ponding sense of alienation from God. Here we have.Christ, the King, the good Shepherd, even with His book, in the midst of His faithful ones in earth and heaven, between which two places there is no division apparent except that of Jordan-for so is death represented-a slender, easily crossed stream, the opposite banks distinguishable by the thorns and snares on one side, and the ever-blooming flowers on the other. The two pervading, continually recurring, ideas are those of the guardianship of Christ, Ego sum Pastor bonus, and of the Resurrection, brought out over and again under the favorite type of Jonah. This infant, blood-baptized Church, deeply suffering, was not, it seems, so deeply sorrowing as ours; it did not know our intellectual sadness, our doubts, our weariness, our worldli

French and the English. The British assumed the government of the district in 1800. Its present population is about 80,000. The city covers a very considerable space, and is defended by two strong forts, one of which is four miles in circumference, the other about one mile. In the centre of the larger fort is the magnificent palace of the Rajah. The great Pagoda, which stands within the smaller fort, is admitted to be the finest structure of the kind in India. It is 271 feet in height, and has twelve stories of columns, and is crowded with elaborately sculptured statues, many of which rank among the finest specimens of Hindoo art. It is said that the dome consists of a single block of stone. This Pagoda is dedicated to Vishnu, and its numerous sculptures are devoted to representations of

THE GREAT PAGODA OF TANJORE. TANJORE, a city of India, the capital of a district of the same name in the Government of Madras, stands on a branch of the River Cavery, 45 miles from the Bay of Bengai and about 180 miles southwest of Madras. It was founded about A.D, 214, and became the capital of a Hindoo principality which was in the seventeenth century absorbed by the Mahrattas. It was long considered the strongest place in India, and has been several times besieged by the

that divinity, the second person of the Hindoo triad. In all, it is counted that the Pagoda contains more than a thousand statues.

GOOD breeding is the result of much good sense, some good nature, and a little self-denial for the sake of others, and with a view to obtain the same indulgence from them.Chesterfield.

DISLIKE.-Imperfect sympathy has been given as a definition of dislike. It is a very good one. This imperfect sympathy pervades the whole world of man too thoroughly for true philosophy and real philanthropy. If we could do away with it we must each begin with ourselves, and cut out the core of contempt which is carried in our selflove and adherence to the use and custom of habit.

[Translated from the French for the SUNDAY MAGAZINE.]

THE LEPER OF AOSTA.

BY CLARE DE GRAFFENREIDT.

"Ah! little think the gay, licentious proud,

Whom pleasure, power and affluence surround-
Ah! little think they, while they dance along,
How many pine! how many drink the cup
Of baleful grief! how many shake

With all the fiercer tortures of the mind!" -Thomson's Seasons-Winter. THE Southern part of the city of Aosta is almost deserted, and seems to have been at no time thickly populated. Still to be seen there are tilled fields and meadows, terminated on one side by ancient ramparts, erected by the Romans to serve as inclosures, and on the other by the walls of flower-gardens. This lonely site, however, is for the traveler full of interest. Near the gate of the city stand the ruins of an old chateau, in which, if popular tradition be credited, Count René de Chalans, moved by the frenzy of jealousy, allowed, in the 15th century, the Princess Marie de Bragance, his wife, to die of starvation; whence the name Bramafan (which signifies the cry of hunger), given by the people of the country to the suggestive abode. This legend, the authenticity of which can be established, renders the picturesque old ruins particularly affecting to persons of tender sensibilities who believe the harrowing story.

Several hundred paces further on is a square tower, set back against the ancient wall, and constructed of the very marble with which that relic of former greatness was once adorned; it is called the "Tower of Fear," having been long regarded as inhabited by ghosts. The old women of the city of Aosta quite well remember to have seen, on dark nights, a tall female form issue from its sombre portals, bearing a lamp in one hand.

Several years ago, this tower was repaired by order of the Government, and surrounded by an inclosure, that it might afford a suitable dwelling-place for a leper, and thus separate him from society, while providing for him, at the same time, all the alleviations of which his sad situation was suptible. The hospital of Saint Maurice was charged to provide for his subsistence, and he was supplied with furniture, as well as with utensils necessary for the cultivation of a garden. In that spot he had resided for years, a prey to his own reflections; seeing no one save the priest who, from time to time, administered the consolations of religion, and the man who, every week, carried him provisions from the hospital.

During the war of the Alps, in the year 1797, a soldier, finding himself in Aosta, passed one day, by mere chance, near the garden of the leper, the gate of which being open, he had the curiosity to enter. There he found a man, plainly dressed, leaning against a tree, and absorbed in profound meditation. At the noise occasioned by the officer's entrance, the recluse, without turning round, or even looking up, cried, in a sad voice, "Who is there, and what do you wish ?”

"Pardon a stranger," responded the soldier, "whom the charming aspect of your garden has rendered guilty of an indiscretion, but who wishes on no account to trouble you."

"Do not advance," replied the inhabitant of the tower, with a warning sign of the hand. "Do not advance; you are in the presence of a wretched being, afflicted with leprosy."

"Whatever be your misfortune," answered the traveler, "I shall not withdraw. Never have I fled from the unhappy; but if my presence annoy you, I am ready to retire."

"Be welcome," said the leper, turning suddenly, “and remain, if, after having looked upon me, you still dare to linger beside so miserable an object!"

The officer was for a time speechless with astonishment and horror at the aspect of this unfortunate man, whom leprosy had totally disfigured.

"if

"I will willingly remain,” he said; you can find pleasure in the visit of one whom chance conducted here, but whom a lively interest retains."

The Leper.-Interest! Never before have I excited aught but pity!

The Soldier.-I should be so happy could I offer you any consolation.

The Leper. It is a vast consolation to me to see men, to hear the sound of the human voice, which seems ever fleeing from me!

The Soldier.-Allow me then to talk with you a while; and, if it be not demanding too much, show me over your habition.

The Leper.-Willingly, if that can afford you any pleasure. (While speaking, the leper covered his head with a broad hat, whose drooping brim concealed his countenance.) Turn here, he added, to the south. I cultivate a little plot of flowers that you may enjoy; you will find among them some very rare specimens. I procured seeds of all those plants which are indigenous to the Alps, and have endeavored to double and enrich their blossoms by careful cultivation.

The Soldier. Here are, indeed, many flowers whose appearance is altogether new to me.

The Leper.-Observe this little rose-bush; it is the thornless rose, which only grows on the highest peaks of the Alps; but already it has lost its distinguishing peculiarity, and puts forth thorns in proportion as it is cultivated and doubled.

The Soldier.-It should be the emblem of ingratitude.

The Leper.-Should any of those blossoms attract you, you can pick them without fear, nor do you incur any risk in carrying them about you. I planted them, I have the pleasure of watering and seeing them, but I never touch them.

The Soldier.-Why not?

The Leper.-I fear to defile them, and should no longer dare to give them away.

The Soldier.-For whom do you destine your luxuriant floral possessions?

The Leper.-The people who bring me supplies from the hospital do not hesitate to make themselves bouquets from my flower-bed; sometimes, also, children from the city appear at the gate of my garden. I immediately retire to my tower, through fear of terrifying or injuring them. From my window I watch their innocent play; at last, they boldly despoil me of a few blossoms. As they are about to leave, they lift their eyes toward me-" Good-by, Leper!" say they, laughing; and that diverts me somewhat from my

sorrow.

The Soldier. You have skillfully collected here many different plants. I observe vines and fruit trees of several species.

The Leper.-The trees are yet young; I planted them myself, and this vine, also, which I have trained to climb over the old wall yonder; its unusual size affords me a pleasant walking-place, its shade being my favorite resort. Ascend along these stones; it is a stairway of which I am the architect. Hold on by the wall.

The Soldier.-Charming habitation ! and how appropriate it is for the meditations of a recluse !

The Lepcr.-Yes, I am much attached to it. From here, I see the surrounding country and the laborers in the

fields; I watch all that goes on in the meadows, and am observed by no one.

The Soldier.-I am struck with the tranquillity and solitude of this retreat. One is in the midst of a city, yet here, it is easy to fancy one's self in a desert.

The Leper.-Solitude is by no means confined to forests or rocky wilds. The unfortunate are everywhere alone. The Soldier.-What course of events led you to this lonely spot? Is this your native country?

The Leper.-I was born on the sea-coast, in the principality of Oneille, having resided here only fifteen years. As to my history, it is but one long, unvarying calamity. The Soldier.-Have you always lived alone?

The Leper.-My parents died in my infancy, and I never experienced their tender care. One sister who was left to me died just two years ago. I have never had a friend. The Soldier.-Miserable man!

The Leper.-Such are the dispensations of the Almighty. The Soldier.-Tell me, I pray you, what is your name? The Leper.-Ah, my name is terrible; I am called The Leper! The world knows neither that which I hold from my family nor that which the Church gave me the day of my baptism. I am The Leper-this my only title to the good-will of men. May they be eternally ignorant who

I am.

The Soldier.-Did the sister you lost live with you? The Leper. She dwelt with me five years in this same habitation where you see me. As unhappy as I, she shared my sorrows, and I endeavored to alleviate hers.

The Soldier.-In a solitude so profound, how do you employ yourself?

The Leper.-To detail the occupations of a hermit like me could only prove monotonous for a man of the world, who finds his happiness in the activity of social life.

The Soldier.-Ah, you little know this world, which has never brought me happiness. I am often solitary from choice, and there is more similarity than you imagine in our ideas. I admit, however, that eternal solitude appalls me; I can with difficulty conceive of a fate so desperate.

The Leper.-He who loves his cell, will find there peace. "The Imitation of Christ" teaches us that blessed truth. I begin to realize the force of the consoling words. The horrors of solitude are soothed, also, by labor. The man who works is never altogether unhappy, and my case is a proof of that beneficent influence. In fine weather, the cultivation of my vegetable and flower-garden occupies me sufficiently; during the Winter, I weave baskets and mats; I employ myself, also, in making my clothing; I prepare, every day, my own food with the provisions brought me from the hospital; and prayer fills those hours which labor leaves free. At length, the year rolls away, and when it has passed, it even seems to have been short!

The Soldier.-It should rather appear like a century ! The Leper.-Pain and sorrow make the hours creep slowly, but the years glide by always with the same rapidity. Besides, there is still, in the last extreme of misery, an enjoyment which the generality of men can never understand, and which will strike you as very singular: it is the mere delight in existing, in breathing. I spend whole days in Summer, motionless on this rampart, reveling in the air and in the beauty of nature. All my ideas are then vague, indecisive; sadness fills my heart, without overwhelming it; my regard wanders over this landscape, and over the rocks that surround us; each different scene has become so engraven on my memory that it is, so to speak, a part of myself; and every familiar locality is a friend that I greet with pleasure each succeeding day.

The Soldier.—I have often experienced similar sensations. When sorrow oppresses me, and I find nothing in the heart

of men that mine desires, the aspect of nature and inanimate things consoles me. I have an affection for the very rocks and trees; and it seems that all the objects in creation are friends whom God has given me.

The Leper.-You encourage me to explain, in my turn, all that most deeply affects me. I truly love the surroundings which are, in a sense, the companions of my life, and which I see daily. Indeed, every evening, before retiring to my tower, I go and bid adieu to the glacier of Ruitorts, to the dark forests of Mont Saint Bernard, and to the picturesque peaks which command the valley of the Rhême. Although the power of God be quite as visible in the creation of an ant as in that of the entire universe, grand phenomena, like mountains, impress His omnipotence more deeply upon my senses. I can never behold these enormous masses, clothed in eternal ice, without feeling a reverential wonder; but, in the vast prospect which surrounds me, I have my favorite spots that I regard with especial preference. Among them is the hermitage that you perceive up there on the summit of Mount Charvensod. Solitary in the midst of the woods, near a barren field, it receives the last rays of the setting sun. Although I have never visited it, I take peculiar pleasure in beholding the place. As day declines, seated in my garden, I fix my regard on this lonely hermitage, and my imagination rests itself there. The distant house has become invested, for me, with a species of proprietorship; a sort of confused reminiscence suggests that I lived there formerly, in happier times, the very memory of which sorrow has effaced. Above all things, I like to watch the far-away mountains that fade with the skies into the horizon. As does the contemplation of the future, so distance also creates in me the feeling of hope; my oppressed heart is deluded with the belief that somewhere a distant land exists where, some time in the uncertain future, I can at length taste that happiness for which I sigh, and which a mysterious instinct ever unceasingly represents as possible.

The Soldier.-With a soul so ardent as yours, doubtless you have made innumerable struggles to resign yourself to your destiny, and not to give up to despair.

The Leper.-I should deceive you, did I per you to believe that I am always resigned to my fate. Ne er have I reached that self-abnegation anchorites have sometimes attained. The complete sacrifice of every human affection is by no means yet accomplished; my life is passed in continual conflicts, and the powerful aid of religion itself is not always sufficient to restrain the transports of my imagination. It often drags me, despite myself, into an ocean of chimerical desires, whose currents all lead back to that world of which I have no true conception, and whose fascinating image is always present to torment me.

The Soldier.-Could I but make you read my soul, and give you my estimate of the world, all your longings and regrets would instantly be dispelled.

The Leper.-In vain have books attested the perversity of men, and the evils inseparable from humanity. My heart refuses to believe their reports. I am always picturing bands of sincere and virtuous friends; husbands and wives loving and beloved, whom health, youth and fortune, all united, bless with happiness. I fancy them wandering together in groves fresher and greener than any which lend me their shade, lighted by a sun more brilliant than that which shines for me; and their fate impresses me as the more enviable, in proportion as mine grows more desperate. In the beginning of Spring, when the wind from Piedmont stirs in our valley, I feel myself penetrated by its exhilarating warmth, and tremble, despite myself. An inexplicable desire takes possession of my soul-the confused suggestion of an immense felicity that I might enjoy,

and that is denied me. Then I fly from my cell, I wander in the open fields, to breathe more freely. I avoid being seen by the very men whom my heart burns to meet; and from the brow of the hill, concealed in the brushwood like a wild beast, my gaze wanders over the city of Aosta. I watch from afar, with eyes of envy, the happy people who are scarcely aware of my existence; groaning, I stretch forth my hands to them, and demand from their riches my portion of joy. In my transports-shall I confess it ?-I have sometimes clasped in my arms the trees of the forest, crying out to God to render them animate, and thus give me one friend. But the trees are mute; their cold bark repulses me; it has nothing in common with my heart, which throbs and burns. Overwhelmed with fatigue, weary of life, I drag myself back to my retreat. I confess my torments to God, and prayer sheds over my soul somewhat of calm!

The Soldier. Thus you suffer at the same time, poor unfortunate! every anguish possible to the soul or the body.

The Leper.-Ah, physical pains are by no means the most cruel!

The Leper.-Every month, they augment and diminish with the course of the moon. When the thin crescent appears in the heavens, I generally suffer more; then the malady diminishes, and seems to undergo a change; my skin dries and whitens, and I scarcely feel any pain. But my disease would be always supportable, save for the frightful sleeplessness that it occasions. The Soldier.-What !-even sleep abandons you?

The Leper.-Ah, sir, such wakefulness! You can never conceive how long and sad is the night which a miserable creature passes without ever closing his eyes, his mind confronted with his fearful situation, and appalled by a future without hope. No! it is impossible to comprehend such a fate! My anguish of soul gathers force as the night advances; and when the long watch is almost over, my agitation is such that I am absolutely distracted; my thoughts rage and burn; I experience an extraordinary emotion, unknown save in these pitiable moments. Sometimes, I imagine that an irresistible force draws me into a bottomless abyss; sometimes, black spots float before my eyes: but, as I observe them, they enlarge with the rapidity of lightning, then grow bigger while approaching me, and soon become mountains that crush me with their weight. Again, I

see clouds rise up from the earth around me, like waves that swell, that heap themselves about me, and threaten to ingulf me; and when I strive to rise and dispel these phantoms, I seem held back by invisible powers which deprive me of all my strength. Perhaps you believe that these are dreams. No; I am thoroughly awake. Unceasingly, again and again, I behold the same objects; this horror dwarfs every other evil I suffer.

The Soldier.-It is possible that you have fever during these cruel vigils, and that, no doubt, occasions a kind of delirium.

The Leper.-You believe that it can proceed from fever? Ah, I would that it were only so! I have feared, until this moment, that these visions were a symptom of madness, and I confess that such an apprehension caused me the keenest disquiet. Please God that it be indeed only fever!

The Soldier.-You interest me astonishingly. I declare, I would never have conceived of a situation like yours. It was greatly mitigated, I imagine, while your sister lived.

The Soldier.-But, why? No, you shall not leave me