66 as I understand the landlord is an Englishman ; "but at the King's Arms, I met with the only real "good buttered toast that I have seen in Scotland."

But however various were the remarks of the family on the particulars of their journey in detail, I found they had perfectly settled their respective opinions of travelling in general. The ladies had formed their conclusion, that it was monstrous pleasant, and the gentleman his, that it was monstrous dear, I

19

No. XLII. SATURDAY, JUNE 12.

WHEN I first undertook this publication, it was suggested by some of my friends, and, indeed, accorded entirely with my own ideas, that there should be nothing of religion in it. There is a sacredness in the subject that might seem profaned by its introduction into a work, which, to be extensively read, must sometimes be ludicrous, and often ironical. This consideration will apply, in the strongest manner, to any thing mystic or controversial; but it may perhaps, admit of an exception, when religion is only introduced as a feeling, not a system, as appealing to the sentiments of the heart, not to the disquisitions of the head. The following story holds it up in that light, and is therefore, I think, admissible into the Mirror. It was sent to my editor as a translation from the French. Of this my readers will judge. Perhaps they might be apt to suspect, without any suggestion from me, that it is an original, not a translation. Indeed, I cannot help thinking, that it contains in it much of that picturesque description, and that power of awakening the tender feelings,

which so remarkably distinguish the composition of a gentleman whose writings I have often read with pleasure. But, be that as it may, as I felt myself interested in the narrative, and believed that it would affect my readers in the like manner, I have ventured to give it entire as I received it, though it will take up the room of three successive papers.

S

SIR,

To the Author of the Mirror.

MORE than forty years ago, an English philoscpher, whose works have since been read and admired by all Europe, resided at a little town in France. Some disappointments 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.

Perhaps, in the structure of such a mind as Mr.

-'s, 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. Hence the idea of philosophy and unfeelingness being united, 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 awaken his benevolence.

One morning, while he sat busied in those speculations, which afterwards astonished the world, an old female domestic, who served him for a housekeeper, 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 that she had been sent for, as having some knowledge in medicine, the village-surgeon being then absent; and that it was truly piteous to see the good old man, who seemed not so much afflicted by his own distress as by that which it caused to his daughter. 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 gouvernante to the sick man's apartment.

was

'Twas the best in the little inn where they lay, but a paltry one notwithstanding. Mr. obliged to stoop as he entered it. It was floored with earth, and above were the joists not plastered, and hung with cobwebs.-On a flock bed, at one end, lay the old man he came to visit; at the foot of it sat his daughter. She was dressed in a clean white bedgown; her dark locks hung loosely over it as she bent forward, watching the languid looks of her father. Mr. →→→→ and his housekeeper had stood some moments in the room without the young lady's being sensible of their entering it. Mademoi

selle!" said the old woman at last in a soft tone.

She turned and shewed 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, à blush at first, and then the gentle ceremonial of native politeness, which the affliction of the time tempered, but did not ex

tinguish, crossed it for a moment, and changed its expression. 'Twas sweetness all, however, and our philosopher felt it strongly. It was not a time for words; he offered his services in a few sincere ones. "Monsieur lies miserably ill here," said the gouvernante; "if he could possibly be moved any where." "If he could be moved to our house," said her master. He had a spare bed for a friend, and there was a garret room unoccupied, next to the gouvernante's. It was contrived accordingly. 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 wrapt in blankets, and carried across the street to the English gentleman's. The old woman helped his 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.

By this time his host had learned the name and character of his guest. He was a protestant 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 and melancholy journey, with his only child, the daughter we have mentioned.

He was a devout man, as became his profession. He possessed devotion in all its warmth, but with none of its asperity; I mean that asperity which men, called devout, sometimes indulge in. Mr.

though he felt no devotion, never quarrelled with it in others. His gouvernante 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. -The philosopher walked out, with his long staff and his dog, and

66 ers.

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 unbeliev"Not a Christian !"——exclaimed Mademoiselle La Roche, "yet he saved my father! "Heaven bless him for't; I would he were a Chris"tian!""There is a pride in human knowledge, 66 my child," said her father, "which often blind 'men to the sublime truths of revelation; hence 66 opposers of Christianity are found 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 Mr.-,” said his daughter, "alas! my father, he shall be a "Christian before he dies."- -She was interrupted by the arrival of their landlord.--He 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 would not wish" continued the old man, hesitatingly, "to think other"wise; did I not look up with gratitude to that Be"ing, I should barely be satisfied with my recovery, "as a continuation of life, which, it may be, is not a "real good:-Alas! I may live to wish I had died,

that you had left me to die, Sir, instead of kindly "relieving me (he clasped Mr. —'s hand ;) but, "when I look on this renovated being as the gift of "the Almighty, I feel a far different sentimentmy 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."-" You say ❝right, my dear Sir,” replied the philosopher; “but