I began, at leisure, to survey him with more attention. Time and grief had left few traces of that fine _enthusiasm_, which once burned in his countenance--his eyes had lost their original fire, but they retained an uncommon sweetness, and whenever they were turned upon me, their smile pierced to my heart. "Allan, I fear you have been a sufferer?" He replied not, and I could not press him further. I could not call the dead to life again. So we drank and told old stories--and repeated old poetry--and sang old songs--as if nothing had happened. We sate till very late. I forgot that I had purposed returning to town that evening--to Allan all places were alike--I grew noisy, he grew cheerful--Allan's old manners, old enthusiasm, were returning upon him--we laughed, we wept, we mingled our tears, and talked extravagantly. Allan was my chamber-fellow that night--and lay awake planning schemes of living together under the same roof, entering upon similar pursuits,--and praising GOD, that we had met. I was obliged to return to town the next morning, and Allan proposed to accompany me. "Since the death of his sister," he told me, "he had been a wanderer." In the course of our walk he unbosomed himself without reserve--told me many particulars of his way of life for the last nine or ten years, which I do not feel myself at liberty to divulge. Once, on my attempting to cheer him, when I perceived him over thoughtful, he replied to me in these words: "Do not regard me as unhappy when you catch me in these moods. I am never more happy than at times when, by the cast of my countenance, men judge me most miserable. "My friend, the events which have left this sadness behind them are of no recent date. The melancholy which comes over me with the recollection of them is not hurtful, but only tends to soften and tranquillize my mind, to detach me from the restlessness of human pursuits. "The stronger I feel this detachment, the more I find myself drawn heavenward to the contemplation of spiritual objects. "I love to keep old friendships alive and warm within me, because I expect a renewal of them in the _World of Spirits_. "I am a wandering and unconnected thing on the earth. I have made no new friendships, that can compensate me for the loss of the old--and the more I know mankind, the more does it become necessary for me to supply their loss by little images, recollections, and circumstances of past pleasures. "I am sensible that I am surrounded by a multitude of very worthy people, plain-hearted souls, sincere and kind. But they have hitherto eluded my pursuit, and will continue to bless the little circle of their families and friends, while I must remain a stranger to them. "Kept at a distance by mankind, I have not ceased to love them--and could I find the cruel persecutor, the malignant instrument of GOD'S judgments on me and mine, I think I would forgive, and try to love him too.