first talked upon the theology of revealed religion. As Bezoni warmed
into candour, I perceived that his doctrines differed from my own, and
that he inly disbelieved that divine creed which Christians profess to
adore. From a dispute on the ground of faith, we came to one upon the
more debatable ground of reason. We turned from the subject of revealed
to that of natural religion; and we entered long and earnestly into that
grandest of all earthly speculations,--the metaphysical proofs of the
immortality of the soul. Again the sentiments of Bezoni were opposed to
mine. He was a believer in the dark doctrine which teaches that man is
dust and that all things are forgotten in the grave. He expressed his
opinions with a clearness and precision the more impressive because
totally devoid of cavil and of rhetoric. I listened in silence, but
with a deep and most chilling dismay. Even now I think I see the man as
he sat before me, the light of the lamp falling on his high forehead and
dark features; even now I think I hear his calm, low voice--the silver
voice of his country--stealing to my heart, and withering the only pure
and unsullied hope which I yet cherished there.

Bezoni left me, unconscious of the anguish he bequeathed me, to think
over all he had said. I did not sleep nor even retire to bed. I laid
my head upon my hands, and surrendered myself to turbulent yet intense
reflection. Every man who has lived much in the world, and conversed
with its various tribes, has, I fear, met with many who, on this
momentous subject, profess the same tenets as Bezoni. But he was the
first person I had met of that sect who had evidently thought long and
deeply upon the creed he had embraced. He was not a voluptuary nor a
boaster nor a wit. He had not been misled by the delusions either of
vanity or of the senses. He was a man pure, innocent, modest, full of
all tender charities and meek dispositions towards mankind: it was
evidently his interest to believe in a future state; he could have had