Such was the exhortation of La Roche: his audience answered it with their tears. The good old man had dried up his at the altar of the Lord: his countenance had lost its sadness and assumed the glow of faith and hope. Mr. —— followed him into his house. The inspiration of the pulpit was past; at sight of him, the scenes they had last met in rushed again on his mind; La Roche threw his arms around his neck, and watered it with his tears. The other was equally affected. They went together, in silence, into the parlor, where the evening service was wont to be performed. The curtains of the organ were open; La Roche started back at the sight.
“Oh! my friend!” said he, and his tears burst forth again.
Mr. —— had now recollected himself; he stepped forward, and drew the curtains close. The old man wiped off his tears, and taking his friend’s hand, “You see my weakness,” said he, “’tis the weakness of humanity; but my comfort is not therefore lost.”
“I heard you,” said the other, “in the pulpit; I rejoice that such consolation is yours.”
“It is, my friend,” said he; “and I trust I shall ever hold it fast. If there are any who doubt our faith, let them think of what importance religion is to calamity, and forbear to weaken its force. If they cannot restore our happiness, let them not take away the solace of our affliction.”
Mr. ——’s heart was smitten, and I have heard him, long after, confess that there were moments when the remembrance overcame him even to weakness; when, amidst all the pleasures of philosophical discovery and the pride of literary fame, he recalled to his mind the venerable figure of the good La Roche, and wished that he had never doubted.