ve my own plan for your advancement, of
which you shall hear later."

He seemed to expect that I would show some curiosity regarding the
future, but my thoughts were all too busy with the present. They were
all turned to that home I was about to leave, to the fond mother I was
to part from, to honest Joseph himself,--my guide, my friend, and my
companion; and for what? An unknown sea, upon which I was to adventure
without enterprise or enthusiasm.

The Count continued to talk of Paris and his various friends there, with
whom he assured me I should be a favorite. He pictured the life of the
great city in all its brightest colors. He mentioned the names of many
who had entered it as unknown and friendless as myself, and yet, in
a few years, had won their way up to high distinction. There was a
vagueness in all this which did not satisfy me; but I was too deeply
occupied with other thoughts to question or cavil at what he said.

When we went back to supper, Raper was there to pay his respects to
the Count. De Gabriac received his respectful compliments coldly and
haughtily; he even interrupted the little address poor Joseph had
so carefully studied and committed to memory, by asking if he still
continued to bewilder his faculties with Greek particles and obsolete
dialects; and then, without waiting for his reply, he seated himself at
the table, and arranged his napkin.

"Master Joseph," said he, half sarcastically, "the world has been
pleased to outlive these follies; they have come to the wise resolve
that, when languages are dead, they ought to be buried; and they have
little sympathy with those who wish to resuscitate and disinter them."

"It is but an abuse of terms to call them dead, Count," replied Joseph.
"Truth, in whatever tongue it be syllabled, does not die. Fidelity to
nature in our age will be acknowledged as correct in centuries after."

"Our own time gives us as good models, and with less trouble to look for
them," said the Count, flippantly. "Your dreamy bookworm is too prone to
delve in the earth, and not to coin the ore that he has discovered. Take
Jasper there: you have taught him diligently and patiently; I 'll be
sworn you have neglected him in nothing, so far as your own knowledge
went; and yet, before he shall have been three months in Paris, he will
look upon you, his master, as an infant. The interval between you
will be wide as the broad Atlantic; and the obstacles and crosses, to
overcome w