shores of the fiord and there
quitted him. Certain inhabitants of Jarvis, having approached Monsieur
Seraphitus as he stood on the shore, heard him repeat those blissful
words of Scripture: 'How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of Him
who is sent of God!'

"I had left the parsonage on my way to baptize the infant and name
it, and perform the other duties required by law, when I met the baron
returning to the house. 'Your ministrations are superfluous,' he said;
'our child is to be without name on this earth. You must not baptize in
the waters of an earthly Church one who has just been immersed in the
fires of Heaven. This child will remain a blossom, it will not grow old;
you will see it pass away. You exist, but our child has life; you have
outward senses, the child has none, its being is always inward.' These
words were uttered in so strange and supernatural a voice that I was
more affected by them than by the shining of his face, from which light
appeared to exude. His appearance realized the phantasmal ideas which we
form of inspired beings as we read the prophesies of the Bible. But such
effects are not rare among our mountains, where the nitre of perpetual
snows produces extraordinary phenomena in the human organization.

"I asked him the cause of his emotion. 'Swedenborg came to us; he has
just left me; I have breathed the air of heaven,' he replied. 'Under
what form did he appear?' I said. 'Under his earthly form; dressed as
he was the last time I saw him in London, at the house of Richard
Shearsmith, Coldbath-fields, in July, 1771. He wore his brown frieze
coat with steel buttons, his waistcoat buttoned to the throat, a white
cravat, and the same magisterial wig rolled and powdered at the sides
and raised high in front, showing his vast and luminous brow, in keeping
with the noble square face, where all is power and tranquillity. I
recognized the large nose with its fiery nostril, the mouth that
ever smiled,--angelic mouth from which these words, the pledge of my
happiness, have just issued, "We shall meet soon."'

"The conviction that shone on the baron's face forbade all discussion; I
listened in silence. His voice had a contagious heat which made my bosom
burn within me; his fanaticism stirred my heart as the anger of another
makes our nerves vibrate. I followed him in silence to his house, where
I saw the nameless child lying mysteriously folded to its mother's
breast. The babe heard my step and t