fellow with concern.-La Fleur offered him money

-the mourner said he did not want it-it was not the value of the ass-but the loss of him.-The ass, he said, he was assured, loved him—and upon this, told them a long story of a mischance upon their passage over the Pyrenean mountains, which had separated them from each other three days: during which time the ass had sought him as much as he had sought the ass, and they had neither scarce eat or drank till they met.

Thou hast one comfort, friend, said I, at least in the loss of the poor beast; I'm sure thou hast been a merciful master to him.-Alas! said the mourner, I thought so when he was alive-but now he is dead, I think otherwise.-I fear the weight of myself and my afflictions together have been too much for him-they have shortened the poor creature's days, and I fear I have them to answer for. Shame on the world! said I to myself.Did we love each other as this poor soul but lov'd his ass-twould be something.

JOURNEY.

THE STARLING.

-BESHREW the sombre pencil! said I vauntingly-for I envy not its powers, which paints the evils of life with so hard and deadly a colouring. The mind sits terrified at the objects she has magnified herself, and blackened; reduce them to their proper size and hue, she overlooks them.— 'Tis true, said I, correcting the proposition-the Bastille is not an evil to be despised-but stript it

of its towers-fill up the fossé-unbarricade the doors call it simply a confinement, and suppose 'tis some tyrant of a distemper-and not a man which holds you in it-the evil vanishes, and you bear the other half without complaint.

I was interrupted in the hey-day of this soliloquy with a voice, which I took to be of a child, which complained it could not get out.- -I looked up and down the passage, and seeing neither man, woman, nor child, I went out without farther attention.

In my return back through the passage, I heard the same words repeated twice over; and looking up, I saw it was a starling hung in a little cage'I can't get out, I can't get out,' said the starling.

I stood looking at the bird: and to every person who came through the passage it ran fluttering to the side towards which they approached it, with the same lamentation of its captivity. I can't get out,' said the starling-God help thee, said I; but I will let thee out, cost what it will; so I turned about the cage to get the door; it was twisted and double twisted so fast with wire, there was no getting it open, without pulling it to pieces-I took both hands to it.

The bird flew to the place where I was attempting his deliverance, and thrusting his head through the trellis, pressed his breast against it, as if impatient-I fear, poor creature! said I, I cannot set thee at liberty.-' No,' said the starling—' I can't get out-I can't get out,' said the starling.

I vow I never had my affections more tenderly awakened: nor do I remember an incident in my life, where the dissipated spirits, to which my rea

son had been a bubble, were so suddenly called home. Mechanical as the notes were, yet so true in tune to nature were they chanted, that in one moment they overthrew all my systematic reasonings upon the Bastille; and I heavily walked up stairs, unsaying every word I had said in going down them.

Disguise thyself as thou wilt, still Slavery! said I still thou art a bitter draught! and though thousands in all ages have been made to drink of thee, thou art no less bitter on that account.— 'Tis thou, thrice sweet and gracious goddess! addressing myself to Liberty, whom all in public or in private worship, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till Nature herself shall change-no tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle, or chymic power turn thy sceptre into iron-with thee to smile upon him as he eats his crust, the swain is happier than his monarch, from whose court thou art exiled. -Gracious Heaven! cried I, kneeling down upon the last step but one in my ascent. -Grant me but health, thou great Bestower of it, and give me but this fair goddess as my companion and shower down thy mitres, if it seems good unto thy divine providence, upon those heads which are aching for them.

JOURNEY.

THE CAPTIVE.

Paris.

THE bird in his cage pursued me into my room; I sat down close by my table, and leaning my head upon my hand, I began to figure to myself the mi

series of confinement. I was in a right frame for it, and so I gave full scope to my imagination.

I was going to begin with the millions of my fellow-creatures born to no inheritance but slavery; but finding, however affecting the picture was, that I could not bring it near me, and that the multitude of sad groups in it did but distract

me

-I took a single captive, and having first shut him up in his dungeon, I then looked through the twilight of his grated door to take his pic

ture.

I beheld his body half wasted away with long expectation and confinement, and felt what kind of sickness of the heart it was which arises from hope deferr'd. Upon looking nearer, I saw him pale and feverish: in thirty years the western breeze had not once fann'd his blood-he had seen no sun, no moon, in all that time-nor had the voice of friend or kinsman breathed through his lattice :-his children

-But here my heart began to bleed-and I was forced to go on with another part of the portrait.

He was sitting upon the ground upon a little straw, in the farthest corner of his dungeon, which was alternately his chair and bed: a little calendar of small sticks were laid at the head, notch'd all over with the dismal days and nights he had passed there he had one of those little sticks in his hand, and with a rusty nail he was etching another day of misery to add to the heap. As I darkened the little light he had, he lifted up a hopeles eye towards the door, then cast it downshook his head, and went on with his work of

affliction. I heard his chains upon his legs, as he turned his body to lay his little stick upon the bundle. He gave a deep sigh.-I saw the iron enter into his soul.-I burst into tears.-I could not sustain the picture of confinement which my fancy had drawn.

JOURNEY.

THE PIEMAN.

SEEING a man standing with a basket on the other side of the street, in Versailles, as if he had something to sell, I bid La Fleur go up to him and inquire for the Count de B***'s hotel.

La Fleur returned a little pale: and told me it was a Chevalier de St. Louis selling pâtés.—It is impossible, La Fleur! said I.-La Fleur could no more account for the phenomenon than myself; but persisted in his story: he had seen the croix, set in gold, with its red ribband, he said, tied to his button-hole-and had looked into his basket, and seen the pâtés which the Chevalier was selling; so could not be mistaken in that.

Such a reverse in man's life awakens a better principle than curiosity: I could not help looking for some time at him as I sat in the remise-the more I looked at him, his croix, and his basket, the stronger they wove themselves into my brain. -I got out of the remise, and went towards him.

He was begirt with a clean linen apron which fell below his knees, and with a sort of bib which went half way up his breast; upon the top of