al passion, if not to paper--that mute confidant of timid and
suffering souls, that patient friend, silent and cold, who, if it makes
no reply to heart rending complaints, at least always listens, and never
forgets?

When her heart was overflowing with emotion, sometimes mild and sad,
sometimes harsh and bitter, the poor workgirl, finding a melancholy
charm in these dumb and solitary outpourings of the soul, now clothed in
the form of simple and touching poetry, and now in unaffected prose,
had accustomed herself by degrees not to confine her confidences to what
immediately related to Agricola, for though he might be mixed up with
all her thoughts, for reflections, which the sight of beauty, of happy
love, of maternity, of wealth, of misfortune, called up within her, were
so impressed with the influence of her unfortunate personal position,
that she would not even have dared to communicate them to him. Such,
then, was this journal of a poor daughter of the people, weak, deformed,
and miserable, but endowed with an angelic soul, and a fine intellect,
improved by reading, meditation, and solitude; pages quite unknown,
which yet contained many deep and striking views, both as regard men and
things, taken from the peculiar standpoint in which fate had placed
this unfortunate creature. The following lines, here and there abruptly
interrupted or stained with tears, according to the current of her
various emotions, on hearing of Agricola's deep love for Angela, formed
the last pages of this journal:

"Friday, March 3d, 1832.

"I spent the night without any painful dreams. This morning, I rose with
no sorrowful presentiment. I was calm and tranquil when Agricola came.
He did not appear to me agitated. He was simple and affectionate as
he always is. He spoke to me of events relating to M. Hardy, and then,
without transition, without hesitation, he said to me: 'The last four
days I have been desperately in love. The sentiment is so serious, that
I think of marriage. I have come to consult you about it.' That was how
this overwhelming revelation was made to me--naturally and cordially--I
on one side of the hearth, and Agricola an the other, as if we had
talked of indifferent things. And yet no more is needed to break
one's heart. Some one enters, embraces you like a brother, sits down,
talks--and then--Oh! Merciful heaven! my head wanders.

"I feel calmer now. Courage, my poor heart, courage!--Should a day of
misfortune again