ight, offspring of heaven first-born,"
the sense of freshness and glory breaks upon him, and kindles into
the solemn joyfulness of adjuring song: so rises the mind from the
contemplation of the gloom and guilt of life, "the utter and the middle
darkness," to some pure and bright redemption of our nature--some
creature of "the starry threshold," "the regions mild of calm and serene
air." Never was a nature more beautiful and soft than that of Madeline
Lester--never a nature more inclined to live "above the smoke and stir
of this dim spot, which men call earth"--to commune with its own high
and chaste creations of thought--to make a world out of the emotions
which this world knows not--a paradise, which sin, and suspicion, and
fear, had never yet invaded--where God might recognise no evil, and
Angels forebode no change.

Aram's return was now daily, nay, even hourly expected. Nothing
disturbed the soft, though thoughtful serenity, with which his betrothed
relied upon the future. Aram's letters had been more deeply impressed
with the evidence of love, than even his spoken vows: those letters
had diffused not so much an agitated joy, as a full and mellow light of
happiness over her heart. Every thing, even Nature, seemed inclined to
smile with approbation on her hopes. The autumn had never, in the memory
of man, worn so lovely a garment: the balmy and freshening warmth, which
sometimes characterises that period of the year, was not broken, as
yet, by the chilling winds, or the sullen mists, which speak to us so
mournfully of the change that is creeping over the beautiful world.
The summer visitants among the feathered tribe yet lingered in flocks,
showing no intention of departure; and their song--but above all, the
song of the sky-lark--which, to the old English poet, was what the
nightingale is to the Eastern--seemed even to grow more cheerful as
the sun shortened his daily task;--the very mulberry-tree, and the rich
boughs of the horse chesnut, retained something of their verdure;
and the thousand glories of the woodland around Grassdale were still
chequered with the golden hues that herald, but beautify Decay. Still,
no news had been received of Walter: and this was the only source of
anxiety that troubled the domestic happiness of the Manor-house. But the
Squire continued to remember, that in youth he himself had been but a
negligent correspondent; and the anxiety he felt, assumed rather the
character of anger at Walte