l lay across a half-finished
sketch; two or three wild plants were laid within the leaves of a little
book on botany; and a chess problem, with an open book beside it, still
waited for solution on a little board, whose workmanship clearly enough
betrayed it to be by his own hands.

I inspected every thing with an interest inspired by all I had been
hearing of the poor priest, and turned over the little volumes of his
humble library to trace, if I might, some clew to his habits in his
readings. They were all, however, of one cast and character--religious
tracts and offices, covered with annotations and remarks, and showing,
by many signs the most careful and frequent perusal. It was easy to see
that his taste for drawing or for chess were the only dissipations he
permitted himself to indulge. What a strange life of privation, thought
I, alone and companionless as he must be! and while speculating on the
sense of duty which impelled such a man to accept a post so humble and
unpromising, I perceived that on the wall right opposite to me there
hung a picture, covered by a little curtain of green silk.

Curious to behold the saintly effigy so carefully enshrined, I drew
aside the curtain, and what was my astonishment to find a little colored
sketch of a boy about twelve years old, dressed in the tawdry and
much-worn uniform of a drummer. I started. Something flashed suddenly
across my mind, that the features, the dress, the air, were not unknown
to me. Was I awake, or were my senses misleading me? I took it down and
held it to the light, and as well as my trembling hands permitted, I
spelled out, at the foot of the drawing, the words "Le Petit Maurice, as
I saw him last." Yes: it was my own portrait, and the words were in the
writing of my dearest friend in the world, the Pere Michael. Scarce
knowing what I did, I ransacked books and papers on every side, to
confirm my suspicions, and although his name was nowhere to be found, I
had no difficulty in recognizing his hand, now so forcibly recalled to
my memory.

Hastening into the kitchen, I told my guide, that I must set out to
Murrah at once, that it was above all important that I should see the
priest immediately. It was in vain that he told me he was unequal to the
fatigue of going further, that the storm was increasing, the mountain
torrents were swelling to a formidable size, that the path could not be
discovered after dark; I could not brook the thought of delay, and