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life and I fear not death; but it is terrible to me to die without having lived for some good purpose. I might live to atone for a part of my past life by some honest employment; I might live to appease the country which I have offended. My execution would be an example to the world, but no compensation for my crimes. I hate vice, and ardently long after honourable deeds and virtue. I have proved my ability to become a terror to my country; I hope that there yet remain some means by which I can be useful to it.

"I know that I make an unheard-of request. My life is forfeited, and it does not become me to negotiate with justice. But I do not appear before it in chains and fetters-I am yet freeand fear has the smallest share in my entreaty.

"It is pardon which I crave. Even did I possess any claims upon justice, I would not venture to avail myself of them. But of something I dare remind my judges. The reckoning of my crimes begins with that decree which first and for ever crushed my honour. If just treatment had not been denied me-if my punishments had been proportioned to the disposition of my mind, I might not now have needed your favour.

"Let mercy go before justice, my sovereign! Since your royal power can bend the laws in my favour, so grant me my life. It shall all be spent in your service. If you resolve upon this, publish your royal will by public proclamation, and on the word of my sovereign I will appear in the capital. But if you otherwise determine, let the law do its duty-I must do mine."

This petition remained unanswered, as likewise a second and third, in which the suppliant begged the place of a trooper in the service of the prince. His hope of pardon being entirely cut off, he resolved to flee the land, and to die as a brave soldier in the service of the king of Prussia.

He successfully escaped from his band and proceeded on this journey. The way led through a small country town, where he wished to spend the night. A short time before, when the sovereign of the country took part in the war, strict orders had been issued throughout the land for a close search of travellers. Such an order had been received by the gate-clerk of this town, who was sitting upon a bank before the gate, when Wolf

came riding up. There was something droll, and at the same time frightful and wild, in the aspect of this horseman. The lean pony which he rode, and his ludicrous choice of articles of clothing, (which, probably, was less an expression of his taste than a kind of chronological register of the various thefts he had committed,) contrasted singularly enough with a countenance on which so many raging passions lay spread, like mangled corpses on a field of battle. The gateclerk was startled at the sight of this curious wanderer. He had grown grey at the bars, and an experience of forty years had made him unerring in his detection of vagrants. The falcon-eye of this rogue-hound did not now miss its man. He immediately barred the gate of the town, and, seizing the bridle of the horse, demanded a pass from the rider. Wolf was prepared for this emergency, and carried with him a true pass, which he had not long before plundered from a merchant. But this single testimonial was not enough to invalidate a forty years' observation, and to prevail upon the oracle of the gate to draw back the bars. This man trusted to his eyes more than to the paper, and Wolf was compelled to follow him to the office of the judge of the domain.

The judge of the domain examined the pass and declared it to be correct. He was strongly attached to novelties, and was particularly fond of discussing the news over a bottle. The pass informed him that its possessor came directly from the land of the enemy, where was the theatre of the war. He hoped to draw out private information concerning the enemy, and he sent his secretary back with the pass, charging him to invite its owner in to take wine with him.

In the meantime Wolf stood before the office; his ludicrous appearance had collected the populace of the town in crowds round about him. They began to murmur in his ears, and pointed alternately at the horse and the rider. The licentiousness of the mob at last broke out into a loud tumult. Unfortunately, the horse, which was singled out by the fingers of all the crowd, was stolen, and Wolf expected that he had been advertised in handbills and was recognised. The unexpected hospitality of the domain judge added weight to his suspicions. Now he regarded it as certain that his pass was considered a cheat, and that this invitation was only a snare to take

him alive and without resistance. An evil conscience took away his prudence: he gave spurs to his horse and rode away without staying to give an answer. This sudden flight was the signal for an universal rising.

"A thief," all exclaimed, and rushed after him. He rode for life or deathhe had already the start-his pursuers panted breathlessly behind his salvation is near-but a heavy hand pressed unseen upon him—the hour of his fate had come-inexorable Nemesis seized her debtor. The street into which he had turned terminated in a square-he must turn back upon his pursuers.

The noise of this occurrence, in the meantime, had set the whole town in an uproar; crowds poured on crowds; all the streets were barricaded, and a host of enemies advanced upon him. He showed a pistol-the multitude reeledhe will break his powerful way through the crowd. "This," said he, elevating his pistol," shall stay the fool-hardy man that dares to touch me." Fear

created an universal pause. A brave young locksmith at last grasped his arm from behind, and, seizing the finger with which the furious Wolf was ready to discharge his weapon, pressed it upon the joint. The pistol fell, its defenceless owner was pulled from his horse and hurried back in triumph to the office of the judge.

"Who are you?" inquired the judge, in a half-brutal tone.

"A man, who is determined to answer no questions till they are put more civilly."

"Who are you?"

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boldness, but they avail nothing for your good cause. I give you time until morning to prepare to tell me the truth."

"I shall abide in the declarations I have made."

"Let some one conduct him to prison."

"To prison? sir judge! I hope there is justice in this land. I will demand satisfaction."

"I will give it to you if your conduct can be justified."

On the morrow, the judge, reflecting that the stranger might yet be entirely innocent, and that imperious treatment would avail nothing against his obstinacy, thought it better to adopt a hesitating and moderate manner towards him. He assembled the jury of the place, and the prisoner was brought forth.

"Pardon me, sir, if in the first moment of indignation I treated you somewhat harshly yesterday."

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Very readily, if you change your manner towards me."

"Our laws are strict, and your affair created an uproar. I cannot release you without violating my allegiance." "But if I know nothing?"

Then I must give notice of the event to government, and in the meantime you must remain in close confinement."

"And then?"

“Then you are in danger, either of being whipped as a vagrant over the limits, or, if the punishment be milder, of being enrolled in the conscription."

He was silent for a minute, and seemed to wrestle with strong emotions; at last, with a quick movement he turned to the judge:

"Can I be alone with you for a quarter of an hour?"

The jury appeared doubtful; but, on a commanding look from their master, they withdrew.

"Now, what do you desire?"

"The treatment which I received from you yesterday, sir judge, would have never elicited a confession from me-for I defy power. The moderation which you exhibit to-day, has won my confidence and esteem. I believe that you are a generous man."

"What have you to disclose to me ?"

"I see that you are generous. I have long wished to meet with such a man as yourself. Permit me to take your right hand."

"What is your design?"

"This head is grey and venerable. You have been long in the world-have experienced many trials-is it not true? and have become humane."

"My friend-what of that?" "You stand but a few steps from eternity; soon-soon you will need the mercy of God. Exercise, then, that charity towards others which you will claim for yourself-perceive you nothing? With whom, think you, do you speak?" "How is this? You terrify me." "Perceive you not yet?-Write to your sovereign how you discovered me, and that of free choice I became my own betrayer-tell him that as he is now merciful to me, God will be merciful to him. Entreat him for my sake, old man, and when you tell my story, drop then a tear: I am the Keeper of the Sun!"

MARY FRANCIS.

"Is Miss Francis at home?" I inquired of the servant that opened the door, at my impatient ring.

"Yes, sir, she is, but can't see anybody, sir; she's sick this morning." "Sick! Not much unwell, I hope. When was she taken?"

"I don't know what ails her," returned the man. "She was down at the breakfast-table this morning. They sent off for the doctor, in a great hurry, a little while ago. I believe she was taken very suddenly. Fanny said, mistress had heard bad news."

The truth at once flashed upon my mind. Notwithstanding all our precautions, Mary had heard of the duel! What a shock! Her brother and affianced lover antagonists in a deadly combat, and the result to her uncertain! I trembled for the consequences of such a blow.

"Can I see her aunt?" I inquired hastily. The importance of disclosing, fully, the circumstances and issue of our encounter was so evident, that, agitated as I was, and unpleasant as the interview must be, I sent to ask whether her aunt could see me for a moment.

Walking into the parlour, I paced the floor in an agony of suspense and apprehension, but had not waited long before the aunt appeared. She entered the room with a noiseless step, while my back was toward the door, and I turned

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Oh! thank heaven!" And she sank upon the sofa, unable, for a minute, to speak another word.

"And you! You are hurt?" she added, inquiringly, observing my arm tied up in a sling.

"Oh, a mere trifle-only a scratch; pray tell me, how is Miss Francis?"

but "She was rather better when I came down. Dr. Hand the maid are with her. Oh! what a shock it was for the poor girl! She fainted away when she saw the paragraph! But wait, I must run up to her room, and see if she is able to bear the good news."

"Saw what paragraph?" I would have asked; but before I could utter a syllable she had disappeared.

I had not been alone many minutes before my eye rested on a newspaper lying on the floor, at the other side of the room. I picked it up and tried to read. Any thing to give relief from the distracting thoughts which tormented me. After looking at two or three sentences, which my eyes passed over without conveying any definite impression to the mind, I glanced along the page, until my attention was riveted upon a paragraph of but a few lines. was the answer to my question-there, in letters that seemed to swell before my sight into the largest capitals, was the fatal news!

There

rived from Calais last evening, in the "We learn by a passenger, who arsteamboat, that a duel took place between Henry R. Francis, and William Lesley, of London. Our informant states, that one of them—report did not say which was dangerously wounded at

the first fire! We shall endeavour to

learn the particulars in time for our paper of to-morrow."

How vain had been all our precautions against the very result which had thus taken place! I myself had left Calais some hours later than the passenger who brought the news, and imagined that not a breath of the occurrence had then transpired.

Mrs. Lajou-this was the name of

the aunt did not return to the parlour, but, after I had waited in perfect misery for half an hour, sent word that Miss Francis was worse, and she should not be able to come down. I learned from the maid who had brought the message, that Mary had swooned again at the intelligence of my arrival. As 1 subsequently learned, she had first been told that I was down stairs, and, of course, the thought flashed across her mind, that Henry must have fallen.

The woman immediately returned, and I was left to my own bitter reflections. Heaven only knows what an hour I passed, sitting with my arms folded, and my eyes fixed upon the door, as if watching eagerly for some one's

entrance.

How many scenes, long passed-how many events of my short life-came crowding back upon my mind! Even those recollections on which I could sometimes dwell with pleasure, now clouded and painful from the agony of the present! That hour seemed an eternity!

There I sat, until at last the servant came down again, to say that Mary was more tranquil, and the laudanum, which had been administered, seemed to be gaining the mastery over her excited system. She continued,

"Mistress says, that if you call again this evening, she can see you, maybe."

I took the hint, and with somewhat calmer feelings left the house, and did not stop till I was seated in my own room. In that solitude, again, my whole life passed in review before me.

I had known Henry Francis, intimately, since our childhood. We had been at boarding-school together, for several years. My parents lived in a country village where his resided. Then we were devoted friends, and once I had accepted his invitation to spend the Christmas holidays with him at home. Well I remember how happily those holidays passed; for all the family treated me with the greatest kindness, and then I first saw Mary, who was several years younger than her brother and myself. Even now I see her, just as she appeared at that time-a fair little creature, about five years old; with chestnut hair parted in curls over her forehead, and flowing to her shoulders in silken ringlets; with dark, Italian eyes; and cheeks, on which roses

mantled over a bed of lily whiteness. She was coy and timid, much more so than children usually are at that ageand several days passed before her bashfulness wore off, and we became intimate. Afterwards she was all confidence and familiarity, and we sported together with the other children-for she had a sister younger than herself-just as if I had been a brother.

How many evidences of Mary's attachment to me could I enumerate! I recollect that she had a little bow and arrow, with which she often amused herself. One day the arrow lodged in a vine of honeysuckle, which covered the brick wall, on one side of the yard where we were all playing. Her brother had tried in vain, a long time, to recover it, and I, somewhat more agile, had climbed up on the slight trellis, round which the honeysuckle was entwined, and had just seized the arrow, when my footing gave way and I fell to the ground, bearing it in my hand. Though it was a fall of only a few feet, my head was badly cut; and, stunned for a moment, I lay without motion upon the brick pavement, while the blood flowed copiously from the wound. Of course, they were all very much terrified, and Henry, with its youngest sister, Emma, ran screaming into the house for assistance; but Mary remained standing by me, crying bitterly, and endeavouring to raise me. When the alarm brought out Mrs. Francis and one of the servants, my senses had partially returned; I was sitting up, Mary's arms clasped round my neck, and both of us so disfigured with blood, that it would have been difficult for a moment to tell which was hurt.

The injury was not serious, and after the blood had been washed off, and my head tied up, it was thought only necessary that I should lie still for the rest of the day upon a sofa in the nursery. Mary scarcely left my side until she was carried to bed, and then with reluctance. Her dolls and other playthings, which she thought would amuse me, she brought and put in my hands, and her sprightly prattle made me forgetful of pain. In the morning, she was the first to visit me, and, in the innocence of childhood, to imprint a kiss upon my cheek.

No, we could not then have loved! But yet, ""T was strange, 't was pasing strange," how long we remembered each

other. Henry and I returned together to school, and our early friendship continued in all its force. I remember often thinking of Mary, and of inquiring much more eagerly about her than any of the others, whenever Henry received a letter from home. Neither did she forget. If she sent any message to Henry, William was always included; and once when, her mother guiding her hand, she wrote a letter to him, I certainly must have held a large place in her thoughts.

The friendships of boyhood depend so much on casual circumstances, and are so frequently interrupted, that it is wonderful so many of them should be lasting. Henry and myself parted when we both left school. He went to Oxford, there to finish his education, and I to Cambridge for the same purpose. He made no agreement to correspond, and though a letter or two passed between us, our intercourse was soon entirely at an end.

For years I heard nothing from him. Of Mary, I never received any intelligence, though still I recollect a certain undefined feeling of pleasure, whenever I thought of our youthful intimacy, and tried to picture to myself her appearwhen the budding charms of infancy had bloomed forth into luxuriant beauty.

ance,

My ambition was to prepare myself for the bar. My father's income was limited, but still he could have supported me, without difficulty, through the necessary course of study. But I always had a great desire for independence to live by my own exertions; and, before entering an attorney's office, to lay up enough for my maintenance while there engaged in reading. This, by extraordinary good fortune, I had accomplished in two years. I had an uncle, a lawyer, practising in London, and with him I determined to serve my clerkship, as he had often invited me to do.

Before going to the city, I paid a visit to my parents, from whom I had been separated more than two years. From them I first learned, that Mr. and Mrs. Francis had both died some time before, but that they knew nothing farther of their family.

There was a great crowd on board the steamboat leaving Ramsgate, one mild, delightful day in summer. Just before me was a tall, fashionably-dressed young

man, whose name I accidentally overheard-" Francis." I had not yet seen his face, but the name arrested my attention, and, as he turned to go, led me to scan his countenance closely. I could not, however, trace there any resemblance to my own school-mate. I soon after went down into the diningcabin.

Here I found Mr. Francis sitting, and again examined him from head to foot; but certainly, I thought, this cannot be the Henry Francis that I once knew: can he have lost every trace of his former appearance?

The dinner-bell rang, and the tall gentleman took his station at the door of the ladies' cabin, near which he had been sitting, and was presently joined by a lady, dressed in deep black, whose face was concealed by her bonnet from my sight. I took a seat just opposite to them at the table, and when she turned her head had a full view of her features. A single glance told me that she was young and beautiful; a second, that I had seen that face before-no, I could not be mistaken-it was Mary Francis! Just then she looked at me, our eyes met, and I thought, for a moment, that it was a look of recognition; but not so-I, too, must have changed, changed entirely since my boyhood.

I determined to wait a more favourable opportunity of introducing myself. Before dinner was over I was convinced that the gentleman was her brother, and once she called him Henry. fact, I began to think at last—perhaps it was only imagination—that I could perceive in him some slight resemblance to my school-fellow.

After dinner they went on deck; and, in a few moments, the gentleman was standing at a little distance from Mary, looking over the water with a vacant gaze. I approached.

"I believe, sir, I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Henry Francis?" "That is my name, sir," he returned, coldly.

"Do you remember William Lesley, whom you knew at Mr. Bschool?"

S

"William Lesley?" And he looked hard at me, with a searching gaze, as if in doubt then took my proffered hand, and smiling in a constrained manner, said, "Why, really I should not have known you, you are so changed sincesince we parted."

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