and filent around me, I threw myself down before the door, and wifhed fome ruffian's hand to eafe me of life and thought together. At laft the recollection of Emilia, and of my infant boy, crofled my difordered mind, and a gush of tenderness burst from my eyes. I rofe, and knocked at the door. When I was let in, I went up foftly to my wife's chamber. She was afleep, with a night-lamp burning by her, her child fleeping on her bofom, and its little hand grafping her neck. Think what I felt as I looked! She fmiled through her fleep, and feemed to dream of happiness. My brain began to madden again; and as the mifery to which the muft wake croffed my imagination, the horrible idea arofe within me,-I fhudder yet to tell it, to murder them as they lay, and next myself!--I ftretched my hand towards my wife's throat!-The infant unclafped its little fingers, and laid hold of one of mine. The gentle preffure wrung my heart; its softness returned; I burst into tears; but I could not ftay to tell her of our ruin. I rushed out of the room, and, gaining an obfcure hotel in a diftant part of the town, wrote a few distracted lines, acquainting her of my folly and of my crimes; that I meant immediately to leave France, and not return till my penitence should wipe out my offences, and my industry repair that that ruin in which I had involved her. I recommended her and my child to my mother's care, and to the protection of that Heaven which he had never offended. Having fent this, I left Paris on the inftant, and had walked feveral miles from town before it was light. At fun-rise a stage-coach overtook me. It was going on the road to Breft. I entered it without arranging any future plan, and fat in fullen and gloomy filence, in the corner of the carriage. That day and next night I went on mechanically, with feveral other paffengers, regardless of food and incapable of reft. But the fecond day I found my ftrength fail, and when we ftopped in the evening, I fell down in a faint in the paffage of the inn. I was put to bed, it feems, and lay for more than a week in the ftupefaction of a low fever. A charitable brother of that order to which I now belong, who happened to be in the inn, attended me with the greatest care and humanity; and when I began to recover, the good old man ministered to my foul, as he had done to my body, that affistance and confolation he easily discovered it to need. By his tender affiduities I was now so far recruited as to be able to breathe the fresh air at the window of a little parlour. As I fat there one morning, the fame ftage-coach in which I had arrived, stopped at the the door of the inn, when I faw alight out of it the young painter who had been recommended to us at Paris. The fight overpowered my weakness, and I fell lifeless from my feat. The incident brought feveral people into the room, and amongst others the young man himself. When they had restored me to sense, I had recollection enough to defire him to remain with It was fome time before he recogme alone. nized me; when he did, with horror in his afpect, after much hesitation, and the most solemn intreaty from me, he told me the dreadful fequel of my misfortunes. My wife and child were no more. The fhock which my letter gave, the ftate of weakness she was then in had not ftrength to fupport. The effects were a fever, delirium, and death. Her infant perished with her. In the interval of reafon preceding her death, fhe called him to her bed-fide; gave him the picture he had drawn; and with her laft breath charged him, if ever he could find me out, to deliver that and her forgiveness to me. He put it into my hand. I know not how I furvived. Perhaps it was owing to the outworn state in which my disease had left me. My heart was too weak to burft; and there was a fort of palfy on my mind that seemed infenfible to its calamities. By that holy man who had once before faved me from death, I was placed placed here, where, except one melancholy journey to that spot where they had laid my Emilia and her boy, I have ever since remained. My story is unknown, and they wonder at the severity of that life by which I endeavour to atone for my offences.-But it is not by fuffering alone that Heaven is reconciled; I endeavour, by works of charity and beneficence, to make my being not hateful in its fight. Bleffed be God! I have attained the confolation I wished.-Already, on my wasting days a beam of mercy sheds its celeftial light. The vifions. of this flinty couch are changed to mildnefs. 'Twas but last night my Emilia beckoned me in fmiles; this little cherub was with her !". -His voice ceafed, he looked on the picture, then towards heaven; and a faint glow croffed the paleness of his cheek. I ftood awe-ftruck at the fight. The bell for Vefpers tolled-he took my hand-I kiffed his, and my tears began to drop on it." My fon," said he, "to feelings like yours it may not be unpleafing to recall my ftory:-if the world allure thee, if vice enfnare with its pleasures, or abafh with its ridicule, think of Father Nicholas-be virtuous, and be happy." N° 85. SATURDAY, September 16, 1786. Non adeo inhumano ingenio fum, Charea, TER. "WHY," fays one of my correfpondents, who writes in a fair Italian hand, and fubfcribes herself Imoinda, "Why have you fo little of love in the Lounger?" I anfwer, because there is fo little of it in the world. "Love," fays an author, who is probably of Imoinda's acquaintance, “Love, "the paffion moft natural to the fenfibility of "youth, has loft the plaintive dignity he "once poffeffed, for the unmeaning fimper of a dangling coxcomb; and the only ferious "concern, that of a dowry, is fettled even the beardless leaders of the dancingamong "fchool*." It is undoubtedly true, that our young men now-a-days begin very early to fee the propriety of mingling in love-affairs the utile dulci; which may be tranflated, that they think fully as much of the fortune as of the Lady. Man of Feeling. The |