an
enthusiast was upon them all. By his conduct or manner, the stranger
would never have supposed that my friend was enthusiastic. He never
indulged in any flights of indignation at the existing state of things,
never was thrown off his guard so as to show by his speech or his manner
that he was passionately attached to liberal principles. It was only
after I had come to know him well, that I discovered this fact--that he
was a great enthusiast, and so deeply attached to the purest principles
respecting human freedom and happiness, that he would willingly have
died for them. Living in Paris, one of the most dissolute cities of the
world, he was pure in his morals, and as rigidly honest as any Puritan
in Cromwell's day. But with all his own purity he possessed unbounded
charity for others. His friends were among all classes, and were good
and bad. One day I saw him walking with one of the most distinguished
men of France. A few days after, while he was taking a morning walk, he
met a university student with a grisette upon his arm--his mistress. The
student wished to leave Paris for the day on business, and asked my
friend to accompany his mistress back to their rooms. With the utmost
composure and politeness the radical offered his arm, and escorted the
frail woman to her apartments.

Of course, this man was carefully watched by the police. He was well
known, and the eye of the secret police was constantly upon him. He
still clung to his old American passport, for it had repeatedly caused
him to be respected when other reasons were insufficient.

I one day wrote a note to a friend in a distant part of the city, and
was going to drop it into the post-office when my friend, who was with
me, remonstrated. "You can walk to the spot and deliver it yourself,"
said he, "and you will have saved the two sous postage. I am going that
way; let _me_ have the postage and I will deliver it."

"I will go with you," I said, at the same time giving him the two sous.
He took them without any remonstrance. On the way we met a poor old
family, singing and begging in the streets. "They must live," said my
friend, "and we will give them our mite in partnership." So he added two
sous to those I had given him, and tossed them to the beggars. This was
genuine charity, given not for ostentation, but to relieve suffering and
administer comfort. I found him at all times entirely true to his
principles, and became very much interested in him.