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the flowers were again filled, when upon being called, it would return and finish its repast. But if, after flying to its perch, it wiped its bill on the limb, we were then assured it wanted no more at that time; and all the solicitations we could make, would have no other effect than to hasten its departure. In the course of half an hour, it would be back again after more food; and if the member of the family to whom he applied was engaged, and not ready to attend to him, he would try over and over again to excite attention, by flying into different apartments of the house, and buzzing within a few inches of our faces. Peet's' solicitations generally succeeded, as the younger branches of the family were delighted in attending to him. He appeared to be more fond of sirup when made thick, than any other food which was offered to him. If it was too much diluted, after sipping a little, he would fly to his resting-place, and wait until it was altered. We also at times gave him sugar and cream, wine and water mixed with sugar, and once some honey obtained from a humble-bee's nest, which it appeared to treat with great contempt.

Sometimes when he was fluttering around the flower held outside of the door-way, a stranger of the same species, having less confidence in human nature, would dart at the little fellow and drive him away, as if anxious for him to escape from so perilous a situation. But it only had a momentary effect on our little friend, as he would return with as confiding an assurance of safety as before. His little twittering noise and averted eye, as he momentarily withdrew his bill from the flower, appeared to say, 'Surely thou wilt not hurt me.' After he had visited us every day so frequently for about three weeks, and had been admired by numerous persons, he disappeared on the 11th of last month, being fed about the middle of the day, which was the last time that he was seen. As the wild humming-birds, which were quite numerous before, disappeared about the same time, it is probable he accompanied them to more southern regions. As we were on terms of the most friendly kind, it is hoped our little traveler will again visit us, after he has finished his peregrinations among the flowers of the south, as it is very doubtful whether he will find them as sweet as he did the honeysuckles of Delaware county.

CHAPTER XIV.

SORROW, PIETY, DEVOTION, FILIAL OBEDIENCE.
STORY OF LA ROCHE.

1. More than forty years ago, an English philosopher, 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 favorable to the development of abstract subjects, in which he 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 have place; or, if originally implanted there, are in a great measure extinguished by the exertions of intense study and profound investigation.

3. Hence the idea that philosophy and unfeelingness are 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.

4. One morning, while he sat busied in those speculations which afterwards astonished the world, an old female domestic, who served him for a house-keeper, 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:

5. That she had been sent for as having some knowledge of medicine, 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 hand, and broke off the chain of ideas it had inspired. His night-gown was exchanged for a coat, and he followed his governant to the sick man's apartment. It was the best in the little inn where they lay, but a paltry one notwithstanding. Our philosopher was 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 languid looks of her father. The philosopher and his house-keeper had 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 perceived a stranger, 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 tempered, but did not extinguish, 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 service in a few sincere ones. "Monsieur lies miserably ill here," said the governant; "if he could possibly be removed 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 great room unoccupied, next to the governant's. It was contrived accordingly.

10. 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 wrapped in blankets, and carried across the street 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 for him in a week, he was able to thank his benefactor.

11. By that time his host had learned the name and charaeter of his guest. He was a protestant, and a clergyman of Switzerland, called La Roche, a widower, who had lately buried his wife, after a long and lingering illness, for which traveling had been prescribed; and was now returning home, after an ineffectual journey, with his only child, the daughter we have mentioned.

12. 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 who are called devout, sometimes indulge. The philosopher, though he felt no devotion, never quarreled with it in others. His governant 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.

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, but 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; because the fume of passion is more easily dissipated than the mist of false theory and delusive speculation." "But this philosopher," said his daughter, "alas! my father, he shall be a christian before he dies."

15. 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 should not wish," continued the old man, hesitatingly, "to think otherwise; did I not look up with gratitude 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 to die, Sir, instead of kindly relieving me; (clasping the philosopher's hand,) but when I look on this renovated being, as the gift of the Almighty, I feel a far different sentiment. My 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."

17. "You say right, my dear sir," replied the philosopher; "but you are not yet re-established enough to talk much; you must take care of your health, and neither study nor preach for some time. I have been thinking over a scheme that struck me to-day, when you mentioned your intended departure. I was never in Switzerland; I have a great mind to accompany your daughter and you into that country. I will help to take care of you by 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 mold for harsher feelings; hatred never dwelt with them.

19. They traveled by short stages; for the philosopher was as good as his 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 acquaintLa Roche found a degree of simplicity and gentleness in his companion, which is not always annexed to the character of a learned or wise man.

ance.

20. 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 confer. 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 culture and accomplishments of the most refined ones: every better feeling, warm and vivid; every ungentle one, repressed or overcome. He was not addicted to love; but he felt himself happy in being the friend of Mademoiselle La Roche; and sometimes envied her father the possession of such a child.

22. After a journey of eleven days, they arrived at the dwelling of La Roche. It was situated in one of those valleys in the canton of Berne, where nature seems to repose in quiet, and has inclosed her retreat with mountains inaccessible.

23. A stream, that spent its fury in the hills above, ran in front of the house, and a broken water-fall was seen through the woods that covered its sides. Below, it circled round a tufted plain, and formed a little lake in front of a village, at the end of which, appeared the spire of La Roche's church, rising above a clump of beeches.

24. The philosopher enjoyed the beauty of the scene; but to his companions it recalled the memory of a wife and a parent 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 having wiped off 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. It was not long after they arrived, when a number of La Roche's parishioners, who had heard of his return, came to the house 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. Philosophy could not have done so much with a thousand words.

26. It was now evening, and the good peasants were about to depart, when a clock was heard to strike seven, and the hour was followed by a particular chime. The country folks,

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