I New-York...Saturday, April 6....1811. LOVE AND DUTY. [CONTINUED.] MADEMOISELLE, BEG you to do my son the honor of informing him, that you accept his proffered services :and now, allow me to make you also the tender of mine. If my experience can be of service to you, command it to the utmost, either in private or public consultations. Till now, I was convinced of your unhappy parents' guilt; but now I feel as strong. ly convinced of their innocencefor it appears to me an impossibility that any parents, but such as were exemplary in their own principles and lives, could have been blessed with a daughter whose sentiments and conduct are an honour to her sex. [NO. 22. Heaven bless you for this! ex“ claimed Eugene, straining his father to his breast-Poor Constan tia, how happy will this letter make her! : Constantia was indeed gratifi. ed by it it gratified, as the President well knew that it would, the virtuous ambition of her soul; and having written to the son a polite acceptance of his offer, she sent the President a warm and grateful one of his. In consequence of this, she called on the latter, a few mornings after, and, was ushered into an empty apartment. On the table lay a miniature picture of Eugene, in a shagreen case, and a lock of his hair beside it, as if it was going to be set with it as a present, perhaps, for his intended bride! A sick and painful feeling came across Constantia's heart as she thought of Believe me, with the since-this, and, taking up the picture, rest esteem, and most grateful respect, Your faithful servant, "Victor Des Essars." she dropped a tear on it; while, hurried away by an emotion which she had never before had an opportunity of indulging, she hoped, by making himself & par. ty in her cause, to acquire a right to be present at her interviews with his son ; and now that he beheld her in all the radiance of youth and beauty, he could not pressed his resemblance by turns to her lips and heart. At this moment, the President, unseen and unheard, approached her ; but well aware what the object was, on which, unconscious that she was observed, she was lavish-help saying within himself" It ing such fond caresses, he cautiously and kindly withdrew again; and then making a great noise to announce his re-approach, he gave Constantia time to dispel her tears, lay down the pic. ture, and prepare for the inter view. O poor Eugene! thought the President, while Constantia, in all the bloom of ripened youth, turned round to meet him. The eye which he had before seen dimmed by grief, and bent to the earth by a painful and overwhelming consciousness, or turning on him the cold chilling glance of pride and desperation, now beamed on him with all the fastre of ardent hope, and grateful complacency; and the pale sank cheek of ear y and ceaseless sorrow, was now suffused with the brightest carnation, and rounded by the hand of health. Few persons are fully aware of all their own motives of action. When the President offered his services to Constantia, he thought that his motives were wholly disinterested; but he deceived himself. He was not aware that he is as well, perhaps, that their meetings will take place under the restraint of my presence." During their conversation, he was called out of the room, and, before he returned to it again, hir curiosity was excited, to know what use Constantia would make of his absence, and whether she would again caress the picture of Eugene. Accordingly he observ ed her from a little window in a closet adjoining, and saw her not only again gaze on the picture, but steal a small lock of the hair beside it, which she carefully concealed in her bosom. Poor thing, thought the Pre. sident, as he re-entered the apartment, how tenderly and truly does she love him!-and yet she desired me to dictate her answer to his letter! Noble-minded girl! would that thy unfortunate parents were alive, to glory in s child like thee! The conferrence was short, but it left a pleasing impression of each on the mind of the other, But while Constantia felt rejoiced at being able to like the father of he meant te address her; while Constantia had intended to be very [civil, but rather distant. But the heart laughs at set forms, and scorns all dictates but its own -as soon as they beheld each other, the studied speech was forgotten, the studied manner laid aside. Eugene said nothing, but imprinted a long kiss on her hand, while Constantia, full of emotion, forgot in her confusion that it was she who was arrived, and not Eugene, and in faltering accents told him he was welcome to Paris. Eugene, the President was not at all rejoiced at seeing so much to admire in the daughter of d'Anglade; and he dreaded her increased influence over his son, when he should behold her more powerful than ever in the improved beauty of her appearance. But from that he had nothing to fear. Constantia, pale and woe-worn, was the object who had first interested and then captivated him, and therefore, though Eugene might rejoice in her heightened bloom, and increased animation, as proofs of her recovered happiness, Constantia looking as she did when he first saw her, would have been an object more dangerous to him, than as she now appeared. But whether her cheekings at length conquered his weak was pale or glowing, her eye bright or tearful, was a matter of indifference; Constantia was still herself, the innocent sufferer from a father's wrongs-the intelligent companion-the pious child-the active friend, and the noble mind. ed virtuous woman, whose conduct had been such as to wring even from the prejudiced heart of his father the warmest tribute of admiration. At length, in presence of the president, Constantia and Eugene had their first meeting on business, and Eugene had prepared a friendly but reserved welcome and congratulation, with which The President meanwhile looked very grave, and began to repent that he had allowed Eugene to be her advocate, but his good feel ones, and in an hour's time Constantia was able to state her case with some clearness, and Eugene to answer so as to be understood. But Eugene discovered at length, after several conferrences, that he was too much taken up with the charms of his client to do justice to her cause: he also found, that, as an engaged man, he could not with strict honour allow himself so many opportunities of being with a woman to whom every faculty of his soal was devoted. • If I continue to see her thus, cried Eugene, I can never marry Julia de Sade." Immediately, therefore, he begeed leave to assO ciate a young counsellor of his ac quaintance to his labors; and reserving his own strength for the time of the trial, he delegated to his friend the dear but dangerous occupation of meeting Constantia, and receiving her information and instructions-while he allowed himself to join the consultations only when his presence was absolutely necessary. But it was not in his power to keep this resolution as he at first intended; he soon thought his presence necessary much oftener than it was, and even if love had allowed him to absent himself, jealousy would not; for it was not long before he discovered, that white endeavouring to preserve himself from danger, he had unconsciously insured it to his friend, who was young, noble, rich, and amiable; and whose father might not, perhaps, have any insurmountable objec tion to an alliance with Constantia, when her parents' innocence was made known to the world. Still, in spite of jealousy, in spite of every thing, Eugene was happy while he saw and heard Constantia, for he soon was convinced that, though Coulanges loved her, she regarded him with perfect indifference; while, tho' she rarely spoke to him, and never looked at him except when his eyes were averted, his penetration, quickened by love, told him that Constantia's heart sympathi zed in some degree with his. Atm length the time appointed for the trial arrived, and all Paris interested itself in the event. One of the principal witnesses, who had voluntarily waited on Constantia, and came forward to prove the gnilt of Gagnard and Belestre, was l'abbe de Fontpierre, a man who had once belonged to the association of thieves of which Be. lestre was a member; and he declared himself, at the same time, to be the author of the anonymous letter to Constantia, and of the other letters of a similar nature which had been received by the countess de Montgommery and others; letters generously de. signed by him to rescue the name of the innocent from undeserved calumny, and lead to the discove ry of guilt. Happy would it be for society, if all writers of anonymous letters were actuated by motives as pure and honorable as those of this repentant sinner! But, for the most part, the pen of the anony. mous letter-writer is held by a hand that would, but for the fear of the law, delight to wield the stiletto of the assassin; for in his heart lurk feelings the most terri. ble and depraved, while he cruel ly calumniates the unoffending innocent, by accusing them, either to themselves or others, of crimes the most abhorrent to 3 their natures, and pores over his baleful manuscript with the grin of a fiend, as he thinks that he is about to impel a poisoned arrow into the breast of those who never perhaps even in thought offended him. But to return to the abbe de Fontpierre; who, having declared that after the death of d’Anglade his conscience reproached him with being privy to so enormous a crime, swore that he knew Belestre had obtained from Gagnard impressions of the count's keys, in wax, by which means he had others made that opened the locks. He said, that being, soon after the condemnation of the marquis d'Anglade, in a room adjoining the one where Belestre and Gagnard were drinking together, he heard the former say to the latter Conie, my friend, let us enjoy ourselves, while this fine fellow, this marquis d'Anglade, is at the galleys! To which Gagnard replied, with a sigh-Poor man! I cannot help being sorry for him; he was a good kind of man, and was always very civil and obliging to me. On which Belestre exclaimed with a laugh-Sorry! what, sorry for a man who has secured us from suspicion, and made our fortunes! It would be tedious and unnecessary to repeat any more of the conversation held by these two wretches, and related by Fontpierre; I shall only say, that every word of it served to confirm the innocence of d'Anglade, and the guilt of the pri soners. The next witness, De la Comble, deposed that Belestre had shown her great sums of money, and a beautiful pearl necklace; and when she asked him how such riches and such pearls came into his possession, he answered, that he had won them at play. These, and many other circumstances related by this woman, confirmed his guilt beyond a doubt; besides, in his pocket was found the Dutch gazette, which led Constantia to Rotterdam, and in which, no doubt, he had himself caused to be inserted, that the men who had committed the robbery for which the marquis d'Anglade had been condemned, had been executed in Holland, for another crime; hoping, probably, by this means to stop all further enquiry on the subject, should any of his confederates, in process of time, be induced to inform against him for the mani. fold atrocities he had committed. A letter from Gagnard was also found upon him, giving him notice of the reports which had been spread through Paris by means of the anonymous letters, and desiring him to contrive some |