THE UNNATURAL FATHER.

Lewis Matthew Bertin, Marquis de Fratteaux, knight of the, military order of St. Lewis, and formerly captain of horse in the service of his Most Christian Majesty, was the eldest son of M. John Bertin de St. Geyran, honorary master of the requests, and counsellor of the parliament of Bordeaux, and Madame Lucretia de St. Chamant, both of families not a little honoured and esteemed through the kingdom.

Our Marquis being the eldest son, was the only source of his misfortune; his father being doatingly fond of a younger child, and determined, by every method in his power, to deprive the unhappy Lewis of his birthright, that the succession of his estate might fall to this fortunate favourite. With this purpose he omitted no opportunity of mortifying his spirit, and breaking his temper when a child; and even when he approached to years of maturity, exerted the whole terror of his authority to force him into the profession of the law; whereas he knew our Marquis was burning with a desire of distinguishing himself in arms. The Marquis employed several ecclesiastics in vain, to subdue the obstinacy of his father's determination. At last, when the old gentleman was going to confine him in a loathsome dungeon for refusing to comply with his orders, he had recourse to a mistress of whom his father was particularly fond, and begged upon his knees, that she would interest herself in his behalf. His application to this young woman was not fruitless; she had more goodness of heart than was customary in persons of her character; and the next time her lover was in the amorous mood, refused in a peremptory manner to gratify his wishes, unless he gave her an absolute assurance, that his son Lewis should be left for the choice of a profession entirely to his own inclinations. The old gentleman, at such a crisis, could refuse nothing to his charmer; and his son had speedily a permission to enter himself a cadet in the regiment of Noailles, where, after fourteen months service, he was advanced to a cornetcy in Maine's; and in less than three years, promoted still farther to a troop in St. Jalls; though he was then but a little turned of sixteen. From the rapidity of his promotion, we may easily conclude, that he had behaved with the greatest reputation in his military capacity. This was in reality the case; and M. d'Argenson, at that time prime minister, was so sensible of it, that he recommended him in the warmest manner imaginable to the King, and got him invested with the order of St. Louis, and complimented with a handsome pension for the support of his dignity.

The early reputation thus acquired by the Marquis, instead of gaining him any mark of affection at home, almost estranged any little esteem in which he had hitherto been held. His father now began to give out, that the Marquis was not his son, but an impostor palmed upon him by the nurse; and though no child could ever behave with a more resigned submission to the will of a parent than the subject of this present little history, still the only return he met with from his father, was a constant round of ignorant brutality, and unaccountable revenge.

Twice did this unworthy father make a personal attempt upon the life of the Marquis once he drew on him; and another time, when ill of a fever, he administered a dose of poison to him instead of the bark: this last was near being fatal; and the father withdrew, satisfied that the business was done; but the Marquis, finding himself on the brink of convulsions, instantly rang, and dispatched his servant for the apothecary, who, suspecting foul play

brought a powerful antidote in his pocket, with which he soon expelled the horrid dose.

Old Bertin, thus disappointed, resolved to go a surer way to work with this laudable design, he subordined some profligate villains to swear that the Marquis had attempted to take away his life, and had even been in treaty to murder his father with some of the evidences themselves. This story, improbable soever it was rendered by the character of our Marquis, the old man, who was immensely rich, by a seasonable exertion of his purse, found means to get credited at court; in consequence of which, a lettre de catchet was instantly ordered for the apprehension of the Marquis, who was thereupon seized, and imprisoned at a religious house, where he was treated with every indignity imaginable. In vain did the unfortunate youth apply for a regular trial; the ears of justice were shut as well as her eyes; and it is probable they would have dispatched him privately here at last, had not a few friends who shrewdly suspected some scheme of that nature, broke open his prison at midnight, and carried him forcibly off.

Destitute of clothes, money, friends, and recommendation, he flew to Spain, where he found an asylum in a relation's of his mother's, the Count of Marsillac; but the place of his retreat was no sooner discovered, than the French ambassador had orders to get him apprehended; upon which he was under a necessity of seeking some safer place of refuge. Turning his thoughts, therefore, on the one best suited to his purpose, he set sail for England, where he arrived under the name of Monsieur de St. Etienne. From hence he wrote to France for recommendations, in consequence of which several persons of distinction received some very warm letters in his behalf, which soon introduced him to many of the English nobility.

Being now a little settled, he began to consider on the best expedient of obtaining the justice of the French court: and in a consultation with his friends, it was agreed, that he should send over memorials to some of the first nobility, and beg they would lay a true state of the case to the king. The Marquis wanting an amanuensis to copy these memorials, Monsieur de Montignac, a gentleman of his acquaintance, recommended to him one Dages de Souchard, a crafty, deep, insinuating fellow, for that purpose, who had imposed upon M. de Montignac, and several others, by the appearance of every virtue, to which he was totally lost.

The Marquis being under a necessity of admitting this worthy scribe into some degree of confidence, frequently fled to that melancholy resource of all the afflicted, and dwelt upon the story of his misfortunes, generally concluding his narratives, with saying his father would give 100,000 livres to him dead or alive.

This last intimation sunk deep into Souchard's remembrance. He wrote over to the Marquis's father, and made him an oblique offer of his service to deliver him up. This was beyond what the old gentleman expected; he entered with the utmost alacrity into a correspondence with the traitor, remitted him some small sums, and at last agreed to settle a pension of six hundred livres on him for life, to give him a thousand guineas in hand, besides two hundred guineas more as a reward for his accomplices. Souchard, upon these assurances, set instantly to work, and engaged a desperate ruffian, one Blazdell, a bailiff in St. Martin's Lane, to assist him. This honest gentleman, with an Italian his follower, on the 27th of March, 1752, went to the Marquis's lodging at Marybone, and finding the door most conveniently open for their purpose, ran up to his apartment, and arrested him in the King's name.

The poor Marquis was in a most extravagant passion; but some of his friends, who came in upon the noise, advising him to submit to the officers of justice, and assuring him they would get bail with all possible expedition, he walked down to the coach, and was carried directly to Blazdell's house. The alarm was soon spread at Marybone: and five gentlemen, one of them a person of the first fashion, went after him immediately to the bailiff's house, where, in a positive tone of voice, they charged that rascal to see that no violence of any nature was done to the prisoner, as in case of failure, they would call him to a most exemplary account. They then retired, and left a person with the Marquis to keep him company for that night. About midnight Blazdell came up stairs, and turned the man whom the gentleman had left with the Marquis out of the house. This exciting the strongest suspicions in the unfortunate nobleman, he grew outrageous; upon which the designing villain of a bailiff said, he would have no such noise in his house, but would carry him to the county gaol directly, where care enough would be taken of him. The Marquis swallowed the bait; but what was his astonishment when he found himself at the water side! He knew enough of London, to know that was not the way to any prison, and therefore called loudly for assistance. A crowd gathered, but were dispersed in a moment, upon Blazdell's telling them, it was nothing but a French fellow whom they had arrested, that was going to give the slip to his creditors. Resistance was in vain; a loaded pistol was held to the Marquis's head all the time he was in the boat; and the moment they put him a ship-board, there was no possibility of his escape. To conclude this melancholy story, they arrived safe at Calais, delivered him as a state prisoner to the proper officer of that town; and he sent him chained by the neck in a post-chaise to Paris.

LOUIS XIII.

Monsieur de Cinqmars, the favourite of Louis XIII., had, with his majesty's secret approbation, endeavoured to destroy Richelieu, and failed. The king was glad to appease the cardinal by sacrificing his friend, whom he used to call" cher ami." When the hour of execution arrived, Louis pulled out his watch, and with a villainous smile, said, "I believe it is the hour my dear friend makes a pitiful figure." Voltaire, commending him, says, that this king's character is not sufficiently known. It was not, indeed, while such an anecdote remained unstained with the blackest colours of history.

PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE.

There is a high and steep promontory upon the island of St. Helena, called Ladder Hill, the highest part of which cannot be much less than 800 feet, upon which an extraordinary accident happened to a Dutch sailor, 1759. This man coming out of the country after dark, and being in liquor, mistook the path then in use, and turned to the left, instead of the right; he continued his journey with great difficulty, till finding the descent no longer practicable, he took up his residence for the night in a chink of the rock, and fell asleep. Late in the morning he awoke, and what was his horror and astonishment to find himself on the brink of a precipice one hundred fathoms deep! he attempted to return back, but found it impossible to climb the crags he had descended.

After having passed several hours in this dreadful situation, he discovered some boys on the beech at the foot of the precipice bathing in the sea; hope of relief made him exert his voice to the utmost, but he had the mortification to find that the distance prevented his being heard.

He then threw one of his shoes towards them, but it unfortunately fell without being perceived. He threw the other and was more fortunate; for it fell at the feet of one of the boys who was just coming out of the water: the youth looked up, and with great surprise, saw the poor Dutchman waving his hat and making other signs of distress.

They hastened to the town, and telling what they had seen, great numbers of people ran to the heights over head, from whence they could see the man, but were nevertheless at a loss how to save him. At last a coil of rope was procured, and one end being fastened above, the other was reeved down over the place where he stood. The sailor instantly laid hold of it, and with an agility peculiar to people of his profession, in a little time gained the

summit.

As soon as he found himself safe, he produced an instance of provident carefulness, truly Dutch, by pulling out of his bosom a China punch bowl, which in all his distress he had taken care to preserve unbroken, though the latter must have alarmed the children at once by its noise, and the shoes must have left him to starve, if they had not fallen in sight.

PUNISHMENT AT ANTWERP.

In the prison at Antwerp there are two rooms for citizens, and above there is a cage about six feet and a half square, into which criminals are put before the torture. A criminal, while he suffers the torture, is clothed in a long shirt, has his eyes bound, and a physician and surgeon attend him. When a confession is forced from him, and he has had some wine, he is required to sign his confession; and about forty-eight hours afterwards, he is executed.

In a small dungeon, is a stone seat, such as is often seen in old prison towers, on which it is said that formerly prisoners were suffocated by brimstone, when their families wished to avoid the disgrace of a public exection.

THE MODERN MAGICIAN.

The following extraordinary event happened in Lincolnshire, in the autumn of 1807, at least if we may believe the papers of that period, which state it to be an absolute and well authenticated fact.

On

Sir Henry E. was riding out one day, when from sudden terror or some other accident, his horse startled and flung him with violence to the ground,-with such violence indeed that he lay for a long time insensible. recovering his senses, he faintly exclaimed, "Where am I?" and looking up found himself in the arms of a venerable old man, to whose kind offices he was probably indebted for his life. "I rejoice in your recovery," said the venerable stranger, "but as you are yet affected by your fall, allow me to support you to my house, which is close at hand. A little quiet is absolutely essential to you." Sir Henry expressed his grateful acceptance of the proffered kindness, and, supported by his new acquaintance, walked

slowly towards the house. Here the unremitting attention of the old man and his servants soon restored his scattered senses; his limbs, indeed, ached with the fresh bruises, but he had reason to congratulate himself on coming off with unbroken bones; at least if he had no great cause to rejoice, he had still less to complain.

Dinner was now announced, when he was requested by the kind old host to join the party, a request to which he acceded as much from curiosity as any other motive. Hereupon he was shown into a large hall, where sixteen covers were laid, and every thing was in a style beyond mere comfort. The party consisted of the same number, all gentlemen. The old man sat at the head of the table, an excellent dinner was served up, and the lively conversation, which seasoned it, soon made Sir Henry forget his accident. If there was any drawback to the general mirth, it was from the strange temper of the host; this at times showed itself in a most singular and whimsical exertion of authority, which, however, seemed to be disputed by none. Thus for instance, the gentleman on Sir Henry's left hand asked him to drink a glass of wine, when the host extending his hand, exclaimed in a dignified and authoritative tone, "No." Sir H., though astonished at this check, remained silent, not knowing whether he should attribute it to avarice or insolence, or both united.

The instant dinner was over, the old man left the room, when the gentleman who had asked Sir H. to take a glass of wine, addressed him in a tone and manner that surprised him still more than the conduct of his host. "By what misfortune, Sir, have you been unhappily trepanned by that unfeeling villain who has just now quitted us? O, Sir! you will have ample cause to curse the fatal hour that put you in his power, for you have no prospect in this world but misery and oppression. Perpetually subject to the capricious humour of the old man, you will remain in this mansion for the remainder of your days; your life will become, as mine is, burdensome; and driven to despair, your days will glide on in regret and melancholy, in cold and miserable confinement. This, alas, has been my lot for fifteen years; and not mine only, but the lot of every one you see here since their arrival at this cursed abode." Sir Henry was bewildered; there was so much truth of grief depicted in the stranger's face, that he knew not what to think; he could see there was no deceit in his words-and yet how to believe them? it was against reason, it was against common sense to credit a tale so monstrous. Fear and indignation mutually swayed him, as he exclaimed, "By what authority can any man detain me against my will? I will not submit ; I will oppose him by force, if necessary." "Ah, Sir," exclaimed a second gentleman, your argument is just, but your threats are vain; the old man is a magician; we know it by fatal experience; do not be rash, Sir; your attempt would prove futile, and your punishment would be dreadful." "I will endeavour to escape," said Sir Henry, hardly apprehending the singular words of the speaker. "Impossible," replied a third; "such hopes are groundless, as we have all proved by the attempt: it was but six months ago, that in the endeavour to fly from this abominable place, I broke my leg." Sir Henry was inclined to be incredulous, but all present had something to add in confirmation of the story. One said he had fractured his arm, a second told how many had been killed by falls in such attempts; a third that others had suddenly disappeared and never since been heard of. Sir H. bewildered, and not knowing whether to think his host a thief or a conjuror, was about to reply, when a servant entered the room, and said his

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