of his face, such as it was at that moment. When the surgeon pronounced that my wounds were not mortal, tears flowed from Edward's eyes. He pressed me to his bosom :-" I have escaped a double death," said he to me. From that day, he never left me. I lingered a long time, but his attentions were unremitted, and anticipated all my wishes. He often read to me: though sad himself, he sought to exhilarate my spirits, and the sallies of his acute and intelligent mind inspired me with a gaiety he was himself incapable of partaking. There was an indescribable tenderness and delicacy in his attentions; they seemed to spring from the generous devotion said to characterize the affections of women, and which tranfers to others the interest that can be a source only of misery when concentrated within ourselves.

Edward, however, still observed, respecting his own history, the silence that had so long afflicted me; but every day gave me new motives to restrain my curiosity, as I became much more afraid to wound him, than desirous to gratify my own feelings. I was sufficiently acquainted with the amiableness

of his character; never had a nobler heart, a more elevated mind, come within the sphere of my observation. The elegance of his manners, and of his language, evinced that he had lived in the best company. Good taste forms between those who are possessed of it a sort of bond, which it is impossible to define. It was a subject of astonishment to me that I had never before met Edward, as he seemed to belong to the society where I had passed my life. I told him so one day, and this simple remark drew from him what I had so long solicited in vain. "I ought no longer to refuse you any thing," said he to me; "but do not require me to speak to you of my misfortunes. I will endeavour to write my history, and to make you acquainted with him whose life you have preserved with the risk of your own."-I soon repented of having accepted this proof of Edward's gratitude. In a few days he again relapsed into the deep melancholy which he had, during a short time, endeavoured to shake off. I wished to persuade him to relinquish the task he had imposed upon himself."No," said he, "it is a

duty, and I will fulfil it." A few days afterwards he entered my room, holding in his hand a manuscript of rather close writing."I have accomplished my promise," said he; "you will no longer complain that our friendship is of such short date; read this manuscript, but do not speak to me of its contents; do not even seek to see me again to-day; I wish to remain alone. We believe the remembrance of our misfortunes to be ever present to our minds; yet, when we dwell upon it, we find our grief aggravated by the recollection of a train of incidents, which had insensibly escaped from our memories." Saying these words, he left me, and I read the following pages.

I AM the son of a celebrated barrister, of Paris; my family is of Lyons, and has, during many generations, held the useful employments reserved for the most distinguished citizens of that place. One of my ancestors died the victim of the exertions he made in the service of his fellow townsmen, during

the time that the epidemic malady raged, which depopulated Lyons in 1748. His revered name became, in his part of the country, synonymous with the terms, courage, and honour. My father was, in his youth, destined to the bar; he acquired, in his profession, so distinguished a reputation, that it became customary not to decide any question of importance without consulting his opinion. At a late period of life he married a lady to whom he had been long attached. I was their only child. My father determined upon bringing me up himself; and, when I was ten years old, retired with my mother to Lyons, and devoted himself entirely to the care of my education. My father was, in some respects, satisfied with my disposition and talents; but there were points in my character which gave him great uneasiness. Although I acquired knowledge with great facility, I turned what I knew to little account. Reserved, silent, and distrustful, all that I learned was amassed without order in my mind, and served only to inflame my imagination, and produce continual musing. I was fond of solitude, and de

lighted to see the sun set; I could have remained for whole days seated on the sandy point which terminates the peninsula on which Lyons is built, lost in reverie, as I watched the meeting of the waters of the Rhone and the Saone. When I was summoned to return home, I applied to my studies without evincing, or feeling, any repugnance; yet I might have been said to exist in two worlds, so entirely different was the habitual train of my thoughts from the nature of my occupations. My father sometimes endeavoured to draw me into conversation; but I spoke to him only of what I had learned, without venturing to confide to him my own reflections. My mother attempted to win my confidence by her tenderness; I returned her caresses; but even whilst I was receiving from her marks of her affection, I felt, a void at the bottom of my heart.

My father had iron works, and a house situated among the mountains between Boën and Saint-Etienne. Every year we passed two months of the holidays there. This muchwished-for and happy period always passed

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