ing through the flames, and bursting the door of the chamber in which they were confined, 'Where are my little ones?'. Here, dear papa, here 'we are,' cried they together, while the flames were just catching the bed where they lay. I caught them both in my arms, and snatching them through the fire as fast as possible, while just as I was got out, the roof sunk in. Now,' cried 1, holding up my children, now let the flames burn on, and 'all my possessions perish. Here they are, I have 'saved my treasure. Here, my dearest, here are our treasures, and we shall yet be happy.' We kissed our little darlings a thousand times, they clasped us round the neck, and seemed to share our transports, while their mother laughed and wept by

turns.

6

I now stood a calm spectator of the flames, and after some time began to perceive that my arm to the shoulder was scorched in a terrible manner. It was therefore out of my power to give my son any assistance, either in attempting to save our goods, or preventing the flames spreading to our corn. By this time the neighbours were alarmned, and came running to our assistance; but all they could do was to stand, like us, spectators of the calamity. My goods, among which were the notes I had reserved for my daughters' fortunes, were entirely consumed, except a box with some papers that stood in the kitchen, and two or three things more of little consequence, which my son brought away in the beginning. The neighbours contributed, however, what they could to lighten our distress. They brought us cloaths, and furnished one of our outhouses with kitchen utensils; so that by day-light we had another, though a wretched dwelling, to retire to. My honest next neighbour and his children were not the least assiduous in providing us

with every thing necessary, and offering whatever consolation untutored benevolence could suggest.

When the fears of my family had subsided, cu-, riosity to know the cause of my long stay began to take place; having therefore informed them of, every particular, I proceeded to prepare them for the reception of our lost one, and though we had nothing but wretchedness now to impart, I was willling to procure her a welcome to what we had. This task would have been more difficult but for our re-、 cent calamity, which had humbled my wife's pride and blunted it by more poignant afflictions. Being unable to go for my poor child myself, as my arm grew very painful, I sent my son and daughter, who soon returned, supporting the wretched delinquent, who had not the courage to look up at her mother, whom no instructions of mine could persuade to a perfect reconciliation; for women have a much stronger sense of female error than men. Ah, madam,' cried her mother, this is but a poor place you are come to after so much finery. My daughter Sophy and I can afford but little entertainment to persons who have kept company only with people of distinction. Yes, Miss Livy, 'your poor father and I have suffered very much of late; but I hope heaven will forgive you,'

During this reception the unhappy victim stood pale and trembling, unable to weep or to reply; but I could not continue a silent spectator of her distress, wherefore assuming a degree of severity in my voice and manner, which was ever followed with instant submission, I entreat, woman, that my 'words may be now marked once for all: I have

here brought you back a poor deluded wanderer, 'her return to duty demands the revival of our ten'derness. The real hardships of life are now coming fast upon us, let us not therefore encreasthem by dissension among each other. If we live

har

J

harmoniously together we may yet be contented ' as there are enough of us to shut out the censuring world, and keep each other in countenance. The kindness of heaven is promised to 'the penitent, and let ours be directed by the ex'ample. Heaven, we are assured, is much more pleased to view a repentant sinner than ninetynine persons who have supported a course of undeviating rectitude. And this is right; for that single effort by which we stop short in the down hill path to perdition, is itself a greater exertion of virtue than an hundred acts of justice.'

CHAP. XXIII.

None but the guilty can be long and completely miserable.

SOME assiduity was now required to make our present abode as convenient as possible, and we were soon again qualified to enjoy our former serenity. Being disabled myself from assisting my son in our usual occupations, I read to my family from the few books that were saved, and particularly from such as by amusing the imagination contributed to ease the heart. Our good neighbours too came every day with the kindest condolence, and fixed a time in which they were all to assist at repairing my former dwelling. Honest farmer Williams was not last among these visitors; but heartily offered his friendship. He would even have renewed his addresses to my daughter; but she rejected him in such a manner as totally represt his future solicitations.— Her grief seemed formed for continuing, and she

was

was the only person of our little society that a week did not restore to cheerfulness. She now lost that unblushing innocence which once taught her to respect herself, and to seek pleasure by pleasing.Anxiety now had taken strong possession of her mind, her beauty began to be impaired with her constitution, and neglect still more contributed to diminish it. Every tender epithet bestowed on her sister brought a pang to her heart and a tear to her eye; and as one vice, though cured, ever plants others where it has been, so her former guilt, though driven out by repentance, left jealousy and envy behind. I strove a thousand ways to lessen her care, and even forgot my own pain in a concern for her's, collecting such amusing passages of history as a strong memory and some reading could suggest.Our happiness, my dear,' I would say, is in the power of one who can bring it about a thousand 'unforeseen ways that mock our foresight. If example be necessary to prove this, I'll give you a story, my child, told us by a grave, though sometimes a romancing, historian.

Matilda was married very young to a Neapo⚫litan nobleman of the first quality, and found her-. 'self a widow and a mother at the age of fifteen. 'As she stood one day caressing her infant son in the open window of an apartment which hung ' over the river Volturna, the child with a sudden spring leaped from her arms into the flood below, and disappeared in a moment. The mother 'struck with instant surprize, and making an effort 'to save him, plunged in after; but far from being ' able to assist the infant, she herself with great dif'ficulty escaped to the opposite shore, just when 'some French soldiers were plundering the country ' on that side, who immediately made her their pri

'soner.

• As

As the war was then carried on between the • French and Italians with the utmost inhumanity, they were going at once to perpetrate those two 'extremes suggested by appetite and cruelty. This <base resolution however was opposed by a young 'officer, who, though their retreat required the ' utmost expedition, placed her behind him, and brought her in safety to his native city. Her 'beauty at first caught his eye, her merit soon after his heart. They were married: he rose to the highest posts; they lived long together and were happy. But the felicity of a soldier can never be 'called permanent: after an interval of several ' years, the troops which he commanded having • met with a repulse, he was obliged to take shelter

in the city where he had lived with his wife. Here 'they suffered a siege, and the city at length was 'taken. Few histories can produce more various instances of cruelty than those which the French ' and Italians at that time exercised upon each other. It was resolved by the victors upon this occasion, to put all the French prisoners to death; but particularly the husband of the unfortunate Matilda, as he was principally instrumental in protracting the siege. Their determinations were in general 'executed almost as soon as resolved upon. The 'captive soldier was led forth, and the executioner ⚫ with his sword stood ready, while the spectators in gloomy silence awaited the fatal blow, which was only suspended till the general, who presided as judge, should give the signal. It was in this interval of anguish and expectation, that Matilda 'came to take her last farewell of her husband and deliverer, deploring her wretched situation, and the cruelty of fate, that had saved her from perishing by a premature death in the river Volturna, 'to be the spectator of still greater calamities. The general, who was a young man, was struck with surprise