in her situation-to convey to me a letter, requesting, in the most delicate manner, my acceptance, in the way of a loan, of another louis, and enclosing the yet more valuable gift of a powder, by which I was delivered within three days from the vermin of which I was

the prey.

I bathed this precious letter with my tears; and after having read it, I found myself on my knees, half-tempted to unite in my homage to the Almighty the being on whom His image seemed visibly impressed. I testified my sense of her goodness by dissuading, in my reply, my unknown benefactress from running in my behalf the tremendous risks of which I was too well aware. 'Let me perish,' I said, and said in full sincerity of heart, ' rather than expose yourself; and remember, I can offer you no return save my gratitude and tears.'

My benefactors, Monsieur and Madame le Gros, seemed to attach some merit to this frankness, which they were pleased to call generosity, and which only redoubled the warmth of their zeal in my cause. Strong in her resolve, she made her way, after repeated disappointments, to the worthy President de Lamoignon, who, though touched with her zeal, and promising to do what he could, told her plainly he all but despaired of success. He had several interviews with M. le Noir, who got off by referring him to the minister, M. Amelot, and he again to the lieutenant of police. This game lasted nine months; and M. Amelot was heard to say that he saw no other obstacle to my liberation than M. le Noir's determination to stand in the way of it.

The efforts which this heroic woman continued to make on my behalf would form in themselves a touching narrative. She besieged hundreds of individuals, many of whom would gladly have served her if they could. At length she interested Madame Necker in my deplorable fate, and, by means which I never clearly understood, M. le Noir received an order to release me.

Will it be credited that M. le Noir had the audacity to keep this order beside him, unexecuted, for six weeks! It came, clogged, as before, with the hateful condition of residing at Montagnac; which it cost my kind Madame le Gros little less exertion than she had before used to get rescinded. And when that unwearied friend, in addition to the heavy responsibility incurred by becoming answerable for my quiet behaviour, total silence, and rigid abstinence from appearing in any place of public resort, declared her determination to take me home to supply the place of a lost son, all that the munificence of government would allow me, in compensation of my own wrongs or her kindness, was a wretched pittance of four hundred francs, or fifteen pounds per annum !

Other and more liberal benefactors, however, came forward to supply the deficiency; and an annuity has been settled on the generous woman who, to succour innocence, sacrificed her all. But

it is not by such means she could be compensated. Let me rather record, to her eternal honour, the feelings which she witnessed and shared on the memorable day when, restored to friendship and gratitude, I experienced sensations which none perhaps but myself in the world could have enjoyed in so intoxicating a degree. It was on the 22d March 1784-a day for ever memorable in my historythat I was born, as it were, to a new life!

My generous benefactors, embracing me by turns, while we all wept together, were never weary of enjoying the thought that the object of so many anxieties would henceforward be only one of the tenderest cares. We all seemed waking from a sad and fearful dream.

We arrived at home. I saw a neat, though plain apartment, where everything told evidently that I had been long expected. Í looked around on all with the interest, almost with the curiosity, of childhood; the most trifling object gave me enjoyment: all was food for happiness. I was restored to the world; was now suffered to have free intercourse with my fellow-creatures.

M. de la Tude, in spite of all precautions to the contrary, became an object of great temporary interest, in France and throughout Europe, after his release, and had the satisfaction of being present at the taking and destruction of the Bastille in 1789. On the eventful day which saw this ancient prison levelled with the ground, La Tude saw, in the museum of the fortress, the implements of his wonderful escape in 1756, and also the series of official documents regarding his case; which, as corroborative of his statements, afforded him no small degree of satisfaction.

The disclosures made by M. de la Tude in his Memoirs became a formidable weapon in the hands of the revolutionary party, and served to confirm the people in their hatred of the monarchy which they had destroyed. The National Assembly, in consideration of his sufferings, decreed La Tude a pension; which was afterwards however, withdrawn; and the heirs of Amelot and Madame de Pompadour were sentenced to make him indemnification. What, however, could recompense an old man for a confinement of thirtyfive years for the utter loss of the most precious part of his existence? The much-injured La Tude died in 1804, in the eightieth year of his age.

32

N a beautiful morning in summer, Mrs Mason, a lady who had led an active and useful life, but now was desirous of retiring for the sake of her health to a pleasant part of the country, arrived at the village of Glenburnie. Situated near the head of a glen, or romantic valley, the village was small and picturesque, but, like too many villages and hamlets in Scotland, it shewed that nothing was done to make it neat, cleanly, or attractive. It consisted of about twenty or thirty thatched cottages, which, but for their chimneys, and the smoke that issued from them, might have passed for so many stables or hog-sties, so little had they to distinguish them as the dwellings of man. That one horse, at least, was the inhabitant of every dwelling, there was no room to doubt, as every door could not only boast its dunghill, but had a small cart stuck up on end directly before it; which cart, though often broken, and always dirty, seemed ostentatiously displayed as a proof of wealth.

In the middle of the village stood the kirk, a humble edifice, which meekly raised its head but a few degrees above the neighbouring houses, ornamented, however, by two old ash-trees, which grew at its east end, and spread their protecting arms over its lowly roof. As the houses of the village stood separate from each other, at the

No. 85.

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distance of many yards, our traveller had time to contemplate the scene, and was particularly struck with the number of children who, as the car advanced, poured forth to look at Mrs Mason and her friends, Mr and Miss Mary Stewart, who accompanied her in their car. Mrs Mason having previously arranged to stay for a short time in the village with the only relation she had in the world, who was married to a farmer named John Macclarty, she now asked for the house of that worthy, and after a severe jolting from the badness. of the road, was set down opposite his door.

It must be confessed that the aspect of the dwelling where she was to fix her residence was by no means inviting. The walls were substantial-built of stone and lime-but they were blackened by the mud which the cart-wheels had spattered from the ruts in winter ; and on one side of the door they were covered from view by the contents of a large dunghill. On the other, and directly under the window, was a squashy pool, formed by the dirty water thrown from the house, and in it about twenty young ducks were at this time dabbling.

At the threshold of the door, room had been left for a pavingstone, but it had never been laid; and consequently the place became hollow, to the great advantage of the younger ducklings, which always found in it a plentiful supply of water, in which they could swim without danger. Happily Mr Stewart was provided with boots, so that he could take a firm step in it, while he lifted Mrs Mason, and set her down in safety within the threshold. But there an unforeseen danger awaited her; for the great whey-pot had stood since morning, when the cheese had been made, and was at the present moment filled with chickens, busily picking at the bits of curd which had hardened on the sides, and cruelly mocked their wishes. Over this Mr Stewart and Mrs Mason unfortunately tumbled. The pot was overturned, and the chickens, cackling with hideous din, flew about in all directions, some over their heads, and others making their way by the inner door into the house.

The accident was attended with no further bad consequences than a little hurt upon the shins; and all our party were now assembled in the kitchen; but though they found the doors of the house open, they saw no appearance of any inhabitants. At length Mrs Macclarty came in all out of breath, followed by her daughters, two big girls of eleven and thirteen years of age. She welcomed Mrs Mason and her friends with great kindness, and made many apologies for being in no better order to receive them; but said that both her gudeman and herself thought that her cousin would have staid with Mr Stewart at Gowan-brae till after the fair, as they were too far off at Glenburnie to think of going to it, though it would, to be sure, be only natural for Mrs Mason to like to see all the grand sights that were to be seen there; for, to be sure, she would gang mony places before she saw the like. Mrs Mason smiled, and assured her she

would have more pleasure in looking at the fine view from her door than in all the sights at the fair.

'Ay, it's a bonny piece of corn, to be sure,' returned Mrs Macclarty with great simplicity; 'but then, what with the trees, and rocks, and wimplings o' the burn, we have nae room to make parks o' ony size.'

'But were your trees, and rocks, and wimplings of the burn all removed,' said Mr Stewart, 'then your prospect would be worth the looking at, Mrs Macclarty; would it not?'

Though Mr Stewart's irony was lost upon the good woman, it produced a laugh among the young folks, which she, however, did not resent, but immediately fell to busying herself in sweeping the hearth, and adding turf to the fire, in order to make the kettle boil for tea.

"I think,' said Miss Mary, 'you might make your daughters save you that trouble,' looking at the two girls, who stood all this time leaning against the wall.

'Oh, poor things,' said their mother, 'they have not been used to it; they have eneugh of time for wark yet.'

'Depend upon it,' said Mrs Mason, 'young people can never begin too soon; your eldest daughter there will soon be as tall as yourself.'

'Indeed she's of a stately growth,' said Mrs Macclarty, pleased with the observation; 'and Jenny there is little ahint her; but what are they but bairns yet for a' that? In time, I warrant, they'll do weel eneugh. Meg can milk a cow as weel as I can do, when she likes.'

'And does she not always like to do all she can?' said Mrs Mason. 'Oh, we mauna complain,' returned the mother; 'she does weel eneugh.'

The gawky girl now began to rub the wall up and down with her dirty fingers; but happily the wall was of too dusky a hue to be easily stained. And here let us remark the advantage which our cottages in general possess over those of our southern neighbours, theirs being so whitened up that no one can have the comfort of laying a dirty hand upon them without leaving the impression; an inconvenience which reduces people to the necessity of learning to stand upon their legs, without the assistance of their hands; whereas in our country, custom has rendered the hands in standing at a door, or in going up or down a stair, no less necessary than the feet, as may be plainly seen in the finger-marks which meet one's eye in all directions.

While Mrs Macclarty was preparing tea for her guests, Mrs Mason cast her exploring eye on the house and furniture. She soon saw that the place they were in served in the triple capacity of kitchen, parlour, and bedroom. Its furniture was suitably abundant. It consisted, on one side, of a dresser, over which were shelves filled