e way, and suddenly ceasing if
observed.

His eye, for some minutes, would often seem bright with intelligence;
but on looking more closely, it would be discovered that the gaze was
fixed on vacancy, and it might be conjectured that no image of any near
object was presented to the mind, since no expression of pain, pleasure,
or astonishment would follow, when different substances were displayed
before him. One might say, that the faculties were entirely absorbed
by their own operations, and neither took note of those recorded by
the senses, nor had any sympathy with their workings--volition wad at a
stand-still. But why dwell on so sorrowful a picture?

Spring came, and Fritz, who ever obeyed each command of those over
him, was suffered to walk daily in the little garden of the asylum.
One day--it was the first bright one of the new season--the birds were
singing sweetly in the trees when he went forth, and they who came some
time after to fetch him to the house, found him in tears. His sorrow
seemed, however, to have brought some sense of relief with it, for that
night he slept more calmly and longer than usual. From this time out it
was remarked that his appearance varied with the weather of each day.
When the air was clear, and the sun shone bright, and the birds gathered
together in the blossoming branches of the fruit-trees, he seemed
happier; but when dark skies or rain came on, he would walk impatiently
from place to place--now, as if in search of some missing object--now,
as if suddenly overwhelmed by his loss.

Thus did he continue till about the first week in May, when at the usual
hour of recalling him to the house he was not to be found. Search
was made every where--through the garden--about the neighbouring
buildings--in all the Dorf--but all in vain. No one had seen him.

Poor and unfriended as he was, his little simple ways, his sinless
innocence and gentleness, had made him friends among all who had any
authority in the asylum; and no pains were spared to track him out and
discover him--to no end, however. He was seen there no more. Days and
weeks long, with unwearying zeal, the search continued, and was only
abandoned when all hope seemed gone. By none was this sad termination of
his suffering more poignantly felt than by old Cristoph. Every week he
came to Imst, his first care was to ask after the little boy; and when
he learned his fate, his grief was deep and heartfelt.

I know not if my reader