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shriek, and fell senseless on the steps of the altar. Consternation sat on every face-the wedding was at an end!

Suddenly the door of the chapel opened, and the Count de Tourville, attended by a numerous train of lords and vassals, entered: approaching the altar, he said to his servants, "Take up that wretched woman; and you, ladies, who were her attendants, see that nothing is wanted to her recovery. And now, holy father, proceed in your sacred office." Then taking the hand of Cecile and that of St. Albert, he led the astonished orphan to the altar: she, however, drew back, and said, “O, Sir, pardon my disobedience: I cannot wed the man, who preferred riches, though accompanied with age, to me."-" No, Cecile," said St. Albert; "from my first visit to Paris, till this moment, my heart has been solely yours; and all my endeavours were only employed to obtain you, with your father's consent. Allow me then to receive you from a father's hand."-"Ah! where is my father?" said Cecile. "Behold him here," said De Tourville, tenderly embracing her; "behold, also, your much injured mother." The lady, then, heretofore disguised as a Palmer, sprang forward, and received the embraces of the astonished Cecile. "Give your hand now to St. Albert,” said the Count;" and we will then repair to my castle, where all shall be explained."

The wedding of Cecile with St. Albert was then celebrated in that chapel, where her mother, the Countess de Tourville, had endured much sorrow, but who now saw her daughter united to her godson, the first and sole object of that daughter's choice. An elucidation immediately took place on their return to the castle, and which we will now give our readers as briefly as possible.

Madame de Lambert had ardently loved De Tourville, even after her marriage; and a prey to every passion, she resolved, when she found him married to the beautiful Adelaide of Morençy, to effect her destruction.

Adelaide had a friend to whom she was tenderly attached, and who married, at the same time, the Baron St. Albert. Madame de Lambert observed that the Count de Tourville's grand foible was an invincible jealousy. She soon found means to inform

him that his wife carried on a criminal correspondence with the Baron St. Albert. Forbade the house of De Tourville, St. Albert found means one day to bear a letter from his wife to the Countess, during the absence of her husband he returned unexpectedly, and St. Albert was taking a last tender farewell, as Adelaide urged his instant departure, when the Count entered her apartment. Full of rage, the Count drew his sword, and was about to plunge it in the bosom of the Baron, when his wife threw herself between them and awarded the blow. St. Albert escaped, but was murdered by a banditti in his way home.

The wicked Marchioness soon after became a widow, and she incessantly defamed the unhappy Adelaide, while she pretended the firmest friendship and pity for the Count. Thinking Adelaide the only obstacle in her way to a marriage with him, she sent a female, whom she thought she could trust, to administer poison to the innocent Countess. The messenger, however, abhorring the horrid act, pretended to comply, but acquainted the Countess with her perfidy, promising her every assistance in her power. Madame de Tourville was then in a distant province, living on a very moderate pension allowed her by her husband, who had taken from her her child, the little Cecile, and whom he resolv ed to bring up ignorant of her parents.

The Countess was soon persuaded to confide in the female who was sent to be her murderer. Her beauty, her sweetness, and virtue, wrought a real reformation in this woman, who continued the faithful attendant, and assisting friend of Madame de Tourville till her innocence was proved.

The first care of the Countess was to give out that she was actually dead; and the care of the confidante was to furnish herself with every attestation of the innocence of her mistress. Years past on, and remorse had not yet assailed the mind of the Marchioness, though her love for De Tourville was at an end. He thought her a steady friend; and, through her, Cecile was introduced to the Princess Marguerite.

By the help of her confidante, Adelaide found means to gain admittance to the subterraneous vaults of the deserted Chapel of St. Benedict. She was shocked to see a tomb erected to the murdered St. Albert

and for some time she thought, like Cecile, // with sorrow, her task a most difficult one.

that her husband had been his murderer. The tomb was raised near that of his mother, and remorse alone had caused the unhappy De Tourville to erect a monument to him, of whose death he was entirely innocent. The Countess longed for an opportunity to shew herself to her daughter, to discover herself to her, and urge her to fly from the protection of a murderer. She knew the females of those times were not slow in investigating any thing which bore the appearance of mystery, and she furnished herself with a light, which she made to glide from window to window, in that manner,|| so that her form was not seen, except once. When St. Albert and Cecile entered the chapel on the night of the storm, she stationed herself behind the ruined shrine, holding the light above her head. In anguish at her daughter's departure for Paris, she soon after quitted St. Benedict, and || took the habit of a pilgrim, while St. Albert, whose first journey to Paris had been at the instigation of his dying mother, was introduced to Madame de Lambert, who no sooner saw the elegant youth but she || loved.

As usual, her passions were unswayed by any consideration: she offered herself and her fortune to the needy St. Albert; and he now, in concurrence with his godmother, saw the opportunity of attesting her innocence, and of exposing and confounding the guilty he delayed from time to time the projected marriage, till he had rendered the lady so dependent on his will, that she at length consented, though with much reluctance, to have the wedding solemnized in the Chapel of St. Benedict.

In the mean time, the confidante of the Countess was employed in finding out the Count de Tourville: provided with letters from the Marchioness, and the most certain proofs of her lady's innocence, she found,

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The Count, a prey to the bitterest remorse, and his love for his lost Adelaide knowing no diminution, was frequently absent on long and rigorous pilgrimages of penance. At length, this indefatigable woman found him at Loretto: she produced her testimonials; she informed him his wife yet lived; and De Tourville, on the wings of love and penitence, hastened to throw himself at the feet of his injured Adelaide. All was now ripe for execution: he met the pretended Palmer on the road, where Cecile had stopped to repose, embraced, and was forgiven by his wife; and he promised her on a signal, agreed on between them, to be in the Chapel of St. Benedict the next day.

The wretched Marchioness, on coming to herself, after her preposterous marriage had been prevented, sent for a priest, and in presence of the Count and Countess, with the young Baroness of St. Albert, confessed the whole of her guilt, and retired to end her days in a convent. While St. Albert and his lovely bride, blest in each other, were made still more happy by the union of the amiable Gertrude with Mont Aubin, which union had been prevented for a time, by the insidious artifice of Madame de Lambert, who had implanted the thorn of jealousy in the bosom of Gertrude, against the interesting Cecile, whom the || Baroness Mont Aubin again pressed to her bosom with the cordial embrace of friendship, and gladly hailed the alliance of the house of De Tourville with that of St. Albert.

The delighted parents, now happier than before, in this their second union, passed the remainder of their days in harmony, and in the exercise of every virtue; and the first improvement made by De Tourville on his estate, was the repairing and beautifying the scene of his many anxious, but now happy moments.

ON THE ABOLITION OF THE SLAVE TRADE.

TO THE EDITOR OF LA BELLE ASSEMBLEE.

your correspondents, adorn the impressions SIR,-I hope a better motive than the of sense with the glowing tints of imaginasinister pleasure of egotism induces me totion, I shall lay before you facts, interesting send you some account of a recent adventure, and to intreat you may, without delay, allow my paragraphs a place in La Belle Assemblée. If I cannot, like many of

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to the commercial interests of all Europe, and most intimately and inseparably connected with all that can render life desirable to thousands who have braved every

danger for their country, and have enriched her treasuries by their labours-labours that have terminated fatally for themselves. A lively writer has observed, that the romance of real life goes beyond the most soaring or devious flights of fiction: and, alas! if the mothers and wives of mariners were able to bring forward their records of domestic calamity, my diminished narrative would appear to furnish only common incidents. But those incidents operate incessantly upon the general weal or woe of nations, and they ought to be made known to their rulers, who must remain in ignorance, if no humble agent will take upon himself to convey the information.

excited our tenderest feelings, our most anxious exertions. We left our inn just as the sun began to shed a rosy light over the eastern horizon; and guided by a youth, who climbed the steepest acclivities with the elastic movements of a chamois, we surmounted a stupendous pile of rocks, and rested half an hour beneath the shade of majestic trees in the middle region. Proceeding to the highest peaks, the hoarse moaning of the winds, that perpetually agitated the wood, sunk into profound silence by the great space that intervened. Every sense was absorbed in the faculty of vision, which comprehended the circuit of ten counties. I shall not attempt to delineate the diversified, blended and contrasted beauties, which, in her most munificent and sportive mood, nature had lavished on the irregular scenery formed by rocks of every shape and dimension, gradually slop

1 lately accompanied a brother, whose health had been impaired by multifarious and harassing cares, and had been advised to divert his mind in travelling through districts where the novel wild graces of natural sublimity might excite the most poig-ing to verdant mounts, glens, and wide nant delights of taste and sensibility. We frequently left our horses in trust to our attendants, and struck through pedestrian paths in quest of the poor and the afflicted. A traveller possessing means and inclination for dispensing benefits in his progress, will seldom pass one day without exquisite satisfaction. For the sum of two hundred pounds my brother has accumulated a fund of blissful retrospections not to be exhausted though his valuable life should be prolonged to patriarchal years. He has a wife and large family, so I took the liberty of reminding him he was not master of Fortunatus's purse. He gaily replied: "I am master of a purse still replenishing for charitable purposes, by the economy and self-denial of my chere moitié, and her well instructed boys and girls. They saved last winter several hundreds of their stated allowance for dress and amusements. deputed Almoner of that sacred deposit, and in discharging the duties of my office, my constitution of body and spirit has derived more salutary influence than by all the tonics, balsamics, or cordials in the whole materia medica. The finest and most extensive prospects we expect to behold to-morrow, in ascending the peak, can yield no charm so heart-cheering as the smile glistening through tears on the cheek of consoled misfortune." The words were prophetic. We have met beings who have years ago for goat whey, as her daughter

vales, intermingled by forests, lakes, rushing cataracts, winding rivers, and more rapid streams glittering as they purled along the pebbled channel. We also caught a distant view of the expanded ocean, where the frequent passing sail might almost have been mistaken for the course of a bird in the sky. Dilapidated, castellated remains of baronial grandeur were interspersed by lofty plantations of trees introduced by the industry of latter ages; with cultivated fields, flowery meads, luxuriant gardens, and velvet lawns, surrounding edifices of modern architecture. These are objects that have been described or imitated, until novelty is worn to fritters. But the claims of humanity can never lose their power over British hearts, or meet || disregard from the r―l personage who, as their guardian, has been crowned by Providence with unparalleled prosperity. His aim would be to wipe all tears from all faces. Oh! that I could represent the sorrows I have witnessed! The briny showers that bathed the cheeks of age and infancy would not have fallen in vain.

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In the vicinity of the mountain we remarked a cottage scarcely rising above the low copse that defended the thatched roof from northern gusts of air. Our guide informed us that lonely dwelling had been rented by a lady, who came there two

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cipation throughout the universe,” praying that as their forces were now conveniently assembled, they might take effectual measures for delivering thousands groaning in bondage to infidels; and surely sound policy, humanity, and justice, call aloud for the annihilation of those engines who incessantly seek to annoy the trade, and to enslave the seamen of civilized nations. If ever war and conquest can be sanctioned by reason, religion, and mercy, it must be when the sword shall be unsheathed to protect or to recover all that potentates are bound to guard for their subjects; and in carrying the blessings of civil and religious liberty to the shores of Africa, we shall implant principles that will ultimately refine away the odious prejudices which have led to a traffic in human beings. Europe may be enriched in immediate and substantial gains, by conveyiug her speculative wisdom, the doctrines of divine truth, the arts and sciences, to the haunts of predatory op、

in-law was ailing, but she died in a few months, leaving an infant three weeks old, and twin boys, who could hardly help each other if they chanced to fall, besides two little girls. The old lady was supposed to be far from rich she lived very retired, but her hand was open to relieve distress. This artless detail determined my brother to ask admission to the habitation; and when we had descended the most difficult ways, he sent the lad to crave leave to call upon Mrs. M- next day. Our watches had not told the ninth hour, when he returned to us with an invitation to breakfast, elegantly penned. The lady met us near her abode, and conducted us to a neat but simple apartment, where two lovely girls were at work, and two fine boys, amusing a younger child, came to us with extended arms as we entered. Humbled dignity and habitual refinement characterised the manners and conversation of our hostess. The naïveté of her grandchildren was far removed from awkward-pression and ignorance. With what alaness or rusticity. We talked of public affairs, to which Mrs. M- replied with intelligence and discernment. My brother expressed a fervent wish that Mr. Wilberforce's admirable firmness might be rewarded by success, in convincing the sovereigns of Europe, that a federal abolition of the slave trade was a duty incumbent; but he intimated some fears, that insidious counsellors might frustrate our Prince Regent's magnanimous efforts to influence the allies in this great cause of humanity. "What idea can kings frame to themselves of the condition of slaves?" said I. "Slaves!" ejaculated Mrs. M―, the tea-cup dropped from her hand, the children burst into a passion of tears and left the room. Soon recovering her self-possession, the aged lady apologised for the pain she had | involuntarily given us; but when you know the cause, you will pardon,—you will pity our dreadful affliction. My only off spring, the father of these children, is, oh God! a slave at Algiers; but four days since I received, by a man who made a wonderful escape, the papers I shall put into your hands." The papers consisted of a letter from the captive, covering a petition addressed to the "Illustrious Prince Regent of Great Britain, the Allied Sovereigns of Europe, and the advocates of African eman

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crity will the allied navies and armies bend their prowess to overturn the bulwarks of Mahometan superstition; to break for ever the scourge of commerce; to restore sons, || husbands, and brothers to their sorrowing relatives: and how abundantly would our sailors and soldiers be repaid by the spoils accumulated at Morocco, Algiers, Tunis, Tripoli, and their dependencies, through ages of successful rapine! It seems a species of infatuation for the powers of Europe to contend with each other for this or that foreign settlement, whilst a quarter of the || globe, which spares neither friend nor foe on the watery element, is permitted to go on in outrage and depredation, so easily checked, and for ever made to cease. Shall the allies claim from England a participation of her colonies in the east, and undertake a six months voyage, when in six weeks they may obtain the most valuaable productions of Asia, and insure the safety of their traders, by wresting from the Barbary states the power so long abused? The soil and climate of Africa are genial and salubrious in the most northern latitudes, and its situations are more centrical for intercourse than any part of the known world. Let us not war with the natives, but with the unjust and tyrannous governments. The allied sovereigns are now in

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England. The Prince Regent has no study || to your readers, will assuredly receive a secret and sincere satisfaction in coinciding with the benevolent design, of which I am only the willing agent; for I write by my brother's desire, while he addresses his friends in behalf of the suffering family

but the felicity of his people-of all the hu-
man race. Such an opportunity for deli-
vering our own captives may not return in
the lapse of ages; nor may the means for
rescuing and enlightening the sons of Africa
be again so practicable. Whatever may be whose distress suggested this train of

the result, I shall reflect upon my intentions || ideas.
in this representation, to the latest hour of
my life, with the purest self-approbation;

and you, Mr. Editor, who give my pages

I am, Sir,

Your most obedient Servant,

T. H.

FUGITIVE POETRY.

TEARS OF THE NOVEL WRITERS; OR, FICTION'S URN.

A SATIRICAL POEM.

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THE above little satire afforded us much amusement in the perusal; the remarks are in general apt, and we are sorry to say, but too full of verity; the satire is also well pointed against the present mode of book-making, nor are the book collectors spared, those encouragers of the "blackletter mania."

In some parts, however, of this concise work, we observe a want of point, as if the|| author was actuated by a fear of being too severe; but as this mildness is chiefly extended to female writers, it is in a great measure pardonable. There is also in the style of the poetry an heedlessness, whether by accident or design we cannot pretend to determine we should imagine from the latter, as we are sure the author is capable of something better.

In a spirited Preface, the author's motives are stated for penning the above satire, in which the following remarks are well written:

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'Startle not! we are in "Tears," to be sure, but the beauties of Niobe were not

obliterated by her distresses. Are our sorrows either less or more unreasonable? Are our graces either less engaging or

more soluble?

"Startle not! we are not weeping ourselves to sleep-our "Tears" are not those of dulness; they flow rather from anger than from sorrow. Maddened to the determination of avenging our wrongs, we lift No. 60.-Vol. X.

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the satiric thong in rage at the authors of our misfortunes, and lay it on without mercy-but not without discrimination."

The following extracts from this Poem will, we doubt not, be acceptable to our readers; it opens with these lines:

"If Genius droops in these degenerate times,
If living poets often starve on rhymes;
If war affright the Muses from their seat,
And men, instead of reading chuse to eat ;
How can the Novel tribe expect to thrive?
By what new fictions keep themselves alive?
By what charm'd spell, by what mysterious lore,

The dark recesses of the purse explore,
Command th' unwilling hand to drag to day,
The long'd reward which half their cares repay?
Yet, led by hope, there are who persevere,

Nor hints of friends, nor critics think sincere ;
Scribble strange nonsense, as the nonsense rise,
And pen twelves' volumes of capacious size.

Unknown, unknowing, ign'rant of the rage,
For knowing authors in a literate age,
A wight without a name, essays the way,
Which some, with far less gifts, have made to pay;
Fearless th' accustom'd path he takes, when lo!
Dangers assail, around, above, below,
Led on by Prejudice, a phalanx strong,
Impedes his progress as he moves along ;
Awe-struck he stands, a thing without a name,
Consign'd to pity, or condemn'd to shame,
Clamour confounds him and his fate appalls;
Stunn'd by neglect the unknown author falls.

Ephemeral fortune waits th' insidious youth,
Who courting prejudice and scorning truth,
With well turn'd compliments and fraudful wiles,
Gains from all changeful Fashion fitful smiles,-
Smiles that confer a short deceitful pow'r,
And hail him, fav'rite of the passing hour:

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