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almost exhausted."—"Stop! let me call my companions, and afford you all possible assistance."

As he spoke, the Abbe called to his fellow-travellers from the bottom of the cave. "In the name of humanity," said he, " come down, all of you. I have discovered in these dark vaults a victim of the rapacity of the Moors; an unhappy traveller, whom they have swathed like a mummy, after robbing him. Bring him some food and spirits."

While the Abbe was calling for assistance, and the travellers were descending into the catacomb, Dominic, Montval's servant, who, in obedience to his master, had undertaken to counterfeit the mummy, freed himself from, his bandages, and managed slyly to rejoin the company, unperceived by the Abbe, who desired hia companions, in a hurried manner, to follow him. He went straight to the corner of the wall, and called the unfortunate traveller, to announce to him the promised assistance; but no voice replied. The Abbe called a second time; no one answered: a third time, and a fourth time, still the same silence.

"The poor devil does not know what he refuses," said Seignier, for I have got in my hand a bottle of wine that would revive the dead."

The Abbe was confounded; and sought, in vain, for the pretended mummy. "You have imposed on us," said the others, laughing, "or, perhaps, the sighs and groans you heard were only the effects of a lively imagination."—" I assure you," replied he, " that the poor wretch spoke to me;" and he took, at the same time, a glass of wine from the hands of Seignier; and, renewing his search; O! you," cried he, " whose groans I lately heard, conceal yourself no longer from my sight. Come and drink some of this wine, it will renew your strength." Dominic suddenly came forward, seized the glass, and emptied it; while the applause and noisy laughter of the party informed the Abbe of the trick which had been played him.

As he was very good-natured, he easily forgave the jest, and laughed at it himself very heartily.

CLEONE, OR MATERNAL DESPAIR.

Ad humum merore gravi deducit et angit.—Hon.

Grief dejects, and wrings the tortur'd soul.

Roscommok.

So when the plague, o'er London's gasping crowds, Shook her dank wing, and steer'd her murky clouds; When o'er the friendless bier no rites were read*, No dirge slow-chanted, and no pall outspread; While JDeath and night, pil'd up the naked throng, And Silence drove their ebon cars-]- along;

* During the last great plague in London, one pit, to receive the dead, was dug in the Charter House, forty feet long, sixteen feet wide, and twenty feet deep, and, in two weeks, received 1114 bodies. During this drear calamity, there were instances of mothers carrying their own children to those public graves; and of people delirious, or in despair from the loss of friends, who threw themselves alive into these pits.

t Amid the dreadful truths of the description, the dead cart should have been called by its simple name. Car has a fine triumphant sound, which somewhat disturbs the awful

Six lovely daughters, and their father, swept
To the throng'd grave, Cleone saw, and wept.
Her tender mind, with meek religion fraught,
Drank, all-resign'd, Affliction's bitter draught:
Alive, and listening to the whisper'd groan
Of others' woes, unmindful of her own,
One smiling boy, her last sweet hope, she warms,
Hush'd on her bosom, cradled in her arms.
Daughter of woe! ere morn, in vain caress'd,
Clung the cold babe upon thy milkless breast;
With feeble cries thy last sad ard requir'd,
Stretch'd its stiff limbs, and on thy lap expir'd!
Long, with wide eye-lids, on her child she gaz'd,'
And long, to Heaven, their tearleos orbs she rais'd;
Then, with quick foot and throbbing heart, she found
Where Chartreuse open'd deep his holy ground;
Bore her last treasure through the midnight gloom,
And, kneeling, dropp'd it in the mighty tomb.
"I follow next!" the frantic mourner said,
And, living, plunged amid the festering dead.

horror of the impression. Surely the vehicle, without nominal alteration, and with 2 stronger epithet prefixed,- that ihould specify its complexion, would be better:

While Death and night pil'd up the naked throng,
And Silence drove their ghattly cat ti along.

A FORTUNATE ESCAPE.

———Qiiis talia fando
Temperet a lachrymis ?——Vircii.
Who can relate such woes without a tear?

.... While, in the Thuilleries, 1 was intently remarking the particular impression of a shot which struck the edge of one of the casements of the first-floor of the palace, my valet de place came up to know at which door I would have the carriage to remain in waiting.

On turning round, I fancied I beheld the man wha "drew Priam's curtain in the dead of night." That messenger, I am sure, could not have presented a visage more pale, more spiritless than my Helvetian. Recollecting that he had served in the Swiss guards, I was the less at a loss to account for his extreme agitation.

"In what part of the castle were you, Jean," said I, "when these balls were aimed at the windows?"

"There was my post," replied he, recovering himself, and pointing to one of the centre casements.

"Is it true," continued I, " that by way of feigning a reconciliation, you threw down cartridges by handful* to the Marseilluse below, and called out, Vive laNation}"

"It is but too true," answered Jean; " we then availed ourselves of the moment when they advanced tinder the persuasion that they were to become our friends, and opened on them a tremendous fire, by which we covered the place with dead and dying. But we became victims of our own treachery; for our ammunition being, by this ruse de guerre, the sooner expended^ we presently had no resource left but the bayonet, by which we could not prevent the mob from closing on us."

"And how did you contrive to escape?'' "Having thrown away my Swiss uniform, in the general confusion, I fortunately possessed myself of the coat of a National Volunteer, which he had taken off on account of the hot weather. This garment, bespattered with blood, I instantly put on, as well as this hat with a tricoloured cockade."

"This disguise saved your life," interrupted I. "Yes, indeed. Having got down to the vestibule, I could not find a passage into the garden] and, to prevent suspicion, I at once mixed with the mob on the place where we are now standing."

"How did you get off at last?" said I. "I was obliged," answered he, "to shout and swear with the poissardes, while the heads of many of my comrades were thrown out of the windows."

"The poissardes," added I, "set no bounds to their cruelty,"

"No," replied he, " I expected every moment to feel its effectsj my disguise alone favoured my escape: on the dead bodies of my countrymen they practised every species of mutilation."

Here Jean drew a picture of a nature too horrid to be committed to paper, my pen could not trace it*.— In a word, nothing could exceed the ferocity of the infuriate populace; and the sacking of the palace of the

* If the reader wishes to see a faint description of the hoilors of that horridly memorable loth of August, he may consult the volume of Flowers of Literature for 1803, p. 385.

c 5

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