Est des humains le plus cher avantage
Mais tristement vendre par un contrat
Sa liberté son nom et son etat

Gemir, secher dans sa douleur profonde
Un tel hymen est l'Enfer dans ce monde."

VOLTAIRE.

A CARRIAGE stopped at the gate of Baron Wartenberg's town-house at Breslau in Silesia. The young Ernest sprang from it, and as he did so, he looked up fearfully at the closed windows of the room inhabited by his loved parent, from whom he had so long been absent; mournful countenances met him as he ascended

the staircase, but he hurried on without ven

turing to make an inquiry.

A pale female figure came from the sick room and led him in; then whispering, “he expects you," threw back the curtains of the bed. The dying father stretched out his arms towards his son, and Ernest, drowned in tears, sank into. the embrace; but, alas! as he raised his head, his father's countenance, so wasted as scarcely to be recognized, the hair so lately become grey, and the faint smile which played on his lips, too plainly told to Ernest's heart the approaching loss of his first and dearest friend. They remained a long time clasped in a silent embrace, till at length the father spoke.

"Heaven be praised, my son, you are not arrived too late. I have the comfort of seeing you once more, and can tell you the last wishes

of my heart-are we alone?"

Ernest answered in the affirmative, for the nurse had left the room soon after he entered.

"I will then speak openly," continued his

father. "I know I have not many hours to live, and in these few hours I would concentre all the joys of my existence. Your engage

ment with Matilda has long been the hope and happiness of my old age. I wish to be a witness of your union. Here, by my bedside, you, my beloved Ernest, must give your hand to her to-morrow, and let me have the certainty of securing happiness to you both. You are still young, but after my death what would become of my poor Matilda, without relations or protectors; and where is there a refuge for her so proper as with a husband? Reflect, my child, on these my wishes, and do not refuse; I beseech you to give me the satisfaction of seeing them accomplished."

Ernest concealed his face, which was wet with tears, for a thousand agitating and contending feelings assailed him at that moment, but they were conquered, and filial duty gained the ascendant.

"I promise," said he, faintly, and taking his father's trembling hand, "I promise to do all you wish."

Just then Matilda entered, and the Baron called her to him in a kind manner.

"My daughter," said he, "come and embrace your betrothed; he asks you to let those chains which have so long united you together, be still closer rivetted to-morrow; and I, dear child, I ask you to grant his request that you may be indeed my daughter before I die."

Matilda timidly, in silence and tears, suffered the youth to embrace her. He sought in vain to retrace in her features a resemblance of the blooming girl to whom he had been affianced in earlier years. She was but lately recovered from a most severe illness. The small-pox, without marking her, had still left vestiges of its fatal effects in her swollen features and sunken eyes; besides which she was worn with grief, anxiety, and sleepless nights, whilst in

cessantly watching her adopted father; looked pale and wan, nor did she appear to have a trace of beauty remaining.

Overpowered by his feelings, Ernest hastened from the room, and took refuge in his own apartment; there, seated at his writing-desk, he poured forth his thoughts in a letter to his most intimate college friend, whom he had quitted suddenly upon learning the dangerous state of his father.

Matilda was the Baron Wartenberg's ward, the orphan child of his best friend, and having lost her parents at an early age, had been cherished and educated by him with the affection of a father. His wish had been ever openly expressed, that she should be the future partner of his son, and share his happiness and fortune, and it appeared to be realized by the fondness early shewn by Ernest towards the object of his father's interest, whom he, as a boy, willingly engaged to consider as his future wife. He was sixteen, and Matilda four years