w a deceitful treacherous world are now your towers of
defence. These clear lakes which reflect the blue skies, dispose us to
serene contemplation. When all my household toils are finished, and
suspended care sleeps till the morning, I lead my children to their
evening sports; I point to the sublime scenes around us, and remind them
that the Almighty mind, that formed these wonders, dictated the book
which is their daily study. He piled the grey cliffs on each other, some
awfully barren, others cloathed with verdure, to shew that fertility and
desolation, like joy and grief, are at his disposal. He, through fringed
rocks, hollowed a cavern, whence burst the majestic cataract, whose
course no mortal hand shall divert or restrain. So should man submit to
the dispensations of Omniscient wisdom. While thus meditating, I despise
the insignificance of worldly cares, I become almost spiritualized, and
am in danger of losing social affections, as well as earthly desires,
till my children, fancifully decked with wild flowers, call aloud to
point you out, descending from the cliff, loaded with game, and
accompanied by your spaniels and falcon. They rush into your embraces.
You return safe, uninjured by your exhilarating sports. If, at such a
moment, I can fancy that parental transport predominates over sorrow in
your aspect, I lift my hands in transport to Heaven, and ask if a mighty
Princess ever was so blessed."

The dejected Evellin sometimes listened in silence to these fond
breathings of chaste affection, wrung her hand, and pronounced her
worthy of a happier lot, calling her a pledge of divine favour and
reconciliation to a much-offending man. He never spoke of his wrongs,
and she sometimes entertained a hope that they were fading from his
remembrance. At least she knew it was the wisest course to avoid
dwelling on sorrows, for which patience was the only cure, and being
thoroughly practised in the duty of resignation, she wished to impart
its comforts to him, whom she so strongly loved.

CHAP. IV.

My wrongs, my wrongs, my constant thoughts engage,
These, my sole oracles, inspire my rage.

Pope's Homer.

One evening, while the young Evellins were watching for their father,
and fancying they discerned him returning from the mountains, they
hastily ran back to their mother to inform her that a strange man lay at
the bottom of the glen seemingly much fatigu