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recollect it was the peace-offering of a man who once used you
unkindly, but not from his heart."

The poor monk blushed as red as scarlet. "Mon Dieu!"
said he, "pressing his hands together"-"you never used me
unkindly." "I should think," said the lady, "he is not likely."
I blushed in my turn; but from what movements, I leave to
the few who feel to analyze. "Excuse me Madam," replied I.
"I treated him most unkindly; and from no provocations."
""Tis impossible," said the lady. "My God!" cried the
monk, with a warmth of asseveration which seemed not to
belong to him, "the fault was in me, and in the indiscretion of
my zeal," the lady opposed it, and I joined with her in main-
taining it was impossible that a spirit so regulated as his, could
give offence to any.

I knew not that contention could be rendered so sweet and
pleasurable a thing to the nerves as I then felt it.
We re-
mained silent, without any sensation of that foolish pain which
takes place, when in such a circle you look for ten minutes in
one another's faces without saying a word. Whilst this lasted,

the monk rubbed his horn box upon the sleeve of his tunic;
and as soon as it had acquired a little air of brightness by the
friction, he made me a low bow, and said 'twas too late to say

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whether it was the weakness or goodness of our tempers which involved us in this contest, but be it as he would, he begged we might exchange boxes. In saying this, he presented his to me with one hand, as he took mine from me in the other, and having kissed it, with a stream of good nature in his eyes he put it into his bosom, and took his leave.

I guard this box, as I would the instrumental parts of my religion, to help my mind on to something better: in truth, I seldom go abroad without it; and oft and many a time have I called up by it the courteous spirit of its owner to regulate my own, in the justlings of the world; they had found full employment for his, as I learned from his story, till about the forty-fifth year of his age, when upon some military services ill requited, and meeting at the same time with a disappointment in the tenderest of passions, he abandoned the sword and the sex together, and took sanctuary not so much in his convent as in himself.

I feel a damp upon my spirits, as I am going to add, that in my last return through Calais, upon inquiring after Father Lorenzo, I heard that he had been dead near three months,