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sessed a greater degree of vivacity. Clarinda Rothchild bore that superiority in appearance to Rhoda Woodyatt which a woman of high fashion invariably must exhibit in comparison with the retiring manners of a respectable female in middling life, confined in her exertions by want of pecuniary resources from mixing with folks of haut ton. Clarinda was a large paper vellum copy of Rhoda, more elegantly bound indeed; yet Jefferson thought, that, with such feathers and as much ballast, she might eclipse the lady now before him, who had indeed got half into her story before Jefferson had really comprehended a single

word.

...Whether Dan Cupid at the development of Jefferson's unfortunate penchant had nothing further to do, or whether merely to keep his hand in he had aimed a blunted arrow at Clarinda's bosom, we know not, but she had called that morning with a Mr. Johnson, a sort of a good-natured nobody, for the sole purpose of seeing Jefferson, to hear him speak, who every day had passed her window precisely at five o'clock for the last half-year on his way to a certain coffee-house, and in whose affairs she had taken a most unaccountable and fervent interest. Clarinda Rothchild was the only daughter of a gentleman, who, dying soon after his wife, left his child with a fortune of 8000l. per annum. Her guardian was a man of rank, but he also was now dead, and she becoming of age, and left entirely her own mistress, determined to pursue the bent of a singular but rather superior mind. Surrounded as she was by suitors, she gave no encouragement to any of them: at length she

dismissed them all, and with the quixotic idea of finding out some poor young man, a gentleman of modest merit, on whom she might bes stow her hand, she determined to lead a life of single blessedness until she had discovered her beau idéal of a husband. With the manners of a Widow Cheerly, and with all the loveliness and frankness of youth, Jefferson, had he been any other than himself, must have capitulated without terms: as it was, he now coolly listened with the greatest patience to her design of wishing to found a school for children; nay, he entered into all her views. Mr. Johnson said but little; he merely helped himself to an affirmative of a negative, which made not the small est difference in the negociation. They then fixed on certain preli minaries for the present, when Cla rinda, taking out her watch, declared she had yet a hundred places to call at, to which Mr. Johnson assented; and she departed with a grace the most fascinatingly friendly, though mixed with a correcting majesty. " Poor Rhoda!" exclaimed Jeffer son with a deep sigh as soon as he had somewhat recovered himself— "poor Rhoda!" he exclaimed, while suffering a favourite kitten to play with the tassels of a reticule which Clarinda had left on a chair behind her, "thou mightest, had Fortune favoured thee, have visited me in as gallant a trim as this Miss Rothchild!" and he sighed deeper and deeper still. This tender apostrophe to the memory of his first love, as it seemed in the utterance, was perhaps as much intended for himself as for the absent party: it might rather be translated into, Poor Jefferson! who once loved one so lovely, when you

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Jefferson now; he fidgeted twenty times in his chair, and at length put ting on a clean neckcloth, repaired past Clarinda's lodgings, without daring to look up at the window, and ordered a chop and a pint of wine at the White Hart. But what occurred after this repast, we shall leave till next month, imploring in the mean time the patience of the readers of the Repository.

THE SISTER OF CHARITY; A TALE. WHEN Paris was taken by the al- || lies on the 30th of March, 1814, the Sisters of St. Camille were among the foremost of those who hastened to succour the wounded. Forgetting in that moment the timidity of their sex, or rather raised above it by the divine sentiment which filled their hearts, they were seen, even before the conclusion of the battle, gliding through the ranks, that they might be the first to succour the wounded. The holy zeal which filled their hearts retained them in the field long after the combat was terminated, and they continued throughout the night their labours of benevolence.

foremost of those who surrounded the beds of the wounded; but a sentiment of adoption drew one of these pious sisters oftener towards the couch of one of the wounded soldiers than to those of his comrades. She was ignorant of his name or his country, but, conducted by Providence, she had succeeded in saving him from certain death, and the difficulty she had encountered in doing so endear ed him to her benevolent heart. The danger she had incurred in snatching him from the fate that awaited him, formed a tie which for ever attached her to his destiny. denz

On the evening of the battle, while A few days afterwards the hor- her companions eagerly surrounded rors 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 Europe. The principal object then did night cover it with a thick veil, was, to heal the woes which the ty- her straining eyes every moment rant had caused, and they were in- sought to pierce the gloom, while numerable. The French hospitals she repeated to herself, "Ah! perwere every where filled with wound-hraps even at this moment some uned: happier than they whom his mad fortunate may be expiring there for ambition had led to perish in a fo-want of succour!" Almost involunreign land, these unfortunates at least tarily she drew back a little from received 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 ters of Charity were still among the distinguish the tones of a human

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Younger than her sisters, she had but lately entered the order of St. Camille, and was yet new to the performance of works of mercy. The pleasure of benevolence made her heart throb with the most lively emotion as she approached the bed where he who owed his life to her reposed. If at times he complained of the evils that had befallen him, the good sister reanimated his courage; was he indignant at having been conquered, she spoke to him of the happiness that peace promised to France. His looks sufficed to inform her of his feelings and of his pains, and by turns she calmed his indignation, or soothed his sufferings.

voice. She advanced a few steps || she had left her sisters attending farther, listened in breathless impa- the wounded. tience; the sound was not repeated, and she began to fancy that her heart had deceived her, when again a murmur struck her ear: guided by the sound, which every moment became more distinct, she traversed the terrible plain, till she found amidst the dead the unfortunate whom she sought with such tender compassion. It was a young soldier, whom the loss of blood had for some time deprived of his senses. Recalled to himself by the cold of the night, the intolerable anguish of his wounds drew from him those feeble cries which brought an angel to his aid. The tender cares of the sister soon restored him to a full sense of his situation. Ah! with what affright did he consider it! He had lost his left arm; his leg was broken; it was impossible for him to stand, and in a dark night, in a spot so deserted, his sole hope of preserving a life" he is surely without fortune, and which seemed fast ebbing was the assistance of a helpless woman. A sense of the utter hopelessness of his situation struck him to the heart; his head dropped from the arm of the sister, and he resigned himself to death, which he believed to be approaching him.

While the life of the young soldier was in danger, the sister prayed for his restoration to health; but she soon found his re-establishment too prompt. "Alas!" said she mentally,

his wounds will prevent him from getting a livelihood: what then will become of him when he is obliged to leave the hospital?" These reflections disquieted the mind of the good sister, and the nearer her patient approached convalescence, the 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 beProvidence 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 willing 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, stooping down, took him upon her shoulders, and tottering under her burthen, she arrived at last, with a heart elate with joy, at the spot where

for want; but overwhelmed by the remembrance of past sorrows, and having still many to undergo, life to me is far from being welcome: yet fear not that I will neglect any means

each other. In short, I had neither friend nor companion of my owningè: such was the first fruit of my educa

of preserving it. No, my dear, my generous benefactress, trust me that I will exert all my powers to preserve the existence I owe to your heroiction. piety. It is right also that you should know who it is that you have preserved. My name is Frederic; I was born in Normandy, of poor parents, whose fourth child I was; but as their eldest son died only four days before my birth, I came into the world in the midst of the grief of my parents for him.

"During my youth they lost their two other children, and though they loved me with the most tender affection, yet more than once, without doubt, they have thought that their adversity began with my birth.

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My elder brothers were still living, when a brother of my mother's, a venerable priest, took me to his curacy, and charged himself with the care of my education. Though poor, he was very learned; natural talent had supplied to him the want of an expensive education; and fondly attached himself to learned and scientific pursuits, his greatest pleasure was to instruct me, not only in the severer branches of learning, but also in some accomplishments which had formed the amusements of his youthful days. Thus my education was greatly above my situation in life, and it became my greatest misfortune. I was too proud to seek companions among lads of a condition superior to my own, and my equals kept a · humble distance from the nephew of the curé. And though at those times that I returned to pass a few weeks with my parents, I experienced a cordial and sincere welcome from my old comrades, yet the difference of our pursuits occasioned a sort of inequality which estranged us from

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"When I lost both my brothers, I insisted upon returning to my parents, that I might spare my father the labour which was too severe for his old age. My uncle opposed it. The conscription,' said he to my parents, will soon deprive you of Frederic. You cannot save him from it, and you will then have no one to cherish your old age. Let him continue to study for the church, it will exempt him from the conscription; and until he is able to assist you, I will provide for your wants.

"We followed the counsel of my kind uncle; but all turned out contrary to my hopes: an apoplectic attack deprived me of that excellent man, just as I had finished my first year at college. He had saved nothing, for all that he could spare had been devoted to the wants of my pårents. It was then necessary for me to resume immediately that laborious life of which I had lost the habits, and to run the chance of the conscription; or to remain at college, and let my parents find bread as they could. My choice was soon made; I renounced, at least for the time, the clerical life, bade adieu to our superior, and, with a stick in my hand, and my bundle under my arm, I took the way to my native village. degra

"I had informed my mother of the time at which I should return; and she waited for me on the road that led to our village. With what joy did I throw myself into her arms! but I saw that she wept. Affrighted, trembling, I had scarcely power to pronounce the name of my father. She answered me, in a voice almost

stifled by sobs, Yesterday he spoke of you for the last time!' The words went to my heart. Unable to stand, I sank on the road-side, and there, clasped in the arms of my poor mother, I silently mingled my tears with hers.

"The remains of my father were not yet buried, and my mother had no money to defray the funeral expenses. I paid it by the sale of my ecclesiastical dress. As the only son of a widow, I was now exempt from the conscription. I resumed with alacrity the rural toil, now our only resource. The little patch of ground which my father left me prospered in my hands; my labour afforded my mother a decent support; and now I began to enjoy happiness, in saving her from fatigue, in seeing her once more cheerful, and in hearing her bless me as the cause.

"Alas! those days, the only really happy ones I ever knew, were too short! I lost my poor mother, and her death left me alone in the world. No one was interested enough in my fate to seek to dissipate my melancholy; and, without doubt, it would soon have conducted me to the grave, if the news of the successive defeats of our armies had not roused me from the apathy in which I was plunged. I had sold my little inheritance soon after the death of my mother, with the intention of returning to college. The invasion of my country could not disquiet me on my own account, for I had nothing to lose; but as I prayed at the grave of my poor parents, I felt myself impelled to de

fend from violation the spot where

their bones reposed. I bought my uniform and arms, that I might satisfy a fancy which I had to procure from the prefect of my department, a certificate that I had voluntarily entered the army with my own arms and baggage. I was immediately marched to Paris, and received two shots, almost at the same time, under the walls of the city.

"You know the rest. The loss of my arm deprives me of the possibility of entering the church, and the weakness of my leg prevents my return to my native village, where I might at least enjoy the satisfaction of laying my bones by the side of my parents. Although only the soldier of a day, my country owes something to my distress; but I shall not need to seek for that small relief to my wants. My education and talents will procure me bread in Paris: but it is something more than bread, it is affection that I require; it is that alone which can excite in my mind a desire to live."

The sister listened in silence to this recital, and when Frederic concluded it with a profound sigh, she tried to recall him to hope. She spoke to him of the inexhaustible bounty of Providence, and exhorted him to place the most unlimited confidence in him, who has declared that he is the friend of the friendless. Her pious cares were not unavailing; the looks of the young soldier became less sorrowful; and she saw with delight, that if she could not succeed in raising hope, she had at least banished despair.

(To be concluded in our next.)

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