During the dire reign of the terrific Robespierre, and in the dead of night, braving the cold, the darkness and the damps of December, some English passengers, in a small vessel, were preparing to glide silently from the coast of France, when a voice of keen distress resounded from the shore, imploring, in the French language, pity and admission.

The pilot quickened his arrangements for sailing; the passengers sought deeper concealment; but no answer was returned.

‘O hear me!’ cried the same voice, ‘for the love of Heaven, hear me!’

The pilot gruffly swore, and, repressing a young man who was rising, peremptorily ordered every one to keep still, at the hazard of discovery and destruction.

‘Oh listen to my prayers!’ was called out by the same voice, with increased and even frightful energy; ‘Oh leave me not to be massacred!’

‘Who’s to pay for your safety?’ muttered the pilot.

‘I will!’ cried the person whom he had already rebuffed, ‘I pledge myself for the cost and the consequence!’

‘Be lured by no tricks;’ said an elderly man, in English; ‘put off immediately, pilot.’

The pilot was very ready to obey.

The supplications from the land were now sharpened into cries of agony, and the young man, catching the pilot by the arm, said eagerly, ”Tis the voice of a woman! where can be the danger? Take her in, pilot, at my demand, and my charge!’

‘Take her in at your peril, pilot!’ rejoined the elderly man.

Rage had elevated his voice; the petitioner heard it, and called—screamed, rather, for mercy.

‘Nay, since she is but a woman, and in distress, save her, pilot, in God’s name!’ said an old sea officer. ‘A woman, a child, and a fallen enemy, are three persons that every true Briton should scorn to misuse.’

The sea officer was looked upon as first in command; the young man, therefore, no longer opposed, separated himself from a young lady with whom he h