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Arrived at the fatal spot, where the whole garrison was already drawn out, but without their arms. Hincq emptied his pipe, and gave it to a person who was standing near him. During the reading of the sen tence, which the faultering voice of the captain rendered hardly audible, Hincq interrupted him, saying, હું Enough! enough!" Then, having requested that his eyes might not be covered, and, as a last favour, that he himself might be permitted to give the word of command to the piquet of twelve men appointed to the execution, he addressed a few words to the officers who were near him, embraced his confessor, and bidding him to retire, advanced with a firm and resolute step, without betraying the slightest symptom of trouble or hesitation, and placed himself at the appointed distance before the piquet; then, drawing himself up, with a voice that betokened not the least alteration, he went through the military exercise with as much courage as precision. At the word, "fire," the fatal report was heard an instantaneous horror seized on the numerous spectators, and Hincq had ceased to exist,

CHORDS TOUCHED.

Аn, how that plaintive strain recalls
The happy hour I heard it last;
And seems, while on my ear it falls,

A dream-like whisper from the past; What mingled thoughts of joy and pain From the same source unbidden flow, To hear those well known tones again, And, ob, to hear them thus-and now!

A voice in every cadence dwells-
In every mournful note a sigh-
Of other, happier days it tells,

Unvalued as they glided by!

Of those I've loved o'er whom the pall
Of funeral darkness seems to be,
And, oh! of worse than these, than all,
Of buried hope it speaks to me!

"Leigh Hunt's Lond. Journ.”

THE CONDEMNED.

My first, my holiest love-her broken heart Lies low-and 1-unpardon'd, I depart!

Felicia Hemans.

Ir was about the middle of July, when, after many invitations and broken promises, I set out to visit an old schoolfellow, who had taken unto himself a mate, and was comfortably settled at a distance from the smoke and noise of the town in which I resided. A considerable portion of my way lay through crosscountry roads and straggling villages, whose deep quiet had never been broken by the rumble of a stage-coach: I therefore mounted my only steed, and

proceeded at an easy pace calculating to reach the end of my journey towards nightfall. I trotted on for an hour or two pleasantly enough, alternately admiring the surrounding scenery, and recalling to my memory the many boyish frolics, in which the friend I was visiting and myself had of old indulged. I had been for some time absorbed in one of these remembrances, when I was awakened from my re verie by the sound of distant thunder; and the hitherto unnoticed clouds, which I perceived gathering above my head, seemed the dark heralds of a coming storm. Urging my horse to a quicker pace, I was enabled to arrive at a small village before the loaded heavens discharged their freightage. There was not any place in the village designated by the name of an inn, and I found a difficulty in procuring shelter for myself and horse. I at length succeeded in providing my steed a defence against the weather in an outbuilding, and took up my own quarters in an old but comfortable-looking farm-house. The rain, that now beat violently against the windows. and the increasing denseness of the clouds, afforded me the prospect of a thorough wet day, whilst the only thing on which I could congratulate myself was, that I had escaped being drenched to the skin.

Washington Irving has well described the monotony of a rainy Sunday to one confined in an inn, but even there I am inclined to think more variety may be found than in a farmhouse. A rainy day in the country is truly a dreary thing. There is certainly something to cheer and console a person in town, when confined to the house by incessant rain. Seated at our casement, what an idea of snugness comes upon us, as we contrast the dryness and warmth of our own situation with that of the poor defenceless wretches who hurry along with garments streaming with the liquid element, and hats whose opposite extremities are converted into water-spouts. This is all remarkably gratifying, but in the country we have no such amusement. However, there I sat, determined to be as content as possible, and at least not to lack entertainment from a want of observation. So I gazed upon the trees, and watched the drops which the wind shook from the leaves; and upon the flowers, which looked as though they actually felt the agonies of drowning; and I also remarked, with no pleasant sensation, the overflowing of a large pool, which threatened shortly to inundate the house. These things met my eyes until they ached, and I turned away, devoured with spleen and ennui. My faculties of hearing were as agreeably greeted as those of vision-the ticking of an old clock, the occasional cackle of fowls, the neighing of my horse, and the lowing of cows, were the various and pleasing sounds which saluted me, I inquired for a book, and was shown my host's collection. I found it to consist of an old folio Bible, in which the births and deaths of the family were carefully registered? two prayer-books; Sternhold and Hopkins's elegant version of the Psalms; and a volume which seemed the type of eternity, having neither beginning nor end. 1 felt still more irritable and melancholy, and had come to the determination of sallying forth, and braving all the fury of the storm, when I was induced to change my resolution by an observation proceeding from my host. He had hitherto sat reserved

and silent, solacing himself with a pipe, which he evidently preferred to my conversation, having answered any remarks I thought proper to address to him with nothing more than a monosyllable. "Perhaps," said he, withdrawing the tube reluctantly from his lips, and speaking with an effort, in a tone of voice resembling that which one would suppose saluted the ears of Balaam, when his ass was gifted with the power of speech," perhaps the gentleman would like to see the papers left by the stranger." Though these words were addressed to his wife. I eagerly caught at their import, and inquired to what he alluded. I was informed that some months ago, a stranger, apparently about six-and-twenty years of age, with nothing singular in his appearance, except the extreme paleness of his features, and the wild and restless character of his eyes, had resided under their roof for a few days. It was night, when, seemingly exhausted by travel, he knocked at the door of their dwelling and earnestly craved shelter, protesting he was utterly unable to proceed further on his journey. His request was granted, and at his own wish he was accommodated with a small chamber in the most remote part of the house. He promised to remunerate them handsomely for his short stay, on condition that they preserved a strict secrecy as to his being an inmate of their habitation. Having procured paper and writing-materials, he seldom left his room for more than a few moments, and would, on the sound of any approaching footstep, immediately rush into his place of concealment. At his departure he placed in the hands of the farmer a sealed packet, with an injunction that he should not open it until a month had elapsed. This packet, which contained the following manuscript, was now produced for my perusal. My host had broken the seal, but finding the writing somewhat unintelligible, he had thrown it aside before he had finished the first page. I sat down, determined to wade through it, and certainly found some of it rather difficult to interpret. As I was permitted for a trifling consideration to retain possession of the manuscript, I have at my leisure been enabled to unravel its occasional obscurities, and now present to the reader a literal transcript..

In a few days I shall be far from England, and all who have ever felt an interest in my fate. I have no motive in writing this narrative, except that of beguiling the short period of time which I have yet to remain in my native land, ere the vessel that is to bear me hence is in readiness. Should these pages by chance meet the eyes of any of those who knew me in happier days, let me hope they will pity, if they cannot pardon, one who hath been the victim of his passions.

My parents were respectable, and though not affluent, above the wants of the world. One circumstance destroyed their comfort. They were destined to behold their earliest offspring sink into the grave just as the mind began to unfold itself. I, more hardy than the rest, struggled with death and overcame him. Others were born after me, but they all shared the same fate as my predecessors, and I, the doomed, the guilty one, was alone destined to survive. It was for this reason that I was so loved, so idolized by my parents; they feared that I too should fall beneath the

destroyer, and like some florist who finds all the flowers he prized, save one, perish, they built their sole hope on the lonely bud which was still left them. My disposition was not naturally bad, but my passions were very easily excited, and from infancy I have been their victim, the slave of impulse. Still childhood was unattended with crime, and to it I can look back with feelings of unmixed delight, for even in childhood commenced that love which through my dark career has clung to my heart in its original freshness and purity. Yes, my Bertha-I cannot choose but call thee mine amidst the clouds of guilt which overshadow my soul thou art living in my remembrance; thy image is yet unbroken. Still do I recall the time when first we met-thou, a happy child, radiant with innocence and beauty, and I, a glad and careless boy. Oh, God when, unconscious that the world held aught of sin, our arms were entwined around each other's form-when we gathered the daisy and the cup of gold, free from taint as themselves-when we reelined by the glassy stream, or chased the winged insects who would then have thought that the world's sorrow and the world's shame would fall on beings so pure and sinless? Those were days of joy, of bright, unclouded joy; but I see thee as thou wert in other days-days when, if care and pain at times mingled with our bliss, it was more exquisite and intense. Well do I remember the time when first we became conscious of the deep, the undying love which was blent with our very existence, with our life's blood, never to die until life itself became extinguished. I see thee now, my Bertha, as when in pale and dreamy beauty thou listened to my vows of changeless love-the moon, the bright and blessed moon, looked down in smiles upon thee, and the pure stars above our heads shone fair and tremblingly, as though they gazed upon thy gentle breast and sobbed in sympathy; and, oh the tears, the dewy tears that streamed upon my cheek as in mine arms I clasped my first, my last, mine only love.

It

I shall hasten over this period of my life, this oasis in the desert of my existence, for it is not the quiet joy of my early youth, but the events of after years that I have taken up my pen to record. I have said that my love for Bertha commenced in childhood. increased with our years, it grew more fervent as time passed over us at its birth, a small and sparkling brook, it glided on in placid beauty, gathering fresh strength and power, until it burst forth into a mighty and a chainless stream. My equal in society, and the daughter of my father's dearest friend, I saw not the slightest obstacle to our union, and for awhile the future seemed as though it were only fraught with blessings. Jealousy is at once the offspring and the curse of love. I was susceptible of it to an extraor dinary degree. I could not endure that she should smile, that she should look upon another. I was miserable if she stirred abroad and I was absent from her side. She never gave me the slightest reason to doubt her constancy: she knew my foible, yet never breathed a reproach against my causeless doubts. I strove to subdue, to conquer this baneful passion-in vain-if she unavoidably was constrained to leave her home and I found here not there, I wandered near the house like an unquiet spirit, pacing with hurried steps until I saw her return. I have lain whole nights parched and

sleepless, haunted by some chance look or word bestowed by her upon another. There were moments when it was impossible to control the jealous rage that rankled at my heart, like a serpent devouring its very core, and I would start up and rush from her into the open street, cursing my miserable failing, though unable to get the better of it. Oh, how I doted on that girl! after passing hours with her, and when prudence at length told me to depart, in the darkness of night, when the blast and the rain beat upon me, I have lingered in the cold and desolate streets, gazing on the small window of her sleeping chamber, until the disappearance of the light told me she sought repose, and I have then left the spot breathing blessings on her name, I never uttered that dear name save with a tongue faltering at its utterance-I never heard it casually mentioned in the cold tone of indifference, without feeling as though it were a profanation so to mention it, and yet my soul sickened when the stranger praised her loveliness. Perchance I worshipped her as a creature should not be worshipped→ perchance I paid to her that adoration which ought to be paid only to the Creator. I could have bowed down before an inanimate objeet consecrated by her touch, as bends the devotee before his altar. I could not deem her a mere mortal I could have prostrated myself at her feet as to a divinity and kissed the ground she had hallowed by her footsteps. If, however, I was an idolater, I sought not for proselytes: and I wished to be alone in my idolatry. I had set up an idol, and I wished to offer my vows in secret, the sole, and only one of my creed.

Indolent, irresolute, and naturally unfitted for business, it was with difficulty I was at length prevailed upon by my parents to make choice of a profession. I chose the law, and was soon disgusted with the dry and laborious study which it was necessary I should go through, in order to qualify myself for the profession. I became acquainted with a set of wild and dissolute young fellows, who, like myself, preferred pleasure to business. I was a frequent visitor at the theatres, and grew enamoured of the stage. Whilst my eyes travelled mechanically over tedious treatises on conveyancing, my imagination was wandering to the glowing language of Shakspeare and I fancied. myself an embryo Roscius. How I envied the life of a leading actor! With what a proud consciousness of the superiority of my own conception and execution did I repeat to myself the passages for the delivery of which I had heard others so loudly applauded. If once allowed to appear in public, my fame was sealed. I should start into perfection at once; the splendour of my genius would dispense with and atone for my want of practise and ignorance of the minor requisites of an actor, and I should speedily eclipse all competitors. A private theatre was formed, in which I and my stage-struck companions might indulge our propensities. Here we ranted and strutted, much to our own amusement and satisfaction, though no doubt greatly to the annoyance of those friends who were patient enough to listen to us. I became the leader, the hero of the company; and my own opinion as to my talents was fully confirmed by my associates, who pronounced me a star of the first magnitude. Dazzled and intoxicated with my success in the limited sphere of my exertions, I panted for a wider and more extensive field

on which to display my abilities, were I might be seen and appreciated by numerous and, of course, enraptured auditors. Being now quite possessed with the theatrical mania, the law became still more hateful and neglected. How was it possible that I could stoop to its vile drudgery, when I felt within my mind a power which I fondly deemed was destined to shed a lustre over the dramatic horizon? Why was I to check the aspirings of my spirit, why was I to smother the ambition which burned within my bosom, whilst perfecting myself in the details of a profession which must ever be repugnant to me? Thus did I foolishly argue with myself. I saw no reason why I should make this important sacrifice, and I had almost arrived at the determination of making a clandestine retreat, and, under an assumed name, becoming a follower of the sock and buskin, when an unexpected occurrence confirmed my resolution.

My obvious inattention and carelessness had caused frequent and angry altercations between my master and myself, my part in which was always supported with an insolence only warranted by the opinion I had formed of my requisites for the stage. My father was ap pealed to repeatedly, and these complaints coupled with the late hours and loose company I was in the habit of keeping, elicited from him severe reprimands and reproaches. I sometimes resolved to reform and abandon the course of life I was pursuing, but on meeting with any of my companions, I always found my resolutions too weak to stand against their ridicule at my expressions of remorse, and I plunged still deeper into the vortex of dissipation.

One evening, after having been embroiled in fresh disputes with my employer, I took my way to a neighbouring tavern, in hopes to drown my vexation by copious draughts of liquor. Fool that I was! had I but reflected for a moment, I might have known it would produce a contrary effect. Each glass I swal lowed only increased the bitterness of my feelings, until, in a perfect paroxysm of rage, I rapidly bent my steps homeward, vowing I would no longer submit to the will of a mean, pitiful, pettifogging tyrant. Well had it been for me, if I had directed my feet to any other abode save my own. How inexplicable is human nature! the mind can often contemplate a great and dire calamity, whilst the most trivial dispute will frequently suffer passion to gain the entire ascendancy over reason at least so it was with me ;-I could have heard with comparative composure that all my future prospects were suddenly blasted, and now a few angry words had raised within my breast, an ungovernable fury. I reached home, and flinging myself on a chair,` sat for a time in moody silence. I was roused from this state of sullenness by the loud and reproachful' tones of my father's voice. He was a man of mild and gentle disposition, and little subject to violent emotion, but there are few persons who can calmly submit to be treated contemptuously, especially by their own offspring. He had been speaking to me some time in' a cool and collected tone, reasoning with me on the absurdity of my conduct, and I, wrapt in my own thoughts, had not answered nor even heard his expostulations. My apparent obstinacy and contempt had roused his anger, and, awakened from my reverie, I was compelled to hear a volley of stinging taunts on my behaviour. I sat awhile, listening to his discourse and endeavouring

unavailingly to allay the ferment which boiled tumultuously within my veins. A spell, a black, a withering spell came over me-my blood seemed turned to gall-it deserted my cheeks, and in its place, I felt as though a foul and jaundiced tide had imparted to my features a ghastly yellow. I started up with the intention of quitting the house. My father rose to impede my progress, and placed himself betwixt me and the door. My eyes burnt hot as living coals within their sockets-I was desperate, mad with rage-I scarce knew what I was about to do-I wished to escape- he endeavoured to compel me to stay-I struggled with him-hell was busy in my heart and brainI struck him-a vile, a cursed blow laid my parent prostrate at my feet! I did not stay to contemplate the deed-my mother's shrieks rang in my ears, and like a second Cain, I fled to wander I knew not whither, a wretched, guilty fugitive.

With rapid strides, unconscious what direction I took, I traversed many streets, and at last halted from very weariness at an obscure public-house. I had been stunned, horrified with the crime I had committed, but now I beheld it in its most fearful nature. I procured a bed, and cast myself on it without undressing. I slept, and sleep was agony, for I dreamt, dreamt that I was a parricide-1 again struck a cursed blow, but I was armed with a murderous weapon-I saw it reek with life-drops from my father's heart-I was seized, tried, condemned; and awoke as the hangman's cord, tightened around my neck, was twisting my features into black and horrible distortion. In the dark and silent night I longed for morning, and when it dawned I turned shuddering from its light. What was I to do? home I could not go-no, no, home was no place for me I could never again encounter the glance of his eye, I could not endure to stand before him against whom my arm had been so madly and sinfully uplifted. A thousand times did I wish that as I had raised it to accomplish my fatal purpose, the Almighty in his wrath had shrunk it into withered impotence, and cast it dangling by my side, an useless excrescence. One moment's guilt had sealed my fate, and I was now an alien from kindred and friends. I determined to fly far away from my native town, trusting to chance to decide whether or not I should again revisit it. 1 had but one recourse the stage; and putting in practice my long cherished scheme, I resolved, under a feigned name, to become a candidate for theatrical fame. Bertha, my own, my gentle Bertha, I must leave her too, leave her without one farewell! for how could I appear before her in her innocent beauty, and tell the tale of my shame unto her unpolluted ears? It was impossible-we should be separated for ever, but branded as I was I would depart, leaving no clue by which to trace the destination; nor did I doubt her changeless love would welcome back the sinful wanderer when fate again should bring him to her pre

sence.

I had heard there was a travelling company of comedians at a small town, about twenty miles distant from my native place, and thither I determined to go in quest of an engagement. I was scantily provided with money, and carried my wardrobe on my back, so that I thought travelling on foot the most eligible method of accomplishing my journey. I had proceeded about ten miles on my way, and was by this time pretty well

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lined with dust, and exhausted by the excessive heat' for it was a cloudless summer's day, and the sun was in its meridian, when I was overtaken by a fellow-pedestrian. He was a man apparently between thirty and forty years of age, possessing a remarkably sallow complexion, features rather prepossessing, though strongly marked; and an eye so bright and restless, that it was hardly possible to name the object on which it glanced, ere it had taken a fresh direction. clothes and appearance were of that cast which is usually termed shabby genteel. He seemed to have gone through no ordinary share of the world's troubles, but he walked along with a light and careless step, twirling about his small bundle and humming a sprightly air, as though he set sorrow at defiance. He hesitated not to accost me, and after a short conversation, proposed that we should halt at the next inn in order to refresh ourselves. I willingly acceeded to this proposition. My companion allowed me to defray the expence of our refreshments, observing it would be all as one when we arrived at our next resting place; and as his spirits became more buoyant each time he applied the tankard to his lips, when we recommenced our jouruey, the movements of his tongue were as brisk as his steps. The fellow seemed somewhat of a humourist, and the following dialogue ensued between us.

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You appear like myself, fond of travelling on foot, and what mode of travelling is more agreeable? especially to a man whose time is in his own hands, and to whom arriving a few hours sooner or later at his place of destination is of no consequence. Stage-coaches I detest-they are only for your sons of business, your men of trade, who fly from spot to spot with the speed of skyrockets, chasing the phantom wealth, which, when obtained, they cannot appreciate, and want souls to enjoy. The outside of one of these vehicles is my aversion if you escape being blinded with dust, you no sooner fix your eyes on a fine prospect, than you are whirled away from it; if you are stationed in the inside, you might as well be incarcerated in a moving dungeon, save that you have the agreeable addition of the eternal rattling of wheels, enlivened ever and anon by the melodious tones of a horn, blown loud enough to split your ears, and the senseless chatter of stupid companions.

"Your opinion, I must confess, is at variance with my own; and my being a foot passenger at the present time is rather a matter of necessity than choice."

"Oh, I understand-travelling incog. Mum! you do not wish your route to be traced. I have often been similarly circumstanced. God forbid that I should pry into any one's secrets, but may I ask the place of your destination?" "Certainly

-I am directing my course towards where I may probably stay for a short time." "You have friends there, I presume?"

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not if I trust you. Having heard that there is a company of actors stationed in B-, I am about to apply for an engagement."

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My dear boy! give me your hand. You have yet to make your debut-I see it in your countenance. You are unacquainted with the secrets of the lamp and dagger. Genius is sometimes hereditary-so is poverty! I may say I was an actor from my birth-my parents were in the profession-I was cradled in a theatre, and learned to lisp in blank verse. But, sir, the drama is on the decline, the age of acting is gone by, and the show and glitter of gorgeous spectacles have usurped its place. Theatrical talent is now a drug in the market, and a sterling comedian, however fortunate, must waste the best of his life and energies. in the obscurity of some insignificant provincial theatre-play for a few nights in the metropolis, and then be shelved. I, sir, have trodden the boards of one of the great theatres; I, sir, have basked for a short period in the favour of a London audience, and then been thrown aside and forgotten. I have, however, a spirit which cannot tamely submit to neglect, and I therefore preferred poverty and praise to affluence and contempt. I left my first and last situation in London, to return to my old provincial quarters; and I can safely say, I am more happy now, situated as I am, enjoying to-day, and neither providing nor caring for to-morrow, than I was when in the height of my metropolitan popularity. I am now hastening to join a company at P, where 1 open on Monday next, as Richard. May I inquire your reasons for wishing to embark in the profession? From the respectability of your appearance, I should imagine your own incli. nation and not necessity dictated the step you are about to take."

"I am influenced partly by choice, and partly by necessity, but an unfortunate domestic circumstance is the immediate cause of my present journey. I have long been enamoured of the stage and having performed with much applause in private, I am wishful to put my abilities to a more impartial test."

"Ah, my dear sir, I find yon are not aware of the difficulties you will have to encounter before becoming a favourite with the public. Your conceptions may be just, your personal and physical qualifications unexceptionable; but it will require a tedious drudgery in the lower walks of the drama in order to initiate you into what is called the business of the stage, before you will be able to put your conceptions into execution, or move your limbs with ease and freedom. Private and public acting are distinct things-in the one instance, the audience are alive to all beauties and willing to overlook your deficiencies; in the other, they are alive to all your faults, and too often overlook your excellences. Your salary, too, as a novice, even if you succeeding in obtaining a respectable engagement, will barely, with the strictest economy, furnish you a subsistence, and your benefits, if you are hardy enough to take any, will invariably be losses. Actors are generally censured as leading an idle and dissipated life. Whatever may be their dissipation, you will find that idleness does not form a part of their character. You rise at ten go to rehearsal at eleven-get home again about three or four-your time is fully occupied in studying your parts and despatching your meal until six o'clock, when you prepare for the night's performance,

and away to the theatre, where you remain until twelve or one. This is the routine of a country actor's life and I think you will own it is one which does not afford the promise of either idleness or luxury. But here our roads separate. I wish you every success in your new pursuit; my name is W, and if it can be of the slightest service to you in procuring an engagement, use it without reluctance in whatever way you may think proper. We shall most likely soon meet again in the course of our peregrinations, and I will then settle with you my share of reckoning, as cash is at present rather a searce article with me. Good bye, my dear fellow and prosperity attend you."

After separating from my companion, I made the best of my way to the place of my destination, and immediately proceeding to the theatre, I obtained an interview with the manager. The company not being remarkably full, with some small difficulty I succeeded in procuring an engagement, at a salary barely sufficient to provide me with the common nesessaries of life. It was my only resource, and I was compelled to subscribe to the manager's own terms. I soon found that public and private acting were indeed distinet things. I was not permitted to appear in any of my favourite parts, but even in the minor characters I was required to sustain, I had difficulty in acquitting myself either to the satisfaction of the manager or the audience. My ardour for the profession speedily abated. The theatre was thinly attended, and we frequently played to almost empty benches. Salaries began to be less punctually paid. I will not dwell on the extremities to which I was gradually reduced; suffice it to say, I was eventually brought to the lowest ebb of poverty and wretchedness, the just reward of my misconduct. I was one evening seated in my miserable garret, poreing over an old newspaper published in my native town, when on looking amongst the deaths, I was startled and awe-struck by an account of my father's decease, who was stated to have died in consequence of the grief occasioned by the mysterious disappearance of his only son. On examining another part of the paper, I saw an advertisement, earnestly entreating me, if by chance it should meet my sight, to return to my disconsolate and widowed parent. I lost no time in complying with this request, and in a few days, after an absence of more than twelve months, the repentant prodigal was again pressed in the arms of his weeping mother. My father had died in good circumstances, and I found I should have no occasion to engage in business, unless from choice; I accordingly preferred a life of indolence. It is needless to say that ere long my discourse was of Bertha. Great God! she was married! For some time I disbelieved the evidence of my senses: the information was, however, too true. A villain, a fiend, who had once professed himself my friend, had poisoned her father's ears with tales to my disadvantage. He told her, too, a black and damned lie, asserting that I had fled with a vile wanton, and when the silence of my parents as to the cause of my absence in some degree sanctioned his story, the wretch preferred his own suit, and being of a wealthy and influential family, he soon ingratiated himself into the old man's favour. He was received with repulsive coldness by Bertha, but his riches and his flattery had tainted the father's heart, and he peremptorily bid his daughter look on him as her future husband, nor think

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