f the cave of Trophonius, and rediscovered by that prodigious
genius, close on Lavater, and the precursor of Gall.

Lambert's ideas, suddenly illuminated by this flash of light, assumed
vaster proportions; he disentangled certain truths from his many
acquisitions and brought them into order; then, like a founder, he cast
the model of his work. At the end of six months' indefatigable labor,
Lambert's writings excited the curiosity of our companions, and became
the object of cruel practical jokes which led to a fatal issue.

One day one of the masters, who was bent on seeing the manuscripts,
enlisted the aid of our tyrants, and came to seize, by force, a box that
contained the precious papers. Lambert and I defended it with incredible
courage. The trunk was locked, our aggressors could not open it, but
they tried to smash it in the struggle, a stroke of malignity at which
we shrieked with rage. Some of the boys, with a sense of justice, or
struck perhaps by our heroic defence, advised the attacking party to
leave us in peace, crushing us with insulting contempt. But suddenly,
brought to the spot by the noise of a battle, Father Haugoult roughly
intervened, inquiring as to the cause of the fight. Our enemies had
interrupted us in writing our impositions, and the class-master came to
protect his slaves. The foe, in self-defence, betrayed the existence of
the manuscript. The dreadful Haugoult insisted on our giving up the box;
if we should resist, he would have it broken open. Lambert gave him the
key; the master took out the papers, glanced through them, and said, as
he confiscated them:

"And it is for such rubbish as this that you neglect your lessons!"

Large tears fell from Lambert's eyes, wrung from him as much by a
sense of his offended moral superiority as by the gratuitous insult and
betrayal that he had suffered. We gave the accusers a glance of stern
reproach: had they not delivered us over to the common enemy? If the
common law of school entitled them to thrash us, did it not require them
to keep silence as to our misdeeds?

In a moment they were no doubt ashamed of their baseness.

Father Haugoult probably sold the _Treatise on the Will_ to a local
grocer, unconscious of the scientific treasure, of which the germs thus
fell into unworthy hands.

Six months later I left the school, and I do not know whether Lambert
ever recommenced his labors. Our parting threw him into a mood of the
darkest melancholy