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love are not exempt from the like casualities: and the lo. ver is at least a gainer in regard to those pleasures which constitute no small part of the happiness of life.

15. Besides, even love itself will greatly diminish the sense of their misfortunes. For love has the peculiar property of alleviating the sufferings of two fond hearts, and of rendering their pleasures more exquisite. By this communication of distress, they seem to divide its weight; and on the contrary, by participation, their satisfaction is doubled.

16. As a squadron of horse is with greater difficulty broken through by the enemy, in proportion to its closeness: so the happy pair resist the attacks of adversity with so much the more strength and success, as they are more closely united..



ORE than forty years ago, an English philosopher whose works have since been read and admired by all Europe, resided at a little town in France. Some dis appointments in his native country had first driven him abroad, and he was afterwards induced to remain there, from having found in his retreat, where the connections even of nation and language were avoided, a perfect seclusion and retirement, highly favourable to the developement of abstract subjects, in which he excelled all the writers of his time.

2. Perhaps in the 'structure of such a mind, the finer and more delicate sensibilities are seldom known to have place; or, if originally implanted there, are in a great measure extinguished by the exertions of intense study and profound investigation.

3. Hence the idea that philosophy and unfeelingness are mited, has become proverbial, and in common language, the former word is often used to express the latter. Our philosopher has been censured by some, as deficient in warmth and feeling; but the mildness of his manners has been allowed by all, and it is certain that if he was not easily melted into compassion, it was at least, not difficult to awake his benevolence,

4. One morning, while he sat busied in those speculations which afterwards astonished the world, an old female domestic, who served him for a house-keeper, brought him word that an elderly gentleman and his daughter had arrived in the village, the preceding evening, on their way to some

distant country; and that the father had been suddenly seized in the night with a dangerous disorder, which the people of the inn where they lodged feared would prove mortal.

5. That she had been sent for as having some knowledge of medicine, the village surgeon being then absent; and that it was truly piteous to see the good old man, who seemed not so much affected by his own distress, as by that which it caused to his daughter.

6. Her master laid aside the volume in his hand, and broke off the chain of ideas it had inspired. His night-gown was exchanged for a coat, and he followed his governante to the sick man's apartment. It was the best in the little inn where they lay, but a paltry one notwithstanding. Our philosopher was obliged to stoop as he entered it. It was floored with earth, and above were the joists not plaistered, and hung with cobwebs.

7. On a flock-bed at one end lay the old man whom he came to visit; at the foot of it sat his daughter. She was dressed in a clean white bed-gown; her dark locks hung Loosely over it as she bent forward, watching the languid looks of her father. The philosopher and his house-keeper had stood some moments in the room, without the young lady's being sensible of their entering it.

8. Mademoiselle! said the old woman at last, in a soft tone. She turned and showed one of the finest faces in the world. It was touched, not spoiled with sorrow; and when she perceived a stranger, whom the old woman now introduced to her, a blush at first, and then the gentle ceremonial of native politeness, which the affliction of the time tempered, but did not extinguish, crossed it for a moment, and changed its expression. It was sweetness all, however, and our philosopher felt it strongly.

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9. It was not a time for words; he offered his service in a few sincere ones. "Monsieur lies miserably ill here," said the governante; "if he could possibly be removed any where.' "If he could be moved to our house," said her He had a spare bed for a friend, and there was a great room unoccupied, next to the governante's. It was contrived accordingly.


10. The scruples of the stranger, who could look scruples, though he could not speak them, were overcome, and the bashful reluctance of his daughter gave way to her belief of its

use to her father. The sick man was wrapped in blankets and carried across the street to the English gentleman's. The old woman helped the daughter to nurse him there. The surgeon who arrived soon after, prescribed a little, and nature did much for him; in a week he was able to thank his benefactor. 11. By that time his host had learned the name and character of his guest. He was a protestant, and a clergyman of Switzerland, called La Roche,-a widower, who had lately buried his wife, after a long and lingering illness, for which travelling had been prescribed; and was now returning home after an ineffectual journey, with his only child, the daughter we have mentioned.

12. He was a devout man, as became his profession-He possessed devotion in all its warmth; but with none of its asperities; I mean that asperity which men, who are called devout, sometimes indulge. The philosopher, though he felt no devotion, never quarrelled with it in others. His governante joined the old man and his daughter in the prayers and thanksgivings which they put up on his recovery; for she too was a heretic, in the phrase of the village.

13. The philosopher walked out with his long staff and his dog, and left them to their prayers and thanksgivings. "My master," said the old woman, "alas! he is not a christian, but he is the best of unbelievers."-Not a christian !" exclaimed Mademoiselle La Roche, "yet he saved my father! Heaven bless him for it; I would he were a christian."

14. "There is. pride in human knowledge, my child," said her father, "which often blinds men to the sublime truths of revelation; hence there are opposers to christianity among men of virtuous lives, as well as among those of dissipated and licentious characters. Nay, sometimes I have known the latter more easily converted to the true faith than the former; because the fume of passion is more easily dissipated than the mist of false theory and delusive speculation." "But this philosopher," said his daughter, 66 alas! my father, he shall be a christion before he dies."

15. She was interrupted by the arrival of their landlordHe took her hand with an air of kindness-she drew it away from him in silence; threw down her eyes to the ground, and left the room. "I have been thanking God," said the good La Roche, "for my recovery." "That is right," replied his landlord. "I should not wish," continued the old man,

hesitatingly, "to think otherwise; did I not look up with gratitude to that Being, I should barely be satisfied with my recovery, as a continuation of life, which, it may be, is not a real good."

16. "Alas! I may live to wish I had died; that you had left me to die, sir, instead of kindly relieving me (clasping the philosopher's hand;) but when I look on this renovated being as a gift of the Almighty, I feel a far different sentiment. My heart dilates with gratitude and love to him. It is prepared for doing his will, not as a duty, but as a pleasure: and regards every breach of it, not with disapprobation, but with horror."

17. You say right my dear sir,” replied the philosopher, "but you are not yet re-established enough to talk much; you must take care of your health, and neither study nor preach for some time.. I have been thinking over a scheme that struck me to-day, when you mentioned your intended departure. I was never in Switzerland; I have a great mind to accompany your daughter and you into that country. I will help to take care of you by the road, for as I was your first physician I hold myselfresponsible for your cure."

18. La Roche's eyes glistened at the proposal; his daughter was called and told of it. "She was equally pleased with her father; for they really loved their landlord; nor perhaps less for his infidelity; at least that circumstance mixed a sort of pity with their regard for him. Their souls were not of a mould for harsher feelings-hatred never dwelt with them.

19. They travelled by short stages; for the philosopher was as good as his word, in taking care that the old man should not be fatigued. The parties had time to be well acquainted with one another, and their friendship was increased by acquaintance. La Roche found a degree of simplicity and gentleness in his companion, which is not always annexed to the character of a learned or wise man.

20. His daughter, who was prepared to be afraid of him, was equally undeceived. She found in him nothing of that self importance which superior parts, or great cultivation of them is apt to confer. He talked of every thing but philosophy and religion; he seemed to enjoy every pleasure and amusement of ordinary life, and to be interested in the most common topic of discourse. When his knowledge or learn

ing at any time appeared, it was delivered with the utmost plainness, and without the least show of dogmatism.

21. On his part he was charmed with the society of the good clergyman and his lovely daughter. He found in them the guileless manners of the earliest times, with the culture and accomplishments of the most refined ones. Every better feeling, warm and vivid; every ungentle one, repres-. sed or overcome. He was not addicted to love; but he felt himself happy in being the friend of Mademoiselle La Roche; and sometimes envied her father the possession of such a child.

22. After a journey of eleven days they arrived at the dwelling of La Roche. It was situated in one of those valleys in the Canton of Bern,where nature seems to repose in quiet, and has enclosed her retreat with mountains inaccessible.

23. A stream that spent its fury in the hills above, ran in front of the house, and a broken water fall was seen through the woods that covered its sides. Below, it circled round a turfed plain, and formed a little lake in front of a village, at the end of which appeared the spire of La Roche's church, rising above a clump of beeches.


24. The philosopher enjoyed the beauty of the scene; but to his companions it recalled the memory of a wife and a parent they had lost. The old man's sorrow was silent; his daughter sobbed and wept. Her father took her hand, kissed it twice, pressed it to his bosom, threw up his eyes to heaven; and having wiped off a tear that was just about to drop from each, began to point out to his guest some of the most striking objects which the prospect afforded. The philosopher interpreted all this; and he could but slightly censure the creed from which it arose.

25. They had not been long arrived, when a number of La Roche's parishioners, who had heard of his return, came to the house to see and welcome him. The honest folks were aukward but sincere, in their professions of friendship. They made some attempts at condolence; it was too delicate for their handling; but La Roche took it in good part." It has pleased God," said he; and they saw he had settled the matter with himself. Philosophy could not have done so much with a thousand words.

26. It was now evening, and the good peasants were about to depart, when a clock was heard to strike seven, and the


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