suffer;--at some future day you shall know all."

I never resumed the subject; for however much my curiosity might be
aroused, I felt too true compassion for his sufferings to increase them
by my intrusion. I sought various ways to divert his mind, and to
arouse him from the constant meditations in which he was plunged. He
saw my efforts, and seconded them as far as in his power, for there was
nothing moody or wayward in his nature; on the contrary, there was
something frank, generous, unassuming, in his whole deportment. All the
sentiments that he uttered were noble and lofty. He claimed no
indulgence; he asked no toleration. He seemed content to carry his load
of misery in silence, and only sought to carry it by my side. There was
a mute beseeching manner about him, as if he craved companionship as a
charitable boon; and a tacit thankfulness in his looks, as if he felt
grateful to me for not repulsing him.

I felt this melancholy to be infectious. It stole over my spirits;
Interfered with all my gay pursuits, and gradually saddened my life;
yet I could not prevail upon myself to shake off a being who seemed to
hang upon me for support. In truth, the generous traits of character
that beamed through all this gloom had penetrated to my heart. His
bounty was lavish and open-handed. His charity melting and spontaneous.
Not confined to mere donations, which often humiliate as much as they
relieve. The tone of his voice, the beam of his eye, enhanced every
gift, and surprised the poor suppliant with that rarest and sweetest of
charities, the charity not merely of the hand, but of the heart.
Indeed, his liberality seemed to have something in it of self-abasement
and expiation. He humbled himself, in a manner, before the mendicant.
"What right have I to ease and affluence," would he murmur to himself,
"when innocence wanders in misery and rags?"