Near one of the stiles, I perceived a young man sitting
in a devout posture, reading a Bible. He rose, lifted his hat, and
made an obeisance to me, which I returned and walked on. I had
not well crossed the stile till it struck me I knew the face of the
youth and that he was some intimate acquaintance, to whom I
ought to have spoken. I walked on, and returned, and walked on
again, trying to recollect who he was; but for my life I could not.
There was, however, a fascination in his look and manner that
drew me back towards him in spite of myself, and I resolved to
go to him, if it were merely to speak and see who he was.
I came up to him and addressed him, but he was so intent on his
book that, though I spoke, he lifted not his eyes. I looked on the
book also, and still it seemed a Bible, having columns, chapters,
and verses; but it was in a language of which I was wholly
ignorant, and all intersected with red lines and verses. A sensation
resembling a stroke of electricity came over me, on first casting
my eyes on that mysterious book, and I stood motionless. He
looked up, smiled, closed his book, and put it in his bosom.
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