Father Bonneville himself did not appear, but our landlord came in his stead—a good, plain, honest man, of a kindly disposition. He told me, much to my consternation, that my good friend, as he called him, had been carried off as a prisoner by the Austrians, after they got possession of the town; that he was suspected of being one of the French Revolutionary Agents, and that most likely he would have been hanged at once, without the testimony of himself, our landlord, who had come forward to prove that he was a quiet, inoffensive man, who meddled not with politics in any shape, and would have gladly got out of the town, after the French occupation, had it been possible. This saved his life for the time; but the only favor that could be obtained was that the case should be reserved for further investigation. At the time he was carried away, Father Bonneville was perfectly ignorant of my fate, the landlord said, and feared that I had been killed. The good man, however, promised that he would make every inquiry for my friend, and urged me, in the meantime, to have myself carried to his house as soon as possible. For more than a fortnight, during which time I was unable to quit the hospital, he came every day to see me, but brought no intelligence of Father Bonneville. At length he had me removed to his own house, and there he, and his good old wife, attended upon me with great kindness till I was quite well. As soon as I could move about, the landlord told me that Monsieur Charlier, as he called him, had left with him a hundred louis d’ors for me, in case of my return. “And lucky he did so,” added the old gentleman, “for the Austrians ransacked every thing in both your rooms, upon the pretence of searching for papers, and left not a bit of silver worth a batz that they could lay their hands upon.” Days passed—weeks, and yet no tidings could be obtained of good Father Bonneville; and thus was I left, ere I had reached the age of nineteen, to make a way for myself in life, with a small store of clothing, a few books, a ride, and one hundred louis. [_To be continued._ ----- [4] Part of the manuscript, extending from page 56 to 61 is here wanting. As far us I can judge, the deficiency refers to a period of about 5 or 6 months, and I think the pages must have been destroyed by the writer * * * * * A CHARM. BY A. J. REQUIER. I know not why a touch can thrill The soul, till it doth seem A single drop would overfill Her pleasurable dream. I know not, yet such moments are Of measureless delight, When fancy flashes, as a star That falleth through the night! A weary night, a solemn night, Is Life, so stern and slow, And gentle forms like thine, the light Which guides us as we go.