burst into an agony of tears, and sinking on her knees before him, exclaimed-Save me! save me from myself!— Restore me to my parents, before they have reason to hate me.' The gentleman seemed to be somewhat in doubt, whether this was acting, or nature; but he raised Anne from the ground, and placed her upon a seat beside him,- Am I to understand, then, that I have been deceived, and that our present meeting is against your own consent?' No, I cannot say that-O how I wish that I could-I did wrongvery wrong, to come here-but I repent-I was half-starved -I have a father in jail-I thought I could set him free with the money -but I will not pretend to be better than I am -I believe I thought, that, besides relieving my father, I should live all my days without evermore knowing what distress is-and I thought I should be happy-but now I have changed my mind-I never could be happy with a bad conscience-I know-by what I have felt this last hour.' Her voice failed; and she sobbed for some moments without being able to speak. The gentleman, who now was convinced, that she was quite artless, and thoroughly in earnest, was struck with compassion; but his compassion was not unmixed with other feelings, and he had hopes, that, by treating her with tenderness, he should in time make it her I wish to live with him as his mistress. He was anxious to hear what her former way of life had been, and she related, at his request, the circumstances by which she and her parents had been reduced to such distress. His countenance presently showed how much he was interested in her story he grew red and pale-he started from his seat, and walked up and down the room in great agitation, till at last, when she mentioned the name of Colonel Pembroke, he stopped short, and exclaimed-'I am the man-I am Colonel Pembroke I am that unjust, unfeeling wretch!—How often, in the bitterness of your hearts, you must have cursed me!'-' O no-my father, when he was at the worst, never cursed you; and I am sure he will have reason to bless you now, if you send his daughter back again to him, such as she was when she left him.' That shall be done,' said Colonel Pembroke; and in doing so, I make some sacrifice, and have some merit. It is time I should make some reparation for the evils I have occasioned,' continued he, taking a handful of guineas from his pocket: but first let me pay my just debts.' My poor father!' exclaimed Anne-Tomorrow he will be out of prison.' I will go with you to the prison, where your father is confined-I will force myself to behold all the evils I have occasioned.' Colonel Pembroke went to the prison; and he was so much struck by the scene, that he not only relieved the misery of this family, but in two months afterwards his debts were paid, his race horses sold, and all his expenses regulated, so as to render him ever afterwards truly independent. He no longer spent his days, like many young men of fashion, either in dreading or in damning duns. LE SAGE.* THE ARCHBISHOP. IN the very zenith of my favour, we had a hot alarm in the episcopal palace: the archbishop was seized with a fit of the apoplexy; he was, however, succoured immediately, and such salutary medicines administered, that in a few days his health was re-established: but his understanding had received a rude shock, which I plainly perceived in the very next discourse which he composed. I did not, however, find the difference between this and the rest so sensible, as to make me conclude that the orator began to flag; and waited for another homily to fix my resolution. This indeed was quite decisive; sometimes the good old prelate repeated the same thing over and over; sometimes rose too high, or sunk too low it was a vague discourse, the rhetoric of an old professor, a mere capucinade. I was not the only person who took notice of this: the greatest part of the audience, when he pronounced it, as if * ALAIN RENE LE SAGE was born, according to one of his biographers, at Ruys, in Britanny, in 1677, or, according to another, at Vannes, in 1668. He came to Paris at the age of twenty-five with a view to study philosophy, and afterwards travelled through Spain, and applied himself to the Spanish language, customs, and writers, from whom he adopted plots and fables, and transfused them into his native tongue with great facility and success. For the foundation of his Devil on Two Sticks' he was indebted to a work by Lewis Velez, entitled, El Diabolo Cojuelo, printed at Madrid in 1641. His Gil Blas' is the work on which his fame principally rests, and is one of the most popular novels in Europe. It has been received in all nations as a faithful portrait of life and manners.-Le Sage died in 1747; leaving behind him a character truly amiable and strictly moral. they had been also hired to examine it, said softly to one another, This sermon smells strong of the apoplexy.' Come, master homily-critic, (said I then to myself,) prepare to do your office : : you see that his grace begins to fail: it is your duty to give him notice of it, not only as the depository of his thoughts, but likewise, lest some one of his friends should be free enough with him to prevent you: in that case you know what would happen: your name would be erased from his last will, in which there is, doubtless, a better legacy provided for you, than the library of the licentiate Sedillo. After these reflections, I made others of a quite contrary nature. To give the notice in question, seemed a delicate point: I imagined that it might be ill received by an author like him, conceited of his own works; but rejecting this suggestion, I represented to myself that he could not possibly take it amiss, after having exacted it of me in so pressing a manner, Add to this, that I depended upon my being able to mention it with address, and make him swallow the pill without reluctance. In a word, finding that I ran a greater risk in keeping silence than in breaking it, I determined to speak. The only thing that embarrassed me now, was how to break the ice. Luckily the orator himself extricated me from that difficulty, by asking what people said of him, and if they were satisfied with his last discourse. I answered that his homilies were always admired, but, in my opinion, the last had not succeeded so well as the rest, in affecting the audience. 'How, friend!' replied he, with astonishment, 'has it met with any Aristarchus ?**. 'No, Sir,' said I, 'by no means: such works as yours are not to be criticised; every body is charmed with them. Nevertheless, since you have laid your injunctions upon me to be free and sincere, I will take the liberty to tell you, that your last discourse, in my judgment, has not altogether the energy of your other performances. Are not you of the same opinion?' My master grew pale at these words; and said with a forced smile, 'So then, Mr Gil Blas, this piece is not to your taste?'-'I don't say so, Sir,' cried I, quite disconcerted: 'I think it excellent, although a little inferior to your other works.' I understand you,' he replied, 'you think I flag, * Aristarchus, a great critic in the time of Ptolemy Philadelphus. don't you? Come, be plain: you believe it is time for me to think of retiring.'—' I should not have been so bold,' said I,' as to speak so freely, if your grace had not commanded me: I do no more, therefore, than obey you and I most humbly beg that you will not be offended at my freedom.'— 'God forbid,' cried he, with precipitation, God forbid that I should find fault with it. In so doing, I should be very unjust. I don't at all take it ill that you speak your sentiment; it is your sentiment only that I find bad. I have been most egregiously deceived in your narrow understanding.' Though I was disconcerted, I endeavoured to find some mitigation, in order to set things to rights again; but how is it possible to appease an incensed author, one especially who has been accustomed to hear himself praised? Say no more, my child,' said he : 'you are yet too raw to make proper distinctions. Know, that I never composed a better homily than that which you disapprove; for my genius, (thank Heaven,) hath, as yet, lost nothing of its vigour. Henceforth I will make a better choice of a confidant, and keep one of greater ability than you. Go,' added he, pushing me by the shoulders out of his closet, go tell my treasurer to give you a hundred ducats, and may Heaven conduct you with that sum. Adieu, Mr Gil Blas, I wish you all manner of prosperity, with a little more taste.' ་ |