passionate hearing, the Marquis largely expatiated upon the cause of his imprisonment,—dwelt upon the ingenuity and industry of his wife, as also upon the uncommon musical talents of his child, who had scarcely attained her ninth year. The united efforts of each might, with the assistance of a generous public, have afforded them a tolerable support; but, alas! he had been persecuted for payment by an unrelenting landlord. The heart, with all its warm and natural emotions, accompanying every word he uttered, bedewed his lids with tears, which, when he ceased to speak, overflowed, falling in torrents from his eyes.
Such were the prisoners associated with De Brooke, and such was the scene presented for his contemplation, whilst awaiting the return of his friend. The night closed in; another day elapsed, and still he appeared not; a delay like this, it may be well conceived, failed not to add fresh aggravation to his reflections. Forced to abandon his wife and children, to what might they not be exposed, left to the mercy of unfeeling creditors!
Thus was he ruminating, when sounds without indistinctly met his ear; the door was suddenly opened, and though the object presented was not the one expected, yet it was not the less welcome to his view; it was Robert, his trustworthy negro, so
