived at Nîmes, I could not cross without deep emotion the suburb of the road to Montpellier, where, in July, August, September, and October, 1815, were committed most of the murders of that cruel period."

"The trade of Nîmes consists chiefly in the manufactory of handkerchiefs, called madras, of stuffs, and silk stockings, hardware, caps, oil, &c. It may not be useless to add, that the Catholics have imposed upon themselves a rigid law-to give employment to none but men of their own faith."

"It is said, that a man whom public horror has designated in twenty different publications as the chief of a band of assassins, as charged his residence, to avoid hearing the deplorable cries of the family of the unfortunate Clos; one of those, to whorn this monster of the south officiously hasten

ed to administer, and, to make use of the expression of one of his apologists, to anticipate justice, (a term for murder.)-He lived in the Fauxbourg des Bourgades."

"They showed me in the suburb of the road to Üzes, the house of a slaughterer of Protestants, (Abatteur de Protestans.) Such is the name which this wretch gave himself, and which is at once justified by his crimes, and by his occupation."

"In the suburb of the Cours Neuf, I beheld the spot where two unfortunate sisters of the name of Aureze, were torn from their home, and murdered together at ten o'clock at night, on the 20th August. I will not make my readers shudder by a recital of the cruelties which tigers in the human form inflicted upon those unhappy women."

"I had already remarked near the Cimetiere du Mail, the place where the house It was now razed to Souquet once stood. the ground. Turning away, and passing near the Petit Geneve, I was stopped by a heap of ashes-all that remained of the house Mourguese."

"In the rue Neuve my eyes were fixed with equal dismay upon the ruins of the house of M. Nagier, a retired officer. I viewed with still greater horror, in the Cours Neuf, the place where the unhappy Lafont was murdered in the night between the 16th and 17th October.-I thought to escape from this spectacle of destruction, by returning into the town, properly so called, by the street of the chemin de sauve, commonly called the Rue de Monsieur Paul. It was the respectable, Paul Rabaud, a Protestant minister, father of the celebrated Rabaud Saint Etienne, who gave his name to this street. Unhappily this name again recalls scenes of murder and persecution. I recollect with grief that Paul Rabaud languished thirty years of his life in a subterraneous prison, that one of his sons perished on the scaffold, and the other passed his old age in exile and that M. Juillerat, the last Protestant minister who inhabited the maison Rabaud in the Rue de Monsieur Paul, narrowly escaped being stoned in the temple on the 12th November, 1815."

"The peaceable inhabitants of Massillargues, a very small town, from the height of the chaussée du Vidoule, were compassionate spectators of the excesses which disgraced the surrounding neighbourhood. Neither menaces, nor frequent visits from the gens-d'armes, nor repeatedly being disarmed, (with so little regard for justice, that a man was often compelled to purchase a