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her; and resolv'd some way or other to throw in my mite of
courtesy,--if not of service.

Such were my temptations;--and in this disposition to give way to
them, was I left alone with the lady with her hand in mine, and
with our faces both turned closer to the door of the Remise than
what was absolutely necessary.


THE REMISE DOOR. CALAIS.


This certainly, fair lady, said I, raising her hand up little
lightly as I began, must be one of Fortune's whimsical doings; to
take two utter strangers by their hands,--of different sexes, and
perhaps from different corners of the globe, and in one moment
place them together in such a cordial situation as Friendship
herself could scarce have achieved for them, had she projected it
for a month.

- And your reflection upon it shows how much, Monsieur, she has
embarrassed you by the adventure -

When the situation is what we would wish, nothing is so ill-timed
as to hint at the circumstances which make it so: you thank
Fortune, continued she--you had reason--the heart knew it, and was
satisfied; and who but an English philosopher would have sent
notice of it to the brain to reverse the judgment?

In saying this, she disengaged her hand with a look which I thought
a sufficient commentary upon the text.

It is a miserable picture which I am going to give of the weakness
of my heart, by owning, that it suffered a pain, which worthier
occasions could not have inflicted.--I was mortified with the loss
of her hand, and the manner in which I had lost it carried neither
oil nor wine to the wound: I never felt the pain of a sheepish
inferiority so miserably in my life.

The triumphs of a true feminine heart are short upon these
discomfitures. In a very few seconds she laid her hand upon the
cuff of my coat, in order to finish her reply; so, some way or
other, God knows how, I regained my situation.

- She had nothing to add.

I forthwith began to model a different conversation for the lady,
thinking from the spirit as well as moral of this, that I had been
mistaken in her character; but upon turning her face towards me,
the spirit which had animated the reply was fled,--the muscles
relaxed, and I beheld the same unprotected look of distress which
first won me to her interest: --melancholy! to see such
sprightliness the prey of sorrow,--I pitied her from my soul; and
though it may seem ridiculous enough to a torpid heart,--I could
have taken her into my arms, and cherished her, though it was in
the open street, without brushing.

The pulsations of the arteries along my fingers pressing across
hers, told her what was passing within me: she looked down--a
silence of some moments followed.

I fear in this interval, I must have made some slight efforts
towards a closer compression of her hand, from a subtle sensation I
felt in the palm of my own,--not as if she was going to withdraw

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