There was a man surrounded with everything that rank and wealth could give—his graceful wife, his son, and pretty daughter, were at his side-his three handsome carriages were drawn up in front of the inn, and a train of servants, grooms, courier, and attendants, were busied in providing for his comforts;—not one among them, or probably in the simple village, that was not ready to fly at his beck, and to regard him as a superior being. And yet, surrounded thus with every apparent good, no one for a moment could look at Lord C prefer his lot to that of the humble peasant, who, with healthy cheek and light footstep, had bounded across the street with the soufflé. His frame is paralysed; he can scarcely raise to his lips the morsel which he seems to swallow without inclination; his eye is leaden and lustreless, and his pale face has that fixed rigid expression, of one accustomed to endure and struggle with suffering. and Poor man! as borne up between two persons, his tottering steps are supported to his luxurious carriage, who can look at him and not reflect on the inscrutable designs of Providence? The Giver of all things is pleased to withhold and bestow as it seems fit to his godly wisdom, and we, while we see here through a glass darkly, cannot fathom his purposes in so doing. But it is a delightful consolation to every sufferer, rich or poor, to know and feel that he is in the hands of One too wise, too kind, to afflict willingly, or grieve the children of men. There is One looking down upon his sufferings, whose cheeks were once wet with human tears, whose frame was wrung with mortal agony :-He can feel for poor suffering flesh, having in his own body endured its pangs,-thirst and weariness, grief and pain, desertion by God and man-death! CHAPTER XVII. Feelings on entering Paris-A chasm in the diary-The Tuileries-A walk on the Boulevards-The Décrotteur of the Pont des Arts and his dog-The Louvre -Motley tenants of a Parisian house-A Sketch from my window. How lovely was the scene when leaving La Ferté at sunrise! Earth, air, sky, and water seemed to have combined to produce a sort of enchantment, and add their incidental effect to the quiet loveliness of the landscape, seen at that still morning hour. The dew was yet fresh and sparkling upon tree and flower, the glowing hues of sunrise had not yet faded away from the heavens, and light mists were slowly rising like a vapoury curtain from the village, and the river, and the forest-clad heights. Of the more distant prospect it might be said, "The shadows on the mountain's breast, Happy poet! who can see only "joys" in the dim, the uncertain future; who has not been taught by the past to dread its clouds rather than reckon upon its sunshine! How differently most things happen from what we have expected! L'homme propose, Dieu dispose. An unseen worm lies at the core of the fair bud, which we fondly hoped would blow out and realise all our visions of happiness. It is well this should be so; for nothing tends so much as the disappointment of earthly schemes to teach us to raise our thoughts and hopes above them. "Set your affections on things above," is the command of our heavenly Father; but until He in mercy shows us the vanity of things below, we never think of obeying the precept. 66 If you set your heart upon anything, you are sure to be disappointed," is a remark we constantly hear, and those who I have learned to know the cause and the effect of this truth, are thankful that so it is. For years Paris was my beau ideal of every VOL. II. Q thing that was delightful, and a visit to it an object of ambition since childhood. These ideas were partly imbibed from the beloved one whose favourite spot it was, and partly from the early days spent in France. It is impossible to live among the French without catching insensibly some of that spirit of enthusiastic devotion with which they regard their capital. "Il n'y a dans la France que Paris,” and “Qui n'a pas vu Paris n'a rien vu," and "Ah! c'est un petit paradis que Paris!" resounded in my ears until my childish imagination was all on fire. Well I remember my grief the day we turned our backs upon France without having been at Paris. We were now approaching it-the wishes of years were about to be realised. The day was lovely-the sun shone brightly, the postilion cracked his whip and flourished it over his head, and the bells of the horses jingled merrily while they dashed on as if they knew they were approaching the admired of all admirers, la belle ville de Paris. Every moment the bustle, and the noise, and the throng increased -every one looked gay and happy-except myself. One dreadful event had turned all my blissful anticipations to gall and bitterness. Alas! who could have told two short years |