terest, to atone for the want of person, virtue, sense, and every other qualification. Isabella, who had no alterna tive but the choice of a convent or of M. d'Escombas, preferred being consigned to his monumental arms, to being, as it were, buried alive in the melancholy gloom of a convent. The consequences of this unnatural union were such as might be expected; as madame d'Escombas in secret loathed her husband, her temper was in a short time soured by living with him, and she totally lost that ingenious turn of mind, and virtuous disposition, which she had received from nature. Certain it is, that a woman's virtue is never in greater danger than when she is married to a man she dislikes; in such a case to adhere strictly to the laws of honour, is almost incompa tible with the weakness of human nature. Madame d'Escombas was courted by several young gentlemen of an amiable figure, and genteel addreess; and it was not long before her affections were entirely fixed by Monjoy, an engineer, who was equally remarkable for the gen tility of his person, and politeness of his behaviour. There is not a city in the world where married women live with less restraint than at Paris; nothing is more common there, than for a lady to have a declared gal lant, if I may be allowed the expression; insomuch that women, in that gay and fashionable place may be justly said to change their condition for the reason assigned by lady Townly in the play, namely, to take off that re straint from their pleasures which they lay under when single. Monsieur d'Escombas was highly mortified to see Monjoy in such high favour with his wife; yet he did not know how to get rid of him, though he had not the least doubt that he dishonoured his bed. On the other hand, madame d'Escombas and Monjoy, who looked upon the old man as an obstacle to their pleasures, were impatient for his death; and the lover often declared, in the presence of his mistress, that he was resolved to remove the man who stood between him and the happiness of calling her his own. In a word, he plainly discovered his intention of assassinating her husband, and she, by keeping the secret, seemed to give a tacit consent to his wicked purpose. Their design was to marry publicly as soon as they could dispatch a man who was equally odious to them both, as a spy who watched all their mo tions, and kept them under restraint. It was not long before Monjoy had the opportunity he wished for; he happened accidentally to sup with the husband of his

mistress, at a house not far from the Luxemburgh palace, and supper being over, desired him to take a walk with him in the gardens belonging to it, which the old man, who dreaded Monjoy as much as he hated him, did not dare to decline. In their way thither Monjoy found some pretence or other to quarrel with him; and having jostled him down, just as they came to the steps at the entrance of the garden, stabbed him several times in the back, and left him there breathless, and covered all over with wounds, which were given in such a manner as made it evident to every body, that he had been treacherously killed. It has been justly observed, that murderers often run headlong into the punishment which they have incurred by their crime; the conduct of Monjoy shews this observation to be just. No sooner had he committed the barbarous action above mentioned, but he went to a commissary, whose office is much the same in France with that of a justice of peace in England, and declared upon oath, that he had killed d'Escombas in his own defence. The commissary was at first satisfied with his account, and would have dismissed him; but Monjoy being in a great flutter, and continuing to speak, dropt some words which gave the commissary a suspicion of his guilt. He accordingly sent for the body, and his suspicions were confirmed by a view of it. The assassin was there committed to the Chatelet, which is the city-prison at Paris, as Newgate is here; the body was likewise sent there, and, according to custom, exposed to public view, that the relations and friends of the deceased might come and lay claim to it. No sooner was madame d'Escombas informed of the confinement of her lover, but, blinded with her compassion, she went to visit him in his prison, and was there detained upon a suspicion of being an accomplice in the murder.

1

In the prison madame d'Escombas and her gallant had plunged deep in guilty joys, and a child, whose education madame Adelaid took charge of, after the tragical death of these lovers, was the fruit of their unlawful amours. Monjoy, though he rioted in bliss, and his passion for madam d'Escombas continued unabated, was, however, from time to time seized with a deep melancholy; he knew himself to be guilty of the murder, and had not the least doubt but he should fall a victim to public justice; he therefore joined with the friends and relations of madame d'Escombas, in endeavouring to persuade her to go for England, for he was aware of

the weakness of human nature, and justly apprehensive that tortures might force from him a confession which would prove fatal to one who was dearer to him than himself. Madam d'Escombas, blinded by her passion for Monjoy, and doomed to destruction, would never give ear to this advice; she thought herself secure in her lover's attachment, and never once imagined that a near view of death might shake the firm resolution he had made never to impeach her. Just about the time that the murder above related was committed, the parliament of Paris, which is the chief court of justice in the kingdom, and without the concurrence of which, no criminal can be brought to justice, was first removed to Pontoise, and then banished to Soissons, on account of their severe proceedings against the archbishop of Paris, who had given positive orders to all priests and curates, not to administer the sacrament to any but such as could produce certificates from their confessor. This circumstance procured our guilty lovers a year and a half of added life, for that space of time elapsed before the return of the parliament, and till then it was not possible to bring them to a trial. They availed themselves of the time which they owed to the absence of their judges, and drank deep draughts of the cup of love; but it was dashed with poisonous ingredients, which at last made them both rue their ever having tasted it. They were roused from their trance of pleasure by the return of the parliament, which was no sooner recalled, but Monjoy was brought to a trial, and, being upon full evidence found guilty of the murder of monsieur d'Escombas, was condemned to be broke alive upon the wheel. Amidst all the torments which he suffered in receiving the question ordinary and extraordinary, he persisted to affirm that he had no accomplices; and the guilty wife of d'Escombas would have escaped from justice, had not a principle of religion, imbibed from his infancy, had more power upon the mind of her lover, than even the most excruciating bodily pain.

The confessor who attended Monjoy upon the scaffold, refused positively to give him absolution, if he did not discover his accomplices, telling him in the most peremptory sense, that he could not hope for salvation, if he concealed them from the knowledge of the world, This had such an effect upon the unhappy man who was on the verge of eternity, that he desired madam d'Escombas might be sent for: she was accordingly brought

in a coach, and Monjoy told her in the presence of the judges, that she was privy to the murder of her busband. Upon hearing this she immediately fainted away, and was carried back to prison. Her lover was, pursuant to his sentence, broke alive upon the wheel, after having made a pathetic remonstrance to the standers by; and madam d'Escombas was about a month afterwards hanged at the Greve at Paris upon his impeachment. Such examples as these shew, that the misfortunes which attend unlawful love, are often owing to the cruelty of parents, who by tyrannising over the hearts of their children, lead them into that ruin which they might have escaped, if treated with indulgence.

THOU SHALT NOT DO EVIL THAT GOOD MAY COME

OF IT.

ALL christians will subscribe to this; but the whole history of christianity shews, that few will allow any thing to be evil, which according to their own conceptions, leads to good. That all fraud is evil, must (one would think) be universally allowed; but the man of religion dissents and distinguishes. "Fraud," says he, "is not always a pernicious thing, but is good or bad ac"cording to the intentions of him who uses it. A fraud "in season, and practised with judgment, is attended "with great good: it ought not indeed to be deemed so "much a fraud, as a certain wise and politic way of managing." This he urges: and he urges in the language of Chrysostom, who contends for the utility of fraud in military, civil, and even domestic concerns; and, particularly makes it as necessary in physicians to deceive for the good of bodies, as he would infer it to be in divines for the good of souls.

Jerom, another writer in the times of primitive christianity, in like manner adopted this principle of deceiving; and plainly believed no deviation from rectitude to be unlawful, which flowed from piety and zeal for christianity: non condemnamus errorem, says he, qui de odio Judæorum et fidei pietate descendit. Aud, speaking in another place of controversial writings against the Pagans, he holds it allowable to urge all arguments false as well as true; to use tricks in disputation; in short employ any artifice whatever, which may best serve to refute and conquer an adversary: and he justifies this

the weakness of human nature, and justly apprehensive that tortures might force from him a confession which would prove fatal to one who was dearer to him than himself. Madam d'Escombas, blinded by her passion for Monjoy, and doomed to destruction, would never give ear to this advice; she thought herself secure in her lover's attachment, and never once imagined that a near view of death might shake the firm resolution he had made never to impeach her. Just about the time that the murder above related was committed, the parliament of Paris, which is the chief court of justice in the kingdom, and without the concurrence of which, no criminal can be brought to justice, was first removed to Pontoise, and then banished to Soissons, on account of their severe proceedings against the archbishop of Paris, who had given positive orders to all priests and curates, not to administer the sacrament to any but such as could produce certificates from their confessor. This circumstance procured our guilty lovers a year and a half of added life, for that space of time elapsed before the return of the parliament, and till then it was not possible to bring them to a trial. They availed themselves of the time which they owed to the absence of their judges, and drank deep draughts of the cup of love; but it was dashed with poisonous ingredients, which at last made them both rue their ever having tasted it. They were roused from their trance of pleasure by the return of the parliament, which was no sooner recalled, but Monjoy was brought to a trial, and, being upon full evidence found guilty of the murder of monsieur d'Escombas, was condemned to be broke alive upon the wheel. Amidst all the torments which he suffered in receiving the question ordinary and extraordinary, he persisted to affirm that he had no accomplices; and the guilty wife of d'Escombas would have escaped from justice, had not a principle of religion, imbibed from his infancy, had more power upon the mind of her lover, than even the most excruciating bodily pain.

The confessor who attended Monjoy upon the scaffold, refused positively to give him absolution, if he did not discover his accomplices, telling him in the most peremptory sense, that he could not hope for salvation, if he concealed them from the knowledge of the world. This had such an effect upon the unhappy man who was on the verge of eternity, that he desired madam d'Escombas might be sent for: she was accordingly brought