VOL. II.

LOVE AND DUTY.

(CONTINUED.)

BESIDES, the man who thus

suffered, was one even weakly tenacious on the score of honor, one who loved reputation and respect more than life itself; and now though innocent of even an nuintentional crime, this slave of pride and reputation saw himself for ever banished from society, by being accused and convicted of the atrocious guilt, while those that he most tenderly loved were the sharers in his ignominy and in

splendid exertion of talents, capable by the fame which waits up-. on it to recompense the woman who has performed it for the pain and injury which she often experiences from the envy of her own sex and the severe tenaciousness of the other; but she was called forth from her virtuous and respectable obscurity in order to be arraigned as a thief, and imprison

ed as a convicted felon; and she whose modest eye had always shrunk from the gaze even of respectful admiration, was now exposed to the agonizing stare of unfeeling curiosity and public contempt.

Poor, injured innocents! in England, where the nature and the laws of evidence have been deep

4

aided by religion, conquered at length the dreadful feelings of an

son.

guish, which at first were the necessary consequences of his sudden and most unmerited misfortunes. Yet, as a husband and a father, he suffered still; and at thethought of his wife and child, even the fortitude of his piety forsook him: and when he learnt from the jai- || lor that he was forbidden all communication with them, or with any one, his agony baffled description, and what he had before suffered seemed trifling in compari"But surely, surely, I shall be allowed to see my child !" cried he in a transport of grief. Yes; in nine years' time, when you return from the galleys," replied the jailor. "I shall never return," said d'Anglade, with the look and tone of desperation, “I shall die there;" when suddenly he reflected that there was consolation in that thought; and as he was so soon to pass from time to eternity, he felt how insignificant were all the ties and trials of this world; and lifting up his soul to his Creator, the murmurs of regret were lost in the consoling aspirations of pious patience and religious hope.

adminster the sacrament to him. While receiving it, he declared by, words, and subsequently in writing, that he was entirely innecent of the crime imputed to him, but that he pardoned his enemies and persecutors; and that all the regret that he now felt was, that he was only sentenced to be tied to a chain, whereas his blessed Saviour was nailed to a cross. Unhappily, however, he got the better of his illness, and remained in this horrible abode, supported by charitable contributions, till the departure of the chain of galley slaves to which he belonged.

It is said that the count de Montgommery solicited to have the departure of d'Anglade take place even before he was restored to health; and he waited on the road to see him pass, in order to enjoy the horrible spectacle of his sufferings and humiliation. Such was the man whose notice was once supposed by the deceived d'Anglade to confer honor upon him! Bat when the innocent victim beheld his persecutor, and understood the dreadful motives which led him to witness his distress, he feebly exclaimed-ha

ven with an expression of meek resignation-" I would rather at this moment be the poor suffering d'Anglade, than the countde Montgomery for is it not nobler to

suffer than to do evil?" The rack had so much injured the limbs of d'Anglade that it was impossible for him to use them, and if he moved in the slightest degree he experienced the most insupportable agonies. He was therefore laid upon the cart by two men; and at night when they slept on the road he was taken out and laid on a little straw,. in a barn or under a hedge. When he arrived at Marseilles, he was conducted to the hospital for convicts there, where he had soon the happiness of learning from the medical attendant that his life was drawing to a close. At this moment the dear images of his wife and child recurred to him in all their power. "And I must never see them more !-and I die without embracing them!" he cried, "nay, without sending them my parting blessing!"

was no time to be lost; and the surgeon having procured the necessary materials, d'Anglade, with a considerable effort, dictated as follows:

"I am dying, best beloved of my heart, the victim of my sufferings; but I conjure you, my Sophia, to rise superior to this new trial. Live, I charge you, to see my character and your own cleared from every stain !-and something whispers me, that, sooner or later, our innocence shall be made manifest. Live therefore-I repeat it-to hasten that moment, if it be possible, and to enjoy it for the sake of our innocent girl, now, alas! enveloped in her parent's shame. O that I could once more behold you both! -But God's will be done !--I trust that we shall meet in heaven. My Constantia ! my child! accept my parting blessing, and listen to my last advice :-Think nothing dishonourable but vicenothing valuable but virtue. Conquer poverty by industry; and blush not for the labour that confers on you honourable independence! May you too, live to aid the re-establishment of my fame and honour, and to enjoy the accomplishment of it! O my child let your filial piety comfort and console your poor mother!--And is it thus we part?-But it is the

will of my Creator, and I will

murmur no more.

"Farewell!-farewell for ever "L. &. D'Anglade.”

As soon as d'Anglade was no more, the surgeon inclosed this letter in an envelope, which coatained a few lines from himself, to madame d'Anglade, announcing to her the death of her husband, aftersuch weakness and such suffering as made him incapable of writing himself; and assuring her at the same time, that in his death he was happy-for that he died the death of the righteous; and that he earnestly wished that her own latter end might be like his. Let us now return to madame d' Anglade, and her only child, whose fate had been little less un fortunate than that of the marquis.When dragged to prison, she was on the point of becoming a mother a second time, and terror and anxiety soon had a sensible effect on her health, and a fatal on the yet unborn infant, which lived not to see the light of a day. In this terrible situation and while liable to long and fainting fits, she had no assistance but from Constantia, whose own health was considerably injured by the hardships which surrounded them. In the middle of a rigorous winter they were in a eavern where no air could enter, and where chill damps stood upon

the wall; a little charcoal in an earthen pot was all the fire that was allowed them, and the smoke was so offensive and dangerous, that it increased rather than diminished their sufferings; their food depended on charity, and they had no relief but what their priest from time to time procured them.

At length, as a great favour, they were removed to a place less damp, to which there was a little window; but the window was closed up, and the fumes of the charcoal were as noxious here as in the cavern which they had left. Here, however, they remained four or five months; and madame d'Anglade, supported by the hope of happier days, and by the ever dear expectation of being at last restored to liberty and her husband, if not to reputation and society, still clung to existence, though held on terms wretched as these were.

But at length the surgeon's and her husband's letters reached her, and the hope which had supported her, was destroyed forever.

"Mother, dear mother!" cried Constantis, a few dayt after they had heard the mournful tidings, "do not give way to such excessive sorrow; remember, my father bids you live!-live to see his memory justified! and I—