notwithstanding the confusion and disorder there is in the world, matter certainly obeys regular, though blind laws. Very blind," he repeated to himself; "if I needed another proof, here is one. These great lobes, which helped the plant to burst through the earth, are now quite useless; but still they hang heavily upon it, and exhaust its sap!"

While the count thus reasoned, the evening drew on; and though it was spring-time, the nights were cold. As the sun sank, the lobes he had been watching rose slowly before his eyes, and as if to justify themselves in his opinion, drew nearer to each other, enclosing the tender leaves, folding their soft wings over the plant, and thus protecting it from cold, or the attack of insects! Charney understood this silent answer all the better from perceiving that the outer coating had been eaten the preceding night by the slugs, whose silver trail still remained upon the surface.

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This strange dialogue, carried on by thought on one side, and action on the other, could not rest here; for Charney was too much accustomed to dispute, to yield his opinion at once to a good reason. "It is all very well," said he to himself; as it often happens, several fortunate accidents have combined to favour this little plant. Armed at first with a lever to raise up the earth, and a shield to defend it from injury, there was a double chance of its existence; but for these, the germ would have been stifled, as doubtless myriads of the same species are, which nature having imperfectly formed, are unable to preserve themselves, or perpetuate their kind. Who can know the number of these unfinished productions? Bah! there is nothing in all I have noticed but a lucky chance."

Count Charney, nature has still an answer to all your arguments. Be patient, and perhaps you will discover that this frail production was providentially placed in the courtyard of your prison for a useful purpose. You are right in thinking that these protecting wings will soon be insufficient for the purpose; but then they will wither and fall, no longer wanted. For when the north wind shall blow from the Alps damp fogs and flakes of snow, the new leaves still in the bud shall find there a safe asylum, a dwelling prepared for them, impervious to the air, cemented with gum and resin, which, increasing according to their growth, will only open in genial weather; and when returning sunshine calls them forth, they press together, thus borrowing and lending fraternal support, and find themselves provided with a downy covering to protect them from atmospheric changes. Be sure, wherever danger increases, the care of Providence is redoubled.

The prisoner still watched the changes of the plant. Again he argued, and again it had a ready answer. Of what use is this down upon the stem?" said Charney.

The next morning he saw that the down was covered with a

light hoar-frost, which had thus been held at a distance from the tender bark!

"At all events, it will not be wanted in the summer," continued the count; and when warm weather came, behold the plant was stripped of its first mantle, and its fresh branches were free from a covering no longer necessary. "But a storm may come, and the wind will scatter, and the hail will tear thy tender

leaves."

The wind blew, and the young plant, too weak to wrestle with it, bent to the earth, and so found safety. It hailed; and now, by a new manœuvre, the leaves arose, and pressing together for mutual protection around the stem, presented a solid mass to the blows of the enemy: in union they found strength; and though the plant sustained some slight injury, it came out of the conflict still strong, and ready to open to the sunbeams, which soon healed its wounds!

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"Has Chance intelligence?" asked Charney; can it join spirit to matter?” From attempting to discover some of the properties of this humble plant, and watching over its progress towards maturity, he unconsciously learned to love it; and it was the first thing which he loved, for his heart was at length touched. One day he had watched it longer even than usual, and surprised himself in a reverie beside it. His thoughts were calmer and sweeter than any he had experienced for a long time. Presently, on raising his head, he perceived at the window we before noticed the stranger, who evidently was watching him, and whom Charney had called in derision the fly-catcher. At first he blushed, as if the other had known his thoughts; and then he smiled, for he no longer despised him. What room was there for contempt? Was not his own mind absorbed in a very similar manner? "Who knows,” said he, “this Italian may have discovered in a fly things as worthy of being examined as I have in my plant."

On re-entering his chamber, the first object which struck him was a sentence he had written on his wall about two months before-it ran thus:

“Chance is the parent of creation.”

He took a piece of charcoal, and wrote beneath it~" Perhaps !" Charney chalked no more upon the wall, and only carved upon his table representations of flowers and leaves. His hours of exercise he passed almost entirely by the side of his plant, watching its growth, and studying its changes; and often, when returned to his chamber, he continued to gaze on it through the grated window. It had now, indeed, become his favourite occupation— the only resource of a prisoner! Will he tire of it as he had done of every other amusement? We shall see.

One morning, while looking at the plant from his window, he saw, or fancied, that the jailer, in crossing the courtyard with hurried strides, brushed so close to the stem that he almost

crushed it. Charney trembled from head to foot. When Ludovic brought him his breakfast, he set about offering his petition, which was, that he would have the goodness to walk carefully, and spare the only ornament of the yard. But simple as the request may appear, he scarcely knew how to begin. Perhaps the regulations for cleaning the prison might be so rigid, that destruction must await the little thing; and if so, how great was the favour he had to ask! At last, however, mustering up courage to speak of such a trifle, he begged Ludovic-who, though the warden of a prison, and sometimes rough in manner, was not by any means a hard-hearted man-to spare the plant in which he had begun to take such a friendly interest.

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Why, as for your wallflower- began Ludovic.

"Is it then a wallflower ?" interrupted the count.

66 Oh, I don't know, I am sure; but all such things seem to me more or less wallflowers. But this I will say, that you are rather late in recommending it to my care. Why, I should have put my foot upon it long ago, had I not seen that you were in

terested in it."

"Yes, I do feel an interest," said Charney in a confused manner. "Hush, hush," returned the other, winking his eye with a comical expression; "people must have something to care about, and prisoners have no choice. Why, I have known great people, clever people for they don't send fools here-amuse themselves at little cost. One catches flies-no great harm in that; another" -and here he winked again—"carves with his penknife all sorts of monstrous things upon his table, without remembering that I am responsible for the furniture. Some make friends of birds, and some of mice. Now, so much do I respect these fancies, that I have sent away our cat, though my wife doted on her, for fear of her killing them. Perhaps she might not have injured them, but I would not run any risk; I should have been a villain if Í had; for all the cats in the world are not worth the bird or mouse of a prisoner."

"But

"It was very good of you," replied Charney, feeling himself humbled at being thought capable of such childish tastes. this plant is for me something more than an amusement."

"Well, what matters it? If it reminds you of the tree under which you prattled to your mother in your childhood, so much the better. The superintendent has not spoken about it, and as for me, I shut my eyes to things I don't wish to see. If it should grow to be a tree, and so be able to help you over the wall, it will be another affair; but we have no need to think of that yet a while," he added with a laugh; "though, I am sure, I wish you the free use of your legs with all my heart; but this must happen according to order. If you were to try to escape

"What would you do?"

"Do! Why, it should be over my body; I would shoot you myself, or tell the sentinel to fire, with as little remorse as if you

were a rabbit. But touch a leaf of your wallflower! No, I have not a heart for that. I have always considered that man unworthy of the dignity of being a jailer, who would crush a spider that a prisoner had become attached to; it is a wicked action-a crime. Talking of spiders," continued Ludovic, "I'll tell you a story about a prisoner who was let out at last by the help of the spiders."

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By the help of the spiders!" exclaimed Charney with asto

nishment.

"Yes," replied the jailer; "it is about ten years ago; Quatremer Disjonval was his name. He was a Frenchman, like you, though he had employment in Holland, and sided with the Dutch when they revolted. For this he was put into prison, where he stayed eight years, without having even then a prospect of being released for I heard all about him, count, from a prisoner we had here before you came and who formed an acquaintance with the spiders; though, luckily, Bonaparte gave him the use of his legs again, without waiting so long for it as his friend had done. Well, this poor Disjonval having nothing to amuse himself with during these eight long years, took to watching the spiders; and at last, from their actions, he could tell what the weather would be for ten, twelve, or fourteen days to come. Above all, he noticed that they only spun their large wheellike webs in fine weather, or when fine clear weather was setting in; whereas, when wet and cold were coming, they retreated clean out of sight. Now, when the troops of the Republic were in Holland, in December 1794, a sudden and unexpected thaw so altered the plans of the generals, that they seriously thought of withdrawing the army, and accepting the money that the Dutch would have willingly paid to be free of them. But Disjonval, who thought any masters would be better than his present ones, hoped, beyond all things, that the French would be victorious; and knowing that only the weather was against them, watched his friendly spiders with redoubled interest. To his joy, he discovered that a frost was coming; a frost which would render the rivers and canals able to bear the weight of the baggage and artillery. He contrived to have a letter conveyed to the commander-in-chief, assuring him that a frost would set in within fourteen days; he, either believing what he wished, or really putting faith in a prisoner's experience, maintained his ground; and when, at the end of twelve days, every river was frozen over, Disjonval no doubt felt, that if the French gained the day, he deserved his freedom at their hands. And he had it too; for when they entered Utrecht in triumph, one of the first orders issued was for the liberation of Quatremer Disjonval. This is a fact, count; though I heard it said that afterwards he continued his affection for the spiders, and wrote about them too. Ah, it is a curious thing how much such insects know, or at least how much they do, that we can't at all

understand! They must be Heaven-taught too, for they do not even seem to teach one another."

Charney was touched by this recital, for well could he enter into every feeling of Disjonval; and his heart was softened by Ludovic's attention to his plant. Yet, now that he began to respect his jailer, his vanity urged him the more to give some reason for the interest he took in such a trifle. "My dear good Ludovic," said he, "I thank you for your kind consideration; but I must repeat to you that this little plant is to me more than an amusement. I am studying its physiology;" and as he saw that the man listened without understanding, he added, "besides, the species to which it belongs possesses, I think, medicinal properties which are most valuable in certain attacks of illness to which I am subject!" He had descended to a species of falsehood. But, alas! this had seemed to him less humiliating than to acknowledge himself pleased with a trifle.

"Well, count," said Ludovic, preparing to leave the room, "if your plant, or its kind, has rendered you so much service, I think you might have shown your gratitude by watering it sometimes. Poor PICCIOLA!* poor little thing! it would have perished of thirst if I had not taken care of it. But adieu, adieu."

"One instant, my kind Ludovic," exclaimed Charney, more and more surprised at discovering the character of the man; "is it possible that you have been thus thoughtful of my pleasures, and yet never mentioned your goodness to me? I intreat you accept this little present as an earnest of my gratitude, though it is impossible I can ever repay you;" and he presented a little silver-gilt cup which belonged to his dressing-case. Ludovic took it in his hand, examining it with some curiosity.

"Repay me for what, Signor Count? Flowers only ask a little water, so we can let them drink without being ruined at a tavern." And he replaced the cup in the dressing-case.

The count moved nearer, and extended his hand; but Ludovic drew back in a respectful manner, exclaiming, "No, no; a man only gives his hand to a friend and an equal."

"Then, Ludovic, be you my friend."

No, no; that would not do," replied the jailer; "one should have a little foresight in this world. If we were to be friends, and you were to try to escape, how should I have the heart to cry 'fire' to the soldiers? No; I am your keeper, your jailer, and most humble servant."

And now that Charney has learned another lesson-the lesson, that good as well as evil is woven in that strange tangled texture, human nature-we must hurry over some of the succeeding events, and relate but briefly how he was attacked by illness, and

* Picciola-pronounced Pitchiola-is an Italian word signifying poor little thing.

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