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some dangerous employ. This consideration taught the Count, all the horrible danger which he had thrown himself into: and soon he was on the brink of that danger. From this place of confinement he plainly heard them consulting what to do with him all voted his death but one; who with more humanity, was for sending him back, after a discovery of his quality.Though the Count thought his death inevitable, yet he begged to speak to them before they took their last resolution. They led him out of his dungeon into the midst of their assembly, and permitted him to speak.

"I understand, gentlemen, (said he to them) how much reason you have to get rid of me. My indiscretion deserves death, and I accept it: but give me leave to represent to you, that your ruin must infallibly follow it. I think myself obliged to declare my name and quality. I am the Count of Beaumont, brigadier general of his Majesty's forces: I was going from the army to my own estate. The bad weather kept me in this village, where I have all my equipage: my valet, who lay at my bed's foot, must have made his escape, and apprised my people of my adventure; and be assured that if they don't find me, they will pull down the castle, but that they will find out what has become of me. Consider it gentlemen; I don't want to threaten you; but how necessary soever my death may appear to your security, I think myself obliged to assure you that it will certainly ruin you. If you doubt my quality, letters in my pocket, with orders from his majesty, will confirm my testimony." The Count produced his letters; and while these Cyclops examined them, he added, "Sirs, I am a gentleman and can keep a secret, without desiring to dive into yours; and I swear by my faith, and honour, I will not betray you." This speech, which he made with that dignity which never abandons great men in distress, astonished them all. They sent him back to his cave to renew their deliberations.

They now gave into softer counsels, though some still persisted in advising his death, but those in less number, and with less vehemence than before. The debates which the Count heard distinctly, would have alarmed a heart less great than his; for besides the idea of death, which was always present, every one formed a different punishment, and made him feel all the horrors of it. Even death itself, in my opinion, is preferable to this cruel vicissitude of hope and despair. The Count, however, calmly waited for his sentence. The votes were unanimous in his favour: they brought him out again. One of the subterranean crew pronounced him at liberty, on condition that he swore an inviolable secrecy, and would leave the village and his servants in the notion of spirits which they already enter

tained; and that when he was out of the province he would not mention the adventure. After these oaths, they gave him his arms and letters, except one, which they kept. They made him drink some glasses of wine: the whole company drank to his health, and after having made him sensible what a risque they ran in sparing his life, they opened the trap door and two guides led him towards the apartment. As soon as he was upon the stair-case, the guides took off his bandage, and returned to the cavern.

The Count however returned to his chamber, amazed at his adventure; but had like to have met with a more terrible one from his valet. The poor fellow, now sober by his fears, was in despair when he missed the Count. He concluded that the spirits had strangled him, according to the stories of the night before. Full of grief for his dear master, he even mistook hin when he entered, and taking him for the spectre let fly his pistol at him. By a providential stroke the pistol missed, and the Count made himself known. The poor servant was ready to die with shame and horror at the misfortune he had escaped, and implored his master's forgiveness. The Count, without staying to hear him, bid him follow him; for he thought quitting the castle a better security than the mutual oaths in the cavern, since it was possible they might recant theirs. They went together, and waited for day-light in the avenue leading to the village; and the Count told his man, that having followed the spectre with his hand, after several rounds it buried itself in a kind of well, which he was almost decoyed into, and that he had much ado to find his room again. When it was day be went to the Curate and told him the same story, which soon spread itself through the village; and having sent for his bed and clothes, he continued his journey.

Several years passed before the Count mentioned his adventure; and he had never divulged it, without the express permission which he has since received. One day, when he was at his country seat, they told him a man wanted to communicate to him an important affair, and that he could not stay nor come into the castle. The Count surprised at the message, sent for the messenger, and ordered his people to inquire whence he came. The messenger again answered, that he would not come in, nor wait, nor name his masters; and notwithstanding all their persuasion, he persisted in staying upon the draw-bridge.

The Count who was at dinner, communicated this extraordinary message to the gentlemen at table with him, and asked their advice. Some found reason to distrust where there was so much mystery, and were for securing the messenger; but the majority advised the Count to go and speak with him, for fear of losing

some dangerous employ. This consideration taught the Count, all the horrible danger which he had thrown himself into: and soon he was on the brink of that danger. From this place of confinement he plainly heard them consulting what to do with him all voted his death but one; who with more humanity, was for sending him back, after a discovery of his quality.— Though the Count thought his death inevitable, yet he begged to speak to them before they took their last resolution. They led him out of his dungeon into the midst of their assembly, and permitted him to speak.

"I understand, gentlemen, (said he to them) how much reason you have to get rid of me. My indiscretion deserves death, and I accept it: but give me leave to represent to you, that your ruin must infallibly follow it. I think myself obliged to declare my name and quality. I am the Count of Beaumont, brigadier general of his Majesty's forces: I was going from the army to my own estate. The bad weather kept me in this village, where I have all my equipage: my valet, who lay at my bed's foot, must have made his escape, and apprised my people of my adventure; and be assured that if they don't find me, they will pull down the castle, but that they will find out what has become of me. Consider it gentlemen; I don't want to threaten you; but how necessary soever my death may appear to your security, I think myself obliged to assure you that it will certainly ruin you. If you doubt my quality, letters in my pocket, with orders from his majesty, will confirm my testimony." The Count produced his letters; and while these Cyclops examined them, he added, "Sirs, I am a gentleman and can keep a secret, without desiring to dive into yours; and I swear by my faith, and honour, I will not betray you." This speech, which he made with that dignity which never abandons great men in distress, astonished them all. They sent him back to his cave to renew their deliberations.

They now gave into softer counsels, though some still persisted in advising his death, but those in less number, and with less vehemence than before. The debates which the Count heard distinctly, would have alarmed a heart less great than his; for besides the idea of death, which was always present, every one formed a different punishment, and made him feel all the horrors of it. Even death itself, in my opinion, is preferable to this cruel vicissitude of hope and despair. The Count, however, calmly waited for his sentence. The votes were unanimous in his favour: they brought him out again. One of the subterranean crew pronounced him at liberty, on condition that he swore an inviolable secrecy, and would leave the village and his servants in the notion of spirits which they already enter

tained; and that when he was out of the province he would not mention the adventure. After these oaths, they gave him his arms and letters, except one, which they kept. They made him drink some glasses of wine: the whole company drank to his health, and after having made him sensible what a risque they ran in sparing his life, they opened the trap door and two guides led him towards the apartment. As soon as he was

upon the stair-case, the guides tock off his bandage, and returned to the cavern.

The Count however returned to his chamber, amazed at his adventure; but had like to have met with a more terrible one from his valet. The poor fellow, now sober by his fears, was in despair when he missed the Count. He concluded that the spirits had strangled him, according to the stories of the night before. Full of grief for his dear master, he even mistook him when he entered, and taking him for the spectre let fly his pistol at him. By a providential stroke the pistol missed, and the Count made himself known. The poor servant was ready to die with shame and horror at the misfortune he had escaped, and implored his master's forgiveness. The Count, without staying to hear him, bid him follow him; for he thought quitting the castle a better security than the mutual oaths in the cavern, since it was possible they might recant theirs. They went together, and waited for day-light in the avenue leading to the village; and the Count told his man, that having followed the spectre with his hand, after several rounds it buried itself in a kind of well, which he was almost decoyed into, and that he had much ado to find his room again. When it was day he went to the Curate and told him the same story, which soon spread itself through the village; and having sent for his bed and clothes, he continued his journey.

Several years passed before the Count mentioned his adventure; and he had never divulged it, without the express permission which he has since received. One day, when he was at his country seat, they told him a man wanted to communicate to him an important affair, and that he could not stay nor come into the castle. The Count surprised at the message, sent for the messenger, and ordered his people to inquire whence he came. The messenger again answered, that he would not come in, nor wait, nor name his masters; and notwithstanding all their persuasion, he persisted in staying upon the draw-bridge.

The Count who was at dinner, communicated this extraordinary message to the gentlemen at table with him, and asked their advice. Some found reason to distrust where there was so much mystery, and were for securing the messenger; but the majority advised the Count to go and speak with him, for fear of losing

some advice of consequence to his safety, and offered to accompany him. The counsel prevailed: The Count rose from the table, and with all the gentlemen, went to the bridge where the messenger waited. When the messenger saw him, he cried out fear nothing, sir, and to prove that I have no ill design, I discharge my arms. Immediately he shot off his pistols towards the fields. Then the Count approaching, the messenger without dismounting, put into his hands two noble Spanish horses, which he led; and delivering a packet, said to him, this, sir, will inform you further; I have finished my commission, and my orders oblige me to depart. At the end of this speech he spurred his horse, and went off full gallop; nor could they ever find cut where he retired to.

The Count wondered at this commission, and was impatient to know the contents of the packet, which having opened, he read aloud; it was to this effect:

"We thank you, sir, for having hitherto preserved a secret in our favour, and we have sent these two horses as instances of our gratitude. We have sent too an important letter, which you left such a day and such a year, at the castle of It may put you in mind of a strange adventure which happened you there. We have happily concluded our affair, and returned to our own homes. We disengage you from your oaths, and your secret; we shall tell your adventure ourselves, and give you permission to publish it. Adieu, generous Count. This comes from the six gentlemen who put you into such a fright in the cellars of the castle."

After reading this letter, the Count yet doubted whether he ought to divulge the secret; but, at the request of the gentlemen then with him, he told them his singular adventure, and took a pleasure in repeating it on all accasions.

A WONDERFUL PROVIDENCE.

A remarkable story of a Dog which preserved the life of the late Earl of Crawford's Grandfather.

THE life of the late earl of Crawford (who was the present earl's grand-father) is reported to have been saved in an inn at Flanders, about four miles from Ratisbon, as he was going to Frankfort, by his dog, which he had sent to be hanged as thinking him mad; but the servant gave the dog to a soldier that was quartered at that inn; when his lordship came thither, the dog followed him to his bed chamber, but would not let him go into

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