ccompany me to-morrow when
I visit him. What a strange life is this, Stukely! What a strange
history may be that of this poor fellow whom Providence has cast at
our door! Well, poor wretch, we'll do the best we can for him. If we
cannot reach his mind, we may improve his body, and he will be then
perhaps quite as happy as the wisest of us."

The clock struck twelve as Doctor Mayhew spoke. It startled and
surprised us both. In a few minutes we separated and retired to our
several beds.

When I saw the idiot on the following day, I could perceive a marked
improvement in his appearance. The deadly pallor of his countenance
had departed; and although no healthy colour had taken its place,
the living blood seemed again in motion, restoring expression to
those wan and withered features. His coal-black eye had recovered
the faintest power of speculation, and the presence of a stranger
was now sufficient to call it into action. He was clean and properly
attired, and he sat--apart from his keeper--conscious of existence.
There was good ground, in the absence of all positive proof, for the
supposition of the doctor. A common observer would have pronounced
him well-born at a glance. Smitten as he was, and unhinged by his sad
affliction, there remained still sufficient of the external forms to
conduct to such an inference. Gracefulness still hovered about the
human ruin, discernible in the most aimless of imbecility's weak
movements, and the limbs were not those of one accustomed to the
drudgery of life. A melancholy creature truly did he look, as I gazed
upon him for a second time. He had carried his chair to a corner of
the room, and there he sat, his face half-hidden, resting upon his
breast, his knee drawn up and pressed tightly by his clasped
hands--those very hands, small and marble-white, forming a ghastful
contrast to the raven hair that fell thickly on his back. He had not
spoken since he rose. Indeed, since his first appearance, he had said
nothing but the unintelligible word which he had uttered four times
in my presence, and which Dr. Mayhew now believed to be the name of
the lady whose portrait he wore. That he could speak was certain,
and his silence was therefore the effect of obstinacy or of absolute
weakness of intellect, which forbade the smallest mental effort. I
approached him, and addressed him in accents of kindness. He raised
his head slowly, and looked piteously upon me, but in a moment again
he resumed h