Adventures In A Castle


Adventures in a Castle was published initially in eight serialized installments in the Philadelphia Repository and Weekly Register. The first of the work’s eight installments was printed on May 2nd, 1801, and its publication continued weekly through June 30 of that same year. The editor, David Hogan, was responsible for the serialization and inclusion of Adventures in a Castle in the magazine. The vast extent of what is known about the author is shared in the paratext Hogan includes in its serialized publication. Hogan references the author Julius a total of seven times. Typically these references are just by name and appear at the conclusion of an installment. However, at the end of the story, Hogan divulges some interesting views and revealing contextualized interpretation of the tale in the concluding paratext.

In addition to his gratitude for the author Julius’ timely submissions, Hogan admits in the final reference that “the literary world abounds with the trifles of this kind.” Hogan goes on to suggest that consequently “no doubt [works like this one], in some measure, forms a criterion by which to judge of the taste of the age; tho’ a taste of this kind of reading, is not, perhaps, peculiar to the present one.” Essentially, what Hogan concedes is that while this tale is not extraordinary in and of itself, it does delineate the general expectation readers of that age upheld.

Tales like Adventures in a Castle, as Hogan suggests “inculcate…a moral, if not new, yet good.” In this story, Hogan maintains the Count de Vauban, who is avarice personified, “meets with the deserved punishment: while the innocent objects of his horrid persecution, are extricated from his cruel fangs, and finally brought to the enjoyment of more perfect domestic felicity, than they would otherwise probably have attained, had it not been for those very circumstances to which his machinations gave birth.” This particular outcome not only conforms to reader expectation but it does so because it corroborates an espoused or at least perceived divine truth of the period that “the wicked are often snared in their own devices.” Hogan concludes with his praise of Julius’ prose and his ability to refrain from “those passionate exclamations, that often insinuate a degree of profanity into the mind, and with which tales and novels frequently abound.” He insinuates to the reader that any new works Julius may choose to submit will be given the utmost consideration from the editor.

Julius is credited with a few additional serialized works and literary appearances that emerged at different times in the Philadelphia Repository and Weekly Register. In a letter to the editor, on October 17 1801, Julius bemoans the behavior of two primary correspondents over the issue of Mr. Law and the Uranian Society. In the April 2 1803 publication Julius addresses the periodical’s editor David Hogan through paratext interjected before the poem “Epitaph” urging his readership to help solve an apparent chronological inconsistency in the work. In one of the earliest submissions on April 4 1801, Julius, in the short fictional work “Curious Incident,” patterns much of what he accomplishes later in Adventures in a Castle through his construction of this demonstrable moralistic tale. The final reference of Julius is the serialized work entitled The Ruins. The Ruins is a similarly moralistic tale that was serialized into six installments beginning on November 28, 1801 and finishing on the January 16, 1802.

As its name suggests, the Philadelphia Repository and Weekly Register was printed in the early nineteenth century in Philadelphia. The publication was printed in quarto form, a book or pamphlet composed of one or more sheets of paper on which eight pages are printed, which are then folded twice over to create four “leaves.” During its five-and-a-half-year existence from November 15, 1800 to April 5, 1806, the Philadelphia Repository and Weekly Register was edited by David Hogan, John W. Scott, and ultimately Thomas Irwin.

This eight-page weekly publication included an assortment of miscellaneous subjects, matters, and content that were composed in a diverse range of forms including: original essays, serialized tales, extracts from both new and older publications, biographical sketches, and some material on the theater. According to the History of Philadelphia, the Philadelphia Repository and Weekly Register was popular because it was “edited with a kind spirit of encouragement towards their experiments in writing, and offered a place for their poetry, tales, and sketches, upon terms of criticism not very strict or severe.” Interestingly, the majority of issues often included musical compositions, and during the period of time when Hogan and Scott oversaw the periodical’s publication, the final page was dedicated almost exclusively to poetry.

Each of the narrative’s serialized excerpts are contained in the periodical’s first volume in consecutive issues twenty-five through thirty-two.Adventures in a Castle was also reprinted and featured in the New-York Weekly Museum. It appeared in six installments beginning on January 2 and ending on the February 6, 1808. It is interesting to consider just how much the readability of the text is impacted by the two different serializations.

Adventures in a Castle, in its initial eight-installment-serialization were shorter, so out of necessity, the “new” breaks in the two serialized publications must necessarily be evaluated to determine impact. There is no question that the flow of the narrative is changed by the alterations of the second serialized publication, but not knowing exactly who the author is nor if they had completed the entirety of the work prior to its first serialization with a specifically intended form for publication invites a great deal of supposition that is difficult to definitively conclude. Audience, and the organization and publication of the magazine also play a key factors in evaluating the serial’s readability. Changes between serializations are not just limited to form, even the title changed with the second serial. The work was no longer entitled merely Adventures in a Castle but another optional title was inserted—The Two Brothers.

The New-York Weekly Museum was a four-page magazine intended largely for a female readership. It was characterized as a “polite repository of amusement and instruction; being an assemblage of whatever can interest the mind, or exalt the character of the American fair.” Much of the content was of a sentimental and moral nature and included fictional romances that were frequently serialized. Additionally, the magazine included other various written forms like poetry, anecdotes, a morality column, theatrical reviews, domestic and foreign news, as well as advertisements. The publication run of NYWM spanned over a decade from 1805-1817.


[1. 2 May 1801]

Adventures in a Castle.

An Original Story.

PREVIOUS to the revolution which
has convulsed Europe, and before peace
and order were banished from the bosom
of France, lived Monsieur Boileau. His
chateau was situated on the border of a
small stream which glided through a roman-
tic valley in the province of Burgundy.
He had formerly resided in the capital, and
had ever borne an unblemished character;
but having the misfortune of being bereft
of the partner of his felicity, he purchased
this small spot, to which he retired, accom-
panied by his two sons, Louis and Henry,
neither of them of an age capable of feel-
ing the severity of their loss: Louis the eld-
est being but thirteen, and his brother two
years younger. Monsieur Boileau here
employed the principle part of his time in
instructing his two children in every branch
of science, and with pleasure observed the
progress they made in their studies, and
the justice of their observations on the va-
rious authors, whose works he had sub-
mitted to their perusal. Several years had
passed away, and the two brothers had
nearly attained the age of maturity, when
the hand of death deprived them of their
father: sincere was their grief on this oc-
casion, for they had always loved him with
the fondest affection. On his death-bed
he committed them to the care of his friend
Monsieur Dupont, then an inhabitant of
Dijon, the capital of the province, who
received the weeping orphans with tender-
ness, sympathized with their sorrows, and
soothed their afflictions, by his kind atten-
tion. It may not be amiss here to observe,
that Monsieur Boileau was a descendant of
a noble house, and that if he had survived
his brother the Count de Vauban, he would
have inherited his title, therefore Louis
his eldest son, became the heir apparent
of his uncle: between the Count and his
brother a difference had long subsisted, and
which was not terminated by the death of
the latter, but the enmity was continu-
ed to his innocent nephews; though as
his brother had left a very considerable for-
tune, and his own was too small to support
his extravagance, he pretended to entertain
a great affection for them, that he might
have an opportunity of executing his vil-
lainous designs. Monsieur Dupont, whom
his friend Boileau, appointed guardian of
his children, was a gentleman who had too
great an acquaintance with the world and
its arts, to suffer himself to be deceived by
a specious appearance, he therefore min-
utely noticed the Count’s conduct, and act-
ed with caution in any thing with which
he was concerned. Shortly after the young
Boileau’s were numbered amongst the
family, Dupont removed to his country
seat: it was a large house, and it appeared
as if it had stood for centuries, by the ru-
inous condition of many parts of it. It had
been bequeathed to him by a distant rela-
tion in its present state; by admiring the
grandeur of its situation, and the beautiful
scenery which surrounded it, he had resolv-
ed to spare no expense in making it suita-
ble to receive his family, during the sum-
mer months. He had therefore repaired
the north wing of the building, and deter-
mined to refit the whole in the ensuing year.
This spot they made their retreat, and. were
frequently visited by the Count de Vauban,
who would often spend whole weeks with
But this seeming friendship for his
nephews did not lull the watchfulness of
Mr. Dupont, and frequently while tracing
the various avenues to the southern wing
of the house, he would perceive himself
carefully followed, by the scrutinizing
eye of the faithful guardian. Although he
was sensible that he was the object of the
suspicion of Monsieur Dupont, yet it did
not deter him from contriving further plans
to deprive his nephews of their estate. One
night Henry, the youngest, complained of
a slight indisposition, and retired unusually
early to bed; at breakfast hour the next
morning he had not appeared, which his
guardian attributed to his not having rested
well the preceding night, owing to his trif-
ling illness, but when the dinner-bell rung,
and he had not been seen, he became se-
riously alarmed for his safety, and instant-
ly attended by Louis, entered his chamber,
when to their astonishment, he was not
to be found. To conjecture where he was,
orby what unaccountable manner he had
disappeared, was almost impossible, but
all the supposition that could be entertain-
ed by Mr. Dupont was, that it had been
effected by foul means, and the suspicion
of the deed rested on the Count, who had
departed early on the morning. Thus did
they remain, when the idea presented it-
self to the mind of Mr. Dupont that pro-
bably some of the servants had been pre-
vailed upon by the Count to poison their
food, and that though himself and Louis
had escaped, yet Henry might have fallen
a victim to the plot, and had been removed
in the night.

[2. 9 May 1801]


THE moment he suggested the thought,
he ordered all the servants to be assembled
in the hall, but all firmly protesting, that
they were innocent, and no proofs of guilt
appearing, they were discharged. What
confirms this unanimous declaration, and
contradicted his former opinion, was the
door being locked within, and the height
of the chamber from the ground so great,
that it appeared to be impossible to ap-
proach it from without. Another circum-
stance happened soon after this unaccount-
able disappearance, which filled the breast
of Monsieur Dupont with alarm, and tend-
ed to strengthen the suspicion he had en-
tertained of the Count’s being concerned
in the transaction. Louis returning one
evening from Dijon, meditating on the
strange accident which had so deeply af-
flicted him, rode on before his attendants:
but he had not proceeded far, when he was
assaulted by six armed ruffians. He de-
fended himself with such dexterity and
resolution, that when his servants came
to his assistance they found one of the vil-
lains lifeless at his feet, the others having
fled at their approach. The wounds he
received in this encounter confined him to
the house for several weeks: and when he
was restored to health Monsieur Dupont,
sensible that the safety of the son of his
deceased friend depended on his removal
to another part of the kingdom, private-
ly departed for the chateau of Monsieur
Boileau. The family of Dupont, which
consisted of himself, his wife and daugh-
ter, willingly relinquished the pleasures of
society in favour of Louis, for his engaging
behaviour had so won their regard, that
there was no gratification which they
would not yield when put in competition
with his safety. His pleasures were here
embittered by the recollection of many
painful scenes, and his imagination paint-
ed in lively colours the happiness he had
once enjoyed on this spot, in the society
of his father and brother.

Not far distant from their present resi-
dence stood an old castle, the seat of Mon-
sieur Boileau’s ancestors, now in the pos-
session of the Count de Vauban; this place
young Louis had frequently wished to ex-
amine when a child, but the dusky ap-
pearance of the whole, had prevented the
gratification of his curiosity. Monsieur
Dupont beheld with concern the melancho-
ly that had taken possession of the mind of
his young ward, and in order to divert his
attention, proposed that they should ex-
plore together the recesses of the castle.
To this Louis readily assented, and they
set out early one morning for that purpose,
unattended. They intended entering by
the gateway, but their passage was ob-
structed by the stones which had fallen
from the battlements, and they were obli-
ged to seek another entrance, which they
soon found in a low door leading to the
foot of a staircase: this they ascended, and
found themselves in the apartments allotted
to the servants. Through these they pas-
sed into a large gallery, which still contained a
number of beautiful pictures. Louis, who
was extremely fond of painting, remained
to take a narrower view of them, while
Monsieur Dupont advanced farther in the
castle. He had not proceeded far, before
he heard the murmur of voices approaching
in an opposite direction to the portrait
gallery, where he had left Louis, and he
immediately after perceived two men ap-
parently engaged in a very interesting con-
versation, but the subject of it remained
unknown to him, as they descended a flight
of steps at some distance before him. Sur-
prised at their appearance, he hastily return-
ed to Louis, and acquainted him with what
he had seen, telling him they would come
in the afternoon with a few servants armed,
in order to penetrate the mystery, as the
castle had always been considered as un-
inhabited. To the chateau they accord-
ingly went, and when they had dined,
they loaded their pistols and set out, ac-
companied by James, Louis’s valet, and
five others on whom they could depend.
They passed into the castle by the same
way as before, and entered a narrow
winding passage, which seemed to extend
along the whole of the building: following
this they reached a spiral staircase, that
they descended, and on the first floor below
they perceived that they were at the junc-
tion of the branches of a large entry. Here
they hesitated, not knowing which to
pursue, when they heard the sound of a
distant footstep behind them. They instant-
ly secreted themselves, and immediately
perceived a man pass by without noticing
them. He was soon met by another, and
a dialogue ensued, which was not con-
ducted on so low a key but that they were
overheard. “Gerald,” said the first, who
appeared to have some authority, “the
prisoner’s fate is now determined, and he
must be dispatched as expeditiously as
possible.” “Why,” replied the other,
is this sudden resolution? I thought it was
not to have been done.”

“No matter,” answered the first, “do
you see it is done; I am in haste: when
it is finished, prepare to the grand hall.”
Upon this they separated, and walked down
different avenues. When they had got a
considerable distance, it was resolved that
Louis, his valet, and another servant, should
follow the second, while Monsieur Dupont
and the remainder should pursue the first.
Louis and his small party proceeded after
Gerald with great caution, till he entered
a small chamber: They remained within
sight of the door for nearly an hour, when
finding he did not return, they ventured
to look into the room, where they perceive-
ed he had passed through an opposite

Vexed at being thus disappointed, Louis
rushed hastily forward, and had soon ad-
vanced considerably before his companions,
when he perceived the same man striking
a light. As soon as he had succeeded, he
proceeded till he reached a stair-case,
when he began to descend. Louis, desirous
of rescuing the unknown prisoner from the
murderous designs of his enemies, contin-
ued to follow the man, whom he now saw
was armed, till at length he was assured
by the dampness of the air and the dim
glimmering of the light which Gerald car-
ried in his hand, that he was in the vaults
of the castle. JULIUS.

[3. 16 May 1801]


Undaunted by the certainty that he was
at a great distance from his companions, he
persisted in his resolute undertaking, and
grasping a brace of pistols, with cautious
steps pursued the assassin (who had by this
time ceased to descend,) thro’ the winding
avenues of the subterranean apartments,
when he suddenly fell through a trap door
into the vault below. Here he remained
a considerable time senseless from the
fall; one of the pistols, which he had held in his
hand was discharged, and the report rever-
berating from the gloomy cavities, vibrated
on the ear of the astonish’d Gerald with
such an awful sound, that he remained
almost lifeless with terror. When reason
had resumed her functions over his mind,
he removed himself as fast as his trembling
limbs would bear him, from the spot which
had inspired him with such dreadful appre-
hensions, unable to comprehend from what
cause they had arisen. While Gerald was
proceeding to execute his diabolical pur-
pose, far other sensations pervaded the
breast of Louis: providentially he had not
received any material injury, and when he
had recovered from the swoon into which
his fall had thrown him, he arose disappoint-
ed, because he now believed himself inca-
pable of preventing the accomplishment of
Gerald’s murderous designs on the un-
known victim. Picturing to himself some
unfortunate man fallen into the hands of
his enemies, and suffering under the dagger
of the nightly assassin, he paced with has-
ty steps, the cavern into which he had
been thrown, when a deep groan assail’d
his ear. His first sensation was an invol-
untary emotion of fear, but listening for
some minutes attentively, and not hearing
it repeated, he attributed it to his perturb-
ed imagination.

After some minutes had elapsed it was
repeated, and he heard it too distinctly to
suffer him to consider it as the wanderings
of his own disordered fancy. Advancing
towards the place from whence the sound
proceeded, he perceived the reflection of a
light proceeding from an iron grate, and
which upon a nearer view he found was
placed upon a small table in the adjoining
vault. Near it was a man in chains, ly-
ing on a miserable bed of straw, from whom
the groans which had alarmed him issued.
He had scarcely reached the grate when
an opposite door opened, and Gerald, the
same whom he had followed so long, enter-
ed the vault. Louis had one pistol charg-
ed, and that he determined to use in the
preservation of the helpless sufferer, and
as the assassin was preparing to execute his
infamous purpose, he exclaimed,–“Infer-
nal instrument of tyranny, go to that world
where thy black soul shall suffer torments
worthy of so foul a miscreant,” and at the
same moment Gerald received a ball in his
breast from the hand of Louis. Roused by
the noise from a broken slumber, the pri-
soner raised himself from the floor, and pre-
sented to the eye of the astonished Louis
the ghastly countenance of his brother Hen-
ry. Joy at once more beholding those be-
loved features, inspired him strength, and
grasping the bars with a nervous hand, he
wrenched the whole out of its position, and
in an instant he found himself in the arms
of his brother. When the first emotions
attendant on such an occasion had subsided,
they resolved to return by the way Gerald
had entered the dungeon. Louis there-
fore searching the pockets of the deceased
murderer, found the keys which fastened
the chains round the body of Henry, and
liberated him. Leaving the lamp upon
the table, they quitted this gloomy dungeon,
intending to direct their steps towards the
mansions of the living without any light,
rather than expose themselves to detection.
Carefully moving along the vaults, they
passed the trap door, through which Louis
had descended, and ascended the staircase;
as they were moving along the dark passa-
ges at the top, they heard the report of a
pistol at some distance, and in a few min-
utes they were joined by M. Dupont, who
placing his finger on his lips in token of si-
lence, beckoned them to follow him, and
proceeded with hasty steps in the di-
rection towards the door by which they
had entered the castle: but as they were
descending the spiral staircase, they heard
a hoarse voice at the bottom, calling to o-
thers, and bidding them “ guard all the
out-lets, and they had them safe enough.”
They, upon hearing this, measured back
their steps with rapidity, and were as quick-
ly pursued by others, whose hoarse voices
proceeding in different directions, announ-
ced their approach. The fugitives were
obliged to separate, and Louis and Henry
entered a recess, which by its gloom fa-
voured their concealment. Unfortunately,
their pursuers thought proper to search it,
and they were both discovered, conducted
to separate apartments, and put in fetters,
to prevent the possibility of their escape.
Henry, reduced in mind and body by the
Severity of his confinement, suffered himself
to be bound without murmuring, but the
ardent spirit of his brother Louis, disdain-
ed confinement, and it was with difficulty
They secured him. He demanded for
what reason he was to be kept a pri-
soner, and heaped curses upon them,
but they only sneered at his impatience,
and left him to his own thoughts. Mean-
while M. Dupont, and those who ac-
companied him, had found their way to
the subterranean apartments, and by means
of a breach made by the all-destroying
hand of time, escaped from the walls of the
castle. His first step was to go to court,
where he stated to the king every circum-
stance, and was allowed a body of soldiers
to search the castle. They did so, but in
vain, not a soul was to be found, all was un-
disturbed solitude, and he was under the
necessity of leaving his wards to their fate.
Months passed away, but the cloud of my-
stery was not dispelled, when one evening,
when the family had all retired to bed, a
violent knocking was heard at gate.
This untimely intrusion roused M. Dupont,
who dressed himself, and went below to
know the cause; he found the servants
huddled together, disputing who should
open the gate, for since the inexplicable
disappearance of Louis and Henry, a su-
perstitious fear had pervaded the bosom of
every domestic. M. Dupont ordered them
to follow him, and he opened the gate,
when in rushed a figure covered with blood
and dust–a sanguine stream issuing from
his arm, which hung lifeless at his side.
The servants uttered a cry of terror, and
clung round their master, when the stran-
ger sunk on the floor, fainting through
loss of blood. A couch was prepared for
him, and every attempt made to recall
departed animation, but in vain: the face
was cleansed of the blood which besmeared
it, and the pallid features proclaimed that
the stranger was the lost Louis. Grieved
to the soul to be obliged to lose him the
moment he was found, M. Dupont exert-
ed himself to blow into existence the latent
spark of life, and was at length successful.
The blood flowing from the wound in his
arm was staunched, and a deep groan is-
sued from his lips. The faint prospect of
recovering him, stimulated the faithful
guardian to new exertion, and he had at
length the satisfaction of perceiving his
eyes open, and a reviving cordial complete-
ly restored him to life: But a delirious
fever raged through his veins, and he ra-
ved with all the incoherence of madness:
“his brother, his murdered brother,” was
the principal object on which his wander-
ing fancy seemed to rest. Seven days he
existed under the influence of madness,
when his ravings subsided, and he sunk
into a state of insensibility. M. Dupont
was sensible that the crises of his disorder
was at hand, and conceived his inanimate
situation as only a prelude to dissolution.
“Ill fated youth, he exclaimed,” evil was
the planet that presided at thy birth, under
its influence have all thy days been tainted
with misfortune, and the dart of death is al-
ready extended to deprive thee of existence.
Small has been thy portion of happiness
here, but thy reward is yet to come.”
The worthy owner of the chateau had
sent for a surgeon from the neighbouring
village as soon as he had discovered in
the person of the wounded stranger his belov-
ed Louis. M. Burton, the surgeon who
was expected, was an English gentleman
who had studied physic and surgery under
the most eminent of the profession in Lon-
don, but owing to some disgust he had tak-
en to his native country, he retired to
France, and took up his residence at the
village in the vicinity of the chateau, where
he continued the practice of his profession,
with equal ability and success. He posses-
sed a perfect knowledge of the French lan-
guage, as he had resided in the kingdom
for many years, and could converse on any
subject with ease: his sentiments were ex-
pressed without affectation, and his con-
versation displayed superior talents and
refinement: it may therefore be supposed,
that he was a frequent visitant at the cha-
teau, where his arrival was ever greeted
with all unaffected welcome. He had
married a French lady, by whom he had
one daughter, and this endearing tie bound
him still closer to the country. Upon
Monsieur Burton’s examining Louis’s arm,
while he was insensible, he found that a
ball had been lodged there, but it was
luckily extracted without injury. At M.
Dupont’s request, this humane gentleman,
whose heart was ever alive to sensibility,
consented to remain a the chateau, till rea-
son superceded madness, or his patient
paid “the great debt of nature.” The
crisis of his disorder was fast approaching,
his breath grew short, and delusive hope
was banished from every bosom, and gave
place to despondency. Every countenance
wore the livery of sorrow, and gave the
strongest testimony of the love they bore
to him; at length he appeared to have en-
tirely ceased to suspire; all his melancho-
ly friends were seated round the bed,
waiting the moment when his soul should
depart “to him who gave it.” The silence
which had reigned for some time, was at
length interrupted by M. Burton’s saying
in a low tone, “I believe all is now over,
but there is a possibility that he yet lives,
and may be only sleeping.” Then turning
to one of the servants, he ordered him to
bring him a small mirror, which he placed
before his lips for a few minutes, and upon
examining it found it sullied, and commu-
nicated the pleasing intelligence to his
mournful auditors, that he yet breathed,
and was asleep, which he considered as a
happy omen. Several hours did the unfor-
tunate Louis remain perfectly insensible,
but at length he moved, to the revival of
the hopes of his friends, and in a few mi-
nutes opened his eyes, and stretching out
his hand to M. Dupont gently pressed his,
while a faint smile gleamed across his
countenance, on which they thought the
unremovable seal of death had been af-
fixed. From this time his health gradually
returned, and in a few weeks he was able
to leave his room, but not a word was ut-
tered by him respecting the affairs of the
castle, and whenever it was alluded to, it
seemed to turn his brain to madness. As
it seemed to affect him in such an extra-
ordinary manner, M. Dupont deferred an
explanation of past events, till he was per-
fectly restored, and time had in some mea-
sure obliterated the traces of this unknown
misfortune from his memory, or at least de-
stroyed the keenness of the injuries he had
received. JULIUS

[4. 23 May 1801]


MEANWHILE the Count de Vauban,
whose unbounded extravagance reduced
him to the verge of ruin, was obliged to
abscond from the importunity of his cre-
ditors; but when Louis and Henry were
both lost, he thought proper to come for-
ward and claim their fortunes: at the ear-
nest prayer of M. Dupont the grant of
them to the Count was deferred by the king
for one year, promising, that if in that time,
one of them did not appear, he should be
put in possession of them. As M. Dupont
still entertained suspicions of the Count, he
did not think it necessary to inform the King,
that the lawful owner of the estates was
found, till Louis was able to carry himself
the evidence of it. Therefore as soon as
he was well enough to travel, he set out,
attended by two servants, well armed for
the security of their master, and proceeded
by easy stages to Paris, to claim the inves-
titure of the states, as his age authorised the
demand. Louis the fifteenth, who then ruled
over that fertile and extensive kingdom,
without hesitation ordered him to be put
in possession of all the fortune his father
had left, which was far from being small,
though principally vested in the funds: his
landed estate only consisted of the chateau
and grounds occupied by M. Dupont.
Upon his return, night overtook him two
leagues from the chateau, but his desire of
reaching it determined him to proceed,
notwithstanding the darkness, and a wood
which he was obliged to pass through, in
which several robberies and murders had
been perpetrated. He had passed through
the greater part of it without any alarm,
when just as he approached the farther
side, a report of a pistol, followed by the
clashing of swords, roused him from a re-
verie into which he had fallen. Clapping
spurs to his horse, he hastened forward with
the servants at full speed; the moon at in-
tervals shone forth from the broken clouds,
and very opportunely yielded her light for
him to perceive a group of men, apparent-
ly of different parties, as the clashing of
swords announced an encounter. Impelled
by the natural generosity of his disposition,
he hastened to join the weaker party, who
thus reinforced soon put their adversaries
to flight. A gentleman who seemed to be
the superior of the party, was slightly
wounded, and thro’ fear of its being irri-
tated by riding far, he accepted an invita-
tion to the chateau, which he had accorded
in the politest terms. They found M. Dupont
and his family expecting Louis with anxie-
ty, and his guests they treated with the
most hospitable politeness. Before they
retired, Louis begged to know what had
occasioned the rencounter in the forest, and
whom it was he had the good fortune to
assist upon that occasion. The stranger
informed him, that he was no other than
the Duke of Alencon, who upon his way
to his seat a short distance beyond the cha-
teau, had the misfortune of breaking his
carriage, and as he did not wish to stay
till it was repaired, he proceeded on horse-
back with a few servants, and in the forest
had been attacked by some men, whom he
supposed to be banditti. He overwhelm-
ed Louis with his thanks, and the next
morning insisted upon his accompanying
him to his castle, to which he consented, as
the easy behaviour of the Duke had entire-
ly won his confidence. He remained with
him several weeks, and every day raised
them in each other’s estimation, till Louis
had resolved to open his whole soul to him.
This he deferred till his venerable guardian
should come to the castle, whither he had
been urged to present himself. The Duke
of Alencon had one son and one daughter,
to whom all his immense estates would be-
long; the daughter possessed all the graces
of the sex, but her brother the Marquis de
Lantz, disgraced his distinguished rank by
his vicious propensities. Antoniette de
Lantz (this was the Duke’s family name)
had been universally admired, and Louis
understood that a young nobleman, who
was one of her suitors, was favoured by
the Marquis, and approved by Alencon.
Notwithstanding the caution which this
information was calculated to give, young
Boileau could not exclude the passion of
love from his bosom, and the image of An-
toniette haunted him continually. At length
he was told that the lover of Mademoiselle
de Lantz, was expected at the castle the
day following, and the day after M. Dupont
had announced his intention of visiting the
Duke. Curiosity to see the man to whom
his admired Antoniette would probably be
joined in the bands of marriage, prevented
him from sleeping, and he arose early the
next morning, with his ideas occupied by
the same subject. After he had breakfast-
ed, he remained in the parlour with the
Duke, Antoniette and the Marquis, when
a carriage drove into the yard. “It is the
Count,” exclaims the Marquis, and flew out
of the room to receive him, while Louis
walked to one of the windows and saw a
light from his carriage the Count de Vauban.
Astonishment transfixed him to the spot,
and contradictory ideas passed through his
brain with such rapidity, as almost to de-
range him. To find his uncle, whom he
strongly suspected of being the source of all
his misfortunes, received into the family of
the Duke of Alencon, as the approved lo-
ver of his daughter, almost surpassed com-
prehension. He however, fortunately re-
covered his presence of mind, before the
Count entered the room, and determined
to observe his countenance with the most
watchful scrutiny. De Vauban entered,
introduced by the Marquis with smiles in
his aspect, when his attention was arrested
by the sight of his nephew, his counte-
nance displayed contending emotions, and
guilt and fear were delineated in every
feature. The company observed the ex-
traordinary confusion of the Count, and
were at a loss to account for it, or the pier-
cing attention with which Louis regarded
him: but in a short time de Vauban’s wont-
ed ease of manners returned, and he paid his
compliments to the company, apologizing
for his emotion, which he said was to be at-
tributed to his surprise, at again seeing his
runaway nephew, who he had much feared
had been lost to his friends for ever. He
then acquainted the company with their
consanguinity, but was completely at a loss
to enter into conversation with Louis, who
sat totally silent wrapt in his own reflections.
To all their enquiries respecting his absence,
of which the Count had spoken, he gave
incoherent replies, and instantly relapsed
into his abstraction of mind to what was
passing before him. The day passed with a
degree of unsociability, to which the fam-
ily of the Duke of Alencon were unaccus-
tomed, but the unusual reserve, to them so
mysterious, which clouded the manners of
their two guests, deprived them of their
wonted cheerfulness. The Duke, to whom
Louis had endeared himself in the first place,
by according him his assistance when be-
set in the forest, with so much celerity, and
which his affectionate manners had confirm-
ed, was anxious to know what occasioned the
uneasiness under which his young friend
seemed to labour, and they all separated to
retire to bed at night, seemingly pleased
that the day was expired. Louis was un-
able to sleep, from the concurrence of cir-
cumstances which a short time had produ-
ced; the confusion of the Count upon their
interview, almost confirmed his suspicions
that he was the cause of his imprisonment.
Restless and tormented with his own ideas,
he arose, dressed and seated himself at the
window;–opening the casement to give
admission to the air, he observed a man
walking on the terrace below, apparently
waiting for some one, and in a few minutes
he was joined by another. The casement
at which he sat, was too high from the ter-
race to permit him to hear the whole of
the discourse that ensued, but he found
that it was an assignation. Curiosity to
know who it was that had taken this oppor-
tunity for a private interview, prompted
him to listen, and he found it was the Mar-
quis and the Count de Vauban. He was
so much interested in every thing which
concerned his uncle, that he could not re-
frain from listening, and from what part of
their discourse reached his ear, he found it
of dreadful import. He had conceived a
dislike to the Marquis at first sight, which
had been strengthened by his manners to-
wards him, but he now found him to be
a man, in whom every species of villainy
were concentrated. The attack made up-
on the Duke of Alencon in the forest,
where Louis had been the means of his res-
cue, had been the act of the Count’s des-
perate dependants under his influence. De
Vauban’s situation with respect to pecuni-
ary affairs, was desperate, and in order to rid
himself of the importunity of his creditors,
he had afforded protection to a party of
banditti, who resided in the environs of
the Castle, which had been the scene of the
Boileaus’ imprisonment. From this place
They made depredations throughout the vi-
cinity, and a considerable dividend of their
plunder was appropriated to the use of de
Vauban. But as this was a very uncer-
tain dependence, the Count had listened
to proposals from the Marquis de Lantz,
who also felt his extravagance limited by
the prudence of the Duke, to assassinate his
father, and share with him the large estates
which would then come into his possession.
This horrid scheme, of which Louis had
been the means of disappointing, plainly
proves that de Vauban Would hesitate at
nothing, that had a tendency to promote
his views. The conversation then turned
upon Louis, and the Count de Vauban re-
lated to the Marquis the obstacle he was
to the possession of M. Boileau’s estate,
and communicated his desire of having him
removed, to his worthless companion, who
readily assented to his intentions, and they
removed to another part of the terrace to
lay the plan of their future proceedings.
The horror which pervaded the breast of
Louis was indescribable; to find that any
Human being should be so lost to every
sense of rectitude, as to not only connive
at, but to assist in an attempt, to murder his
own father, was more than he could ever have
supposed. Nothing more transpired of their
intentions that night, and the day dawned
upon Louis, while he remained fixed at the
casement so deeply wrapt in meditation,
and he was scarcely conscious of his exis-
tence. When roused from his reveries,
he was almost ready to conclude that it was
a horrid dream; but memory recalled to
his imagination the conversation he had
heard, too forcibly to suffer him to admit
the pleasing supposition. The next day
brought M. Dupont to the Castle de Alen-
con, and as soon as possible a private in-
terview was obtained·with Louis and the
Duke, when, after receiving the request of
his two friends, Louis racapitulated his ad-
ventures in the castle.

[5. 30 May 1801]


HE commenced his relation, when him-
self and Henry were separated from M.
Dupont, and entered the recess. He re-
counted the insults he received upon his
being found, and, together with his bro-
ther, being closely confined in irons. His daily
pittance was brought him by a ruffian, whose
countenance indicated villainy of the deep-
est dye; to all his requests to know by
whose authority, and for what reason he
was kept a prisoner, no answer was return-
ed, nor could all his entreaties procure him
information of the fate of Henry. All was
incertitude, and his imagination conjured
up the form of Henry, receiving his death-
wound from the hand of an assassin, who
would next plunge the weapon, perhaps
yet reeking in his brother’s gore, into his
own bosom. A few days only had elapsed,
when his keeper entered the prison, ac-
companied by two others, and he was led
out, (the two men following him with
drawn swords,) and conveyed through the
subterranean apartments, to a remote place,
where he naturally concluded his life was
to be terminated. But he was mistaken, for
he had soon the pleasure of seeing Henry
conducted into the same apartment, which
was filled with armed men, and found that
their removal was on account of a body of
troops under M. Dupont, approaching to
search the castle. They distinctly heard
them at a distance in the building, and the
hopes of the prisoners began to revive; but
after a few hours had elapsed, they had the
mortification of hearing them depart, and
all the fond visions of liberty, which fancy
had created, vanished, and gloomy despair
usurped their place.– No embrace was
permitted them, nor were they allowed
to speak to each other, and they were con-
ducted back to their cells without enjoying
any satisfaction from the interview, but
what Louis derived from seeing the youth
of his brother, bearing up against the ill ef-
fects of confinement, and his recovering his
health notwithstanding all his misfortunes.
But his own countenance could convey no
such satisfaction to his brother, for it bore
the stamp of melancholy, and when a smile
illuminated his pallid features upon the ap-
pearance of Henry, like the gleam of a
meteor in a watery atmosphere, it quickly
disappeared. The same dull routine occu-
pied the time of his imprisonment, without
any material occurrence, when one even-
ing after the guard had seen him for the
last time that night, as he was pacing with
“heavy steps and slow” the floor of his
prison, a dismal long-drawn groan, reach-
ed his ear. His chains had been taken off
some time, as his keepers supposed the door
secured with massy bars and bolts, suffice-
ent. The idea that this horrid sound might
be the last groan of his brother, roused into
exertion all his dormant faculties, which had
sunk through inactivity into nerveless indo-
lence. He examined the door, and to his
inexpressible surprise he found it had been
left unfastened through the negligence of
his keeper; taking advantage of this lucky
occurrence, he issued from his prison, and
passed hastily along the passage; a door
half open arrested his progress, and an ir-
resistable impulse urged him to inspect the
room. A lamp suspended from the ceiling,
in the same manner as in the cell where he
had been confined, afforded its glimmering
light, and presented to his view a scene
replete with horror. It was the body of
his brother Henry, laying in his gore, who
thus in the spring of life, ere he had tasted
its pleasures, had bidden them adieu for
ever. Driven to distraction by the horrific
appearance, he rushed out of the room, and
flew along the passage with such rapidity,
that he would have been mistaken for an
aerial being, the sound of whose footsteps
were not perceptible to mortal ear. Not
knowing whither it led, he pursued the
avenue till it terminated in a postern gate,
which was open, and where two centinels
were stationed. With the velocity of light-
ning he flew past them, and, unconscious
of the action, quitted the hated walls which
had been productive of so much misery to
himself and his loved Henry, leaving the
centinels stupefied with surprise and terror.
But ere Louis could proceed far from the
castle they recalled their scattered faculties,
and discharged their muskets in the direc-
tion he had taken, and with two much suc-
cess, for the contents of one of them was
lodged in his arm, and felled him to the
earth. Animated with almost supernatural
strength, he arose and resumed his progress
towards the chateau, which he just reached
when all his strength failed him, and he
sunk into a state of total insensibility, as has
been mentioned before.

When Louis had finished his relation, a
consultation was held upon the most proba-
ble means to evade any future attacks
which might be made on his person. To
relate the conversation young Boileau had
overheard the preceding night, would
give the Duke of Alencon too severe a
shock, he therefore deferred speaking of it
till he could have a private interview with
M. Dupont, and as the suspicions of the whole
party attached to the Count, it was resolved
that they should return the same day to the
chateau; the Duke intended to take the first
opportunity to dismiss the Count, and de-
stroy all his hopes of an alliance with his
daughter. Agreeable to the plan they had
adopted, M. Dupont and Louis returned
to the chateau; and the same afternoon the
Count de Vauban, in a private conference
With the Duke of Alencon, avowed his at-
tachment to Mademoiselle de Lantz, and
demanded her hand in marriage. The pro-
posal was rejected in the most civil terms,
to the great surprize, and mortification of
de Vauban, who, after a secret inter-
view with the Marquis, departed from the

Arrived at such an advanced period of
our history, let us take a review of the life
of de Vauban, as far as concerns his ne-
phews. Possessing a perfect knowledge
of his brother’s wealth, he no sooner receiv-
ed the intelligence of his death, than he
conceived the: nefarious design on remov-
ing his nephews by force, and enjoying
the uninterrupted possession of the estate.
The execution of his purpose would how-
ever be attended with difficulty, but he
was not to be discouraged, and he concert-
ed his plan with precision, determined by
perseverance to surmount every obstacle.
His dependents were numerous, and he
well knew would execute any thing he
could wish. For the purpose of securing
his nephews, he stationed a number of the
villains under his protection in the castle,
some parts of which, were in a ruinous si-
tuation, and when M. Dupont retired
with his wards to his country seat, de
Vauban, who frequently visited them, dili-
gently explored every part of the building,
and found the ruined wing communicated
by narrow passages with that in which the
family resided. Ever on the watch for an
opportunity to reduce his plans to practice,
he discovered in the apartment assigned
to Henry, a private door, which was en-
tirely unknown to any of the family. Thro’
this he gave admission in the night to some
of his ruffian attendants, who conveyed
Henry to the castle, where he was con-
Fined in a damp prison, and fettered. No
Ray of light illuminated the obscurity of
The dungeon, nor served to cheer his me-
lancholy situation, save what one glimmer-
ing taper afforded. A superstitious fear
prevented de Vauban’s immediately order-
ing the assassination of Henry, but he left
him a pray to torturing sensations, and the
pestiferous atmosphere of his prison. But
when he learned the arrival of M. Dupont’s
family in the neighbourhood, the fear of
being discovered induced him to order
Henry’s death, and insure his own safety:
but this unfortunate termination of his life,
was prevented by the timely interposition
of Louis, in the vaults of the castle, when
Gerald paid the forfeit of his crimes. Lou-
is for a considerable time eluded the vigi-
lance of his uncle, till the unfortunate ad-
venture of exploring the castle, when he
fell a victim to his temerity. The Count
carefully kept his abused nephews in un-
certainty respecting the author of their
misfortunes, lest any unavoidable accident,
which his guilty and mistrustful conscience
could not foresee or guard against, should
give them their liberty, and raise an in-
controvertible evidence of his guilt. Be-
ing disappointed in his expectations of im-
mediate possession of M. Boileau’s estate,
he obtained an introduction to the family
of Alencon, through the medium of the
Marquis, whom he had often met at the
gaming table: hoping to recruit his dis-
ordered and almost exhausted finances, by
a marriage with Antoniette. Fearful of his
anger, his dependents forbore to mention
to him the escape of Louis, and he had no
reason to suppose he had eluded his vil-
lainous intentions, till he met him at the
Duke of Alencon’s castle. The surprize
the sight of him occasioned, roused in his
bosom the dormant spark of shame, and
kindled the confusion which shone in his
countenance. When his nephew had de-
parted to the chateau, and he met with the
unexpected rejection of his proposals, on the
part of the duke, his enmity to Louis, who
he supposed had influenced the decision of
the Duke, was redoubled, and he vowed
the most sanguinary revenge. He depart-
ed sullen and mortified, for his castle, which
he had previously put in a state of defence,
as his capacious mind had prepared against
the evils of adversity, and admitted the pos-
sibility of his experiencing the frowns of for-
tune, and being obliged to recur to his
predatory system for support. Here, with
his band of ruffians, he resided, and spread
terror and devastation throughout the vi-
cinity. The Marquis being himself re-
stricted by his father, in his pecuniary af-
fairs, could afford him no assistance, and
tired with his frequent importunities, broke
the bonds of intimacy which had united
them. Had not the Marquis been of a
timid disposition, had he been endowed
with the daring courage of de Vauban, he
would have been a paricide, for he had a
heart sufficiently corrupted to harbour the
attrocious design.

[6. 6 June 1801]


THE Count de Vauban had been long
invisible at the metropolis, being so much
engaged in his plans to get Louis again in
his hands. But as soon as the intelligence
reached M. Dupont, of de Vauban’s being
at the head of the banditti which infested
the vicinity, he prepared to remove to Paris,
sensible that when in possession of power,
he would regard no law, human or divine, to
effect his infamous purposes, and glut his
sanguinary revenge on Louis. Once alone
did de Vauban find an opportunity to make
an attempt upon the person of Louis,
which was before the commencement of
their journey to Paris, when one night he
made an assault upon the chateau, hoping
to be able to force his entrance. But the
family were roused at the first attack, and
seizing all the warlike weapons which they
could find in the house, they obliged them
to retire. It was a fortunate circumstance
that the owner of the chateau, upon the
first intelligence of the existence of a band
of robbers in the neighbourhood, had pro-
cured musquets and ammunition, in order
to be prepared against any event. This
occurrence hastened their departure, and
the next day they set out for the capital,
where they had prepared a residence.
Vice seldom fails ultimately to receive its
punishment, and the marquis de Lantz was
another instance of the reward of villainy,
whether executed or 1nercly concerted.
‘Tis true the imbecility of his mind and
his cowardice, prevented the execution of
his unnatural designs against the life of his
father, but it did not diminish his atrocity
in the conception of such an idea. He had
made an excursion to Dijon, where, among
his careless unthinking companions, he had
been passing away the tardy hours, and was
returning home for want of the necessary
money to support his extravagance. He had
not recovered from the influence of
wine, when he entered the forest, which
had been the theatre of murder perpetrated
by the lawless dependents of de Vauban.
He had sunk into a slumber, and the spell
which bound him in the embraces of Mor-
pheus, was so potent, that he heard not
the whistle of the banditti, nor knew of
their approach, till his attendants were fi-
red upon by them. All who could fly, made
their escape, as no tie attached them to the
fate of de Lantz, who scarcely was roused
from his stupidity, till the robbers roughly
ordered him to deliver up his money. This
demand he was unable to comply with, as
he had spent the last livre at the gaming-
table. Wine inspired him with something
like courage, of which his natural dispose-
tion was entirely destitute, and snatching
up his pistol that lay at his side, he dis-
charged it at the person next to him. This
was the signal of his fate, the murderers
instantly dragged him from his carriage,
and buried their poignards in his bosom.
Thus was the miserable death of this
wretched being, whose heart was never
inspired with one sentiment that would
reflect honour on himself, accomplished by
the means of his colleague in the attroci-
ous attempt, to deprive his father of life.
Such was the end of a life which that one
crime indeliably stained, and which, had he
possessed the tallents of the Count de Vau-
ban, would have been productive of more
mischief to society. Soon as the murder-
ers had satiated their revenge and taken
ample vengeance for the wound he had
given their comrade, they returned to the
castle to dispose of the trifling booty they
had obtained, and convey the wounded ruf-
fian. The Count possessed sufficient sa-
gacity to know, that his petty despotism
would be of short continuance, as the out-
rages the banditti under his command, had
committed in the province, much shortly,
reach the royal ear; and the consequence
would be fatal to him, but it was too late
to think of obtaining pardon, and he flatter-
ed himself that he could make his escape at
any time, when imperious necessity should
command such a proceeding. Had the Count
de Vauban been educated in the principles
of virtue, he would probably have become
an ornament to society, but unlimited indul-
gence had suffered his good qualities to be
obscured, and by the continued practice of
engaging in bachanalian festivals and carou-
sals, his heart became at last as depraved
as we behold it. When M. Dupont arriv-
ed at Paris, he made a report to the king
of the numerous murders and robberies that
had been committed in the province of
Burgundy. The Duke of Alencon also,
who mourned his son cut of in the prime
of life by the hands of lawless ruffians, was
determined to destroy the combination of
the villains who infested this fertile part of
the kingdom, and revenge the death of his
son. His influence at court was conside-
rable, and he was permitted by the king
to lead a body of the regular troops against
the Count, to conduct him to the capital
if he made a voluntary surrender of his
person or in case of resistance, to destroy
the haunt of the banditti, and bring him
to condign punishment. In order to pre-
vent the escape of the Count, the Duke of
Alencon, accompanied by Louis Boileau,
and M. Dupont, with the troops under
his authority, marched towards the castle
with rapidity, lest the intelligence of their
approach should give the alarm, and de
Vauban escape the fate due to his attroci-
ous guilt. But all their caution did not
prevent his receiving notice of their arri-
val, and acting according to the dictates
of prudence. With every necessary pre-
caution to prevent a surprize from the ban-
ditti, the troops invested the castle, and
a messenger was dispatched to demand the
surrender of it to his Majesty’s commission,
a refusal was the answer, unless the com-
mandant of the party would pledge his hon-
our to procure them a free pardon. This
offer was not accepted, and they were or-
dered to surrender unconditionally, de-
pending on the clemency of the king, or
death was denounced as their portion, the
instant they were taken. Inflated with
visionary ideas of the strength of the for-
tifications, and confident of the plenty
which abounded from the stores of provi-
sion, which the provident Count had taken
care to lay up, they bid defiance to regal
authority, and dared them to the assault.
Several petty conflicts were maintained
with the banditti, who, though inferior in
point of numbers, counterbalanced it by
their ferocity, and several were killed on
either side. To conquer or die, was the
maxim the ruffian defenders of the castle
faithfully adhered to, and the soldiers of
the royal party were unable to obtain any
advantage. Finding they made but very
little progress towards the object of their
excursion, the leaders of the detachment
determined upon a vigorous attempt to
overcome all resistance. For this purpose
they prepared torches and fire-brands, re-
solved to set fire to the castle, and bury
its infatuated inhabitants in the ruins. Hu-
manity however induced them to make a
final offer of conditional pardon, if they
would give up the arm of justice the
Count de Vauban. The proposal was re-
jected by the banditti with disdain, for al-
though dead to every sentiment of recti-
tude and humanity, the imaginary tie of
honour bound them to the Count, and they
resolved to procure his pardon or perish
with him. JULIUS.

[7. 13 June 1801]


FINDING all attempts to induce the
banditti to except the intended pardon were
futile, they prepared to carry the plan of
burning the castle into execution. Having
made every necessary preparation, the lead-
ers of the troops assigned to each the part
they were to act, and an hour after the sun
had sunk beneath the horizon, the signal
for the attack was given, by throwing a
rocket from the General’s tent. The sol-
diers rushed forward to the onset, brandish-
ing their torches, and after a severe conflict,
gained the out-works of the castle. In a
short time the conflagration was general,
and the gleams of light proceeding from it,
and to the darkness which prevailed, ren-
dered it a scene of horror. Having accom-
plished the design of setting the castle on
fire, the troops retreated to guard all the
out-lets, that those who escaped the fury
of the raging element, should fall by the a-
venging sword. A body of the banditti, with
the Count at their head, sallied from the
castle, to endeavour to cut their way thro’
the hostile party. But the principal part of
them fell in the attempt, and among them,
the infamous De Vauban.

Louis as soon as he perceived the flames
bursting from all parts of the castle, and the
towering ramparts enveloped in spoke, ap-
proached the walls: the sally of the bandit-
ti had been made on a different side, and
had not attracted his attention from the scene
of ruin before him. While he was contem-
plating the destruction which was taking
place, his attention was arrested by the
sight of a person leaping from one rampart
to another, to escape the threatening flames
which pursued him, and in which he ap-
peared to be almost involved. At length,
by means of his surprising activity, he ap-
proached towards the place where Louis
stood, but still at such a height, that his es-
cape seemed almost impossible. He had
considerably descended since Louis first
noticed him, and now paused, apparent-
ly contemplating his height from the
ground, and dubious of his ability to reach
it in safety. But the flames approached,
he sprung from the walls, and fell almost at
the feet of Louis, who raised his arm to
terminate his life, but an impulse of huma-
nity induced him to spare it, if indeed he
had not been killed by the fall. Young Boi-
leau laid his hand on his heart, and felt it
beat. The horizon was illuminated by the
conflagration, and as he inclined himself,
to see if the spark of life was extinguished,
he observed the stranger was dressed differ-
ently from the common banditti. Strange
emotions agitated his bosom, and “hope,
the fond deceiver,” fluttered round his
heart. He approached to inspect the fig-
ure which lay prostrate before him, cover-
ed with dust, and stunned with the fall.
He gently raised him from the ground, and
as the light gleamed on his ashy counte-
nance, discovered him to be–HIS LONG
LOST BROTHER!—-Reader, conceive his
sensations, for words cannot express them;
no language could convey them to thee,
though all the eloquence of TULLY was
exhausted to effect it. His astonishment
almost surpassed conception–Had he not
beheld him prostrate on the floor of his cell,
his life’s blood streaming from his bosom?–
Had he not seen him a palled corpse, the
victim of fell revenge?–And now, did he
not see him before him? did not his arms
support him?–All that had passed ap-
peared as a fearful dream, the offspring of
a disordered fancy. He called loudly for
assistance, and had him conveyed to his
tent, where they successfully endeavoured
to restore l1im to existence, but he had re-
ceived some very severe contusions from the
fall, and his arm appeared considerably

The next day, as soon as the dawn oppo-
sed its pleasing light to the more awful ap-
pearance of the castle, which exhibited one
vast sheet of flame, our new-found invalid
was conveyed to the hospitable mansion of
Monsieur Burton, where M. Dupont and
Louis were kindly urged to take up their
residence. A few weeks crowned the as-
siduities of the amiable surgeon and his
friends with success, and they had the in-
expressible satisfaction of seeing their be-
loved Henry, whom they very naturally had
long concluded, was traversing the regions
of eternity, restored to all his former health
and vigour. Happiness they yet hoped was
in store for them, since De Vauban, the
grand and only enemy to their happiness,
had fell the victim to the justice of his of-
fended country. Carrying his resentment
no farther than to see the execution of jus-
tice on the vile disturbers of the public tran-
quility, the Duke of Alencon, with his usu-
al humanity, ordered that the bodies of the
banditti should receive decent burial, and
every rite be performed, that, according
to the forms of the Romish church, was ne-
cessary to remove all obstacles from their
road to heaven. Soon as the bodies of these
infatuated wretches were committed to the
embraces of their mother earth, the troops
commenced their march, to return to the
capital, and the Duke retired to his cas-
tle to receive from the filial assiduities of
his daughter, consolation for the untimely
death of his son. Ignorance frequently con-
duces more to our happiness than knowl-
edge, and had de Alencon known of the in-
famous design of his son, he would not
have stood in need of any consolation. Hen-
ry upon his restoration to health, complied
with the desires of his friends, and thus com-
menced the relation of his misfortunes.
“You, my kind friends, must certainly
have been greatly astonished, when you
found my chamber vacant, and per-
ceive no traces of my having left the room;
but your surprise could not have equalled
mine, when about midnight, without any
previous noise which would have announced
the entrance of any person, (especially as
the door was fastened within) I saw by the
light the lamp burning in the chimney
afforded, a man standing by my bed-side. I
demanded his business in my chamber, at
such an unseasonable hour, but he instant-
ly drew a pistol from his pocket, and order-
ed me to dress immediately, and without
noise, as the least attempt to alarm the
family should be attended with death. Re-
sistance was vain, and I according com-
plied with his demand in silence: as soon
as dressing was finished, he bade me attend
him, and removing a pannel in the parti-
tion, I discovered a secret-door, which he
opened, and we passed through. We now
entered several apartments, which the
noisome atmosphere, and decayed furniture
declared had been long deserted, and re-
signed to the all-destroying hand of time.
Here, still holding the pistol in his hand,
he obliged me to walk before him. Before
we left the building, he was joined by sev-
eral other ruffians, whose countenances
plainly denoted their villainous characters,
and that they were fit instruments to ac-
complish any design which villainy could
conceive. When we made an exit from
the mansion, we found a carriage waiting,
into which three of the ruffians entered
with myself. We proceeded with amazing
rapidity I knew not Whither, but my heart
sunk within me, at the strange pro-
ceedings, and mysterious silence of my
companions: at length the dawn broke up-
on us, as we attained the summit of a steep
hill. At any other time, and almost in any
other situation, I should have beheld the
surrounding scenery with delight, but my
mind was a pray to despondency, and the
most gloomy prospect appeared before me.
In vain did I request of my companions to
inform me Whither I was to be led, for they
preserved a uniform and uninterrupted si-
lence, except when the leader of the party
as he appeared to be, cautioned me to make
no noise, as he said it would be instant-
neously punished. I could not forbear ta-
king a retrospective view of the happy past,
and comparing it with my present forlorn
situation. Surrounded by ruffians, who it
was evident, had some villainous design
upon me, hope almost forsook me, and I
only beheld in perspective, either a life
dragged out in chains and misery, or a ter-
mination to my sufferings, by an untimely
death. In vain did I pray my companions
to give me some clue to guide me through
this labyrinth of uncertainty, they deigned
not to answer me, unless to reprehend me
for my loquacity. But why am I thus fa-
tiguing you with a detail of my sensations,
during this memorable journey, memorable
to me, as it will ever be a distinguished
æra of my life; to be brief, I arrived, after
a tiresome journey, at the castle, without
having left the carriage for a moment; as
provision had been made to avoid the ne-
cessity. Having alighted from the car-
riage, I was immediately conducted to the
dreary dungeon from whence the magna-
nimity of my beloved brother released me.
When I was secured by chains in this hor-
rible place, my guide condescended to open
his lips, and inform me, that here the re-
mainder of my days Was to be spent, that
here I was to drag out in misery; the rem-
nant of my life, which till then had been spent
in a course of uninterrupted felicity, ex-
cept when the death of my father, for a
time, cast a shade over my happiness. I then
repeated my request to know by whom,
and for what motive, I was thus severely
punished, but I could obtain no answer
from the monster, and I thought I could
perceive a horrid smile of satisfaction,
gleam across his countenance, at having
thus doomed fellow creature to be mise-
rable, as long as life remained. From that
day till the time I was delivered from the
murderous designs of my enemies, I held
no converse with any human being, my
food which was of the most ordinary kind,
was daily delivered me by one of those vil-
lains, who had escorted me to the castle.
Grief and the dampness of my dungeon,
Was bringing me rapidly to the verge of the
grave, when Louis intervened and snatched
me from the jaws of destruction. The pros-
pect of liberty was now before me, and it is,
only for the man, who has been as long con-
fined within the gloomy walls of a dungeon,
to conceive my sensations. But not long
was I permitted to indulge the flattering
hope, as we were so soon taken, and I again
became the victim of tyranny. To whom
was to be attributed all my misfortunes, I
was totally ignorant; but my condition was
comparatively enviable, to that from which
I had emerged, as my prison was dry and
comfortable. The cheering rays of the sun
penetrated my cell, and to me who had so
long been deprived of the enlivening sight,
it was indeed a pleasure. I was but a short
time oppressed with the weight of my irons,
for to what motive it was to be attributed
I know not, but I suppose they conceived
my escape impossible, and I was suffered
to enjoy the valuable privilege of traversing
my narrow cell; my constitution had be-
come inured to confinement, although the
disappointment I suffered in being depri-
ved of the blessings of liberty, when I had
supposed it within my grasp, did not by
any means tend to strengthen my patience.
You have already heard from Louis, of our
interview in the vaults of the castle, and
when I was led back to my cell, the hor-
ror of continual imprisonment, seemed to
occupy the whole of the dreary prospect.
Disappointment had soured my temper,
and I gave myself up a prey to desponden-
cy. To my repeated requests to receive
information respecting Louis, my keeper
used to seldom reply without equivocation,
and sometimes he would answer in a way
that roused my passions, dormant only for
want of something to call them into action;
one night when he entered my cell, to
see that every thing was in the situation he
chose it to be, I inquired after Louis, and his
answer was accompanied with bitter taunts
at my defenceless situation. This I sup-
pose was occasioned by some incident, that
had occurred to ruffle his temper, and he
took the opportunity to vent on me his
spleen. My temper, soured by misfortune,
was unprepared to endure this new and un-
provoked treatment, and I heaped on him
reproaches for his villainy, and bestowed
on him every term which my resentment
could suggest. Fired by this unusual retort,
and stung with my merited reproaches, he
drew a dagger from his bosom, and dart-
ed upon me, aimed it at my heart.

[8. 20 June 1801]


ALL conception from this moment failed
me, and, upon returning to life, I found
myself on a bed in a cell, similar to that in
which I had been confined. I was attend-
ed by some of the ruffians, whose motives
for their present attention I could not scan.
Whether they were actuated by humanity,
or whether remorse had stung the villain
who had attempted my assassination, I could
not tell, tho’ from what knowledge of their
dispositions I had gathered from painful ex-
perience, I rather supposed it was the re-
proaches of conscience, not yet grown cal-
lous by repeated acts of barbarity. To
whatever cause their conduct was to· be at-
tributed, whether to sensations of remorse,
or the dictates of compassion, I was soon
convinced the sentiment was short-lived, and
had expired with returning animation; for
soon as I had emerged from the state of in-
sensibility into which I had fallen, their as-
siduities gradually decreased, and my only
assistance was in the strength of my con-
stitution, which safely bore me through the
strange vicissitudes of my fate. My con-
valescence was tedious and painful; I had
lost a considerable quantity of blood, which
occasioned extraordinary debility, and my
wound was deep. I had received the
dagger of the assassin in my breast, and
surely it is to be attributed to the intervene-
tion of my guardian angel, that I escaped
the impending destruction. My debility
was so extreme, that my guards did not
think it necessary to secure the door with
more fastenings than a simple bolt, which
was in itself ample security; for my strength
and ardour were too much exhausted, to
make an attempt to regain my liberty, had
the fairest prospect been opened before me.
At length the ability of my only nurse,
“Dame Nature,” restored me by the geni-
al influence of sleep (the enjoyment of
which was a pleasure I had not for some
time been gratified with) to the blessings of
health. I had scarcely retrieved the posses-
sion of this glorious blessing, which had
been so long banished from, when the
royal troops encompassed the castle, to a-
venge my wrongs on the author of all my
misfortunes. I longed for an opportunity
to join the detachment, and assert my own
cause,–my ardour disdained to be confin-
ed within the circumscribed limits of my
prison, but my power would not second
the inspiration. The tardy hours seemed
to have almost ceased to revolve, my heart
was with my brother, but my arms, which
ought to have been extended, to hurl the
bolt of vengeance on the heads of my op-
pressors, were imprisoned within the walls
of the hateful castle. At length arrived the
night Of horror, when the polluted walls of
the castle, which screened the guilty ruffians
from the hands of justice tottered to their
foundations; when the “cloud-cap’t tow-
ers” trembled with the intensity of the
heat, and threatened ruin to all beneath
them. I had notice of the commencement
of the conflagration by the gleams of light
which illuminated the horizon, and render-
ed “darkness, visible.” A horrible death
was now before me and the innate princi-
ple, inherent in the breast of man, that
of self-preservation, induced me to exam-
ine the door of my apartment. But the faint
hope, that some one actuated by humanity,
might have left it unsecured, vanished. The
flames gradually increased, and already en-
veloped the towering ramparts, when the
bustle in the castle announced some uncom-
mon attempt to escape the devouring ele-
ment, which was making rapid strides to
involve the whole of the inhabitants in one
common destruction. Abhorring a death
so painful as was presented to me, I endea-
voured to loosen the bars with which the
window was secured, and alight on the bat-
tlements. The urgency of my situation in-
spired me with uncommon strength,–I suc-
ceeded in the attempt to escape from the
window, and reached the battlements in
safety. I was nearly at the summit of
the castle, and all below me was involved
in smoke, from which at intervals the flames
would burst forth, and aspire to the high-
est turrets. Perseverance and composure,
aided by my exertions, surmounted every
obstacle, and I at length reached the ground,
with only a trifling burn I received as I rush-
ed through the flames. Thus, my kind and
compassionate friends, you have heard the
whole of my unfortunate story in detail,
and situated as I now am, surrounded by
those who endear existence to me, I defy
all the storms of fate, and the frowns of
fortune, Hope befriends me, and whis-
pers to my heart, That happiness shall a-
gain be mine.”

Tranquillity being thus restored to
the family of Dupont and his wards, whom
he regarded with paternal love, the chateau
was re-occupied, and Louis made an ex-
cursion to the Castle de Alencon, where
he was received with an unaffected wel-
come. No obstacle recurring to oppose
his wish, to pay his addresses to the love-
ly Antoinette, he took the first opportuni-
ty of a secret interview, to offer his heart
and hand to her acceptance. Free from
affectation, Mademoiselle de Lantz avow-
ed a reciprocal attachment, and soon as
the period of mourning, which the laws of
etiquette required, for her brother’s death,
had expired, they were united in the silken
bands of marriage.

The Duke with rapture beheld the hap-
piness his beloved children enjoyed, and,
through his influence with the King, the
succession to his titles and estates, were
settled upon Louis.

The humane surgeon, of whom honour-
able mention has been made, had only one
surviving daughter, whose charms made an
impression on the susceptible heart of Hen-
ry Boileau, that was not to be effaced.
The attachment was mutual, and much to
the satisfaction of their friends, whose in-
timacy would be cemented by their union.
Large additions were made to the Chat-
eau, and in this delightful retirement, far
distant from the busy and tumultuous
scenes of life, the Duke of Alencon, Mons.
Berton, Louis (now Count de Vauban) his
brother Henry, and the venerable Mons.
Dupont, with their respective families,
passed the remainder of their lives, in the
enjoyment of a greater portion of felicity,
than is the usual lot of mankind. No tales
of woe, no descriptive scenes of carnage and
bloodshed, ever disturbed their tranquillity,
but possessing within themselves inexhaust-
ible resources of amusement, they lived
insulated from the rest of mankind. No
foe to domestic tranquility, ever passed
their threshold, no intestine uneasiness in-
habited their retirement, but as far as pos-
sible for humanity, they enjoyed perma-
nent and unalloyed happiness.
HAVING brought this story too close, it
may not be superfluous to account for the
author’s adding this to the multitude of si-
milar trifles, with which the literary world
abounds. He is confident, that attempts
of this kind, are productive of nothing but
amusement, and are frequently barren even
of this. Tales, (unless moral,) novels, and
romances are justly considered as weeds
in the garden of literature, which prevent
the growth of, and attract the attention
from, more useful productions. To drive
away the monster ennύi, to pass away those
hours of leisure, which fall to the lot of
every one, and to derive from it amusement,
were the motives by which he was actua-
ted. He does not pretend that it incul-
cates any new moral, but if he may be ex-
onerated from censure, in increasing the
number or works of this kind, if it has con-
duced to the amusement of any, he is satis-
fied. Approbation he does not court, but
to incur censure he has strove to avoid,
and he hopes that this tale will find refuge
in its insignificance from the penetrating
eye of criticism. JULIUS

[JULIUS is entitled to thanks of the editor, for the
punctuality with which he has forwarded the copy of
the Adventures in a castle–That the literary world a-
bounds with the trifles of this kind is true; and this, no
doubt, in some measure, forms a criterion by which to
judge of the taste of the age; tho’ a taste of this kind
of reading, is not, perhaps, peculiar to the present one.
The story under consideration inculcates a moral, if not
new, yet good–Avarice, stimulating to treachery and a
variety of vicious a??s, in the person of the Count de
Vauban, meets with the deserved punishment: while the
innocent objects of his horrid persecution, are extricated
from his cruel fangs, and finally brought to the enjoy-
ment of more perfect domestic felicity, than they would
otherwise probably have attained, had it not been for
those very circumstances to which his machinations gave
birth–corroborating a divine truth, that the wicked are
often snared in their own devices. The reader will
also observe, (and it does credit to the writer,) that the
the language is free from those passionate exclamations,
that often insinuate a degree of profanity into the mind,
and with which tales and novels frequently abound,
Should Julius continue his correspondence, as he has
hinted to the editor may be the case, he will always meet
with merited attention.]