When I alighted at the gate of the hospital, I met Count Clairval. He seemed to be petrified when he saw me in the company of the friar. “Whither are you going?” he enquired at length. “To Paleski, who is on the brink of eternity.” The Count changed colour, and whispered in my ear: “Don’t go, the fellow is infected with a contagious disease.”---“You are mistaken (was my answer) he has been wounded dangerously, as his confessor tells me.” “I have just come from him,” the Count resumed with visible uneasiness, “the fever has deranged his head, and he will tell you a number of foolish things.” “No matter,” I replied, “I must see him, for he has sent me word that he has important discoveries to make.” “What can he discover to you?” said the Count, “Paleski has ever been an impostor.” “This will render his confession on the brink of eternity so much the more remarkable. But I must not lose a moment. Farewell, Count, till I see you again!” So saying, I tore myself from him, and hastened with the friar to Paleski’s apartment. When the nurse had left the room, the former said: “you need but ring the bell, if you should want me, I shall be within hearing.”---With these words he went out of the room. Paleski stared at me for some time. The livid colour of death covered his haggard countenance, and the most agonizing anguish of a tormented conscience was strongly painted on his looks. “My Lord!” he at length began, “I owe you a thousand thanks for your condescension; I should undoubtedly have fallen a sacrifice to black despair, if you had refused to give me an opportunity to unfold mysteries to you which lie heavy on my mind.” I took a seat close by the bed, seized with dreadful bodings. (_To be continued._) * * * * * _A remarkable account of two Brothers, extracted from Linschoten’s Voyages._