of a putrid body was the only means by which the nature of the disease could be clearly ascertained, and the pestilence itself effectually arrested. The young man had scarcely finished speaking, when one of the most respected and venerable physicians of the city rose and observed, with a mild and sorrowful voice, "I cannot sufficiently approve all that you have expressed, Sir, but allow me to ask, how this information, of which we are thus absolutely in need, can be obtained? The report of the effects of the plague on the corpse, can only be obtained at one price, the certain and speedy death of him who makes it. Who would willingly rush upon so dreadful a fate?" As the old physician ceased speaking, he fixed his eyes almost unconsciously upon the countenance of him whom he had addressed. The change that suddenly passed over the whole person and manner of the young surgeon was indeed striking. He could not help at once feeling as though he were looked upon by all present as the person expected to perform the fatal operation. The enthusiasm which had inspired him fled, and had left him almost powerless to speak or move; his lip quivered, an ashy paleness overspread his whole face; the hand which had been firmly laid upon the table while he was so strongly and warmly declaring his confidence of success from the plan he recommended, could now scarcely sustain his trembling frame as he rested on it for support.

He had a young wife, a mother, and two infant, children at home, all depending on his exertions for their subsistence. Every one felt for the young man, and the physician who had last spoken turned from him, observing, that they were certainly not imme diately called upon to point out the person who should perform the operation.

"I have been thinking," said the president of the assembly, "that, although it appears at present impracticable that the corpse of a victim of the plague should be opened without causing the death of the operator, might we not as well consult together as to the possible means of averting the fatal consequences of such an operation? There is one person, now present I believe, whose powerful genius and superior attainments have rendered him justly celebrated, but who has not spoken among us to-day;" he looked towards Guyon, and the eyes of the whole assembly followed his "we should feel much gratified by hearing his opinion on this awful subject." Guyon had certainly not spoken, he had been listening with serious attention to those around him, and taking notes of all that passed; he now looked up from the papers before him. "I had studied the question very attentively," he said modestly, "before I entered this assembly, and I felt convinced there was but one expedient by which the pestilence could be stayed. I am now quite decided on the subject, from

the uniform opinion of all present. Allow me also to say, that I am convinced no precaution can save the life of him who performs the loathsome operation of opening the corpse, Why may we not at once inquire who will be the man to undertake this?" He looked round the assembly, and immediately there was a breathless silence throughout the hall. Many an eye shrunk beneath his gaze, and the few whose looks encountered it steadily, turned ghastly pale. "I see not one," he continued, in a voice of touching sweetness, "not one, whose loss to those who love him, could well be supplied. All are husbands or fathers, or the long treasured hope of aged parents. I alone am an orphan, bound to this life by few ties of earthly relationship. You have (I rejoice to say) some confidence in my professional talents, and I do not fear to die, in humble and unworthy imitation of Him who gave his life a ransom for many. You cannot persuade me against my deep and unalterable resolution," he said, perceiving that some of his own friends were about to interrupt him; "how much more favoured shall I be in my hours of suffering, than He whom I would not name without the most heartfelt reverence! He, the spotless and perfect Son of the living God, died amid the revilings of his savage and insulting persecutors. I, a poor and sinful child of human parents, shall be followed to the grave with blessings. There is not a

person present, not a person in this city, but would, I am sure, feel for my slightest sufferings. I came here determined to begin the operation to-morrow at day-break: and I have now told you my intention, which I shall not shrink from performing. Solemnly I swear before God, that with His favour, I will fulfil the duty to which I believe He has called me."

Guyon had been an orphan almost from his birth; he had but a few, and those distant, relations, scat→ tered about parts of Provence far from Marseilles. While yet an infant his unprotected situation had interested the compassion of the good Bishop of Marseilles, who had been ever afterwards his unchanging friend. Guyon, however, had gradually risen to eminence by his own exertions, and at this time was in possession of a considerable fortune. On leaving the Hotel de Ville, he proceeded immediately to the Palace of his friend the Bishop. The truly Christian conduct of this venerable prelate is well known; when he heard of the ravages of the plague among his flock, he set off without delay from Paris, and rested not, by night or day, till he reached Marseilles, that like Aaron, when the plague had begun in the camp of the children of Israel, he might hasten into the midst of the people, and there, standing between the dead and the living, offer unto the Most High the incense of prayer, and faith, and love unfeigned. In Marseilles he still remained, for

he knew that he could not leave it till the plague had ceased. Its gates had long been closed, and a body of soldiers were stationed at some distance round the city, to prevent the inhabitants from passing out, or, indeed, holding any communication with the rest of their countrymen.-The Bishop heard the determination of his young friend with profound silence. Guyon waited for his reply, but the old man only gazed upon him and wept.-" Let me leave you now," said Guyon, with a faltering voice, "and return hither to-night, to receive from you the last sacrament." "Yes, my son," replied the holy prelate, "I would have you leave me now; this surprise hath half broken my heart; I must not entreat you to renounce the glorious undertaking, and yet I cannot, indeed I cannot, bid you perform it. Go," he added, in a firmer voice, "go from me now, the next few hours must not be lost to you. By God's help I will meet you with strength which I have not at present, but which those who seek with full purpose of spirit, will never fail to find."

There was one other house to which Guyon now directed his steps, but he often turned from the wellknown door, and returned, and turned back again, before he could find heart to enter. It was in a little silent street at the highest part of the city, and its only inhabitants were an old female, her daughter, and one servant. Madame Longard had been as