with cold. Judge now, says she to me, whether I would suffer you to quit your fire-side, and expose yourself at your age to the rigours of the season. I am scarce able to withstand it myself. Nevertheless, she brings home under her arm the wood with which we warm ourselves; and when I complain of the fatigue she gives herself, Have done, have done, my good mother, it is by exercise that I keep myself from cold labour is made for my age. In short, Madam, she is as good as she is handsome, and my husband and I never speak of her, but with tears in our eyes.'' And if she should be taken from you?' said the Marchioness.—' We should lose,' interrupted the old man, all that we hold dearest in the world; but if she herself was to be happier for it, we would die happy in that consolation.' Ohay,' replied the old woman, shedding tears, Heaven grant her a fortune worthy of her, if it be possible! It was my hope, that that hand, so dear to me, would have closed my eyes, for I love her more than my life.' Her arrival broke off their discourse.

I

She appeared with a pail of milk in one hand, a basket of fruit in the other: and after saluting them with an ineffable grace, she directed her attention to the care of the family, as if nobody observed her. You give yourself a great déal of trouble, my dear child,' said the Marchioness. endeavour, Madam,' replied she, to fulfil the intention of those I serve, who are desirous of entertaining you in the best manner they are able. You will have,' continued she, spreading over the table a coarse, but very white cloth, 'you will have a frugal and rural repast: this bread is not the whitest in the world, but it tastes pretty well; the eggs are fresh, the milk is good, and the fruits, which I have just now gathered, are such as the season affords.' The diligence, the attention, the noble and becoming grace with which this wonderful shepherdess paid them all the duties of hospitality, the respect she showed for her master and mistress, whether she spoke to them, or whether she sought to read in their eyes what they wanted her to do, all these things filled the Marquis and Marchioness of Fonrose with astonishment and admiration. As soon as they were laid down on the bed of fresh straw which the shepherdess had prepared for them herself, Our adventure has the air of a prodigy,' said they one to another, we must clear up this mystery; we must carry away this child along with us.'

At break of day, one of the men, who had been up all

night mending their carriage, came to inform them that it was thoroughly repaired. Madam de Fonrose, before she set out, ordered the shepherdess to be called to her. Without wanting to pry,' said she, into the secret of your birth, and the cause of your misfortune; all that I see, all that I hear, interests me in your favour. I see that your spirit has raised you above ill fortune; and that you have suited your sentiments to your present condition: your charms and your virtues render it respectable, but yet it is unworthy of you. I have it in my power, amiable stranger, to procure you a happier lot; my husband's intentions agree entirely with mine. I have a considerable estate at Tourin: I want a friend of my own sex, and I shall think I bear away from this place an invaluable treasure, if you will accompany me. Separate from the proposal, from the suit I now make you, all notion of servitude: I do not think you made for that condition; but though my prepossessions in your favour should deceive me, I had rather raise you above your birth, than leave you beneath it. I repeat to you, it is a friend of my own sex that I want to attach to me. For the rest, be under no concern for the fate of these good people: there is nothing which I would not do to make them amends for your loss; at least they shall have wherewith to spend the remainder of their lives happily, according to their condition; and it is from your hand that they shall receive the benefits I intend them.' The old folks, who were present at this discourse, kissing the hands of the Marchioness, and throwing themselves at her feet, begged the young incognita to accept of these generous offers: they represented to her with tears, that they were on the brink of the grave; that she had no other consolation than to make them happy in their old age; and that at their death, when left to herself, their habitation would become a dreadful solitude. The shepherdess, embracing them, mingled her tears with theirs; she returned thanks to the Marquis and Marchioness of Fonrose for their goodness, with a sensibility that made her still more beautiful. 'I cannot,' said she, accept of your courtesies. Heaven has marked out my place, and its will is accomplished; but your goodness has made impressions on my soul which will never be effaced. The respectable name of Fonrose shall ever be present to my imagination. I have but one favour more to ask you,' said she, blushing, and looking down, that is to be so good as to bury this adventure in eternal silence, and to leave the world for ever ignorant of the lot of an unknown

H

wretch, who wants to live and die in oblivion.' The Marquis and Marchioness of Fonrose, moved with pity and grief, redoubled a thousand times their entreaties: she was immoveable, and the old people, the traveller, and the shepherdess, separated with tears in their eyes.

During the journey the Marquis and his lady were taken up with nothing but this adventure. They thought they had been in a dream. Their imaginations being filled with this kind of romance, they arrive at Turin. It may easily be imagined that they did not keep silence, and this was an inexhaustible subject for reflections and conjectures. The young Fonrose, being present at these discourses, lost not one circumstance. He was at that age wherein the imagination is most lively, and the heart most susceptible; but he was one of those characters whose sensibility displays not itself outwardly, and who are so much the more violently agitated, when they are so at all, as the sentiment which affects them does not weaken itself by any sort of dissipation. All that Fonrose hears said of the charms, virtues, and misfortunes, of the shepherdess of Savoy, kindles in his soul the most ardent desire of seeing her. He forms to himself an image of her, which is always present to him. He compares her to every thing that he sees, and every thing that he sees vanishes before her. But the more his impatience redoubles, the more care he takes to conceal it. Turin becomes odious to him. The valley which conceals from the world its brightest ornament, attracts his whole soul. It is there that happiness waits him. But if his project is known, he foresees the greatest obstacles: they will never consent to the journey he meditates; it is the folly of a young man, the consequences of which they will be apprehensive of; the shepherdess herself, affrighted at his pursuits, will not fail to withdraw herself from them; he loses her, if he should be known. After all these reflections, which employed his thoughts for three months, he takes a resolution to quit every thing for her sake; to go, under the habit of a shepherd, to seek her in her solitude, and to die there, or to draw her out of it.

He disappears; they see him no more. His parents become alarmed at his absence: their fear increases every day : their expectations disappointed throw the whole family into affliction the fruitlessness of their inquiries completes their despair; a duel, an assassination, every thing that is most unfortunate, presents itself to their imagination; and

:

these unhappy parents ended their researches by lamenting the death of their son, their only hope. While his family are in mourning, Fonrose, under the habit of a shepherd, presents himself to the inhabitants of the hamlets adjoining to the valleys, which they had but too well described to him. His ambition is accomplished: they trust him with the care of their flocks.

The first days after his arrival, he left them to wander at random, solely attentive to discover the places to which the shepherdess led hers.

Let us manage,' said he, the timidity of this solitary fair-one: if she is unfortunate, her heart has need of consolation; if it be nothing but a desire to banish herself from the world, and the pleasure of a tranquil and innocent life that retains her here, she will feel some dull moments, and wish for company to amuse or console her. If I succeed so far as to render that agreeable to her, she will soon find it necessary; then I shall take counsel from the situation of her soul. After all, we are here alone, as it were, in the world, and we shall be every thing to each other. From confidence to friendship the passage is not long; and from friendship to love, at our age, the road is still easier.' And what is Fonrose's age when he reasoned thus? Fonrose was eighteen: but three months' reflection on the same object unfolds a number of ideas. While he was thus giving himself up to his imagination, with his eyes wandering over the country, he hears at a distance that voice, the charms of which had been so often extolled to him. The emotion it excited in him was as lively as if she had been unexpected. It is here,' said the shepherdess in her plaintive strains; it is here that my heart enjoys the only happiness that remains to it. My grief has a luxury in it for my soul; I prefer its bitterness to the deceitful sweets of joy.' These accents rent the sensible heart of Fonrose. "What,' said he,' can be the cause of the chagrin that consumes her? How pleasing would it be to console her! A hope still more pleasing presumed, not without difficulty, to flatter his desires. He feared to alarm the shepherdess if he resigned himself imprudently to his impatience of seeing her near, and for the first time it was sufficient to have heard her. The next day he went out again to lead his sheep to pasture; and after observing the route which she had taken, he placed himself at the foot of the rock, which the day before repeated to him the sounds of that touching voice. I forgot

to mention that Fonrose, to the handsomest figure, had joined those talents which the young nobility of Italy do not neglect. He played on the hautboy like Besuzzi, of whom he had taken his lessons, and who formed at that time the delight of Europe. Adelaïde, buried in her own afflicting ideas, had not yet made her voice heard, and the echoes kept silence. All on a sudden this silence was interrupted by the plaintive sounds of Fonrose's hautboy. These unknown sounds excited in the soul of Adelaïde a surprise mingled with anxiety. The keepers of the flocks that wandered on the hills had never caused her to hear aught before but the sounds of rustic pipes. Immoveable and attentive, she seeks with her eyes who it was that could form such harmonious sounds. She perceives at a distance, a young shepherd seated in the cavity of a rock, at the foot of which he fed his flock; she draws near, to hear him the better. See,' said she, what the mere instinct of nature can do! The ear teaches this shepherd all the refinements of art. Can any one breathe purer sounds? What delicacy in his inflections! what variety in his gradations! Who can say after this, that taste is not the gift of nature?' Ever since Adelaïde had dwelt in this solitude, this was the first time that her grief, suspended by an agreeable distraction, had delivered up her soul to the sweet emotion of pleasure. Fonrose, who saw her approach and seat herself at the foot of a willow to hear him, pretended not to perceive her. He seized, without seeming to affect it, the moment of her retreat, and managed the course of his own flock in such a manner as to meet her on a declivity of a hill, where the road crossed. He cast only one look on her, and continued his route, as if taken up with nothing but the care of his flock. But what beauties had that one look ran over!-what eyes! what a divine mouth! How much more ravishing still would those features be, which are so noble and touching in their languor, if love reanimated them! He saw plainly that grief alone had withered in their spring the roses on her lovely cheeks; but of so many charms, that which had moved him most was the noble elegance of her person and her gait; in the ease of her motions he thought he saw a young cedar, whose strait and flexible trunk yields gently to the zephyrs. This image, which love had just engraven in flaming characters on his memory, took up all his thoughts. How feebly,' said he, have they painted to me this beauty, unknown to the world, whose adoration she merits!