My Library

out the meaning of the inscriptions—an old gentleman, evidently French, and as evidently belonging to the small remnant of the old Noblesse yet surviving on the soil of le Grand Nation, judging from his carriage, air, and manner—refined, polished, yet simple in the extreme; and from the benignance that beamed from his countenance, it was clear that there was happiness and content in his breast, and that he was a benefactor to, as well as a devoted student of, all that was interesting concerning mankind. “On previous occasions when we met there had passed between us merely the compliments of the day, and those general courtesies due between well-bred people. This time, however, as if by mutual concession and attraction, our greeting was much warmer and more prolonged; for, after saluting, we drew chairs before the tablets and began conversing about the arrow-headed characters; and the old gentleman, whose name was Ravalette, said: ‘Sir, how is it that I see you daily here, taking copies, and trying to decypher letters that the best scholars in Europe have abandoned in sheer and hopeless despair? Surely a youth like you cannot hope for success where they have failed?’ “ ‘True,’ was the reply, ‘they may despair, but is that a reason why others should? I believe I shall yet correctly read these enigmas of the