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 his original position.

For the space of a week I visited the afflicted man dally, remaining with him perhaps a couple of hours at each interview.  No clue had been discovered to his history, and the worthy physician had fixed upon one day after another as that upon which he would relieve himself of his trust; but the day arrived only to find him unwilling to keep his word.  The poor object himself had improved rapidly in personal appearance, and, as far as could be ascertained from his gestures and indistinct expressions, was sensible of his protector’s charity, and thankful for it.  He now attempted to give to his keeper the feeble aid he could afford him; he partook of his food with less avidity, he seemed aware of what was taking place around him.  On one occasion I brought his dinner to him, and sat by whilst it was served to him.  He stared at me as though he had immediate perception of something unusual.  It was on the same day that, whilst trifling with a piece of broken glass, he cut his hand.  I closed the wound with an adhesive plaster, and bound it up.  It was the remembrance of this act that gained for me the affection of the creature, in whom all actions seemed dried up and dead.  When, on the day that succeeded to this incident, Robin, as was his custom, placed before the idiot his substantial meal, the latter turned away from it offended, and would not taste it.  I was sent for.  The eyes of the imbecile glistened when I entered the apartment, and he beckoned me to him.  I sat at his side, as I had done on the day before, and he then, with a smile of triumph, took his food on his knees, and soon devoured it.  When he had finished, and Robin had retired with the tray and implements, the poor fellow made me draw my chair still nearer to his own.  He placed his hand upon my knee in great delight, patted it, and then the wound which I had dressed.  There was perfect folly in the mode in which he fondled this, and yet a reasonableness which the heart could not fail to detect and contemplate with emotion.  First, he gently stroked it, then placed his head upon it in utmost tenderness, then hugged it in his arm and rocked it as a child, then kissed it often with short quick kisses that could scarce be heard; courting my observation with every change of action, making it apparent how much he loved, what care he could bestow, upon the hand which had won the notice and regard of his new friend and benefactor.  This over, he pointed to his breast, dallied for a time, and then drew from it the picture which he so jealously