ater, where no traveller, toiling, as the writer has,
up the hilly road beside which it gushes, ever failed to quench his
thirst. The work of neat hands and considerate art was visible about
this blessed fountain. An open cistern, hewn and hollowed out of solid
stone, was placed above the waters, which filled it to the brim, but by
some invisible outlet were conveyed away without dripping down its
sides. Though the basin had not room for another drop, and the
continual gush of water made a tremor on the surface, there was a
secret charm that forbade it to overflow. I remember, that when I had
slaked my summer thirst, and sat panting by the cistern, it was my
fanciful theory that Nature could not afford to lavish so pure a
liquid, as she does the waters of all meaner fountains.

While the moon was hanging almost perpendicularly over this spot, two
figures appeared on the summit of the hill, and came with noiseless
footsteps down towards the spring. They were then in the first
freshness of youth; nor is there a wrinkle now on either of their
brows, and yet they wore a strange, old-fashioned garb. One, a young
man with ruddy cheeks, walked beneath the canopy of a broad-brimmed
gray hat; he seemed to have inherited his great-grandsire's
square-skirted coat, and a waistcoat that extended its immense flaps to
his knees; his brown locks, also, hung down behind, in a mode unknown
to our times. By his side was a sweet young damsel, her fair features
sheltered by a prim little bonnet, within which appeared the vestal
muslin of a cap; her close, long-waisted gown, and indeed her whole
attire, might have been worn by some rustic beauty who had faded half a
century before. But that there was something too warm and life-like in
them, I would here have compared this couple to the ghosts of two young
lovers who had died long since in the glow of passion, and now were
straying out of their graves, to renew the old vows, and shadow forth
the unforgotten kiss of their earthly lips, beside the moonlit spring.

"Thee and I will rest here a moment, Miriam," said the young man, as
they drew near the stone cistern, "for there is no fear that the elders
know what we have done; and this may be the last time we shall ever
taste this water."

Thus speaking, with a little sadness in his face, which was also
visible in that of his companion, he made her sit down on a stone, and
was about to place himself very close to her side; she, however,
repe