walking one morning in the garden of the Thuilleries with her daughter, with whom she was conversing in the German language, their conversation attracted the notice of marshal de Saxe, who was passing, and who immediately recollected her. He was preparing to address her, when, with great confusion and embarrassment, she begged him to accompany her to a more retired spot, in order to avoid observation; and there, after enjoining the strictest secresy, she aknowledged her: self to him.

By appointment, the marshal paid her a visit at her own habitation on the following morning, where she recited to him her adventures, together with the share which his mother, the countess of Konismark, had in them.

At the expiration of three months, the major D'Auband, with his wife and daughter, proceeded to the Isle of Bourbon; when the marshal, according to his agreement, was at liberty to inform the king, who was at Versailles, of the circumstances of the princess, who immediately ordered the minister of marine to write to the governor of Bourbon to treat the major and his family with every mark of distinction. To the kind offices of the king she was likewise indebted for the representation of her situation to her niece, the queen of Hungary, who gave her an invitation to come and reside with her, on condition she would quit her husband and daughter; but, without hesitation, she rejected her splendid offer, and preferred her domestic and conjugal pleasures, in this remote and peaceful retirement, to all the blandishments of wealth and royalty.

LOVE AT SALE.

COME buy my ware! come buy! come buy! Fond youths and curious maids, draw nigh; I have this lovely wicked boy to sell.

Go not, fair girls, his cage too near!

Though mild his looks, his arrows fear :
Be still, the urchin's faults and merits while I tell.

He in this little form unites

The pangs of hell and heaven's delights; He reigns the lord of every mortal heart : He wounds the peasant, wounds the king, And is the fairest, falsest thing,

That e'er excited joy, or bade a bosom smart.

Light as the wind, wild as the wave,
He's both a tyrant and a slave;

A fire that freezes and a frost that's hot;
A bitter sweet, and luscious sour
Wretched is he who knows his power,
Yet far more wretched still is he who knows it not.

His tongue is with persuasion tipp'd; His darts, in poison'd honey dipp'd, Speed to the bosom their unerring flight; His lips are rich in flattering lies,

And oft a fillet o'er his eyes

He binds, and so conceals his faults from his own sight.

He has two cheeks of blushing red;

He has two wings which still are spread, When most his stay is wish'd, most swift to fly: He joys in wanton tricks and wiles,

And mark! that when he sweetest smiles,

Then is the rogue most sure those tricks and wiles to try.

For well, alas! too well I know,

He is the source of every woe,—

To faith a stranger, 'gainst contrition steel'd;
But yet when first the false one came,

And kindled in my heart a flame,

Who had believed deceit in such a form conceal'd?

He begg'd so gently on my breast
Awhile his little head to rest!

He seem'd so good, so grateful, and so meek!
He said, "he long had sought around

A resting-place-but none had found!”-
And then I saw a tear pearl down his rosy cheek.

Who could, unmoved, his accents hear? Who had not wiped away that tear? His tale of guile my ready ear believed: He look'd so sweet, he spoke so fair, With ease the traitor gain'd his prayer,

And in my heart of hearts with transport was received.

But since I find his friends most true
Have reason most his spite to rue,
I'll take dear-bought conviction's sage advice,
And drive him from my breast away:

He shall no more my trust betray,

But be the slave of him who bids the highest price.

Observe, whoe'er shall buy this boy,
This offspring of Despair and Joy,
May have besides, (I've use for them no more)
A lot of jealous doubts and fears,

Of fainting Virtue's last pure tears,

Of treacherous smiles, and oaths which perjured lovers

swore:

Of torches, their unsteady fires
Kindled by sweet Fifteen's desires;

Of hopes created by a guileful sigh;

Of worn-out wings; of broken darts,
Whose points still rankle in the hearts

Of fond forsaken maids!-Come buy! come buy! come buy!

But see him now for pardon sue!
See, how his eye of glossy blue

With mingled hope and grief he lifts to me.
Ah! lovely boy, thy fears dismiss,

Convinced by that forgiving kiss,

That I can never part from Julia and from thee.

M. G. Lewis.

LA MAUPIN.

A FRENCH Singer, in the seventeenth century, one of the numerous instances in which a stage heroine, fortified by public favour, and presuming on the magic of a melodious voice, defied the laws and institutions of a country by which she was supported, and committed, with impunity, crimes which would have doomed a common, unaccomplished desperado, to ignominious death.

This romantic and indecorous adventurer,-for I hesitate in calling her a female, who dressed, fought, made love, and conquered like a man,-married at an early age M. Maupin, whom, fortunately for the husband, she quitted a few months after their nuptials, seduced by the superior attractions of a fencing-master, who taught her the use of the small sword, a weapon which she afterwards handled with destructive dexterity against many antagonists.

Being invited to make an excursion to Marseilles, her performances at the theatre of that city were received with unbounded applause; and, strange to tell, she prevailed on a beautiful young woman, the only child of a wealthy merchant in that city, to clope

with her at midnight from her father's house. The fugitives being pursued, they took refuge in a convent; but the rigid discipline and correct manners expected in such societies did not suit La Maupin; she was also alarmed by certain repentant scruples which naturally arose in the bosom of her fair associate, who had quitted her parents, and deserted all that was decent and respectable in society for a female bravo, a masculine virago, whom she now dreaded and submitted to rather than loved.

Interrupted in her designs, and irritated by opposition, this theatric miscreant set fire in the dead of night to the building in which they had been so hospitably received, and, in the general confusion and alarm, securing by force her unhappy victim, fled to a sequestered village, where they remained in concealment several weeks. But the country being exasperated by such flagrant enormity, a diligent search took place, the offender was traced to her retreat, and taken into custody, after a desperate resistance, in which she killed one of the officers of justice, and dangerously wounded two others.

The fair, but frail Marsellaise was restored to her afflicted parents, and La Maupin, a notorious murderer, a seducer of innocence, and an incendiary, was condemned to be burnt alive. But this abominable siren, whose magic tones enchanted every hearer, while lawless passions agitated her heart, and the poison of asps was within her lips; this compound of turpitude, insolence, and ingratitude, had secured such powerful interceders, that the execution of her sentence was delayed; and I relate with regret that so odious a character escaped the punishment she deserved.

From infamy and fetters she hurried to Paris, and was received with raptures at the Italian Opera; but, after so narrow an escape, and still basking in the warm sunshine of public favour, La Maupin could not, or would not, conquer the characteristic audacity and ferociousness of her manners.

During the performance of a favourite piece, and in a