no harm," he said-" me no sword-me no angry me love white mans, because white mans make me no slave. Me only pray mercy on Missy Angelique. Massa all dead. Missy pray de great God, as me pray de white mans." He raised himself on his knees as he spoke, one hand placed upon his breast, the other stretched towards the interior of the dwelling.

"She is safe-your charge is safe, my poor fellow," exclaimed Beresford. "Take heart; Englishmen never war with women."

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"Me much joy! me much glad! me pray God he bless all white mans!" and the poor black sprung upon his feet, and pushed open the door of the dwelling. 'Missy Angelique," he pursued, lowering his voice almost to a whisper; much good!-so much pray! All dayevery day pray to God! Fire fly over house-round house-about house-never touch house! Oh, she so good! she so true good! She make me Christian

c 5

66 SO

mans!"

mans!" A smile, a flash, almost radiant, shot from the eyes, and played o'er the features of the black! It was the sunshine of the soul; the ebullition of a grateful honest heart: it spoke the immortal spirit within, as bright, as pure, as ethereal, as though lodged within the white and florid clay of European beauty!

"It is the exterior, not the heart, which varies," mused Beresford. "The same Creator! the same sanctifier! the same Saviour !"

"Skins may differ, but affections dwell in black and white the same."

The negro led down the passage, and when he had thrown open the door of a small chamber, he turned and beckoned Beresford towards him.

"I

I am here," said the young officer. The negro placed a finger on his lip, betokening silence. Beresford doffed his cap, and as he paused on the threshold, felt as one standing on holy ground.

The

The windows of the chamber were thrown open, and the unobstructed light of day fell upon the kneeling form of a young creature, so self-wrapt, and so piously abstracted, that nought of earth seemed there. The face, so calm, so still, so white; but for the tint on the lip, and the breeze fanning and waving the dark profusion of curling hair, she had been mistaken for an image chiselled out of marble.

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black.

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Missy Angelique," whispered the

66

Angelique, indeed!" murmured Béresford, for she looked as one ensky'd and sainted."

Recognition, explanation, soon followed. The beautiful, the young, the unprotected Angelique-the same Angelique, who in the prison of the Conciergerie in Paris, had so wrought upon his compassion and his interest was thus, by the fortunes of war, cast friendless, helpless, almost destitute, upon his protection. Yet was she c 6 changed,

changed, greatly changed: a few months passed amid anxiety, suspense, and apprehension, had matured the bud; and though. it were still little more than half blown, the bashfulness of woman had superseded the frank confidence of childhood.

The tale of her sorrows was told amid tears and sighs. From the corpse of her mother she had passed into the protection of her mother's brother. Providencesome may falsely call it chance-had led to her rescue. Her uncle came in the hour of storm and death: another day, and the flower had been plucked and withered. He took her from the Conciergerie; he bore her far away from the scenes of human slaughter: a better, a brighter fortune seemed to promise: at Landrecy, the affrighted spirit rallied; health shed its bloom upon her cheek; security tenanted her bosom. Alas! how frail is human trust, how perishable human dependence! The halcyon dream of peace, like the baseless fabric of a vision,

vanished,

Com

vanished, nor left a wreck behind! fort, security, hope, life, all was swept away by the fell besom of war. Landrecy was bombarded, and her uncle, and her uncle's household-all, save herself and the negro Domingo, fell.

In life, we often see trifling ills fret and disturb the mind: great griefs rend but fail to break the heart. Is it that the human scourge is self-inflicted? that the smiting and the balsam comes from the hand divine?

We must not pause to sing love ditties, or to narrate the rise and progress of the tender passion; similarity of tastes and sentiments and opinions, and peculiarity of circumstances, led to the one common issue-Angelique ever met Beresford with a blush and a smile-Beresford, in every break of duty, sought the presence of Angelique, as the sure sweetener to life's bitters. But amid the bustle and incertitudes and anxieties of war, there was no time for the slow and measured advances of common

courtship.