the lame, the blind, the aged and the infirm;--the captive who lies
down counting over and over again the days of his afflictions,
languishes also for his share of it; and had you been of the ORDER
OF MERCY, instead of the order of St. Francis, poor as I am,
continued I, pointing at my portmanteau, full cheerfully should it
have been open'd to you, for the ransom of the unfortunate.--The
monk made me a bow.--But of all others, resumed I, the unfortunate
of our own country, surely, have the first rights; and I have left
thousands in distress upon our own shore.--The monk gave a cordial
wave with his head,--as much as to say, No doubt there is misery
enough in every corner of the world, as well as within our convent-
-But we distinguish, said I, laying my hand upon the sleeve of his
tunic, in return for his appeal--we distinguish, my good father!
betwixt those who wish only to eat the bread of their own labour--
and those who eat the bread of other people's, and have no other
plan in life, but to get through it in sloth and ignorance, FOR THE
LOVE OF GOD.

The poor Franciscan made no reply: a hectic of a moment pass'd
across his cheek, but could not tarry--Nature seemed to have done
with her resentments in him;--he showed none: --but letting his
staff fall within his arms, he pressed both his hands with
resignation upon his breast, and retired.


THE MONK. CALAIS.


My heart smote me the moment he shut the door--Psha! said I, with
an air of carelessness, three several times--but it would not do: