of chant, one of the most dismal ditties his present auditors had
ever heard, and St. Aubert at length discovered it to be a vesper-hymn
to his favourite saint.

They travelled on, sunk in that thoughtful melancholy, with which
twilight and solitude impress the mind. Michael had now ended his ditty,
and nothing was heard but the drowsy murmur of the breeze among the
woods, and its light flutter, as it blew freshly into the carriage. They
were at length roused by the sound of fire-arms. St. Aubert called to
the muleteer to stop, and they listened. The noise was not repeated; but
presently they heard a rustling among the brakes. St. Aubert drew forth
a pistol, and ordered Michael to proceed as fast as possible; who had
not long obeyed, before a horn sounded, that made the mountains ring. He
looked again from the window, and then saw a young man spring from the
bushes into the road, followed by a couple of dogs. The stranger was in
a hunter's dress. His gun was slung across his shoulders, the hunter's
horn hung from his belt, and in his hand was a small pike, which, as
he held it, added to the manly grace of his figure, and assisted the
agility of his steps.

After a moment's hesitation, St. Aubert again stopped the carriage, and
waited till he came up, that they might enquire concerning the hamlet
they were in search of. The stranger informed him, that it was only half
a league distant, that he was going thither himself, and would readily
shew the way. St. Aubert thanked him for the offer, and, pleased with
his chevalier-like air and open countenance, asked him to take a seat
in the carriage; which the stranger, with an acknowledgment, declined,
adding that he would keep pace with the mules. 'But I fear you will be
wretchedly accommodated,' said he: 'the inhabitants of these mountains
are a simple people, who are not only without the luxuries of life,
but almost destitute of what in other places are held to be its
necessaries.'

'I perceive you are not one of its inhabitants, sir,' said St. Aubert.

'No, sir, I am only a wanderer here.'

The carriage drove on, and the increasing dusk made the travellers very
thankful that they had a guide; the frequent glens, too, that now opened
among the mountains, would likewise have added to their perplexity.
Emily, as she looked up one of these, saw something at a great distance
like a bright cloud in the air. 'What light is yonder, sir?' said she.

St. Aubert looked, and perce