him to inhabit a cell, and relieve him from the ennui which poisoned his
life. "While uttering these words," said Father Paul, "he pressed my
hands, and called me his father; the locks of his hair, dripping with
perspiration, covered his forehead; his face was pale, his lips trembled:
dared I to ask him the cause of his melancholy?"--"My father, all
_your_ days are like each other; as for _me_, I shall always be
a traveller."--"Have you no country? If the feeling of absence causes your
sorrow, depart; my prayers and good wishes will accompany you to
England."--"Speak not to me of England; I would rather be dragged in
chains on the sands of Libya, than revisit places imprinted with the curse
which I have given them. The injustice of men has made England odious to
me; it has separated us for ever; after the death of man, however, if it
be true that the soul survives, I should be delighted to inhabit it, as a
pure spirit. This mystery is only known to God."--"Well, if you have
renounced your country, take care to give your mind occupation, without
too great exertion of your fancy. Is it the fault of the Creator if men
are misled by false doctrines? God never predestined their perfect
knowledge. Think you that peace of mind, and health of body can be the lot
of him, whose life is perpetually in contradiction to that of other men?
His reason is perverted who doubts the infinite power of God, and the man
inscribed on the list of Atheists must be necessarily unhappy."--"Atheist!
Atheist! This is then the end of your consolation to me! It is thus that
you call your son! Minister of that God who reads the hearts of men,
learn, my reverend father, that it is beyond your power to discover an
Atheist, even if his own mouth made you the hypocritical confession. An
Atheist it is impossible to find--to admit his existence is to outrage the
Sovereign of the World, who, in perfecting his noblest work, did not
forget to engrave there the name of its immortal Author. Passions may
arouse doubts; but when the Atheist questions himself, the evidence of a
God confounds his incredulity, and the truth of the sentiment which fills