paring the old man to hear the bad news. It was a long while before Simon could comprehend what was meant; he however comprehended it at last, and starting up, pale and trembling with anger, he seized his musket, with which he killed the chamois goats, and was setting off to kill his daughter. The rector hurried up to him, disarmed and held him; and sometimes speaking forcibly to him of his duty as a Christian, and sometimes embracing, pitying, and pressing him to his heart, he managed so well that old Simon, whose eyes had all this while been dry, his lips pale, and his whole body shivering, now dropped into his chair, with his two hands covering his face, and burst into a flood of tears.

The rector allowed him to weep for some time, without saying anything to him. At length he began to reason with him on the steps which must be taken to save the character of Claudine. But Simon interrupted bim-" Reverend Sir," he exclaimed, “there is no saving that which is lost; every means which we might adopt would render us guilty ourselves, by the falsehoods which it would compel us to utter. The wretched creature must not remain here any longer; she would be a disgrace to us all, and the torment of her father: let her be gone, Sir! let her live, since the infamous being can live; but let me die far from her: let her set off directly; let her quit our country, and never again stand before my white hairs, which she has dishonoured!"

The rector endeavoured to soften Simon, but all his efforts were ineffectual. Simon repeated his positive orders that Claudine should be instantly sent away. Our good rector was quitting the house in a very melancholy mood, when the old man ran after him, took him back to his bed room, locked the door, and putting into his hand an old goat-skin purse, which contained fifty crowns, said to him: "this lost creature will be in a state of complete want; give her these fifty crowns, but not as if they came from me; take particular care of that; give them as alms from yourself; tell her that it is the property of the poor, which compassion induces you to bestow on a criminal. But above all things, never mention me. And if you can

write to any one, to whom you can recommend her-I know your humanity. I wish to say nothing more, to be told nothing more."

The rector replied to him only by a squeeze of the hand. He hastened to Nanette, who was waiting for him in the street, more dead than alive. "Go in," said he, "go to your sister's room, and make a bundle of all her clothes; pack up every thing that belongs to her, and bring it to my house; I cannot talk to you till I see you there." Nanette weeping obeyed. She thought what had happened, and she put into Claudine's bundle, her own clothes, her linen, and the little money which she had saved. She then returned to our rector, who told her the conversation which he had had with Simon, gave her a long letter for the rector of Salenches, and said to her, "My dear child, your sister must be taken to Salenches this very day. You will tell her what has passed. It is useless for me to see her, since my sacred office would oblige me to employ repreaches which, at this moment, she would feel too deeply. Give her this purse, to which I will add a few crowns out of my own savings; and give her this letter for my reverend brother the rector of Salenches. You will take her as far as his parsonage, but it is not necessary for you to go in. Then come back to your father, who has need of you, my child, of you, whose prudence and virtue will, I hope, soften the sorrow which your sister has caused him. Go, my daughter, set off directly; we shall see each other again to-morrow."

Nanette, sighing, took the bundle, the letter, and the purse, and went to the Montanverd. She found Claudine lying on the ground, weeping and moaning. Nanette made her acquainted as delicately as she could with the orders which she had received; but, when Claudine discovered that she must instantly be gone, she burst forth into the most terrible cries, tore her hair, and disfigured her face, exclaiming over and over again," I am driven from home! my father has laid his curse on me! kill me sister, kill me, or I will jump down this precipice."

Nanette embraced and withheld her. She was several hours trying to calm her, and she finally succeeded,

by giving her hopes that Simon would in time relent, and by promising to come and see her often, and never to abandon her. At last she prevailed on Claudine to set out; and both of them, at night fall, took the road to Salenches, but avoided passing through our village, where, though it was dark, poor Claudine would have thought that every body could read on her face the fault which she had committed.

The journey was a melancholy one, as you will easily believe; and they did not reach the end of it before day break. Nanette could not muster up courage enough to go with her sister to the rector of Salenches. She bid farewell to Claudine before they came to the town, pressed her for a long while to her bosom, and gave her all that she had brought for her, and then travelled homewards, almost as miserable as her unhappy sister.

As soon as Claudine was by herself, all her courage left her. She went to hide herself in the mountain, and passed the day there without any food, and deter mined to die. When, however, night came, she began to be frightened, and she came back to the town; where, in a faint voice, she enquired for the parsonage house. Some one having directed her to it, she knocked softly, and the door was opened by the old housekeeper.

Claudine saying that she came from the rector of Le Prieuré, the housekeeper led her immediately to her master, who was then sitting alone at supper, in his chimney corner. Without daring to raise her eyes, without daring to say a single word, Claudine trembling, gave him the letter, and, while the rector drew near to the light that he might read it, the poor girl covered her face with her hands, and knelt near the door.

The rector of Salenches is a noble-hearted and worthy man. All the parish loves and respects him like a father. When he had read the letter, and, turning round his head, saw this young girl on her knees, bathed in tears, he began to weep too. He raised her up, praised her repentance, gave her hopes of being pardoned a fault which caused her so much grief, made her eat, in spite of her refusal, and calling back the housekeeper, who had left the room, he ordered her to get a

bed ready for Claudine. Quite astonished to find somebody who did not despise her, Claudine kissed his hands without speaking, and kissed those of the housekeeper, who tried to prevail on her to eat her supper. The rector, seated by her, spoke to her in a friendly manner, and did not say the least word that could remind her of her misfortune: he enquired about the good rector, his fellow pastor, related the benevolent actions which that excellent man had done, and took delight in repeating that the noblest and most delightful function of their ministry was, to console the unhappy, and to bring back those hearts which had gone astray. Claudine listened to him with a respect and gratitude which prevented her from eating; she looked at him with eyes full of tears: and she seemed to see in him an angel of heaven, whom God had sent to raise her. When she had finished her supper, the honsekeeper came to tell her that her room was ready. Claudine went to bed with her mind much more calm than it had been : she did not sleep, but at least she rested.

The next morning, the good rector walked through Salenches to find a place where Claudine could lodge during her confinement. An old woman, who lived by herself, of the name of Madam Felix, offered a room, and promised secrecy. Claudine went there at night. The rector paid, out of her money, three months in advance for her board, and it was agreed that she should pass as one of Madam Felix's married nieces from Chambery. Every thing was settled, It was high time that it should be; for the fatigue of the journey, together with the trouble and agitation which Claudine had undergone, threw her into labour the very same evening. Though only seven months of her time was gone, she gave birth to a boy as beautiful as the day, for whom Madam Felix stood godmother, and gave him the name of Benjamin.

The rector wished to send the child out to nurse immediately; but Claudine begged so hard, and told him with so many tears that she would rather die than be parted from her little Benjamin, that they were obliged to let her have him, at least for the first few days; and, when those first days were gone, the tenderness of the

mother for her child was stronger than ever. The rector talked rationally to her on the subject, and reminded her that her acting in this manner made impossible her return to Chamouny, and her reconciliation with her father. Claudine listened to him with downcast eyes, aud all her reply was to press her Benjamin to her bosom.

The time passed away. Claudine finished suckling her child, and still remained with Madam Felix, who loved her with all her heart. Her father's fifty crowns, and those which Nanette had put into the bundle, were sufficient to pay for her board. The good Nanette did not dare to go to Salenches, to see her sister; but she carried to our rector every thing that she could save, and he sent it to his fellow pastor. Claudine therefore wanted for nothing; such a very little satisfied her. She never went out, except on Sundays to the first mass. The rest of her time she spent with her son and the old lady, who, having formerly been a schoolmistress at Bonneville, now taught Claudine to read and write very well, and gave her a sort of education. Claudine, in short, was not wretched; and the little Benjamin was charming: but this happiness was not to last long.

TO BE RESUMED.

ANECDOTE AND WIT.

No. 38.-ALFONSO THE FOURTH.

ALFONSO the Fourth, of Portugal, on his accession to the throne, passed a month together at Cintra, in hunting the wild beasts, which in his time roved in numbers about those mountains. The severe reproof which he received from one of his subjects on that occasion deserves to be recorded.

Whilst the king was enjoying the pleasures of the chase with his favourites, the affairs of the state were consigned to men who studied their own interest more than that of the public. The nobility perceiving the abuses of the ministers, and the sovereign's inattention to the duties of his crown, held a council at Lis