D'Auvigne returned to Boston, with a full heart and purse, being careful to avoid the Tory neighborhood, in which his life had been before so alarmingly perilled. He has often related an ingenious expedient, which, a few years later, he and his travelling companions employed to frustrate the design of highway robbers who waylaid them on a journey from Boston to the city of New York. At that time numerous robberies were perpetrated upon travellers, as well in public as private conveyances. The road to New York had become notorious for the banditti who infested it, and who were likely to be tempted by the probable amount of money and goods, which, in those earlier days of inland commerce, had to be carried about the person and baggage of the merchants. The trip, then, occupied a full week even for the stage coach; and persons have been said to make their wills when about to start on a journey of such length and danger. D'Auvigne on one occasion was making the journey in company with three other gentlemen. Approaching a certain part of the route, they were informed by the stage driver that frequent robberies had been committed there, and that probably they would be attacked. The company proceeded to secrete their money as well as they could, and to devise the best method of averting the threatened assault. It was finally resolved, as they were few in number and unarmed, to make the greatest show of themselves that they could. This they were to do by thrusting their heads out of the windows, two on a side, by jostling each other, scolding the driver roundly for crowding the coach so full, and by making the greatest possible noise and confusion. At the same time the driver was to put his horses at the top of their speed. At length they entered the perilous pass selected by the robbers for ambuscade. And now the driver whips his horses into their quickest pace, while several mounted highwaymen plunge into the track to intercept the vehicle, and seize upon the passengers. As the coach dashes on in fury, the robbers are obliged to run their horses by its sides. The excited passengers, following their proposed plan, seem lost to all that occurs without, by reason of the uproar that goes on within. The bandits, deceived by the apparent strength of the party, after a short time desist from the pursuit, and leave the astonished driver, and more astonished passengers, to continue their journey in peace. Among those fami A few years previous to the first arrival of D'Auvigne in America, the siege of Boston, so called, took place. The inhabitants who sympathized in the spirit of the revolution, withdrew their effects to the country, where they remained till the town was evacuated. lies exiled temporarily from their home, and called to share the honor and the pain of sacrifice in their country's cause, was one from which, subsequently, D'Auvigne chose his wife. At the time of the siege, she was a child of tender years; but the stirring incidents of that period made a deep impression upon the susceptible mind of childhood. Scarcely any thing, however, was recollected with more distinctness by her, than the bitter grief and vexation which her family experienced, on returning to Boston, when they beheld the wanton waste and ruin which the British troops had caused in their once neat and comfortable home. The arts of malicious devastation seem to have been exhausted by their enemy. The doors of the house were torn from their hinges, and split up for firewood. The nicely scoured and sanded floor, an object of as much boast and pride then, as our tasty carpets are now, had been used to chop wood on, and was hacked and gashed in a pitiable manner. the famous Dutch tiles, set in around the fireplace, from which so much amusement and instruction were wont to be derived, were broken and removed. Such needless and aggravating outrages were common to all parts of the house, and were, in fact, common to churches and other public buildings, as well as private residences. And It was several years after the events above recorded, that D'Auvigne became acquainted and finally united with the woman to whom reference has just been made. He had, indeed, married once before, and found a happy union with one who seemed admirably adapted to his taste and pursuits. She died, leaving him the care of several children. Previous to his last marriage, an important change occurred in his religious character he became a decided Christian. By birth and early training, he was a Roman Catholic. But even in his native land, without Protestant influence, his mind had perceived the absurdity of the confessional, priestly absolution, and Catholic forms of worship. He saw that it was folly to go to man for the forgiveness of sins; and he had abstained, a long while, from the sacraments of the church. For years after coming to America, he was so eager in worldly pursuits as to neglect the higher interests of the soul; and he paid only occasional respect to religion, by attendance on Divine worship in the Protestant Episcopal Church. A friendly invitation was, however, given him and accepted, to listen to a form of sound doctrine, proclaimed with spiritual fervor by a faithful, able and successful preacher, belonging to a Christian sect which was, at that time, the object of general ridicule and contempt. God sent the Word to his heart. He perceived his personal guilt and danger, and sought from God, anxiously and earnestly, pardon and peace. He became "a new creature," and ever after devoted himself to the promotion of the cause of Christ. Not long subsequently to his conversion, he married his last wife, who was a member of the same despised sect. Their house became a house of prayer, a welcome home for the ambassadors of Christ, and the scene of many a spiritual rejoicing over penitent and converted souls. Having served his generation to a good old age, he closed in peace his eventful life, and left a name which, so far as known, has been a name of blessing to his adopted country. TRUST IN GOD. BY REV. WM. RICE. Whoso putteth his trust in the Lord shall be safe. - PROV. xxix. 25. WHEN thy sky of life is bright, And around thee joys are springing, When misfortunes gather fast, When the solemn "dust to dust" O'er some cherished friend is spoken, And affection's lingering trust Is at last for ever broken; |