to give him the order as soon as he should have executed it. Dreux made him a present of fifty livres, and promised him two hundred more if he released his prisoner. This softened the jailor; he still, however, made no positive promise; this showed Dreux the necessity of not letting go his hold.

Dreux placed himself at the door, and under pretense of doing duty as a sentinel, he prevented any crowd from being formed, observing, that if four or five were allowed to stay there, they would soon increase to twenty or a hundred. To prevent this, he determined to say in a brutal voice, to every body that came towards the little passage behind the church, no one goes through here"-and to those who insisted upon passing, he added, "do you want to force the guard?"

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Dreux was in despair at not finding his friend in the hall, where he had seen him that morning; he could not believe that he was not there. He took a torch to search the hall himself, called him again, looked in every corner, examined every face, and now showed too much his agitation, at not finding this prisoner, about whom, till then, he had appeared not to know any thing.

He now saw all his efforts vain, all his hopes vanish. Did he still live, or had he been in one of the halls where the assassins had already been? He at last however discovered the little window, either himself or from some sign from the prisoners, who had often seen him at la Maine, where he visited the Abbe G. and perceived his good intentions; however it was, he understood that the Abbe G. had got out of that window, and instantly began to think how he could find him.

The good young man says, that during this visit, he felt the greatest compassion and respect for all these ecclesiastics, many of whom were very old, most of them on their knees, praying, calmly expecting the stroke of death, without one complaint, or shedding one tear. In the midst of them the Cure of St. Jean engreave octogenaire, with gray hairs, who had been a curate for forty years, having fulfilled this long career with all the civil virtues of a man in public life, and the religious virtues of a good pastor, and now giving to his companions the only arms which they opposed to the fire of the assassins.

He was particularly struck with a very extraordinary circumstance that not one of these men answered after such repeated calls, when they knew that he was not there. Though this was such an easy and natural means of escaping their danger, and without hurting the Abbe G., for his absence prevented his making any use of the assistance they offered to him.

There was something grand and touching in this universal silence. The Abbe G. in his recital of this circumstance, adds, that he flattered himself, that if he had been in the hall at that moment, he should not have answered.

To return to Dreux. The interest he had showed to find the Abbe G. at last made them suspect him. Some of the assassins who were near him, communicated their suspicions to others-Dreux did not waste any time in disputing with them, but with an astonishing presence of mind, he violently seized one of these priests by the arm, and dragged him to the door, with a most brutal and menacing manner.

The unfortunate priest, having often seen him at la Maine, naturally thought that not finding the Abbe G. he was going to save his life, and affectionately pressed his hand; Dreux perceived the poor man's mistake, and felt extremely grieved, but he resolved to save his friend and benefactor. He let go the hand of the priest, and mingled in the crowd of the people, foreseeing, but without the power of preventing it, that this unfortunate man would be one of the first victims. At this moment the massacre of the priests in the hall began. Dreux immediately set out to find some way of getting into the little court; he was followed by his companion whom we formerly mentioned. They came to a little street which was terminated by a wall, which formed one of the sides of the little court, a heap of earth and stones against this wall facilitated their getting upon the wall. By the bright light of the moon, Dreux distinctly saw eight or ten prisoners, amongst whom he soon distinguished the Abbe G.'s tall figure. Dreux at this moment perceived a man beside him, who had got on the heap of rubbish, and was also looking over the wall into the little court; he was armed with a musket, which he was just going to fire on the people in the little court; Dreux made a sudden motion apparently from awkwardness, and struck the musket from the man's hand; he then made a thousand apologies, and got down with him, to look for the door of the court, but he had the address soon to separate from him.

He returned to his friend, and his observations having perfectly satisfied him, he went to the door of the court, where he would have remained quiet if he could, but they gathered together in this place, and very soon the assassins came, and the jailor not being with them, they were proceeding to break open the door of the little court, when Dreux commanded, and obtained silence. He then produced, and repeated the order from Manuel, to the assassins; amongst the people were many who

had promised to deliver the prisoner. They burst open the door, and called out with loud voices, "Etienne G.! Abbe G.!"

The Abbe seeing their bayonets and drawn swords, thought he was going to certain death, and was sure that he was distinguished from his companions only to be treated with more cruelty. He had not then heard Dreux's voice-imagine his surprise on seeing Dreux and his friend, at the head of the mob, enter the court-Dreux seized him by the arm, and with the assistance of his friend, forced a passage for him through the crowd, and reached the little lane which was formerly mentioned.

At one end of this lane, there was a door which opened into the church of the Abbaye. In this church an assembly of the Municipality of the section had just been held-it was one o'clock the meeting had broken up-the members had all left the church-the Swiss porter had just shut and locked all the doors except that leading from the lane by which Dreux, his friend, and the Abbe G. were entering the church-they entered it, but how were they to get out? To return by the door at which they had entered, could only lead them back through the lane to the court, where, at this moment, the mob were massacreing their companions. They had no doubt that the assassins would soon follow, to search the church, to pursue and murder those who might take refuge there, as actually happened a few moments afterwards. With great difficulty, by repeated entreaties and vehement threats, Dreux at last obliged the porter to open the great door of the church, and then the outer iron gate instantly rushing forward with his friend, carrying the Abbe G. between them, crying out as loud as they could, "come through here, come this way-this way-my friendslong life to the nation--vive la nation!" They happily forced their way through another crowd of the people, who had assembled at the great door of the church. They got safely to the street of St. Marguerite, where there was no mob, and from whence they could easily go to their own homes.

We should not omit to mention, that in thus saving his friend, Dreux had an opportunity of doing another good action. A poor priest who had taken refuge, as they had done, in the church, not knowing how to get out, had hid himself behind the door, and when he saw Dreux and his companions come in, he took them for assassins, and trembled from head to foot. This unfortunate priest had no hat on, and was in his ecclesiastical dress, a circumstance which much increased the danger both for himself, and for all who might attempt to save him. He

and a poor curate had been arrested about fifteen miles from Paris, by the federalists, at a nobleman's country house, where he had been paying a visit; for this crime he had been committed the preceding day to the prison of the Abbaye.

Dreux's friend gave the curate his hat, and hiding and hustling him as well as they could between them, they got him through the crowd, under favor of the darkness and confusion. As he had been thrown into prison the moment he had been brought to Paris, he had no lodging, no place to go to in the town. It was not safe to take him to any inn. At last, however, he recollected that he had an acquaintance who lived in a convent, in a remote part of the city; with this friend he was at last lodged in perfect safety.

As to the Abbe G., after escaping from so many dangers, the most delightful feeling to him, was not the mere sense of personal escape, but the certainty of having a friend so strongly attached to him—a friend capable of such generous, persevering heroism.

BATTLE OF ABOUKIR.

MALTA having surrendered to the English, after a blockade of two years, the French entered into a treaty for evacuating Egypt; but the British government refusing to ratify the convention which had been formed under the auspices of Sir Sidney Smith, the French general in that country re-commenced hostilities. The British government, conceiving that the possession of Egypt by the French would endanger their East Indian possessions, sent Sir Ralph Abercrombie with an army, to drive them from the country: the following is an account of the landing of the army, and the battle of Aboukir.

"The season being now favorable, orders were issued for effecting a descent, which took place, according to a plan before agreed on, a colored sketch of which was transmitted from on board of the Foudroyant, commanded by Admiral Lord Keith, to each of the captains employed upon this occasion. The first division of the army, amounting to near six thousand men, under Major General Coote, having got into the boats, a rocket was fired at three o'clock in the morning, on which they immediately rowed towards the Mendovi, anchored in a central position at some distance from the shore. At nine, gun boats, armed launches, and cutters, having been stationed for

their protection, another signal was made, in consequence of which they advanced towards the beach, under the superintendence of Captains Cochrane, Stevenson, Scott, Lamour, Apthorpe, and Morrison, of the royal navy; and, instead of dreading the preparations of the enemy, steered directly for that part of the shore where the greatest opposition was likely to take place; for the French had occupied a steep sand hill, and lined all the adjacent heights with artillery and infantry, so that on the approach of the flotilla within this amphitheater of fire, the castle of Aboukir, together with the guns, to the number of fifteen, placed on the eminences, poured down a most terrible and incessant discharge of shot, shell and grape, which forced the boats to incline a little from their original direction, although instead of being daunted, the men answered every discharge by a huzza.

The reserve under Major General Moore, having leaped on shore, part led by Colonel Spencer, rushed up the eminence, and charging with fixed bayonets, forced the artillery, infantry, and dragoons, to give way in succession. But while the guards, under Major General Ludlow, were landing, and before they had time to form, they were suddenly attacked by a body of cavalry from behind the sand hills, some of the troopers actually leaping at the same time into the sea, where they killed some men, crowded in the boats and incapable of using their arms. Being at length repulsed, the troops advanced in succession to support the reserve, which by this time had obtained possession of the commanding ground in front. In their progress they fell in with a column of the enemy, which had intended to attack them in flank; but being overawed by the daring march and unexampled hardihood of the assailants, it retreated towards Alexandria, after maintaining an irregular fire for some time. On this the English advanced three miles and encamped with the right to the sea, and the left inclining to the lake Maadie. The loss of the British on this occasion, in killed and wounded, including seamen and marines, exceeded seven hundred, while that of the French, in consequence of being covered by the sand hills, did not amount to more than one half. The possession of the enemy's position, the capture of seven pieces of cannon and a howitzer, together with the discomfiture of a large body of men protected by a fortress, strong batteries, and a nearly inaccessible eminence, constitute the principal exploits of this day.

The judicious arrangements of the admiral had enabled a body of six thousand men, together with three hundred and