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reason warped. She unhesitatingly believed the | gazed, enchanted. The gray Cashmere went over calumny. This belief was confirmed, by finding all, and a black silk whalebone hood, and then she in her husband's linen-drawer a pair of soiled rang the bell, and desired her maid to bid them white gloves-things certainly not worn by any call a hired chair. Rachel obeyed, not without a of the Society of Friends. To her jaundiced eye look of surprise. Telling her woman that she this was sufficient proof. The young wife as- should be late home, she stepped into the sedan, sumed a coldness equal to what she felt to be her and the Irish chairmen bore her away. The adinjuries. A wild thought took possession of her venture was fairly commenced, it must be finished, brain; pondered on, it became more and more and in a short time she would enter the temple of tangible-what was it? Why, that she, too, Apollo alone. Yes, alone; she had forgotten till would don gay clothes, visit the house of sin, and now that even the daughters of the world usually with her own eyes behold if the husband of her went into public with a cavalier to attend on them; choice was there, partaking with her favored rival she felt the color rush into her face, as she was these worldly snares and vanities. And Martha ushered to a seat in the pit, which then, as now, truly thought them thus, for though latitudinarian was the resort of the Macaroni, and such of the as a Quaker, still she went not to the extreme of citizens' wives as affected, in spite of not comlonging after stage-plays, and such like vanities prehending Italian music, a taste for this fashionand temptations. Her inner life was still pure able amusement. Martha could not fail, in spite and intellectual. If this presumed slander proved of her extreme perturbation, to perceive that she to be a truth, her fate was decided. This resolu- was an object of the general gaze, and murmurs tion formed, she felt impatient till it was acted on. reached her ear which made her sink into the As her maid Rachel could by no means be trust- nearest seat she could find. Not daring to look ed, Martha had to undertake the difficult arrange- up, she bent her eyes on her fan, wishing dements of this matter herself. She availed herself voutly for the Cashmere cloak which she had left of the excuse that she required choice nets, to behind in the sedan chair. Her great beauty and visit the house of a fashionable modiste, and re- unprotected appearance led the gentlemen around questing to speak with the principal, she ordered to regard her with an impertinent curiosity, and (not without much confusion, as she marked the the ladies with an affected shrinking. The unismile of the dressmaker, a Frenchwoman) a suit versal opinion being, I am sorry to say, in spite of clothes proper to appear in at the scene of gay- of her modesty, youth, and timidity, that she was ety, which she was now quite determined to in- any thing but a woman of reputation. Such was vade. She requested that the dress and a large the predicament into which the pure, retired gray mantle, with which she meant to hide it from young Quakeress had involved herself. The the eyes of her staid household, should be sent by opera had commenced, but she attended to noa messenger to her house. She took good care thing on the stage. Her eyes, when, indeed, she to be in the way when it arrived, and conveyed mustered sufficient courage to raise them, were the strange habiliments to her own apartment. busily employed in making a survey of that brillThat very evening she had ascertained there was iant assemblage. Suddenly her eyes dwelt on a to be an opera, at which their majesties were to box on the second tier, in which a young girl of be present, and she had, through the means of exquisite beauty sat conspicuously forward. Furthe foreign woman, the dressmaker, obtained a ther back, dressed à-la-mode, sat Martha's husticket, which was inclosed with the dress. She band. "Yes, it was truth, then; she was glad had, in her own phraseology, "determined to go she was there to confront him; glad that she sat forth to the house of Belial" that very night. Now, there a living witness of his shame." She gazed in a Quaker household, such a resolution was not for some minutes on the pair. The young girl easy of accomplishment; but Martha had seriously cast her brilliant eyes about the house-she seemed resolved, and she determined to brave all. After as if seeking some one amidst the splendid throng. the three o'clock dinner, which, as usual now, Everard, on his part, appeared to be absorbed passed in silence, Everard Wilson retired to his in constantly watching her, though apparently he room, and soon after went out: stung to the seldom spoke. At length Martha, who had gazed quick, she also went to her own apartment, lock- at this sight till her woman's heart, burning with ed the door, lit the candles herself, and unfolding excitement, she could bear it no longer, rose up her finery, surveyed it with any feelings but pleas- and abruptly quitted her seat. Some of the beaux urable ones. In another hour's time she looked who were lounging about started up also, and, to at the time-piece, and perceived it was six o'clock. her extreme vexation, she was surrounded by The opera began, she was told, at eight. She re- offers of assistance; she hardly knew what imluctantly proceeded to clothe herself in the costly pulse caused her to take the arm of the least obgarments, in which for the first time, the only trusive, but she did so, saying, in her formal time, she would enter the world of fashion. The phraseology (to which being accustomed, she pale-blue satin sacque, over a petticoat of the color could not, under excitement and irritation, alter "maiden's blush," the costly Mechlin lace which to more conventional forms), "Friend, I accept adorned the robe, the gipsy-looking cloak and hood thy proffered assistance; be respectful, I entreat of Murrey velvet which served to adorn, not con- thee, and convey me to yonder small compartceal this exquisite toilet, enhanced Martha's per-ment-that one hung with scarlet, wherein thou fect beauty so greatly, that for a moment she for- seest that fair but shameless woman." You may got the cause of this strange metamorphosis, and guess the amazement of the votaries of Fops' Al

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home, she gave orders to the men that her women should bring a cloak out; her order being obeyed, she enveloped her person in it before she quitted the sedan. But, truth to say, the quiet Quaker household were sufficiently scandalized at their mistress's proceedings without beholding with their own eyes her strange and unseemly

ley at hearing this Quaker language; but though conceited and a fashionable lounger, the young man addressed had still the feelings of a gentleman; so quietly clearing the way from his contemptuously-smiling companions, he said, with some respect, Depend on me, madam; you honor me by trusting me," and in a very short space of time they arrived at the box-door. Call-transformation. Martha's first step, after deing the box-keeper, the young nobleman, for such he was, signed to him to open the door; he was obeyed, and on Martha thanking him, he bowed and rejoined his friends below, who were engaged in an animated discussion as to the pretty Quakeress in disguise. As the box-door opened, Everard Wilson turned, and I will not attempt to depict the expression on his face as he, with some difficulty, recognized his wife. "Thou!" said he, knitting his brows; then taking her by the wrist, he led her toward the door. "Martha !" he exclaimed, "dost thou understand thine actions? art thou departed from reason? This dress? Oh, shame! that thy husband should blush for thee."

"Shame on thyself," said the exasperated wife. "Darest thou to confront me, thou and thy shameless paramour?"

stroying her opera costume, and securely hiding the remains from the prying eyes of Rachel, was to abandon her own apartment, and lodge herself in a remoter one; she had succeeded in discovering the source of her unhappiness; she felt degraded in her own estimation; her husband had all but avowed that she had forfeited his, and a more thoroughly miserable woman perhaps did not at that moment exist.

The next morning, having spent the night in tears and lamentations, she dispatched a letter to Everard, requesting that if he could not satisfactorily account for his conduct, he would prepare measures for an immediate separation. Everard turned pale when he read this letter, so haughty and uncompromising in its tone-as he thought, so unwifelike. He had been all that night preparing for a humiliating confession, but one which would have restored him Martha's unbounded love and confidence. Now, the demon of pride stepped in and whispered, "To act thus, I will not wound my own feelings to save hers." He therefore returned an answer, avowing it impossible to explain at present, the matter involving another person's honor. He also requested his wife to

business. Martha, heart-stricken, and firmly convinced of his guilt, did as he desired, and the result of these proceedings was, that she returned to her own family in a state of health which afforded the most serious grounds for apprehensions of the worst kind. .

The young female, who had hastily drawn the curtains, and had sat apparently much amazed at this scene, and who, with her eye-glass directed toward the excited Martha, seemed likewise considerably amused, burst at this crisis into a loud laugh. She was about to address Martha, when Everard laid his hand on her arm. "Silence," said he, "I will not have her ad-summon her parents and provide her own man of dressed by thee-dost thou understand? not one sentence." Then turning to the disgusted and alienated wife, “Woman," he said, "I am thy husband; on thy duty I command thee to depart home. This is no time or place to explain, if I even chose to do so-but I do not. Come, I will assist thee to thy conveyance. Edith," to the strange female," do thou remain here-alone-enough to Martha. Her appearance was so almark me. I trust thee for a few short moments; let me not on my return find myself deceived;" so saying he took his wife's hand and led her out, resistless, powerless, stupefied with combined anger, terror, and apprehension. As one in a dream, she suffered him to lead her; then as Everard dispatched a messenger for a chair, she demanded if he meant to leave the "Woman of Belial," and depart with her?

"I do not," said Everard; "my duty leads me to remain here: ask no questions, for I shall answer none. Thou hast much transgressed this night, and it will need all my love to accord thee pardon."

"Thou," said Martha, "pardon me! I thank thee; thou hast said well; henceforth join whom thou wilt. Street," she said to the chairmen, as, repulsing Everard's assistance, she entered the sedan; the bearers went on, and Martha, in the midst of her indignation, was reminded by her chilliness that she had lost the wrapping in which she came, so that she would have to enter her own house in her assumed dress was very evident. When the chair stopped at her own

Thus did twelve months pass away, mournfully

tered that, save for elegance of demeanor, few would have recognized the beautiful Quakeress. Her own fortune had been returned, and all allowance from Everard declined.

She never heard of him, for all communication between the families was interdicted. Quakers are silently vindictive, and Friends Clifton, loving their daughter fondly, resented strongly her wrongs. One day she received a note written in a small female hand, requesting Mrs. Wilson would visit a house in a street named in the neighborhood of Bloomsbury, where there was a dying woman who had injured her. Such an invitation Martha would scarcely have refused at any time, but perhaps a foreboding of who this enemy might be, induced her still more urgently on this occasion to go. She desired Christiana Marcourt to attend her thither, and Christiana, who possessed her confidence and was much respected by her, consenting, they departed together to the locality indicated in the note, and arrived at the door of a mean-looking house. A womanservant ushered them to a room on the first floor; there, stretched on a couch arranged as a bed,

lay a girl evidently in the last stage of rapid de- gate nobleman. Everard, though burning with cline. The invalid beckoned her visitors to take shame and confusion, stopped the carriage, and chairs close to the couch, for a cough, distressing addressing his sister by name, insisted on her even to hear, interrupted the poor girl every min- alighting and entering a private hotel close at ute. Martha, who had recognized her opera ri- hand. The shameless girl defied him, till he, val, turned pale, and the tears came into her fine threatening to pursue her for robbery, she found dark eyes; she evidently anticipated a heart-rend- herself obliged to succumb, and dismissing her ing confession of wrongs and injuries done to gaudy equipage, accompanied her brother in siherself; judge, then, how great was her surprise, lent rage to the house he pointed out. A long when, after a paroxysm of coughing was, over, and most unsatisfactory conversation ensued. and the sick girl able to speak, she addressed Edith persisting in her right to pursue any course Mistress Wilson by saying, "I sent to tell you of life she pleased; her brother, equally determ-for I could not die till I had done so--that ined to force her into decorum and submission, your husband is innocent of all guilt as regards asserted his resolution never to leave her unmyself, for I am-his sister." An exclamation watched or unguarded. At first the wretched burst from the lips of Martha. She continued, girl laughed the idea to scorn, but she soon found "Hear what I have to say while breath is yet Everard was perfectly in earnest. He dispatchgiven me. It was shame first sealed Everard's ed a messenger with a note to an old servant of lips, and pride seals them now, and the fear that his, now retired from service, and to whom he false shame and wounded pride together will seal resolved to intrust the charge of his sister when them when I am gone, has induced me to send he was forced to be absent. When the old man for you to-day." A pause ensued; the unhappy arrived, obedient to his late master's summons, young creature was breathless and nearly faint-he desired him to call a hackney-coach, and to ing; when a little recovered, she related such circumstances as I shall narrate precisely as I heard them.

look for lodgings in a certain part of the town he named; and leading the indignant Edith to the coach, placed her in it, and drove slowly thither. At sixteen years of age Edith Wilson, notwith- She had then recourse to tears and entreaties, standing the strictness of her education and the but they had as little effect as her passion. "Lost sobriety of her father's household, possessed an as she was,” he told her, “irretrievably for earth, incorrigible levity of heart and mind. Gifted he would try to save her for heaven." She with great beauty, her gayety was not the par- asked, with scorn and baffled rage flashing from donable effervescence of youth, but the frivolity her beautiful eyes, if he intended to take her to and natural vicious tendency of an idle disposi- his house. He indignantly asked if she thought tion joined to strong passions. She formed, se- such a thing possible. What! pollute his pure cretly, acquaintances out of the society; and many and beautiful Martha's eyes with the sight of a night, when her parents deemed her retired to such a sister! Thus they reached the apartments rest, had she quitted her paternal roof, and been which Andrew, who was waiting in a street prea partaker of all the secret and not over-reputable viously agreed on, had hired; and here, these diversions, which even in the strict and Puritan- plainly-furnished rooms was Edith Wilson told ical city of Philadelphia found votaries among the she must consider her home for the present. She young and viciously inclined. Some natures are raved, stormed, and threatened, but to no purpose. so warped, so gnarled, and knotted by secret vice, She was never left unguarded by her brother or that not all the pious training in the world could his servant; and being without money she had bend them straight. One bad female acquaint- no means to break her chain. This life continued ance, many vile books, had so perverted Edith some time, till one day, reading the Gazette, she Wilson, that at sixteen she secretly laughed at discovered that a rich and childless relative, igall moral or religious notions. I do not wish, norant of course of her misconduct, had left her however, to dilate on the errors of this guilty a large sum of money. Not being able to claim young creature; suffice it, that when she was by it without Everard's assistance, she formed a new her parents formally betrothed to a staid and plan-she affected extreme penitence and humilsomewhat elderly merchant of the Quaker per- ity; and so perfectly deceived her brother, that suasion, she eloped from her father's house, rob- having claimed the legacy for her, he was induced bing his bureau of a large sum in money, and to place the power of disposing of it in her own sailed from New York undiscovered, though her hands, and hoped that she might be now trusted, distracted brother and father lost no time in pur- She pursued this new conduct for some time, till suit. She made her voyage alone and unpro- Andrew and her brother off their guard, she gave tected. On arriving in England, though to con- unbounded license to her love of expense. Her tinue so formed no part of her plan, gifted with object being to see her former admirer, she enthe rarest beauty and immense vivacity, destruc-gaged a box at the Opera; and Everard found to tion, seeking for it as she did, was inevitable. his horror that opposition was in vain; nothing When her brother Everard (whose chief object in seemed effectual but his constant surveillance. coming to England was to discover and reclaim A billet from Lord having been interher if possible), some short time after his mar- cepted by Andrew, and Edith persisting that riage, did recognize her, to his unfeigned horror she would frequent her Opera-box, Everard anand subsequent torment, she was dressed in splen-nounced his determination to go with her. It dor, lolling in the carriage of a well-known profli- was received with the wildest shouts of laughter.

"In that dress?" "No," said her brother, "Ilishment used as an hospital, a young man, in shall wear the dress of the world: to save my the undress uniform of a surgeon in the French sister from further sin it will be admissible." navy, sat reading. He seemed so absorbed in And assuredly his presence did preserve her from his studies that he took no notice of the pattering the interviews she so much desired, when Mar- rain, or the fast decay of the lamp which dimly tha's inopportune appearance surprised them. lighted the book before him. On a sudden he Edith was about to tell her the truth-it was started up, and carrying on the thread of the arthen that Everard by an expressive gesture for- gument he had apparently been following, he exbid her communicativeness. During his absence claimed aloud, “True, true; the poor do but live, that night she contrived to see Lord -; and they do but exist, drag on a few miserable years, two months after her brother's formal separation and then sink unheeded into a noisome grave. from his wife, she eloped in the dead of night to Riches alone can bring pleasure, and make each her profligate lover. hour we live an age of enjoyment. Cursed is the lot of him unblessed by fortune! At twentyseven years of age, here am I, doomed to a life of poverty, destined to pass my days in this miserable hospital! The author is right." And again De Launay plunged into his studies.

The rest of her history I dare not dwell upon; it was such as Hogarth has described in some of his matchless pictures. Cards and extravagance soon dissipated her own money; and he, whose protection she had sought, became wearied of her expensive whims.

A short time before her interview with Martha her brother had discovered her perishing from hunger, illness, and misery, in a low and wretched dwelling-into such an extreme of misery had her vice plunged her. He would have taken the wanderer to his own home, for he perceived the end was at hand; but she so ardently begged to be alone, that he permitted her to choose the humble refuge in which Martha found her. She entreated that she might effect a reconciliation between her brother and his wife ere she died; but to this proposition he would not listen. "He thought," said she to Martha, "that you should have trusted him better."

"And so I should," said the weeping Martha, tenderly wiping the dying girl's brow, damp with the exertion of her narrative.

Martha Wilson had many subsequent interviews with her fallen sister, and it was at the very last that, hastily summoned to the deathscene, husband and wife met again. It was by the side of that death-bed that they felt how slight had been their cause of dissension; and the only feeling which prevented a reconciliation-pride -in that awful hour of human suffering and expiation was crushed in the dust.

Edith Wilson died calmly and even happily, trusting that the tears with which, like the sinner of old times, she had washed her Saviour's feet, might in his eye wash away her many sins, and trusting, with a childlike devotion, that Faith in His mercy would save her.

THE YOUNG SURGEON.

His task was, however, soon broken in upon by the entrance of one of the infirmary men, who came to inform him that "number seven had just breathed his last." Without the slightest emotion, save a shade of annoyance, which instantly stole over his countenance at this interruption, the young surgeon rose, and approached the double row of iron beds, each bearing the number of its tenant; for in the infirmary of the Bagne no prisoner bears a name. A single cipher stands for the appellative the convict has disgraced.

De Launay stopped when he came to "number seven. He drew down the sheet which had been thrown over the face of the corpse, and gazed at it with deep interest. He placed his hand upon the head, and contemplated the form before him for some instants, then, as if struck with a sudden desire to ascertain some anatomical point, he ordered the body to be instantly carried into the dissecting hall. The wretched remains were those of one whose phrenological developments might have proved a study of deep interest. Condemned to hard labor for life, for robbery and attempt to murder, Pierre Cranon had now been an inmate of the prison for upward of ten years

ten years of continual study how to escape. No less than sixty times had the unhappy man endeavored to get away, and sixty times had he been detected and punished. For several months previous to his last illness had Cranon been bound to his labor by chains weighing some thirty pounds; every vigilance had been exercised by his guards to prevent the possibility of his flight, and yet the idea of escape haunted his imagination, and became a never-dying, never-yielding monomania. The pain, however, of his increased fetters, at length brought on a sullen despair. His strict confinement within the walls undermined his health, and wore out the last remnant of his miserable days. He pined; he sickened; and withering, sank.

THE rain fell heavily against the window-panes; the night was not only dark and gloomy, but a thick, black vapor seemed actually to penetrate into the interior of the mansion, the inhabitants of which were now locked in profound slumber. Not a single light appeared throughout the whole city of Brest, save in the windows of a large, The attendants re-entered with a bier, on which square, dismal-looking building which stood on they placed the body, and carried it, as desired, the left bank of the port. This edifice is the into the dissecting-room. The anatomical hall Bagne, or fatal prison, in which the captives, of the Bagne, but rarely used, was still more hordoomed to perpetual labor, are left to waste their rible in its appearance than such places usually useless sighs, or vent their idle execrations. are. Strewed about lay several human limbs, In an upper room of that portion of this estab-thrown carelessly aside, half-eaten by the rats.

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Would you also be rich? I have enough for us both."

Several shreds of human flesh, already putrid, | conveyed a doubt of the truth of the assertion, clung to the large marble table used for dissecting, told plainly how highly the young surgeon estiwhile the foot occasionally slipped as it glided mated the gifts of fortune. through some filthy pool of half-coagulated blood. Near an open window hung a skeleton, which had already lost some of its parts, and which moved up and down, creaking and almost cracking as the breeze swung it about.

"Do you take me for a fool, that you thus endeavor to deceive me?"

"I tell you I can make your fortune." "Some robbery in which you would have me join?"

"No, not so; assist my flight, and I will place the money in your hands. I will give you half of all I have got."

"Silence! keep your falsehoods for those who are credulous enough to believe them, and come instantly back to the guard-house ;" and De Launay attempted to look careless, though his ears had drunk in each syllable the prisoner had uttered.

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Why will you not believe me?" despairingly asked the captive. "On my soul, I lie not. How can I prove the truth of my assertion?" "Show me your treasure."

Although accustomed to such scenes, De Launay felt a chill steal through his frame, a nervous sensation hitherto unknown to him, but now brought on by the dreary damp of the horrid amphitheatre, whose terrors seemed to dance in grim array, as the flaming light kept waving in the breeze. The young surgeon quickly produced his instruments, and approached the corpse. The dreadfully attenuated frame, the lacerated ankles, where the iron had actually eaten into the flesh, all lay displayed before him, and he paused for a moment. De Launay, seizing his dissecting-knife, was about to plunge it into the body, when a slight movement of the arm made him start back; in another instant, Cranon opened his eyes, and slowly raising himself, peered anxiously around. The young surgeon stood aghast. Profiting by this, the prisoner quietly but quickly started up, and rushed toward the window. In a moment De Launay saw the artifice; he darted on the unfortunate wretch, and attempted to throw him down. The love of life, the hope of liberty, for a Cranon groaned heavily. He pondered for a moment lent their whole force to the miserable moment, and then suddenly exclaimed, in a tone captive. A deadly struggle took place, in which which left no doubt on the mind of the young youth and vigor gained the mastery, and Cranonsurgeon that he was speaking the truth. Lislay at the mercy of De Launay, who placed his ten to me; so help me Providence, I possess the knee upon his chest. money I speak of. It is no fancy, no well-invented lie; I have a fortune enough to make us both rich. Now, say, if I prove this to be the fact, and consent to give you half, will you allow me to escape?"

"Your attempts are useless; you are in my power. A single call will bring the guard. Say, then, what means this fresh, this mad attempt at escape?"

"For the love of God, let me go! Surely my escape can not hurt you, and the Almighty will reward you for the good deed. Nay, do not spurn the prayers of a miserable old man."

"What! think you I'll connive at such a thing?" "Just Providence! think what I've suffered ! ten long years of misery, and now two months of cherished hope thus crushed in a moment. I, who for three days refused all food, in order to become ill, and be admitted into the infirmary; I, who counterfeited death so well that even you were deceived. But no, no; you will not detain Good Monsieur De Launay, you have a heart. O give me, then, my freedom!"

me.

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Why are you so desirous of obtaining it?" "Why? Ah! you have never been a prisoner,

"I have it not here. You know well I can not have it in my possession. Let me go, and I swear you shall have your share of it."

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• Thank you! thank you for nothing! I will instantly sign the receipt in full. So up, and in again!-up!" and he shook the wretched man.

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"Four hundred thousand francs," repeated the convict, with a voice of triumph, "is enough, a prisoner for life, or you would never ask why II hope, for two-enough to make us both happy. desire liberty."

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"But how would you gain a livelihood? You are too old, too weak to work. You would starve.' The captive smiled; an almost disdainful sneer of triumph curled his lip, as he replied, "I am richer than yourself."

"You?"

"Most true."

Say, will you have half?"

The young surgeon paused, then added in a tone of doubt, "The tale seems scarcely credible. You have been a prisoner here for upward of ten years."

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Right; it is fully that time since Martin and I, being closely pursued, buried the treasure in the spot I have told you of. The very day after "You are indeed, then, fortunate." This was we were seized at Plestin, and brought here. said with a degree of bitter irony, which, while it | Martin died within these walls last year, and

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