TRUE HEROISM.

While the plague raged violently at Marseilles, every link of affection was broken, the father turned from the child, the child from the father; cowardice and ingratitude no longer excited indignation.  Misery is at its height when it thus destroys every generous feeling, thus dissolves every tie of humanity! the city became a desert, grass grew in the streets; a funeral met you at every step.

The physicians assembled in a body at the Hotel de Ville, to hold a consultation on the fearful disease, for which no remedy had yet been discovered.  After a long deliberation, they decided unanimously, that the malady had a peculiar and mysterious character, which opening a corpse alone might develope—­an operation it was impossible to attempt, since the operator must infallibly become a victim in a few hours, beyond the power of human art to save him, as the violence of the attack would preclude their administering the customary remedies.  A dead pause succeeded this fatal declaration.  Suddenly, a surgeon named Guyon, in the prime of life, and of great celebrity in his profession, rose and said firmly, “Be it so:  I devote myself for the safety of my country.  Before this numerous assembly I swear, in the name of humanity and religion, that to-morrow, at the break of day, I will dissect a corpse, and write down as I proceed, what I observe.”  He left the assembly instantly.  They admired him, lamented his fate, and doubted whether he would persist in his design.  The intrepid Guyon, animated by all the sublime energy which patriotism can inspire, acted up to his word.  He had never married, he was rich, and he immediately made a will; he confessed, and in the middle of the night received the sacraments.  A man had died of the plague in his house within four and twenty hours.  Guyon, at daybreak, shut himself up in the same room; he took with him an inkstand, paper, and a little crucifix.  Full of enthusiasm, and kneeling before the corpse, he wrote,—­“Mouldering remains of an immortal soul, not only can I gaze on thee without horror, but even with joy and gratitude.  Thou wilt open to me the gates of a glorious eternity.  In discovering to me the secret cause of the terrible disease which destroys my native city, thou wilt enable me to point out some salutary remedy—­thou wilt render my sacrifice useful.  Oh God! thou wilt bless the action thou hast thyself inspired.”  He began—­he finished the dreadful operation, and recorded in detail his surgical observations.  He left the room, threw the papers into a vase of vinegar, and afterward sought the lazaretto, where he died in twelve hours—­a death ten thousand times more glorious than the warrior’s, who, to save his country, rushes on the enemy’s ranks,—­since he advances with hope, at least, sustained, admired, and seconded by a whole army.

A THRILLING INCIDENT.