mer.

About three years after, our philosopher was on a visit at Geneva; the promise he made to La Roche and his daughter, on his former visit, was recalled to his mind, by the view of that range of mountains, on a part of which they had often looked together. There was a reproach, too, conveyed along with the recollection, for his having failed to write to either for several months past. The truth was, that indolence was the habit most natural to him, from which he was not easily roused by the claims of correspondence either of his friends or of his enemies; when the latter drew their pens in controversy, they were often unanswered as well as the forWhile he was hesitating about a visit to La Roche, which he wished to make, but found the effort rather too much for him, he received a letter from the old man, which had been forwarded to him from Paris, where he had then fixed his residence. It contained a gentle complaint of Mr H *** 's want of punctuality, but an assurance of continued gratitude for his former good offices; and, as a friend whom the writer considered interested in his family, it informed him of the approaching nuptials of Ma'moiselle La Roche, with a man, a relation of her own, and formerly a pupil of her father's, of the most amiable dispositions, and respectable character. Attached from their earliest years, they had been separated by his joining one of the subsidiary regiments of the canton, then in the service of a foreign power. In this situation, he had distinguished himself as much for courage and military skill, as for the other endowments which he had cultivated at home. The term of his service was now expired, and they expected him to return in a few weeks, when the old man hoped, as he expressed it in his letter, to join their hands, and see them happy before he died.

Our philosopher felt himself interested in this event; but he was not, perhaps, altogether so happy in the tidings of Ma'moiselle La Roche's marriage, as her father supposed him.

-Not that he was ever a lover of the lady's; but he thought her one of the most amiable women he had seen, and there was something in the idea of her being another's for ever that struck him, he knew not why, like a disappointment.— After some little speculation on the matter, however, he could look on it as a thing fitting, if not quite agreeable, and determined on this visit to see his old friend and his daughter happy,

On the last day of his journey, different accidents had retarded his progress; he was benighted before he reached the

quarter in which La Roche resided. His guide, however, was well acquainted with the road, and he found himself at last in view of the lake, which I have before described, in the neighbourhood of La Roche's dwelling. A light gleamed on the water, that seemed to proceed from the house; it moved slowly along as he proceeded up the side of the lake, and at last he saw it glimmer through the trees, and stop at some distance from the place where he then was. He supposed it some piece of bridal merriment, and pushed on his horse that he might be a spectator of the scene; but he was a good deal shocked, on approaching the spot, to find it proceed from the torch of a person clothed in the dress of an attendant on a funeral, and accompanied by several others, who, like him, seemed to have been employed in the rites of sepulture.

On Mr H ***'s making inquiry who was the person they had been burying? one of them, with an accent more mournful than is common to their profession, answered, 'Then you knew not Mademoiselle, Sir ?-you never beheld a lovelier.- La Roche!' exclaimed he in reply-'Alas! it was she indeed!'-The appearance of surprise and grief which his countenance assumed attracted the notice of the peasant with whom he talked. He came up closer to Mr H *** ; I perceive, Sir, you were acquainted with Mademoiselle La Roche.'- Acquainted with her! Good God! when-how -where did she die?-Where is her father?'- -She died, Sir, of heart-break, I believe; the young gentleman to whom she was soon to have been married was killed in a duel by a French officer, his intimate companion, and to whom, before their quarrel, he had often done the greatest favours. Her worthy father bears her death as he has often told us a Christian should; he is even so composed as to be now in his pulpit, ready to deliver a few exhortations to his parishioners, as is the custom with us on such occasions :-Follow me, Sir, and you shall hear him.'-He followed the man without answering.

The church was dimly lighted, except near the pulpit where the venerable La Roche was seated. His people were now lifting up their voices in a psalm to that Being whom their pastor had taught them ever to bless and to revere. La Roche sat, his figure bending gently forward, his eyes half closed, lifted up in silent devotion. A lamp placed near him threw its light strong on his head, and marked the sha

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dowy lines of age across the paleness of his brow, thinly covered with grey hairs.

The music ceased;-La Roche sat for a moment, and nature wrung a few tears from him. His people were loud in their grief; Mr H * * * was not less affected than they-La Roche arose Father of mercies,' said he, forgive these tears; assist thy servant to lift up his soul to thee; to lift to thee the souls of thy people! My friends! it is good so to do; at all seasons it is good; but in the days of our distress, what a privilege it is! Well saith the sacred book, "Trust in the Lord; at all times trust in the Lord." When every other support fails us, when the fountains of worldly comfort are dried up, let us then seek those living waters which flow from the throne of God.-'Tis only from the belief of the goodness and wisdom of a Supreme Being, that our calamities can be borne in that manner which becomes a man. Human wisdom is here of little use; for, in proportion as it bestows comfort, it represses feeling, without which we may cease to be hurt by calamity, but we shall also cease to enjoy happiness. I will not bid you be insensible, my friends! I cannot, I cannot, if I would,' (his tears flowed afresh)I feel too much myself, and I am not ashamed of my feelings; but therefore may I the more willingly be heard; therefore have I prayed God to give me strength to speak to you; to direct you to him, not with empty words, but with these tears; not from speculation, but from experience, that while you see me suffer, you may know also my consolation.

'You behold the mourner of his only child, the last earthly stay and blessing of his declining years! Such a child too!-It becomes not me to speak of her virtues: yet it is but gratitude to mention them, because they were exerted towards myself.-Not many days ago you saw her young, beautiful, virtuous, and happy :-ye who are parents will judge of my felicity then,-ye will judge of my affliction now. But I look towards him who struck me; I see the hand of a father amidst the chastenings of my God.-Oh! could I make you feel what it is to pour out the heart, when it is pressed down with many sorrows, to pour it out with confidence to Him, in whose hands are life and death, on whose power awaits all that the first enjoys, and in contemplation of whom disappears all that the last can inflict !— For we are not as those who die without hope; we know that our Redeemer liveth,—that we shall live with him, with

our friends his servants, in that blessed land where sorrow is unknown, and happiness is endless as it is perfect.-Go then, mourn not for me; I have not lost my child; but a little while, and we shall meet again never to be separated. -But ye are also my children: would ye that I should not grieve without comfort?-So live as she lived: that when your death cometh, it may be the death of the righteous, and your latter end like his.'

Such was the exhortation of La Roche; his audience answered it with their tears. The good old man had dried up his at the altar of the Lord; his countenance had lost its sadness, and assumed the glow of faith and hope.—Mr H*** followed him into his house. The inspiration of the pulpit was past;, at sight of him the scenes they had last met in rushed again on his mind; La Roche threw his arms round his neck, and watered it with his tears. The other was equally affected: they went together, in silence, into the parlour where the evening service was wont to be performed. The curtains of the organ were open; La Roche started back at the sight.-Oh! my friend!' said he, and his tears burst forth again. Mr H *** had now recollected himself; he stepped forward and drew the curtain closethe old man wiped off his tears, and taking his friend's hand, 'You see my weakness,' said he, ''tis the weakness of humanity; but my comfort is not therefore lost.'-'I heard you,' said the other, 'in the pulpit; I rejoice that such consolation is yours. It is, my friend,' said he, ‘and I trust I shall ever hold it fast;—if there are any who doubt our faith, let them think of what importance religion is to calamity, and forbear to weaken its force; if they cannot restore our happiness, let them not take away the solace of our affliction.'

Mr H ***'s heart was smitten; and I have heard him, long after, confess that there were moments when the remembrance overcame him even to weakness; when, amidst all the pleasures of philosophical discovery, and the pride of literary fame, he recalled to his mind the venerable figure of the good La Roche, and wished that he had never doubted.

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SIR WALTER SCOTT.

IN bestowing unqualified praise on the English for the respect in which men of genius are held amongst them, Voltaire may have been prompted by, what his countrymen would term, l'esprit de corps. Contrasting the ostentatious munificence of Louis XIV. with the substantial rewards obtained by literary men in this country, he says, Le merite trouve à la verité parmi les Anglois d' autres recompenses plus honorable pour la Nation. Tel est le respect que ce peuple a pour les talens, qu'un homme de mérite y fait toujours fortune. J'ai vu long tems en France l'auteur de Rhadamiste près de mourir de faim; et le fils d'un de plus grands hommes que la France ait eu, et qui commençoit à marcher sur les traces de son pere étoit reduit à la misere sans Mr Fagon.* Whatever may have been his motive, it is a trait in our national character seldom exhibited by continental states. A similar spirit, however, is said to have at length sprung up in France; and, strange as it may sound, it has partly arisen from the popularity of an English author whose merits might exhaust every form of panegyric furnished by the vocabulary of his native tongue. Believing it impossible to pen an eulogium which would concentrate the praises due to the AUTHOR OF WAVERLEY, we cannot do better than remind our readers of the fact, that, on the Continent, his works are scarcely less popular, than in Britain. The Russian has been dazzled by the unimagined splendour of the Gentle Passage of Arms at Ashby de la Zouch; the Swede has taken an interest in the customs of a fashionable watering place;-the German has been roused

*Lettres Ecrites de Londres sur les Anglois, p. 204, 5: à Basle, 1734.