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happy pair resist the attacks of adversity with so much the more strength and success, as they are the snore closely united."

SORROW, PIETY, DEVOTION, FILIAL OBEDIENCE,

STORY OF LA ROCHE. 1. M ORE than forty years ago, an English philosopher,

whose works liave since been read and admired by all Europe, resided at a little town in France. Some disappoint, ments 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 lanFuage were avoided, a perfect seclusion and retirement, highly favorable to the developement of abstract subjects, in which be 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 liave place; or, if originaliy inplanted there, are in a great measure extinguished by the exertions of intense study and profound investigation,

3. Hence the idea that philosophy and unfeelingress are unitei, has become proverbial, and in common lawguage the fune mer word is often used to express the latter. Our philosopher has been censured by some as deficient in warinth 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.

4. One morning, while he sat busied in those speculations which afterwards astonished the world, an old female domestic, who served him for a housckeeper, brought hirn worci, 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 sucidenly seized in the night with a dangerous disorder, which the people of the ind, where they lodge:1, feared would prove mortal.

5. That she had been sent for as having some knowledge of inedicine, 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 liand, und broke off the ehain of ideas it had inspired. His night-gown as ex changed for a coat, and he followed his govinar li's apartment. It was the best in the lule but a paltry one notwithstanding, Oua.

obliged to stoop as he entered it. It was floored with earth, and above were the joists not plastered, 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 langui') looks of her father. The philosopher and his housekeeper bad 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 perceivedastranger, 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 teinpered, but did noi extin. -guish, crossed it for a moment, and changed its expression. It was sweetness all, however, and our philosopher felt it strongly.

9. It was not a time for words; he offered his services in a few sincere ones. « Monsieur lies miserably ill here," said the governante ;"jf he could possibly be moved any where." “ If he could be moved to our liouse," said her master. 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 th:m, were overcome, and the basha ful reluctance of his daughter gave way to her belics of its use to her father. The sick man was wrapped in blankets and cartied across the stree, 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 or him ; in a week he was able to thank his benefactor.

11. By that time his liost had learned the manne and characer of his guest. He was a protestant, and clergyman of Switcerland, caled La Roche, a widower, who had latcly buried his vife, after a long and lingering illness, for which travelling ad been prescribed ; and was now returning home, after an lettertuai journey, with his only chiid, the daughter we have Ientized

He was a derout inan, as became his profession. He postion in all its warmth, but with none of its asperity; rity wnici man, who are callea devout, some

hilosopher, though he fel. po devotior, in ouers. His governante joined

oid man and his daughter, in the prayers and thanksgiving 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, bet 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 a pride in human knowledge, my child," said her father, " which often blinds men to the sublime truths of "revelation ; hence there are opposers of 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 ; be cause tine fume of passion is more easily dissipated than the mist of false theory and delusive speculation." “ But this phie losopher,” said his daughter, "alas! my father, he shall be a christian before he dies."

15. She was interrupted by the arrival of th ir landlorda He took her hand with an air of kindness ; she drew it away froin him in silence; threw down her eyes to the groand, 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 gratis tude 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 io die, sir, instead of kindly relieving nie, (clasping the philosopher's hand) but when I look on this renovated being

as the gift of the Almighty, I feel a far different sentim nie € My heart dilates with gratitude and love to him. It is pres

pared for doing his will, not as a duty, but as a pleapur ; and, à regards every breach of it, not with disapprobation, buhii.

horror."
.. 17. You say right, my dear sir," replied the man
off [ « but you are not yet re-established eroul to
has you must take care of your health, ani 0)
Dreach for some time. I have been thinkis

at struck me to day, when y:11.??.
pariure. I was never in Switzerla

to accompany your daughter and you into that country. I will help to take care of you on the road, for as I was your first physician, I hold myself responsible 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 ; not perhaps the 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 lis 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 a wise man. .

26. 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 conser. 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 topics of discourse. When his knowledge or learning 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 cultur, and accomplishments of the most refined ones. Every better feeling, warm and vivid ; every ungentle one, repressed or over. ome. He was not addicted to love; bui he felt himself happy, in being the friend of Mademoiselle La Roche, and somea ames envied her father the possession of such a child. : 22. After a journey of eleven days, they arrivad at the

Iweiling of La Roche. It was situated in one of those vallies Abe Lanici

D 110, where nature seems to repose in quiet, has eactosidit retreat with mountains inaccessible. i n

one spent its fury in tire bils abovo, ran in Poul of the 100:, and a broken water-fail was seen through

tall e d its sides. Below, it tirolou round a 30 m ind a little lake in front of a village, at he

persrol the spire of La Roche's church, risipg

24. The philosopher enjoyed the beauty of the scene; but to his companions it recalled the memory of a wife and parenti 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 has. ing wiped cit 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 liouse to see and welcome him. The honest folks were awkward 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. Philesophy could not have done so much with a thousand words.

26. It was now evening, and the good peasants were about to de part, when the clock was heard to strike seven, and the hour was followed by a particular chime. The country folks who came to welcome their pastor turned their looks towards him at the sound; he explained their meaning to his guests “That is the signal," said he, "for our evening exercise. This is one of the nights of the week in which some of my parishioners are wont to join in it; a little rustic saloon serves for the chapel of our family, and such of the good people as are with us; if you choose rather to walk out, I will finish yon with an attendant; or here are a few old books which may a ord jou some entertainment within."

,27.“ By no means,” answered the philosopher; “I will attend vindexaciselle at her devotions." " She is our organist," Satu Roche; " our neighborhood is the country of musical mechanism, and I have a small organ, fitted up for the purpose of assisting our singing,” “. It is an additional inducement," ! repled the other, and they walked into the room together

23. Atine end stood Ale organ mentioned by La Roche bek'e it was a Curtiin, which in diughter (Irew asit, a: placing herseli opaseat within, and drawing the c!liis : so as to save lier the a'vkwardess of an exhiuth,. voluntary, sokeun and beautiful in ide liigiosi di pilosopher was nio nusician, but he was ustüroo

se to music. This frstuned on his mind sie um its beautius being wexpected.

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