is never perfectly master of himself. As he lives in utter ignorance of the future, as, indeed, what the next moment may bring forth is hidden from him, he has often, when anything unusual falls beneath his notice, to contend with involuntary sensations, forebodings, and dream-like fancies, at which shortly afterward he may laugh outright, but which at the decisive moment are often extremely oppressive.
In our noonday quarters we met with some amusement. We had taken up our lodgings with a woman in whose house everything looked neat and orderly. Her room, after the fashion of the country, was wainscoted; the beds ornamented with carving; the cupboards, tables, and all the other little repositories which were fastened against the walls or to the corners, had pretty ornaments of turner's work or carving. From the portraits which hung around in the room, it was easy to see that several members of the family had devoted themselves to the clerical profession. We also observed over the door a collection of bound books, which we took to be the endowment of one of these reverend personages. We took down the "Legends of the Saints," and read it while our meal was preparing. On one occasion of our hostess entering the room, she asked us if we had ever read the history of St. Alexis. We said no, and took no further notice of her question, but went on reading the chapter we each had begun. When, however, we had sat down to table, she placed herself by our sides, and began again to talk of St. Alexis. We asked her whether he was her patron saint or that of her family; which she denied, affirming at the same time, however, that this saintly person had undergone so much for the love of God, that his history always affected her more than any other's. When she saw that we knew nothing about him, she began to tell us his history. "St. Alexis," she said, "was the son of noble, rich, and God-fearing parents
