 sight of her, again I threw myself frantically against the grate that divided, I beat my head against it—fury and despair possessed me anew—and I became, for some days, again insensible—or sensible to nothing but the sight of my little girl, whose innocent smiles appeased my rage, and made me recollect that there was yet a being in the world for whom I ought to live.
"Every calm interval was employed in projects, more wild, perhaps, than my wildest ravings; to force Jacquelina from her accursed imprisonment. I talked about it continually to her brothers, and persuaded myself that nothing was impossible to a man so injured, and so attached as I was. My father,

however, was too powerful in a province, where he was governor, and in a community into which he had influence to get Jacquelina received, notwithstanding her resistance, and even her marriage. At this time, power did every thing in France, and nature and justice were silenced—thank God it is so no longer!"
In this ejaculation, Willoughby most sincerely joined, and the Count proceeded:—
"My father, as I was about to observe, was too well served to leave me any probability of success in this mad project; far from being able to procure the liberty of my wife, I could Rot preserve my own—but was, under pretence of my insanity, carried away a prisoner from Perpignan; and the only favor the Baron could obtain for me was, that I might be confined in his house in Normandy.—Here I remained only a short time, sunk again into the impotent fullenness of despair, when the regiment, to which I belonged, was ordered to America, and my father desired I might go. I wished for death—and had I had any motives to desire life, my honour compelled me not to hesitate. For America then I embarked; and on my arrival, my first care was

to enquire for the English regiment, in which my friend Ormond had a company. I heard, from deserters, that it had suffered greatly in the beginning of the war, and was ordered back to England. Even the mournful satisfaction which I had promised myself in embracing my friend, the husband of my beloved unfortunate Genevieve, seemed thus to be denied me; and every circumstance contributed to promote that desperation, that impatience of life, which is the effect of incurable calamity.
"Before I left France, I had recommended my infant Anzoletta to the care of the Baron, in case of my death, and secured to her all the property that would be at my disposal, on the
