at least be safe—­safe—­for those who suffer.  Give much—­give freely—­make as many happy hearts as you can.  My happiness shall have a royal inauguration!!’ I do not know whether I ever told you, my friend, that, after those fatal events, seeing Dagobert and his wife reduced to misery, poor ‘Mother Bunch’ hardly able to earn a wretched subsistence, Agricola soon to become a father, and myself deprived of my curacy, and suspended by my bishop, for having given religious consolations to a Protestant, and offered up prayers at the tomb of an unfortunate suicide—­I considered myself justified in employing a small portion of the sum intrusted to me by Mdlle. de Cardoville in the purchase of this farm in Dagobert’s name.

“Yes, my friend, such is the origin of my fortune.  The farmer to whom these few acres formerly belonged, gave us the rudiments of our agricultural education, and common sense, and the study of a few good practical books, completed it.  From an excellent workman, Agricola has become an equally excellent husbandman; I have tried to imitate him, and have put my hand also to the plough there is no derogation in it, for the labor which provides food for man is thrice hallowed, and it is truly to serve and glorify God, to cultivate and enrich the earth He has created.  Dagobert, when his first grief was a little appeased, seemed to gather new vigor from this healthy life of the fields; and, during his exile in Siberia, he had already learned to till the ground.  Finally, my dear adopted mother and sister, and Agricola’s good wife, have divided between them the household cares; and God has blessed this little colony of people, who, alas! have been sorely tried by misfortune, and who now only ask of toil and solitude, a quite, laborious, innocent life, and oblivion of great sorrows.  Sometimes, in our winter evenings, you have been able to appreciate the delicate and charming mind of the gentle “Mother Bunch,” the rare poetical imagination of Agricola, the tenderness of his mother, the good sense of his father, the exquisite natural grace of Angela.  Tell me, my friend, was it possible to unite more elements of domestic happiness?  What long evenings have we passed round the fire of crackling wood, reading, or commenting on a few immortal works, which always warm the heart, and enlarge the soul!  What sweet talk have we had, prolonged far into the night!  And then Agricola’s pastorals, and the timid literary confidences of Magdalen!  And the fresh, clear voice of Angela, joined to the deep manly tones of Agricola, in songs of simple melody!  And the old stories of Dagobert, so energetic and picturesque in their warlike spirit!  And the adorable gayety of the children, in their sports with good old Spoil-sport, who rather lends himself to their play than takes part in it—­for the faithful, intelligent creature seems always to be looking for somebody, as Dagobert says—­and he is right.  Yes, the dog also regrets those two angels, of whom he was the devoted guardian!