sleep, I have seemed to be occupied about it,” said Bernard, “and it happened to me only last night, that, as I lay slumbering on my bed, my garden seemed to be already made, and I already began to eat its fruits and recreate myself therein; and it came to pass, in my night vision, that, while considering the marvellous deeds which our Sovereign Lord has commanded nature to perform, I fell upon my face, to worship and adore the Living of the living, who has made such things for man’s service and use. That also gave me occasion to consider our miserable ingratitude and perverse wickedness; and the more I entered into the contemplation of these things, the more was I disposed to value the art of agriculture, and I said in myself, that men were very foolish so to despise rural places and the labours of the field, which is a thing just before God, and which our ancient fathers, men of might and prophets, were content themselves to exercise, and even to watch the flocks; and being in such ravishment of spirit—” The sentence was broken short by the return of the jailer, who announced that the time he had allowed was now expired. Victor reluctantly took his leave of Palissy, and, with a heavy heart, turned to go from him. No sooner had he reached the open street than, again recurring, in his own thoughts, to what had transpired, he felt convinced that something was wrong. That compassionate glance of the stern jailer intimated, as it seemed to him, the cause of the favour he had granted, in allowing the two friends a longer interval before they were parted. “Parted!” cried Victor, his heart filled with dismay as his lips unconsciously uttered the ominous word—“parted! can it be that we are parted for ever? Lord!” he exclaimed, in a burst of feeling, “be thou his guard and his defence, as a wall of fire to keep thy servant; and in this hour of trial show that thine arm is not shortened, that it cannot save.” After a short interval, he repeated, in a low tone, this verse of a hymn composed by the Protestant Gondinel, and often sung by the little persecuted church of Saintes:— “The time is dark, we faint with woe, Our foes are mightier far than we; They say, ‘Their God forsakes them now, And who shall their deliverer be?’ Lord, show thy presence—prove thy power, And save us at the latest hour.”