had spent so many happy days, and the woods and valleys and mountains, saying, beyond this he knew nothing; and he wished that he had been born Claude and Maria's child, and that he might be allowed to spend all his life, as Claude had done, in that delightful valley.
"Whilst Maria, with many tears, was preparing things for Henri's journey, the Pastor took the opportunity of talking privately to him, and giving him some advice which he hoped might be useful to him. He took the child by the hand, and leading him into a solitary path above the cottage, where they could walk unseen and unheard, he explained to him the dangerous situation into which he was about to enter; he told him, with as much tenderness as possible, what his father's and his mother's characters were; that they never knew the fear of God, and that they acted as most persons do who are rich and powerful, and who are not led by Divine grace; and he pointed out to him how he ought to behave to his parents, telling him that he must not be led away, but must persevere in well-doing. These, with many other things, the good Claude besought Henri always to have in remembrance, as he hoped to see his Redeemer in the land which is very far off; and he ended by giving him a little Bible, in a small velvet bag, which he had received from his own father, and which he had been accustomed to carry in his pocket in all his visits to his poor people. In these days, Bibles are so common that every little boy and girl may have one; but this was not the case in former days; Bibles were very scarce and very difficult to get; and this Henri knew, and therefore he knew how to value this present.
"It would only trouble you were I to describe the sorrow of Claude's family when, the next morning, Henri, according to his father's orders, was dressed in a rich suit
of clothes, and set upon a horse, which was to carry him from among the mountains to the Castle of Bellemont, where the Marquis's carriage waited for him. Henri could not speak as the horses went down the valley, but the tears fell fast down his cheeks; every tree and every cottage which he passed, every pathway winding from the highroad among the hills, reminded him of some sweet walk taken with Claude and his sons, or with his dear foster-mother. As the road passed under one of the cottages which stood on the brow of a hill, Henri heard the notes of one of those sweet hymns which Maria had been accustomed to sing to him when he was a very little boy, and which she had afterwards taught him to sing himself. Henri's heart at that moment was ready to burst with grief, and though the servant was close to him, yet he broke out in these words:
"'Farewell, farewell, sweet and happy home! Farewell, lovely, lovely hills! Farewell, beloved friends! I shall never, never see you again!'
"'Do not give way to grief, sir,' said the servant; 'you are going to be a great man; you will see all the fine things in Paris, and be brought before the King.'
"The servant then gave him a long account of the grandeur and pleasures of Paris; but Henri did not hear one word he said, for he was listening to the last faint sounds of the hymn, as they became more and more distant.
"Nothing particular happened to Henri on his journey; and at the end of several days he arrived at the gates of his father's grand house at Paris. The Marchioness that evening (as was common with her) gave a ball and supper to a number of friends; and on this occasion the house was lighted up, and set off with all manner of ornaments. The company was just come, and the music
beginning to play, when Henri was brought into the hall. As soon as it was known who was come, the servants ran to tell the Marquis and Marchioness, and they ran into the hall to receive their son. The beauty of Henri, and his lovely mild look, could not but please and delight his parents, and they said to each other, as they kissed him and embraced him:
"'How could we live so long a stranger to this charming child?'