necessary. He slept little, and was abstemious at table. His walks were his only pleasure. During these, he conversed with his friends, or entered into conversation with the peasants he might chance to meet; sitting on the grass, or entering their cottages, as he listened to their complaints. Long after his death, old men showed, with tears in their eyes, the wooden chair which, in their boyhood, they had seen occupied by their beloved and revered archbishop. His admirable benevolence, his unbounded sympathy and calm sense of justice, won the hearts of all. One man of high birth, who had been introduced into his palace, ostensibly as high vicar, but really as a spy, was so touched by the unblemished virtue he witnessed, that he threw himself at Fénélon's feet, confessed his crime, and then, unable to meet his eye, banished himself from his presence, and lived ever after in exile and obscurity. The duke of Burgundy had been commanded to hold no intercourse with his beloved and unforgotten preceptor; and the spies set over both were on the alert to discover any letters. When the duke of Anjou was raised to the throne of Spain, his elder brother conducted him to the frontier. Soon after his return, he came to a resolution to break through the king's restriction, and wrote to his revered teacher through his governor, the duke de Beauvilliers. His letter is unaffected and sincere; it laments the silence to which he had been condemned, and assures the archbishop that his friendship had been augmented, not chilled, by his misfortunes. It speaks of his own struggles to keep in the paths of virtue; and relates that he loved study better than ever, and was desirous of sending several of his writings to be corrected by his preceptor, as he had formerly corrected his themes. Fénélon's answer marks his delight in finding that his pupil adhered to the lessons he had taught him. He confirms him in his piety: "In the name of God," he writes, "let prayer nourish your soul, as food nourishes your body. Do not make long prayers; let them spring more from the heart than the understanding; little from reasoning--much from simple affection; few ideas in consecutive order, but many acts of faith and love. Be humble and little. I only speak to you of God and yourself. There need be no question of me: my heart is in peace. My greatest misfortune has been, not to see you; but I carry you unceasingly with me before God, into a presence more intimate than that of the senses. I would give a thousand lives like a drop of water, to see you such as God would wish you to be!"