Mr. Driesen, therefore, suddenly found himself served with respect and zeal; the servants came for his orders, and ventured to talk to him of "poor Master Charles," and of what could be done for him; but Mr. Driesen mistook the motive, and thought that it was the change of circumstances which produced this alteration, not a change in the estimation of his own character. On the evening of the funeral, Mr. Driesen endeavoured to read as he was wont to do. No ordinary book would suit him however; Machiavelli had no charms; Voltaire could not engage his attention; in forcing himself to read a few pages of the Philosophical Dictionary, he felt like an eagle chasing a butterfly--he felt how vain it all is--he felt, in short, how empty and insufficient are the subtilest reasonings of the human mind, when brought in opposition with the mighty feelings of the human heart--he felt that there is a deeper, a stronger, a more majestic philosophy planted ineradically in our bosoms by the hand of God, on which the philosophy, that can clothe itself in words, acts as iron on the diamond. He then tried Bayle and Hobbes--but the one was dust, and the other was ashes. His last attempt was upon a manuscript book, in which he had collected passages from Plato, and scraps attributed to Epicurus, and many another choice extract, comprising all the most questionable doctrines of Pagan speculators. Neither would that suit him at the moment. He felt that his mental stomach was not of its usual ostrich tone, and that he could not bolt cast-iron. As the last resource, he took up his hat and walked out into the park, sauntering in the moonlight over the open lawns, but avoiding the deeper walks in the woods, which in their gloomy shade assimilated more than he desired with the tone of his feelings at that time. The following night the same mood continued, only he maintained the struggle with his books a shorter time, and going out between nine and ten, walked for more than an hour and a half up and down the lady-walk, with his thoughts indeed not in the same state of turmoil and confusion, with all that had occurred during the last week, as they had been on the preceding night; but still sad, gloomy, and disturbed. Many was the sigh to which he gave way--many was the little gesture of despondency, or impatience of God's will, which he suffered to appear, little knowing that during a part of the time at least, another eye was upon him, as we have shown before. It was late when he returned to the house, and the servant who came to give him admittance, exclaimed with a joyful look as he entered, "Oh, sir, do you know what has happened; Master Charles has escaped from prison!" Mr. Driesen started and gazed in the man's countenance, demanding, in a low tone, "Is he here?"