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sessed a greater degree of vivacity dismissed them all, and with the Clarinda Rothchild bore that supe quixotic idea of finding out some riority in appearance to Rhoda poor young man, a gentleman of mo Woodyatt which a woman of high dest merit, on whom she might be fashion invariably must exhibit in stow her hand, she determined to comparison with the retiring man- lead a life of single blessedness until ners of a respectable female in mid- she had discovered her bedu idéal dling life, confined in her exertions of a husband. With the manners by want of pecuniary resources from of a Widow Cheerly, and with all mixing with folks of haut ton. Cla- the loveliness and frankness of youth, rinda was a large paper vellum copy || Jefferson, had he been any other of Rhoda, more elegantly bound in than himself, must have capitulated deed; yet Jefferson thought, that, without terms: as it was, he now with such feathers and as much bal- coolly listened with the greatest palast, she might eclipse the lady now tience to her design of wishing to before him, who had indeed got found a school for children; nay, he half into her story before Jefferson entered into all her views. Mr. had really comprehended a single Jolinson said but little; he merely word.

helped himself to an affirmative or Whether Dan Cupid at the de- a negative, which made not the small. velopment of Jefferson's unfortunate est difference in the negociation. penchant had nothing further to do, They then fixed on certain prelior whether merely to keep his hand minaries for the present, when Cla in he had aimed a blunted arrow at rinda, taking out her watch, declared Clarinda's bosom, we know not, but she had yet a hundred places to call she had called that morning with a at, to which Mr. Johnson assented; Mr. Johnson, a sort of a good-na- and she departed with a grace the tured nobody, for the sole purpose most fascinatingly friendly, though of seeing Jefferson, to hear him mixed with a correcting majesty. speak, who every day had passed her “ Poor Rhoda!" exclaimed Jeffer window precisely at five o'clock for son with a deep sigh as soon as he the last half-year on his way to a had somewhat recovered himselfcertain coffee-house, and in whose “poor Rhoda!" he exclaimed, while affairs she had taken a most unac-suffering a favourite kitten to play cortable and fervent interest. Cla- with the tassels of a reticule which rinda Rothchild was the only daugh-Clarinda had left on a chair behind ter of a gentleman, who, dying soon her, “ thou mightest, lad Fortune after his wife, left his child with a favoured thee, have visited me in as fortune of 8000l. per annum. Her gallant a trim as this Miss Rothguardian was a man of rank, but he child!" and he sighed deeper and also was now dead, and she becom- deeper still. This tender apostrophe ing of age, and left entirely her own to the memory of his first love, as it mistress, determined to pursue the seemed in the utterance, was perhaps bent of a singular but rather supe- as much intended for himself as for rior mind Surrounded as she was the absent party: lit might rather be by suitors, she gave no encourage translated into, Poor Jeffersonbiwko ment to any of them: at length she once loved one so lovely, when you

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might have had the love of one so || Jefferson now; he fidgeted twenty much superior in fortune! But he times in his chair, and at length put roused himself from this doldrum, ting on a clean neckcloth, repaired and laying aside carefully the reti- | past Clarinda's lodgings, without cule, 3 repaired to his desk. He daring to look up at the window, seized his pen, and began, " That and ordered, a chop and a pint of the said assignees, their administra- | wine at the White Harta. But what tors and executors, do hereby pro- occurred after this repast, we shall mise for themselves, their heirs, leave till next month, imploring in administrators, and executors" the mean time the patience of the But, alas! this was no theme for readers of the Repository. hususas wer: -37: THE SISTER OF CHARITY; A Tale.

*** 5* WHEN Paris was taken by the al- | foremost of those who surrounded lies on the 30th of March, 1814, the the beds of the wounded; but a senSisters of St. Camille were among timent of adoption drew one of these the foremost of those who hastened pious sisters oftenertowards thecouch to succour the wounded. Forgetting of one of the wounded soldiers than in that moment the timidity of their to those of his comrades. She was sex, or rather raised above it by the ignorant of his name or his country, divine sentiment which filled their but, conducted by Providence, she hearts, they were seen, even before had succeeded in saving him from the conclusion of the battle, gliding certain death, and the difficulty she through the ranks, that they might had encountered in doing so ended be the first to succour the wounded. ed him to her benevolent heart. The The holy zeal which filled their hearts danger she had incurred in shatchretained them in the field long after ing him from the fate that awaited the combat was terminated, and they him, formed a tie which for ever atcontinued throughout the night their tached her to his destinyori i A: 103 Labours of benevolence.

On the evening of the battle, while A few days afterwards the hor- her companions eagerly surrounded górs, of war were at an end; the ab- those of the wounded who were near dication of. Buonaparte stopped the the barrier, she cast many a look beeffusion of blood, and gave peace to hind on the field of blood; in vain Luropes. The principal object then did night cover it with a thick iveil, was,ctó heal the woes which the ty- her straining eyes every moment ant had caused, and they were in-sought to pierce the gloom; while mmerable. The French hospitals she repeated to herself; "Ahti perwereverery where filled with woimd-baps even at this moment some anedhehappier than they whom his mad fortunate may be expiring there for ámbition had led to perish in a fo- want of succour!". Almost involunixeigpland, these unfortunates at least tarily she drew back a little from iráceived from their countrymen eve- the crowd, proceeded a few steps ay attention that could soften the beyond the walls, and fancied, that horrors of their destiny. The Sis- in the sighing of the wind she could ders of Charity were still among the distinguish the tones of a human



voice. She advanced a few steps || she had left her sisters" attending farther, listened in breathless impa- the wounded. inse i in. 911933 tience; the sound was not repeated, Younger than her sisters, she båd and she began to fancy that her but lately entered the order of St. heart had deceived her, when again Camille, and was yet new to the per-a murmur struck her ear: guided by formance of works of mercy. The the sound, which every moment be- pleasure of benevolence made her came more distinct, she traversed the heart throb with the most lively emoterrible plain, till she found amidst tion as she approached the bed where the dead the unfortunate whom she he who owed his life to her reposed. sought with such tender compassion. If at times he complained of the

It was a young soldier, whom the evils that had befallen him, the good loss of blood had for some time de- sister reanimated his courage; was prived of his senses. Recalled to he indignant at having been conhimself by the cold of the night, the quered, she spoke to him of the hapintolerable anguish of his wounds piness that peace promised to France. drew from him those feeble cries His looks sufficed to inform her of which brought an angel to his aid. his feelings and of his pains, and by The tender cares of the sister soon turns she calmed his indignation, or restored him to a full sense of his soothed his sufferings. situation. Ah! with what affright While the life of the young-soldid he consider it! He had lost his dier was in danger, the sister prayed left arm; his leg was broken; it was for his restoration to health; but she impossible for him to stand, and in a soon found his re-establishment too dark night, in a spot -so deserted, prompt.. “Alas!" said she mentally, his sole hope of preserving a life “ he is surely without fortune, and which seemed fast ebbing was the his wounds will prevent him from assistance of a helpless woman. A getting a livelihood: what then will sense of the utter hopelessness of become of him when he is obliged his situation struck him to the heart; to leave the hospital?". These rehis head dropped from the arm of flections disquieted the mind of the the sister, and he resigned himself to good sister, and the nearer her padeath, which he believed to be ap- tient approached convalescence, the proaching him.

more uneasy she became. But the good sister could not re- The young soldier was sufficiently sign him to it. “ No," said she, acquainted with the heart of his be

Providence will not suffer you to nefactress to divine the cause of the perish. The Almighty has sent me anxiety which she shewed in speakto your aid: doubt not that he will ing to him of his future prospects.

give me the strength to save you.” “Tranquillize your mind, my dear Roused by her words, he exerted preserver," said he to her one day: himself to crawl with her assistance it is probable that I shall not perish to a more elevated spot, where she, for want; but overwhelmed by the stooping down, took him upon her remembrance of past sorrows, and shoulders, and tottering under her having still many to undergo, life to burthen, she arrived at last, with a me is far from being welcome: iyet heart elate with joy, at the spot where fear not that I will neglect any means of preserving it. No, my dear, my '\ each other. In short, I had neither generous benefactress,' trust me that friend nor companion of my own nge: : I will exert all my powers to preserve such was the first fruit of my educathe existence I owe to your heroic tion. at sila bris piety. It is right also that you should " When I lost both my brothers, know who it is that you have pre- I insisted upon returning tormy paserved. My naine is Frederic; I was rents, that I might spare my father born in Normandy, of poor parents, the labour which was too severe for whose fourth child I was; but as their his old age. My uncle opposed it. eldest son died only four days before The conscription,' said he to my my birth, I came into the world in parents, will soon deprive you of the midst of the grief of my parents Frederie. You cannot save him from for him.

it, and you will then have no one to 16..." During my youth they lost their cherish your old age. Let him contwo other children, and though they tinue to study for the church, it will loved me with the most tender affec- exempt him from the conscription; i tion, yet more than once, without and until he is able to assist youI doubt, they have thought that their will provide for your wants. 3:*, *** adversity began with my birth. “ We followed the counsel of 'n

my My elder brothers were still liv- kind uncle; but all turned out coning, when a brother of my mother's, trary to my hopes : an apoplectie 'ata venerable priest, took me to his cu- tack deprived me of that excellent

racy, and charged himself with the man, just as I had finished my first - care of my education. Though poor, year at college. He had saved no

he was very learned; natural talent thing, for all that he could spare had had supplied to bim the want of an been devoted to the wants of my páexpensive education; and fondly at- rents. It was then necessary for me tached himself to learned and scien- to resume immediately that laborious tific pursuits, bis greatest pleasure life of which I had lost the habits, was to instruct me, not only in the

he and to run the chance of the conseverer branches of learning, but also scription; or to remain at college, in some accomplishments which had and let my parents find bread as they formed the amusements of his youth- could. My choice was soon made;

Thus my education was I renounced, at least for the time, greatly above my situation in life, and the clerical life, bade adieu to our it became my greatest misfortune. I superior, and, with a stiek in my hand, was too proud to seek companions and my bundle under my arm, I'took among lads of a condition superior the way to my native village. l-19T to my own, and my equals kept a "I had informed my mother of humble distance from the nephew of the time at which I should return; the curé. And though at those times and she waited for me on the road that I returned to pass a few weeks that led to our village. With what with my parents, I experienced a cor-joy did I throw inyself into her arms! dial and sincere welcome from my but I saw that she wept. Affrighted, old comrades, yet the difference of trembling, I had scarcely power to + our pursuits occasioned a sort of in- pronounce the name of my father. equality which estranged us from She answered me, in a voice almost

ful days.

stifled by sobs, 'Yesterday he spoke | their bones reposed. I bought my of you for the last time! The words uniform and arms, that I might sawent to my heart. Unable to stand, tisfy a fancy which I had to procure I sank on the road-side, and there, from the prefect of my department, clasped in the arms of my poor mo- || a certificate that I had voluntarily ther, I silently mingled my tears with entered the army with my own arms hers.

and baggage. I was immediately " The remains of my father were marched to Paris, and received two not yet buried, and my mother had shots, almost at the same time, under no money to defray the funeral ex- the walls of the city. penses. I paid it by the sale of my “ You know the rest. The loss of ecclesiastical dress. As the only son my arm deprives me of the possibiof a widow, I was now exempt from lity of entering the church, and the the conscription. I resumed with weakness of my leg prevents my realacrity the rural toil, now our only turn to my native village, where I resource. The little patch of ground might at least enjoy the satisfaction which my father left me prospered in of laying my bones by the side of my my hands; my labour afforded my parents. Although only the soldier mother a decent support; and now I of a day, my country owes something began to enjoy happiness, in saving to my distress; but I shall not need her from fatigue, in seeing her once to seek for that small relief to my more cheerful, and in hearing her wants. My education and talents will bless me as the cause.

procure me bread in Paris: but it is “ Alas! those days, the only really something more than bread, it is afhappy ones I ever knew, were too fection that I require; it is that alone short! I lost my poor mother, and which can excite in my mind a desire her death left me alone in the world. I to live." No one was interested enough in my The sister listened in silence to this fate to seek to dissipate my melan- recital, and when Frederic concludcholy; and, without doubt, it would ed it with a profound sigh, she tried soon have conducted me to the grave, to recall him to hope. She spoke to if the news of the successive defeats him of the inexhaustible bounty of of our armies had not roused me from Providence, and exhorted him to the apathy in which I was plunged. place the most unlimited confidence I had sold my little inheritance soon in him, who has declared that he is after the death of my mother, with the friend of the friendless. Her the intention of returning to college. pious cares were not unavailing; the The invasion of my country could looks of the young soldier became not disquiet me on my own account, less sorrowful; and she saw with de for I had nothing to lose ; but as I light, that if she could not succeed prayed at the grave of my poor pain raising hope, she had at least barents, I felt myself impelled to de- nished despair. fend from violation the spot where (To be concluded in our next:)



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