"The honest collier and his wife gave him what assistance they cou'd. They set before him bread, wine, and some vegetables. He eat, and laid down

to rest.

"When he awoke, the first word he pronounc'd was OLIVER!-Children, do you know nothing of OLIVER? No, they reply'd. He then related what had happen'd at RHEIMS. He pass'd the next day and night with them. He sigh'd; he repeated the name of OLIVER, whom he supposed to be in the prison of RHEIMS; he wou'd go thither and die with him; and it was not without difficulty they dissuaded him from that design.

"In the middle of the second night he took a musket, he put a sabre under his arm, and said to the collier, in a low voice-coLLIER-FELIX !— Take thy hatchet and away.-Whither?-What a question!—to OLIVER!-They set off. But just as they got out of the forest, they were surrounded by a party of the militia.

"I relate what was told me by the collier, though it appears incredible. These two men, on foot, were able to defend themselves against twenty horsemen. Probably the latter were scatter'd, and they were willing to take their prey alive. Be that as it may, the action was very hot. There were five horses maim'd, and seven of the riders cut down by the hatchet or sabre. The poor collier remain'd dead on the spot, by a shot in the head. FELIX regain'd the forest, and, as he is of an incredible agility, he retreated from one part to another, and,

as he retreated, he charged his musket-he fired, and whistled; these firings and whistling, repeated at different intervals, and in different places, made the horsemen think there was a large gang of smugglers, and they retired with precipitation.

"When FELIX found they were dispersed, he returned to the field of battle. He took the body of the collier on his shoulders, and went back to the cottage, where the woman and her children were still asleep. He stopp'd at the door, sat himself down with his back against a tree, his face turn'd toward the entrance of the hut, and the dead body at his feet.

"The wife awoke, and found that her husband was gone from her side. She look'd round for FELIX-he too was gone. She arose-she went forth-she saw-she cry'd out-she fell on the earth. The children ran out-they saw-they cry'd-they fell upon their father and their mother. The mother, recall'd to life by the tumultuous distracted cries of her children, pluck'd out her hair by the roots, and tore her face with her nails. FELIX remain'd immoveable at the foot of the tree, with his eyes closed, and his face turn'd away, and said, in a faint voice-Kill me. A moment's silence ensued; then again the cries of grief and distraction burst forth, and FELIX said again-Kill me, children; for pity's sake, kill me!

"Three days and nights they pass'd in this state of desolation. On the fourth morning, FELIX said -Woman, take thy sack, put bread into it, and

follow me. After a long circuit through the forest, and over the mountains, they arrived at the cottage of OLIVER, which is situate, as you remember, at the extremity of the town, where two roads meet, one of which goes to FRANCHE COMTE, and the other to LORRAIN.

"There FELIX learnt the death of OLIVER, and found himself between the widows of two men both massacred for him. He enter'd, and said hastily to the widow of OLIVER-Where is OLIVER? By her silence, by her dress, and her tears, he found that OLIVER was no more. A dejection seiz'd him; he fell senseless to the earth, and cut his head against a kneading trough. As the two widows rais'd him up, his blood ran over them, and while they were busied in stopping it with their aprons, he said to them-You are their widows, and yet you succour me! Then, again, his senses left him, and again they return'd; then he sigh'd, and cry'd out-Why did he not leave me to my fate? Why did he come to RHEIMS? Why was he suffer'd to come thither? Then his reason left him-he became furious-he roll'd on the earth, and tore his clothes. In one of these fits, he drew his sabre, and wou'd have kill'd himself; but the two women threw their arms around him, and call'd for help; the neighbours ran in, they bound him with cords, and bled him profusely. As his strength was exhausted, his fury subsided, and he remain'd as dead for several days. At last his reason return'd. At first he look'd round him, as a man just waked from

a sound sleep, and said-Where am I? Women, who are you? One of them said-I am the collier's widow. Ah! he cry'd; yes, you are his widow. And who are you?-The widow of OLIVER remain'd silent. Then he burst into tears. He turned himself toward the wall, and said, with sobs, -I am in the house of OLIVER!-this is his bedand that women there was, alas! his wife.

"The two widows attended him with so much solicitude; they inspired him with so much commiseration; they entreated him so earnestly to live; they represented to him, in so affecting a manner, what wou'd be their wretched condition without him, that he suffered himself at last to be over

come.

"During all the time he remain'd in that house, he never went to rest. When the night came on, he issued forth-he wander'd about the fields-he roll'd upon the ground, and call'd on OLIVER.One of the women follow'd him, and brought him back at the break of day.

"Several persons knew that he was in OLIVER'S dwelling, and some among them had unfriendly intentions. The two widows inform'd him of his peril. One afternoon he was sitting on a bench, his sabre on his knees, his elbows resting on a table, and his hands before his eyes. He gave no answer to any thing that was ask'd him. The widow of OLIVER had a son, about eighteen years; the collier's widow a daughter of fifteen. On a sudden,

he said to the latter-Go, find thy daughter, and bring her hither. He had some mowed grass hard by, which he sold. The collier's widow return'd with her daughter. The son of OLIVER marry'd her. FELIX gave them the money he receiv'd for his grass; he embrac'd them, and ask'd their forgiveness with tears. They fix'd their habitation in the cottage where they now dwell, and where they serve as father and mother to the other children. The two widows lived together, and the children of OLIVER had one father and two mothers. It is now near a year and a half since the collier's widow died; and the widow of OLIVER still daily laments her loss with tears.

"One evening, as they were watching FELIX, (for one or other of them was constantly with him) they observ'd him melt into tears. He turn'd his hands in silence toward the door that separated him from the women, and then went to making up his wallet. They said nothing to him, for they were sensible how necessary his departure was. They all sigh'd without speaking. In the night he rose. The women were unable to sleep. He advanc'd, on tip-toe, to the door; there he stopp'd, look'd toward the bed where the two widows lay-dry'd his eyes with his hands, and went forth. The two women clasp'd each other in their arms, and pass'd all the rest of the night in tears. It was not known whither he had retired; but there was scarce a week that he did not send them some relief.