inlet to error and superstition. Follow me to the edge of this cliff." He seemed to follow.

"Now look down," said the stranger, "and tell me what thou seest." "I see," replied the Solitary, "a hawk darting amidst a flock of smal! birds, one of which he has caught, while the others escape.' "And canst thou think," rejoined the stranger, "that the single bird made a prey of by the hawk, lies under any particular doom of Providence, or that those which fly away are more the objects of divine favour than it? Hawks by nature were made to feed upon living prey, and were endowed with strength and swiftness to enable them to overtake and master it. Thus life is sacrificed to the support of life. But to this destruction limits are set. The small birds are much more numerous and prolific than the birds of prey; and though they cannot resist his force, they have dex- . terity and nimbleness of flight sufficient to elude his pursuit. It is in this balance that the wisdom of Providence is seen; and what can be a greater proof of it, than that both species, the destroyer and his prey, have subsisted together from their first creation. Now look again, and tell me what thou seest."

"I see," said the Solitary," a thick black cloud gathering in the sky. I hear the thunder rolling from side to side of the vault of heaven.. I behold the red lightning darting from the bosom of darkness. Now it has fallen on a stately tree and shattered it to pieces, striking to the ground an ox sheltered at its foot. Now it falls again in the midst of a flock of timorous sheep, and several of them are left on the plain ;-and, see! the shepherd himself lies extended by their side. Now it strikes a lofty spire, and, at the same time, sets in a blaze an humble cottage beneath. It is an awful and terrible sight!"

"It is so," returned the stranger; "but what dost thou conclude from it? Dost thou not know, that from the genial heat, which gives life to plants and animals, and ripens the fruits of the earth, proceeds this electrical fire, which ascending to the clouds, and charging them be yond what they are able to contain, is launched again in burning bolts to the earth? Must it leave its direct course to strike the tree rather than. the dome of worship, or to spend its fury on the herd rather than the herdsman? Millions of millions of living creatures have owed their birth to this active element; and shall we think it strange if a few meet their deaths from it? Thus, the mountain torrent, that rushes down to fertilize the plain, in its course may sweep away the works of human industry, and man himself with them; but could its benefits be purchased at anether price?"

66

All this," said the Solitary, "I tolerably comprehend; but may I presume to ask whence have proceeded the moral evils of the painful scenes of yesterday? What good end is answered by making man the scourge of man, and preserving the guilty at the cost of the innocent?" That, too," replied the venerable stranger," is a consequence of the same wise laws of Providence. If it was right to make man a mere creature of habit, and render those things easy to him with which he is most familiar, the sailor must of course be better able to shift for himself in a shipwreck than the passenger; while that self-love which is essential to the preservation of life, must, in general, cause him to con-, sult his own safety preferably to that of others. The same force of habit, in a way of life full of peril and hardship, must conduce to form a rough, bold, and unfeeling character. This, under the direction of prin

ciple, will make a brave man ; without it, a robber and a murderer. In the latter case, human laws step in to remove the evil which they cannot prevent Wickedness meets with the fate which sooner or later always awaits it; and innocence, though occasionally a sufferer, is proved in the end-to be the surest path to happiness."

But," returned the Solitary, "can it be said that the lot of innocence is always preferable to that of guilt in this world ?"

"If it cannot," replied the other," thinkest thou that the Almiglity is unable to make retribution in a future world? Dismiss then from thy mind the care of single events, secure that the great whole is ordered for the best. Expect not a particular interposition of Heaven, because such an interposition would seem to thee seasonable. Thou perhaps wouldest stop the vast machiue of the universe, to save a fly from being crushed under its wheels. But innumerable flies and men are crushed every day, yet the grand motion goes on, and will go on, to fulfil the benevolent intentions of its author."

He ceased, and sleep on a sudden left the eyelids of the Solitary. He looked abroad from his cell, and beheld all nature smiling around him. The rising sun shone on a clear skv. Birds were sporting in the air, and fish glancing on the surface of the waters. Fleets were pursuing their steady course, gently wafted by the pleasant breeze. Light fleecy clouds were sailing over the blue expanse of heaven. His soul sympathised with the scene, and peace and joy filled his bosom,

FATHER NICHOLAS.

I Benedictines, where particular circumstances had inda convent of

T was at a small town in Britany, in which there was a convent of

take up my residence for a few weeks. They had some pictures which strangers used to visit. I went with a party whose purpose was to look at them: mine, in such places, is rather to look at men. If in the world we behold the shifting scene which prompts observation, we see in such secluded societies a sort of still life, which nourishes thought, and gives subject for meditation. I confess, however, I have often been disappointed; I have seen a group of faces under their cowls, on which speculation could build nothing; mere common-place countenances, which might have equally belonged to a corporation of bakers or butchers. Most of those in the convent I now visited were of that kind: one, however, was of a very superior order; that of a monk, who kneeled at a distance from the altar, near a Gothic window, through the painted panes of which a gleamy light touched his forehead, and threw a dark Rembrandt shade on the hollow of a large, black, melancholy eye. It was impossible not to take notice of him. He looked up, involuntary, no doubt, to a picture of our Saviour bearing his cross. The similarity of the attitude, and the quiet resignation

P 2

of the two countenances, formed a resemblance that could not but

strike every one. It is Father Nicholas,' whispered our conductor, who is of all the brotherhood the most rigid to himself, and the kindest to other men. To the distressed, to the sick, and to the dying, he is always ready to administer assistance and consolation. Nobody ever told him a misfortune in which he did not take an interest, or request good offices which he refused to grant ; yet the austerity and mortifications of his own life are beyond the strictest rules of his order; and it is only from what he does for other's, that one supposes him to feel any touch of humanity. The subject seemed to make our informer eloquent. I was young, curious, enthusiastic; it sunk into my heart, and I could not rest till I was made acquainted with Father Nicholas. Whether from the power of the introduction I procured, from his own benevolence, or from my deportment, the good man looked upon me with the complacency of a parent. It is not usual,' said he, ‘my son, for people at your age to solicit acquaintance like mine. To you the world is in it's prime why should you anticipate it's decay? Gaiety and cheerfulness spring up around you; why should you seek out the abodes of melancholy and of woe? Yet, tho' dead to the pleasures, I am not insensible to the charities of life. I feel your kindness, and wish for an opportunity to requite it.'...He perceived my turn for letters, and shewed me some curious manuscripts and some scarce books, which belonged to their convent: these were not the communications I sought; accident gave me an opportunity of obtaining the knowledge I valued more, the knowledge of Father Nicholas, the story of his sorrows, the cause of his austerities. One evening, when I entered his cell, after knocking at the door without being heard, I perceived him kneeling before a crucifix, to which was affixed a small picture, which I took to be that of the blessed virgin. I stood behind him, uncertain whether I should wait the close of his devotional exercise, or retire unperceived as I came. His face was covered with his hand; and I heard his stifled groans. A mixture of compassion and of curiosity fixed me to my place. He took his hands from his eyes with a quickened movement, as if a pang had forced them thence. He laid hold of the picture, which he kissed twice, pressed it to his bosom ; and then, gazing on it earnestly, burst into tears. After a few moments, he clasped his hands together, threw a look up to Heaven, and muttering some words which I could not hear, drew a deep sigh, which seemed to close the account of his sorrows for the time, and rising from his knees, discovered me. I was ashamed of my situation, and stammered out some apology for my unintentional interruption of his devotions.... Alas!' said he, be not deceived; these are not the tears of devotion; not the meltings of piety, but the wringings of remorse. Perhaps, young man, it may stead thee to be told the story of my sufferings and of my sins: ingenuous as thy nature seems, it may be ex posed to temptations like mine; it may be the victim of laudable feelings perverted, of virtue betrayed, of false honour, and mistaken My name is St. Hubert; my family ancient and respectable, tho' it's domains, from various untoward events, had been contracted much within their former extent. I lost my father before I knew the misfortune of losing him; and the indulgence of my mother, who continued a widow, made up in the estimation of a young man for any want of that protection or of guidance which another parent might

shame.

have afforded. After having passed with applause through the ordinary studies which the capital of our province allowed an opportunity of acquiring, my mother sent me to Paris, along with the son of a neighbouring family; who tho' of less honourable descent, was much richer than our's. Young Delaserre (which was my companion's name) was intended for the army; me, from particular circumstances which promised success in that line, my mother and her friends had destined for the long robe, aud had agreed for the purchase of a charge for me when I should be qualified for it. Delaserre had a sovereign contempt for any profession but that of arms, and took every opportunity of inspiring me with the same sentiments. In the capital I had this prejudice every day more and more confirmed. The fierté of every man who had served, and the insolent superiority he claimed over his fellow-citizens, dazzled my ambition, and awed my bashfulness. From nature I had that extreme sensibility of shame, which could not stand against the ridicule even of much inferior men. Ignorance would often confound me in matters of which I was perfectly well informed, by superior effrontery and the best established principles of my mind would sometimes yield to the impudence of assuming sophistry, or of unblushing vice. To the profession which my relations had marked out for me, attention, diligence, and sober manners, were naturally attached; having once set down that profession as humiliating, I concluded its attendant qualities to be equally dishonourable. I was ashamed of virtues to which I was naturally inclined; a bully in vices which I hated and despised. Delaserre enjoyed my apostacy from innocence as a victory he had gained. At school he was much my inferior; and I attained every mark of distinction to which he had aspired in vain. In Paris he triumphed in his turn; his superior wealth enabled him to command the appearance of superior dignity and show the cockade in his hat inspired a confidence which my situation did not allow; and, bold as he was in dissipation and debauchery, he led me as an inferior whom he had taught the heart of living, whom he had first trained to independence and to manhood. My mother's illjudged kindness supplied me with the means of those pleasures which my companions induced me to share, if pleasures they might be called, which I often partook with uneasiness, and reflected on with remorse. Sometimes, tho' but too seldom, I was as much a hypocrite on the other side; I was self-denied, beneficent, and virtuous by stealth; while the time and money which I had so employed, I boasted to my companions of having spent in debauchery, in riot, and in vice. The habits of life, however, into which I had been led, began by degrees to blunt my natural feelings of rectitude, and to take from vice the restraints of conscience. But the dangerous connection I had formed, was broken off by the accident of Delaserre's receiving orders to join his regiment, then quartered at Dunkirk. At his desire, I gave him the convoy as far as to a relation's house in Picardy, where he was to spend a day or two in his way. I will introduce you,' said he, in a tone of pleasantry, because you will be a favourite; my cousin Santonges is as sober and precise as you were when I first found you. The good man whom he thus characterized, possessed indeed all those virtues of which the ridicule of Delaserre had sometimes made me ashamed, but which had never made me entirely cease to revere. In his family I regained the station which, in our dissipated society in

;

Paris; I had lost. His example encouraged and his precepts fortified my natural disposition to goodness; but his daughter, Emilia de Santonges, was a more interesting assistant to it. After my experience of the few of her sex with whom we were acquainted in town, the native beauty, the unaffected manners of Emilia were infinitely attractive. Delaserre, however, found them insipid and tiresome. He left his kinsman's the third morning after his arrival, promising, as soon as his regiment should be reviewed, to meet me in Paris. Except in Paris,' said he, we exist merely, but do not live.' I found it very different. I lived but in the presence of Emilia de Santonges. But why should I recal those days of purest felicity, or think of what my Emilia was ? for not long after she was mine. In the winter they came to Paris, on account of her father's health, which was then rapidly on the decline. I attended him with that assiduity which was due to his friendship, which the company of Emilia made more an indulgence than a duty. Our cares, and the skill of his physicians, were fruitless. He died, and left his daughter to my friendship. It was then that I first dared to hope lor her, love; that over the grave of her father I mingled-my tears with Emilia's and tremblingly ventured to ask, if she thought me worthy of comforting her sorrows? Emilia was too innocent for disguise, too honest for affectation. She gave her hand to my virtues (for I then was virtuous), to reward at the same time, and to confirm them. We retired to Santonges, where we enjoyed as much felicity as perhaps the lot of humanity will allow. My Emilia's merit was equal to her happiness; and I may say, without vanity, since it is now my shame, that the since wretched St. Hubert was then thought to deserve the blessings he enjoyed. In this state of peaceful felicity we had lived something more than a year, when my Emilia found herself pregnant. On that occasion, my anxiety was such as a husband, who doats on his wife, may be supposed to feel. In consequence of that anxiety, I proposed our removing for some weeks to Paris, where she might have abler assistance than our province could afford in those moments of danger which she soon expected. To this she objected with earnestness, from a variety of motives; but most of my neighbours applauded my resolution; and one, who was the nephew of a farmer-general, and who had purchased the estate on which his father had been a tenant, told me, the danger from the country accoucheurs was such, that nobody who could afford to go to Paris would think of trusting them. I was a little tender on the reproach of poverty, and absolutely determined for the journey. To induce my wife's consent, I had another pretext, being left executor to a friend who had died in Paris, and had effects remaining there. Emilia at last consented; and we removed to town accordingly. For some time I scarcely ever left our hotel it was the same at which my Emilia and her father had lodged when he came to Paris to die, and leave her to my love. The recollection of those scenes, tender and interesting as they were, spread a sort of melancholy indulgence over our mutual society, by which the company of any third person could scarcely be brooked. My wife had some of those sad presages which women of her sensibility often feel in the condition she was then in. All my attention and solicitude were excited to combat her fears. I shall not live,' she would say, to re-visit Santonges: but my Henry will think of me there in those woods in which we have so often walked, by that