here?-that he sees us-that he pities usthat he raises our thoughts to his works, and, through his works, to himself; and invites us to the most hallowed and divine communion? Is it not this that bathes our spirits in peace and joy?" Peace and joy, now, not only bathed their spirits, but suffused their countenances; and they were absorbed, for a time, in those "sweet musings of a heart resting on the bosom of its Creator." The silence was first broken by the mellow and plaintive sounds of a flute, which floated on the water from the vicinity of the Priory. Far from being unwelcome, they seemed to revive their meditations, and afford expression to many of their feelings. They ceased. The vibrating melody still breathed in their ear. They insensibly became desirous of preserving it. They sang the following lines: Hymn to Nature. Gentle nature, heavenly fair! On thy bosom I would rest, Mother! lovely, meek, and mild, Let me in thy beauties trace When his glories in thee shine, Fount of light! I look to Thee! The flute once more breathed its soft and touching sounds across the vale. Their hearts responded to its tender harmony. The notes rose and fell-rose again and fell, till the last fluttered on the air, and then died away. "It is gone!" said Lefevre. “Yes,” replied Douglas: “an emblem of all earthly pleasures. They are transitory. The last will soon come, and soon pass away.' "Ah!" said Lefevre, "this is, perhaps, the last time we shall meet on this happy spot; certainly, it is the last for a long time." "Well," resumed Douglas, "if our pleasures are temporary, let us remember our sorrows are so too. The last sighthe last conflict-the last pang, shall quickly come and terminate: and then we shall inherit all the felicities which heaven and eternity can afford us." The lateness of the hour admonished them. They reluctantly quitted a place where earth and heaven had often seemed to unite; where they had communed, but might never commune again! CHAPTER IX. THE ensuing morning, witnessed the departure of Douglas from Mrs. Lefevre's. As the separation was short, the two following letters may be sufficient to carry forward the history, till they meet again in the metropolis. Mr. Lefevre to Mr. Douglas. Yes, my very dear friend, you are gone; and, it is needless for me to say, I deeply regret your absence. This feeling is indeed far from being confined to me; you have, somehow, made to yourself many friends, in a short time. The day after you left, we had two or three invitations to family parties; and, I assure you, there were great lamentations, when it was known you could not unite with us in honouring them. "I spend my days in the usual way: the mornings are given to study, the evenings to recreation. But I study with less patience without you; and my walks, although I do enjoy them, are not so delightful as they were. I can say, solitude is sweet; but, like the Frenchman, I wish to have a friend to whom I can say, how sweet is solitude! However, I feed upon the past. The retreats about this, my native town, are rendered sacred to memory, by our recent enjoyments. Never before did I know so much of the sweetness of friendship, or the excellence of religion; and, whatever may be the events of my life, never shall 1 be more entirely happy. The very thought of it gives me happiness! What do I owe to my friend! What to that Providence, which brought us together! "On Sunday I heard Dr. Mills. I had not many expectations, but how was I surprised and delighted! He is a real orator; quite an example of the eloquence of which we have been lately saying so much. No gingling antitheses-no unmeaning epithets-no periods set to music |