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pay her. He spoke on the subject with his sister-in-law, to whom he recommended his adopted daughter in the warmest terms, and expired.

Immediately after his death, Madame de Ferioles took her home, assigned her one of the worst apartments in her house, and daily reproached her with the benefactions of her deceased brother-in-law, as though they had been improperly obtained, The lofty spirit of the young Circassian was unable to brook this treatment: she one day brought the bond, which ensured her the sum given her by her foster-father and threw it into the fire in the presence of Madame de Ferioles. That avaricious lady made not the slightest motion to prevent her.

It is natural to suppose that a female endowed with such charms and accomplishments, found many admirers. The Duke of Orleans one day saw her at Madame de Parabert's, and was fascinated with her. Unaccustomed to meet with resistance, he declared his passion without ceremony, and was not a little surprized when he received an unqualified refusal, and all his splendid offers were rejected with horror. Still he was not deterred. He applied to Madame de Ferioles herself, and this virtuous lady could not conceive how it was possible to be so stupid. In vain she exerted all her maternal authority to combat her obstinacy: Mademoiselle d'Aissé at length threw herself at her feet, and explicitly declared that unless they desisted from persecuting her in that manner, she would seek refuge in a convent. Madame de Ferioles shrugged her shoulders, and pitied the infatuated creature, but without feeling the smallest degree of admiration.

Some time afterwards the Chevalier Daidy beheld the charming stranger, and from that moment he conceived a love for her which terminated only with his life. He forsook all his acquaintance, obtained an introduction to Madame de Ferioles, and scarcely ever quitted her house. He was a most amiable young m, possessing a handsome person and excellent character. He had hitherto been accused of a roving disposition, because he had paid attentions to different handsome women; none of whom could however boast of subduing his heart. The blooming Circassian taught him what was genuine love. The conquest of such a man whose affections the fairest ladies of the court vied to obtain, who abandoned them all, and did homage with the tenderest respect to a friendless' orphan,-such a conquest could not but be particularly flattering. She was not insensible to his merits. Unfor

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tunately he belonged to the order of Malta, and therefore was not at liberty to marry; but he loved her with such real affection, that he himself felt the most tender concern for ber

reputation. It was not long before the vow of celibacy became irksome to him, and he was ready to purchase a papal dispensation, that he might be enabled to offer his hand to Mademoiselle d'Aissé who, however, could not be prevailed upon to consent to a step which she feared might degrade her lover in the public opinion.

Meanwhile she began to be sensible that her own heart was preparing dangers, which she conld not surmount, as the utmost she could do would be to avoid them. She addressed herself to Madame de Ferioles requesting her to forbid the too amiable Chevalier ber house. This exemplary lady who never dreamt of such a thing as the conquest of the passions, bursting into a loud laugh, exclaimed, "What: you are in love with the Chevalier, and yet want to get red of him? You have certainly lost your senses. You must have a lover some time or other; that follows in course, so that you ought rather now to thank your stars for having brought you such a one as renders you an object of envy to the rest of your sex. For a whim of yours I shall not forbid him my house: were I to do so, you would yourself very soon find fault with me for my pains."

From this time Daidy was received with greater courtesy, if possible, than before, by Madame de Ferioles. She often left him alone with her fais foster-daughter, whose coy virtue being gradually relaxed by the blaudishments of love, was conducted from flower to flower, till at length it beheld the last plucked with a sigh, but without power to resist any longer. The Chevalier, instead of finding in enjoyment the grave of love, became only more impassioned, more tender, and now with redoubled warmth intreated his mistress to accept the sacrifice of his rank, that he might efface the recollection of the errors of their mutual attachment. His persuasions were vain: his reputation was dearer to her than her own, and even when the consequences of this attachment began to fill her with anxiety, she still persisted in her generous denial.

But to whom could she now confide her secret? To the unfeeling Madame de Ferioles? She would only have laughed at her situation, and exposed her to the ridicu'e of the world. She summoned all her courage and opened her heart to Lady Bolingbroke, an excellent woman, a niece of Madame de Maintenon, and wife of the celebrated Lord Bolingbroke, who at that time resided in France. This lady had

long been attached with the affection of a sister to the fair Circassiau, and this she proved on the present occasion. She requested permission of Madame de Ferioles, to take her adopted daughter with her to England for some time. It was granted; all the necessary preparations were made for the journey; but they travelled no farther than one of the remote suburbs of Paris where Lady Bolingbroke had provided a habitation for her friend, with an English valet on whom she could rely, and a young woman of excellent character as her maid. Daidy never quitted his mistress for a moment; and when the critical hour arrived, he himself brought her an attendant, whose silence he could depend upon. The new-born infant, a girl, was by him delivered to Lady Bolingbroke, who took her with her to England, and after some time brought her back to France, where she gave her out to be a niece of her husband's, named Miss Grant, and placed her for education in a convent.

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tive to you.' He has been teazing me con-
tinually to accept a hundred pistoles, and
even desired my friends to persuade me to take
them. I have at length been obliged to com-
ply, but immediately delivered them to a per-
son,
to be returned to him after my death. I
would rather beg than receive money from
him. You would smile, were you to witness
his anxiety, whenever I open my mouth;
the physician has forbidden me to speak upon
pain of death. My good Sophia never quits
me night or day; this makes such an im-
pression upon him, that he would fain shut
her up in the inmost recesses of his heart. He
is vexed that he must not offer her money,
and racks his brain to devise how he can do it
with a good grace. Ah! I feel but too plainly
that I cannot withdraw my heart from him, to
devote it entirely to heaven. I still love him
too much for that, and shall love him till the
last moment of my life.”

livres.

About twenty years since appeared a small volume of letters, addressed by Mademoiselle d'Aissé to a female friend. They bear the genuine stamp of the genius and heart, and consequently of nature and truth. They are oc

In these sentiments she expired in the The affair remained perfectly secret. Made- twenty-fifth year of her age. The Chevalier, moiselle d'Aissé frequently saw her daughter, finding his residence at Paris intolerable, reand, though unknown by the latter, gained the tired to his estates in Perigord, accompanied tender affection of the child. The necessity by his daughter. He gave her an excellent of blushing at the fond name of mother cost education and married her to a neighbouring ber in secret many bitter tears. Her consci-gentleman with a dowry of fifty thousand euce incessantly tortured her with reproaches for having given existence to a being who would perhaps be left to wander forlorn in the world. This auxiety awakened a propensity to devotion; her repentance seemed irreconcileable with her love for Daidy: she renounced the farther gratification of an earthly pas-casionally illustrated with notes by Voltaire, sion, and the Chevalier honoured her resolution. His conduct demonstrated that he was not attached to her upon merely selfish motives, for he continued as before the tenderest of lovers, even when disease had undermined d'Aissé's health and blighted her youthful charms. She herself, in one of her last letters, describes his concern for her in the most affecting manner.

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and besides the effusions of friendship, they contain a great number of interesting anecdotes of those times. Our readers will not be displeased, if we present them with some extracts from these letters. The lively picture which they so often exhibit of Paris, as it was about a century ago, cannot fail to afford entertainment.

"Yesterday died the Prince de Bournonville. A quarter of an hour after his death the marriage of his widow with the Duke de Rufage, was publicly announced, and that by her own mother and uncle the Cardinal de Noailles. As soon as the prince had closed his eyes, Madame de St. Simon, the bridegroom's mother, hurried to the Cardinal, and would not even suffer him to finish his dinner; he was oblig

"If you were to see him," writes she to a female friend, "he would excite your pity. Every body regards him with compassion and endeavours to console him. He seems to think that he can purchase my life by his liberality. He is making ample presents to all the people in the house, here to an old domestic that he may put his child out apprentice, there to a maid-servant to buy ribbons and finery; nay, when he heard that I was put upon a milked to perform the ceremony on the spot, and diet, be even made my cow a present of some of the best hay that could be procured. Indeed, he almost appears to me to be a little insane. When I asked him why he did these things, he replied with tears in his eyes: "That every body about you may be the more atten

before Bournonville was buried, all Paris knew the circumstance. In six weeks the marriage will be solemnized. You may easily conceive what the Parisians say about it. The two sisters of the deceased, one day after his death, paid a visit of condolence to the young and

beautiful widow; they found her in deep mourning, and by her side the bridegroom, who was presented to them as such. And yet this is not a match from love!"

pulled a white bell-rope. The two white at. tendants immediately entered. The spectre ordered bandages to be brought, and directed the surgeon to take five pounds of blood.

"Isessé, in astonishment, ventured to ask what physician had ordered so large a quantity to be taken," Myself," replied the figure; which after warm water had been brought, began to pull off its stockings, w which were white silk, and six pair, one over another. The sixth and last pair being removed, exposed to view the handsomest leg and foot in the

this person must be a female. After being let blood, the figure fainted. Isessé would have taken off the mask, in order to give more air, but the domestics prevented him, and extended the patient on the floor: before whose recovery he bound up the vein. The patient at length recovered, ordered the bed to be warmed, and got into it. The servants withdrew; the surgeon felt the patient's pulse, and then went to the fire-place to wipe his lancet. All of a sudden he observed in the || looking-glass the white figure springing from bed and darting towards him at one leap. Isessé now thought that it was all over with him. His patient, however, merely came to take form the chimney-piece five crowns, which were presented to him with the question-" Are you satified."

"A few days since Isessé, the surgeon, received a note, written in a strange hand, in which he was requested to be, at six o'clock in the evening, in the Rue de Fer, uot far from the palace of Luxembourg. He went, and found a man waiting for him. The stranger conducted him a few steps further, desired him to walk into a house, and without entering himself, immediately shut the door.world; for which reason Isessé imagined that Isessé, surprised at this unexpected movement, was at a loss how to act, when the porter appeared, and told him that he was expected in the first floor. He went up stairs, ⚫pened the door, and found himself in a room hnug entirely with white tapestry. A servant, handsome as Ganymede, dressed in white, and with powdered hair, advanced to meet him, holding in his hand two shoe-brushes, which he immediately applied to the shoes of the surgeon, though the latter declared it was wholly superfluous, as he had but just alighted from his carriage, and consquently his shoes could not be dirty. His remonstrances were of no avail; his shoes were brushed by the silent attendant, and then the Burgeon was conducted into a second room, entirely white, where a second white domestic received him, and repeated the ceremony. Ou this he was ushered into a third room, iu which not only the bed and tapestry, but also the chairs and tables were white, and even the floor was covered with white linen. By the fire-side was seated a tall figure in a white morning-gown, with a white mask over his face. This spectre turned to the surgeon, and merely said, "I have got the devil in my belly;” ou which it was for three quarters of "Sir," replied one of them, "have you any an hour as silent as death, and did nothing right to complain? Have you not been well but put on and pull off again six pair of paid? Have you received any harm?" They white gloves, one after another. Isessé, not a accompanied him to his carriage; he was little astonished, looked round the room, heartily glad when he was seated in it, and and perceived a brace of pistols, which resolved not to mention a syllable concerning threw him into such a fright that he was this adventure. Next morning, however, a seized with a violent trembling, and obliged to message was sent to him, to inquire bow he sit down on one of the white chairs. At length did after bleeding the white figure. On this he growing heartily tired of the silence and the made no farther secret of the affair, which process of the white gloves, with tremulous attracted considerable notice. The king was voice he requested to know what were the informed of it, aud Isessé was sent for by the commands of the spectre, as he could wait Cardinal to relate it himself. A thousand exno longer. "Why not?" calmly replied the traordinary conjectures were formed concernwhite figure, "if you be but well paid." Aing it. For my part, I think it nothing but a second silence of a quarter of an hour joke which some young men thought fit to succeeded. The six pair of white gloves play off on the timorous surgeon." were again put on and pulled off till the [To be continued] white figure itself was at length tired, and

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"Perfectly," stammered Isessé, in a tremulous voice. "Then you may go." He did not wait to be told so a second time, but quickly took his leave, and found in the next'apartment the two white attendants, who lighted him, and from time to time turned away their faces to conceal their laughter. With some impatience he now asked what was the meaning of this joke.

OBSERVATIONS ON WILLS.

A COMMUNICATOIN TO THE EDITOR.

SIR,

I THINK I may reasonably demand the attention of your readers to a short letter upon this subject. Nothing is more frequently a topic of complaint than the hardship and injustice of wills. I have thrown together I few thoughts on this subject, and submit them to your readers.

in the person who made it. Nor is this catching at an expresssion of law to pervert the substantial design of it, for I apprehend it to be the deliberate mind of the legislature, that no will should take effect upon the real etates, unless authenticated in the precise manner which the statute describes. Had testamentary dispositions been founded in any natural right, independent of any positive institutions, I should have thought differ ently of this question. For then I should have considered the law, rather as refusing its assistance to enforce the right of the devisee, thau as extinguishing or working any alteration in the right itself.

And after all, I should chuse to propose a case, where no consideration of pity to distress, duty to a parent, or gratitude to a benefactor, interfered with the general rule of justice.

From the consideration that wills are the creatures of the municipal laws which give them their efficacy, may be deduced a determination of the question, whether the intention of the testator in an informal will be binding upon the conscience of those, who, by operation of law, succeed to his estate. By an informal will, I mean a will void in law, for want of some requisite formality, though no doubt be entertained of its meaning or its authenticity: as suppose a man makes his will, devising his freehold estate to his sister's son, and the will be attested by two only, instead of three subscribing witnesses; would the brother's son, who is heir at law to the testator, be bound in conscience to resign his claim to the estate, out of deference to his uncle's intention? Or, on the contrary, would not the devisee under the will be bound,|couraged. The intention of the ancestor is preupon discovery of this flaw in it, to surrender the estate, suppose he had gained possession of it, to the heir at law?

Generally speaking, the heir at law is not bound by the intention of the testator. For the intention can signify nothing, unless the person intending have a right to govern the descent of the estate. That is the first question. Now this right the testator can only derive from the law of the land; but the law confers the right upon certain conditions, which conditions he has not complied with. Therefore the testator can lay no claim to the power which he pretends to exercise, as he hath not entitled himself to the benefit of that law, by virtue of which alone, the estate ought to attend his disposal. Consequently the devisee under the will, who, by concealing this flaw in it, keeps possession of the estate, is in the situation of any other person who avail himself of his neighbour's ignorance, to detain from him his property. The will is so much waste paper, from the defect of right

The regard due to kindred in the disposal of our fortune, (except the case of lineal kindred, which is different) arises, either from the respect we owe to the presumed intention of the ancestor from whom we received our fortunes, or from the expectations we have en

sumed with greater certainty, as well as entitled to more respect, the fewer degrees he is removed from us, which makes the difference in the different degrees of kindred. It may be presumed to be a father's intention and desire, that the inheritance he leaves, after it has served the turn and generation of one son, should remain a provision for the families of his other children, equally related and dear to him as the eldest. Whoever, therefore, without cause, gives away his patrimony from his own brother's or sister's family, is guilty not so much of an injury to them, as of ingratitude to his parent. The deference due from the pos sessor of a fortune, to the presumed desire of his ancestor, will always vary with this circumstance, whether the ancestor earned the fortune by his personal industry, acquired it by accidental successes, or only transmitted the inheritance which he received.

Where a man's fortnue is acquired by himself, and he hath done nothing to excite expectation, but rather refrained from those par

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