soul, in presence of this stranger, were strong and unaccountable.

Having spent the best part of the day with us, he took his leave,
telling Captain Thoma, that he should hear from him in a short time. He
was no sooner gone than I asked a thousand questions about him of Don
Antonio, who could give me no other satisfaction than that his name was
Don Rodrigo, that he had lived fifteen or sixteen years in these parts,
was reputed rich, and supposed to have been unfortunate in his younger
years, because he was observed to nourish a pensive melancholy, even
from the time of his first settlement among them; but that nobody had
ventured to inquire into the cause of his sorrow, in consideration of
his peace, which might suffer in the recapitulation of his misfortunes.

I was seized with an irresistible desire of knowing the particulars of
his fate, and enjoyed not an hour of repose during the whole night,
by reason of the eager conceptions that inspired me with regard to his
story, which I resolved (if possible) to learn. Next morning, while
we were at breakfast, three mules, richly caparisoned, arrived with a
message from Don Rodrigo, desiring our company, and that of Don Antonio,
at his house, which was situated about ten miles further up in the
country. I was pleased with this invitation, in consequence of which
we mounted the mules which he had provided for us, and alighted at his
house before noon. Here we were splendidly entertained by the generous
stranger, who still seemed to show a particular regard for me, and after
dinner made me a present of a ring, set with a beautiful amethyst, the
production of that country, saying, at the same time, that he was once
blessed with a son, who, had he lived, would have been nearly of my age.
This observation, delivered with a profound sigh, made my heart throb
with violence: a crowd of confused ideas rushed upon my imagination,
which, while I endeavoured to unravel, my uncle perceived my absence of
thought, and tapping me on the shoulder, said, "Oons, are you asleep,
Rory?" Before I had time to reply, Don Rodrigo, with uncommon eagerness
of voice and look, pronounced, "Pray, captain, what is the young
gentleman's name?" "His name," said my uncle, "is Roderick Random."
"Gracious Powers!" cried the stranger, starting up--"And his mother's?"
"His mother," answered the captain, amazed, "was called Charlotte
Bowling." "O bounteous Heaven!" exclaimed Don Rodrigo, springing across
the tab