12. The Snuff-Box. Calais

THE GOOD old monk was within six paces of us, as the idea of him cross'd my mind; and was advancing towards us a little out of the line, as if uncertain whether he should break in upon us or no.-He stopp'd, however, as soon as he came up to us, with a world of frankness. and having a horn snuff-box in his hand, he presented it open to me.-You shall taste mine-said I, pulling out my box (which was a small tortoise one) and putting it unto his hand.-'T is most excellent, said the monk. Then do me the favor, I replied, to accept of the box and all, and when you take a pinch out of it, sometimes recollect it was the peace offering of a man who once used you unkindly, but not from his heart.

The poor monk blush'd as red as scarlet. Mon Dieu! said he, pressing his hands together-you never used me unkindly.-I should think, said the lady, he is not likely. I blush'd in my turn, but from what movements I leave to the few who feel to analyze.-Excuse me, Madame, replied I-I treated him most unkindly and from no provocations.-'T is impossible, said the lady.-My God! cried the monk, with a warmth of asseveration which seem'd not to belong to him-the fault was in me, and in the indiscretion of my zeal.-The lady opposed it, and I joined with her in maintaining it was impossible, that a spirit so regulated as his, could give offense to any.

I knew not that contention could be rendered so sweet and pleasurable a thing to the nerves as I then felt it.-We remained silent without any sensation of that foolish pain which takes place, when in such a circle you look for ten minutes in one another's faces without saying a word. Whilst this lasted, the monk rubb'd his horn box upon the sleeve of his tunic; and as soon as it had acquired a little air of brightness by the friction-he made a low bow, and said, 't was too late to say whether it was the weakness or goodness of our tempers which had involv'd us in this contest.-But be it as it would-he begg'd we might exchange boxes.-In saying this, he presented his to me with one hand, as he took mine from me in the other; and having kiss'd it-with a stream of good nature in his eyes he put it into his bosom-and took his leave.

I guard this box, as I would the instrumental parts of my religion, to help my mind on to something better: in truth, I seldom go abroad without it: and oft and many a time have I call'd up by it the courteous spirit of its owner to regulate my own, in the justlings of the world; they had found full employment for his, as I learnt from his story, till about the forty-fifth year of his age, when upon some military services ill requited, and meeting at the same time with a disappointment in the tenderest of passions, he abandon'd the sword and the sex together, and took sanctuary, not so much in his convent as in himself.

I feel a damp upon my spirits, as I am going to add, that in my last return through Calais, upon inquiring after Father Lorenzo, I heard he had been dead near three months, and was buried, not in his convent, but, according to his desire, in a little cemetery belonging to it, about two leagues off: I had a strong desire to see where they had laid him-when upon pulling out his little horn box, as I sat by his grave, and plucking up a nettle or two at the head of it, which had no business to grow there, they all struck together so forcibly upon my affections, that I burst into a flood of tears-but I am as weak as a woman; and I beg the world not to smile, but pity me.