pale as death, and so spent with running, that I could scarcely draw my breath. She spoke to me in the most soothing accents of kindness and compassion, and made signs for me to rise and take a chair, for I was still on my knees. The voice of compassion, let it be spoken in what language it will, is intelligible to all men and to all nations. I comprehended her accordingly, and looked thanks, for I could not speak them. However, she made amends for my want of tongue, by running on with great volubility, doubling her little withered fists in the direction my pursuers had taken, as if she spoke of them, as she doubtless did, and repeating the word "pressgang" several times with great emphasis and anger. As she seemed waiting to hear me speak, and not knowing what else to say, I faintly answered, "Pressgang, madame; pressgang!" as well as I could, without in the least understanding what it meant. But this was quite enough for the old lady, who continued venting her anger against them for some minutes longer. It appeared afterwards that my kind protector took me for a sailor, who had escaped from a set of men denominated a "pressgang," who are employed by the British government to procure seamen for their navy, in which service many cruel and oppressive measures are resorted to.

I was, as I have said, quite exhausted with the variety of sufferings I had undergone for the last few hours. The benevolent woman on whose protection I had been so unaccountably thrown soon saw this, and poured me out a glass of brandy; but ere I could receive it from her hand, a film came over my eyes, the room appeared to swim round me, and I thought myself dying. I had only time to take off my cap, and point to my wounded head, which she had not before perceived, when I fainted away. I know not how long I remained in this state, but when I came to myself, my head was reclining on a pillow placed by her on the table for me, and she was bathing the contusion in the tenderest manner with some sweet-scented embrocation. Seeing me revive, she gave me the brandy, which I had scarcely strength to hold to my lips, so much was I reduced by pain and fatigue; but after I had swallowed it, I felt immediately relieved, and heaving a deep sigh, lifted up my head. She appeared greatly rejoiced at my recovery, which was, however, very transient and fleeting; for, unable to hold myself up, my head sank again upon the pillow, when, as considerate as she was good, she made signs for me to keep my head down, and hold my tongue. I found no difficulty in complying with this, and in a few minutes was fast asleep upon the table.

I never awoke till next morning, when for some minutes my head was so confused, I neither knew where I was nor what had happened; but my recollection soon returned, and with it came a train of hopes and fears. Although much revived, I was still in great pain from the blow on my head, and otherwise

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feverish and unwell. My guardian angel, as I must always call the excellent creature who thus sheltered and nursed me, was at my side as soon as she saw that I was awake. She had sat up all night to watch me, and the Bible, which she had been reading to beguile the time, was still lying on the table. She did not appear by any means fatigued, but busied herself in getting breakfast ready, for it was past eight o'clock; and in a few minutes more placed before me a basin of excellent tea, and some bread and butter. At these repeated instances of kindness and benevolence from a stranger, and at such a time, I could no longer restrain myself, but burst into a passionate flood of tears, which seemed to have a sympathetic effect upon the good woman's heart, for she wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron several times. I now found it to be both proper and prudent to say something, as she seemed surprised at my continued silence, which she expressed by several intelligent signs; and as I felt myself too ill to continue my journey, it was necessary for me to endeavour to raise an interest in her feelings, that she might not withdraw her protection from me. I therefore, after many struggles between hope and apprehension, summoned up resolution to throw myself entirely upon her compassion; and I had no reason to repent my determination. In the best English I was master of, I told her I was un foreigner, un stranger. Ah, madame; good madame," I said with tears in my eyes, 66 a-ve pitie on me!" At the first word I spoke, she discovered I was not an Englishman, but took me to be a foreign sailor from one of the vessels in the harbour, who, she supposed, from what had happened on the preceding night, had escaped from a "pressgang," as I have already mentioned. She had seen much, and heard a great deal, of the cruelty of these men; and that it was which made her so inveterate against them, and prompted her so readily to conceal me. But when I told her that I was 66 un pauvre Frenchman-un prisonnier François," she started, and her countenance fell; but it was but for a moment, the natural benevolence of her disposition getting the better of that national antipathy which even existed in this good woman's breast. I took my dictionary from my pocket, and with its aid, and partly by signs, soon made her comprehend my situation and hopes. I also emptied my money on the table, and made signs for her to take it; and, throwing myself on my knees, concluded by begging her not to betray me. The worthy creature caught my meaning much more readily than I could have expected, and at the same time, weeping as she spoke, made me understand that she had a grandson, an only child left of many, now a prisoner of war in France; she likewise told me, with great emotion, that she would not betray me. "God forbid that I should!" she said; and added, that if I got away safe, all the return she asked was, that I would assist the escape of her grandson, who, the last time she had heard from him, was at

Verdun. As to my money, she insisted upon my taking it back again, and would by no means receive it. An intercourse being now established between us, I felt as if a mountain had been removed from my breast; and as there was some danger to be apprehended to my kind hostess should it be known that she had assisted in the escape of a French prisoner, I was removed into a little back parlour, which opened into a small garden or yard about twelve feet square, surrounded by high walls, and where none could oversee me. For the time I was concealed there, I was nursed with the same care and attention that a mother would pay to an only son. My health and strength returned but slowly, the blow on my head having deranged my whole system, and it was some days before could call myself completely restored; but she managed everything with so much discretion, that none, not even her nearest neighbours, had any suspicion of her having an inmate. I always kept the door of the room locked, and could often hear her talking with her acquaintance, whom she made a rule of getting rid of as soon as possible. It would have amused any one to have witnessed our conversation of an evening. After she had made the doors and windows of the house fast for the night, which she generally did about six o'clock, she would come and sit with me, bringing her work, and make the tea and toast-which, I perfectly agree with the English people, is certainly a most refreshing meal, or comfortable, as they call it. If she said anything which I did not understand, I would write it down, and translate it, word for word; and the same by what I said to her; and it is surprising with what readiness we comprehended each other's meaning. Often have the tears run down the good creature's eyes as I told her of my sufferings in the prison; and as often would she rejoice with me in the anticipation of my once more seeing my parents. My kind hostess-whose name, for prudential reasons, I shall omit-was, as she told me, in her seventieth year. She was the widow of a captain or master of one of the vessels which sailed from Lynn, I think she said in the Baltic trade. Her husband had been dead some years; and she told me, with some pride, that he had left her a comfortable competency, the fruits of his industry and economy, to maintain her in her old age. All her children and grandchildren, she said, were dead but one, who, as I have before-mentioned, was a prisoner in France; having been captured in a voyage to St Petersburg in a ship in which he was mate, and from whom she had received no account for upwards of two years, which afflicted the old lady grievously. I promised her, should I succeed in reaching France, I would use all the interest of my family, which I assured her was not small, in effecting his exchange; and if I did not succeed in that, I would make him as comfortable as money could make him. We also talked, as you may suppose, of my future proceedings; and as a first step towards their successful termination,

she provided me with a complete dress of coloured clothes which had belonged to her deceased son; and also with two fine linen shirts-my own being checked cotton, such as seamen wear-and a hat, and stockings, and other useful articles; nor would she receive any payment whatever for them, but bade me place them to the account of "her dear grandson, and do the same for him." The next morning, according to her wish, having discarded my old clothes, I put on my new ones, which fitted me exceedingly well; and I felt the change, as it were, through my whole frame. I appeared to myself at once, and most unexpectedly, restored to that station in life to which I had been so long a stranger, and to which I at one time thought I should never return. Í had also the satisfaction of knowing that I might now pass from one end of the kingdom to the other without being suspected or interrupted-no small comfort to a man in my situation. My kind hostess, at first seeing me in my new dress, was visibly affected; the remembrance of her son rose in her bosom, and she sank on a chair overwhelmed with her feelings. After a few minutes given to silent sorrow, in which I felt for her as if she had been my own mother, she wiped away her tears, and taking my hand very affectionately, prayed God "to restore me to my family again, and not leave my parents childless." I recollect her words well; for the tone and manner in which they were delivered made an impression upon me I shall never forget. Being now perfectly recovered, and well aware of the inconvenience I must be putting my inestimable friend to, I prepared for my departure. I had been her guest a week; and having told her my determination to start next morning, once more requested her to allow me at least to repay her the expenses she had been put to on my account. But I could by no means prevail upon her to take a single farthing; her constant reply to every thing I advanced upon that subject was, "to give it to her grandson one way or other." All I could induce her to accept was a ring of little value, but esteemed by me as given me by my mother, and having my name, age, and place of birth engraven on it. I had concealed it about my person on being first captured by the English vessel, and had worn it round my neck by a ribbon ever since. I thought I could not do better than to present it to this, as I called her, my second mother; and she received it with great pleasure, and promised always to wear it in remembrance of me. This, with four small Spanish coins as counters for whist, which I had seen her admire, was all I could get her to accept.

The next morning, after partaking of a good breakfast, about eight o'clock I rose to depart; when, with tears in her eyes, which she in vain attempted to conceal, she gave me a letter for her grandson, enclosing a bill of exchange. I endeavoured to smile, and told her "I trusted we should yet meet again in happier circumstances, her grandson with us." But she shook

her head, and said, "No, no; not in this world; never, never!” I then took her hand, and kissed it with great devotion several times, and thanked her repeatedly for the kind protection she had afforded me. But the good creature had not yet done. She brought me some provisions of bread and meat, neatly done up, to put in my pocket, with a small bottle of brandy; and once more bidding me not forget "her poor boy," we parted—and for ever!

The very mention, even after a lapse of so many years, of all this kindness and unexampled liberality, brings tears of grateful recollection to my eyes; and think not, reader (and I may as well mention it here), that her goodness was forgotten by me. Immediately on the restoration of peace, I commissioned a friend to go to England to seek out this excellent woman, bearing letters from my mother and myself, saying all that grateful hearts could say; and offering her, if she chose to accept it, an asylum with us in France for life; or should she, as was more natural, prefer staying in her native country, we remitted the necessary funds for securing to her the payment of an annuity of £50. We also sent several presents, such as we thought might be acceptable to her. But, alas! to our unspeakable sorrow, on our correspondent's arrival at Lynn, he found she had been dead some yearsan event, I have no doubt, hastened by the melancholy end of her grandson; of whom I was obliged to write her the distressing account-which I did immediately after I had ascertained the fact that he had been wounded in an attempt, with many others, to escape, and that he had died of his wounds.

I had been fully instructed by my kind hostess how to get out of the town, and the route I was afterwards to take. It being market-day, the streets were full of people, whom I passed with much apparent unconcern; and it gave me great confidence to see myself so unnoticed, as it more fully convinced me of my personal security. Having walked across the great square or market-place, beset with numbers of busy faces, I discovered I had come a little out of my way, but it was of no consequence; and in a few more turns I found myself in the street I had been directed to, leading to the eastern entrance of the town. In a few minutes more I was clear of the place, and on an excellent road in the direct line to the coast. Everything conspired to make this part of my journey pleasant. The day was very fine, the sun shining bright, and the birds whistling around me in all directions; nor was it the least pleasing part of my reflections that I was travelling by day instead of night; in short, I was in great spirits, which, though they had been for the moment damped by the parting with my kind old friend, revived at the scene around me, and the animating thought of my approaching deliverance, to which every step I took drew me nearer.

I passed through the pleasant village of Gaywood, and continued my course at a gentle pace-for I had no occasion for haste