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that her wrath would have vented itself in complaints, and all her threatenings have evaporated in words, but her father, being as much provoked, and having less tenderness, immediately accused the young man before the magistrate of rape and seduction, and on bearing the cause he was found guilty. However, he appealed to the parliament of Paris, and the cause was moved to the Tournelle, where Monsieur de Villeroy at that time presided.

On the hearing of all parties, the behaviour of the young gentleman appeared so gross, and capable of so little alleviation, that the court decided he should either marry the lady or suffer death. The first was impossible, because he had taken orders; the court, therefore, directed that he should be led to execution. Accordingly he was put into the hands of the executioner, and the confessor drew near, who was to assist him in his last moments.

Then it was that Renée Corbeau found her bosom agitated with affliction, which was heightened when she saw the pomp of justice about to take place, and her lover on the point of being led to the scaffold.

Furious, through despair, and guided only by her passion, she rushed with such impetuosity through the crowd, that she got into the inner chamber before the judges were separated, and then, her face bathed in tears, and her person in disorder, she addressed them as follows:-' Behold, my lords! the most unfortunate lover that ever appeared before the face of justice. In condemning him I love, you seem to suppose that either I am not guilty of any thing, or that, at least, my crime is capable of excuse; and yet you adjudge me to death, which must befall me with the same stroke that takes away my lover. You subject me to the most grievous destiny, for the infamy of my lover's death will fall upon me, and I shall go to my grave more dishonoured than be. You desire to repair the injury done to my honour, and the remedy you bring will load me with eternal shame: so that at the moment you give your opinion, that I am rather unhappy than criminal, you are pleased to punish me with the

most severe and most intolerable pains. How agrees your treatment of me with your equity, and with the rules of that humane justice which should direct your court? You cannot be ignorant of the hardship ī sustain; for you were men before you were judges. You must have been sensible of the power of love, and you cannot but have some idea of the torment which must be felt in a breast, where the remembrance dwells of having caused the death-the infamous death of the dear object of her love. Can there be a punishment equal to this, or, after it, could death be considered in any other light than as the highest blessing of Heaven?

Stay! oh, stay, my lords! I am about to open your eyes, I am going to acknowledge my fault, to reveal my secret crime, which hitherto I have concealed, that, if possible, the marriage of my lover might have restored my injured honour. But, urged now by remorse of conscience, I am constrained to confess that I seduced him. Yes, my lords, I loved first. It was I, that, to gratify my passion, informed him of my attachment, and thus I made myself the instrument of my own dishonour. Change then, my lords, the sentiments you have hitherto entertained of this affair. Look upon me as the seducer; on my lover as the person injured: punish me; save him. If justice is inexorable, and there is a necessity for some victim, let your vengeance fall on me.

You look upon it as a crime that he took holy orders, and thereby rendered it impossible for him to comply with his contract; but this was not his own act; it was the act of a barbarous father, whose tyrannous commands he could not resist. A will in subjection, my lords, is no will at all to deserve punishment. The offender must be free; his father only could be guilty; and were he not the father of my love, I would demand justice of you on him. Is it not clear then, my lords, that your last sentence contradicts your first? You decreed that he should have his choice to marry me, or to die, and yet you never put the first into his power. How odious must ap.

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pear in your eyes, when you choose rather to put a man to death, than to allow him to marry me. has declared that his present condition will not allow him to marry, and, in consequence of this declaration, you have condemned him to death; but what signifies that declaration; his meaning was, that he would bave married me if he could, and if so, your sentence is unjust; for, by your former decree, he was to have his option.

But you will say, a priest cannot marry. Ah, my lords! love has taught me better. Love brings things instantly to our minds that may be of service to the object of our loves. The pope, my lords, can dispense with his vow you cannot be ignorant of this, and therefore his choice may yet be in his power. We expect every moment the legate of his holiness; he has all the plenitude of power delegated to him which is in the sovereign pontiff. I will solicit him for this dispensation, and my passion tells me that I shall not plead in vain; for what obstacle will it not be able to surmount, when it has overcome that of your decree?

'Have pity then, my lords! have pity on two unfortunate lovers; mitigate your sentence, or, at least, suspend it till I have time to solicit the legate for a dispensation. You look on my lover, 'tis true, as a man guilty of a great crime; but what crime too great to be expiated by the horrors he has already sustained? Has he not felt a thousand times the pains of death since the pronouncing of his sentence? Besides, could you enter into my breast, and conceive what torments I have endured, you would think our fault, foul as it is, fully atoned.

I see among your lordships some who are young, and some who are advanced in years; the first cannot sure have their breasts already steeled against the emotions of a passion natural to their sex; and I may hope the latter have not forgot the tender sentiments of their early years. From both I have a right to pity; and if the voices for me are few, let the hu

manity of their sentiments prevail against the number of their opponents. But if all I have said is vain, at least afford me the melancholy pleasure of sharing his punishment, as I shared his crime. In this, my lords, be strictly just; and, as we have lived, so let us die together."

This amiable woman was heard with equal silence and compassion; there was not a word lost of her discourse, which she pronounced with a voice so clear, and with a tone so expressive of her affliction, that it struck to the hearts of the judges. Her beauty, her tears, her eloquence, had charms too powerful not to incline the most frozen hearts to think with her. The judges receded, unanimously, from their opinions. Monsieur de Villeroy having collected their sentiments, and declared that he agreed with them, proceeded to suspend the last part, and to allow the criminal six months to apply for a dispensation.

The legate immediately after entered France, who was the great Cardinal de Medicis, afterwards Pope, by the name of Clement the Eleventh-though he enjoyed the chair not quite a month. He heard the whole of this affair, and inquired narrowly into all its circumstances; but finding that he took holy orders with a premeditated design to avoid the performance of his contract, he declared that he was unworthy of a dispensation, and that he would not respite such a wretch from the death he deserved.

Renée Corbeau had a passion too strong to be overcome; she threw herself at the feet of the king, Henry the Fourth. He heard her with attention, answered her with tenderness, and going to the legáte in person, requested the dispensation in such terms that it could not be refused. He had likewise the goodness to deliver it to the lady with his own hand. The criminal gladly accepted Renée for his wife; and they were publicly married, and lived long together in the happiest union. He always regarded his wife as a kind of divinity, by whose interposition his life and his honour had been saved. J. M.

COMING OUT.

AN EPISTLE FROM MISS A. BYNG TO MISS

MY DEAR,

ELIZABETH

I am wonderful busy,

I've a matter of state under hand;
I will give you a sketch of it, Lizzy,
And then I must come to a stand.
Ma said, as I sat in the window,

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T'other day, I think you should come out,
There's nothing on earth that can hinder,
If you only mind what you're about.'

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Self. Yes, ma, do you know, I've been thinking
I'm old enough now for a wife;

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There's nothing to hinder my drinking
Full deep of the pleasures of life.'

Ma. You're tall, love, and handsome I've thought you;
You dance, and you draw, and you sing;

Self.

Ma.

The harp and piano were taught you,

And each other fanciful thing;

'Pa's cash, too, to give you at marriage-'
And you know there'll be more when he's
dead;

I shall find, perhaps, a beau with a carriage;'
'Oh yes, if you're happily wed;
I should like you to marry a parson;'

Self. I should like, ma, to marry a peer;'
Ma. Why perhaps 'tis as easy to fasten
On him as the first one, my dear.

'If a baronet's wife, you'll be "lady,"
But so high, dear, you never can look.'
Self. Mamma, oh! what ever has made ye
Say so? As well make me a cook!'
Ma. But, perhaps, dear, a soldier will woo you-
A colonel, or general, or—'

Self. Of soldiers, dear mother, the fewer

The better you know I hate war.'

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