g of
day, and proceeded on his journey with a heavy heart and painful
reflections.

After he had passed through the neighbouring village, and gained the
bridge, he looked over and bade the residence of Alida a mournful
farewell. Fearful forebodings crossed his mind that they were separated
forever; then again those more consolatory, that, perhaps, after a long
delay, he and Alida might yet again meet and be happy.

Traits of glory had painted the eastern skies. The glittering day-star,
having unbarred the portals of light, began to transmit its retrocessive
lustre. Thin scuds flew swiftly over the moon's decrescent form. Low,
hollow winds murmured among the bushes, or brushed the limpid drops from
the intermingling foliage.

The dusky shadows of night fled to the deep glens and rocky caverns of
the wilderness. The American lark soared high in the air, consecrating
its matin lay to morn's approaching splendours.

The woodlands and forest tops on the high hills caught the sun's first
ray, which, widening and extending, soon gemmed the landscape with a
varying brightness.

It was late in the afternoon before Theodore arrived at his father's. He
found his parents contented and happy at their present residence, which
was extremely pleasant, and afforded them many accommodations.

"You have been long gone, my son," said his father: "I scarcely knew
what had become of you. Since I have become a farmer, I know little of
what is going on in the world, and we were never happier in our lives.
We live as independently as we could desire, and realize the blessings
of health and contentment. Our only disquietude is on your account,
Theodore. Your affair with Alida, I suppose, is not so favourable as you
could wish. But despair not, my son; hope is the harbinger of fairer
prospects; rely on Providence, which never deserts those who
submissively bow to its dispensations. Place entire confidence and
dependence on the Supreme Being," said his father, "and the triumph of
fortitude and resignation will be yours." His father paused. His
reasonings, however they convinced the understanding, could not heal the
wounds of Theodore's bosom. In Alida he had looked for as much happiness
as earth could afford, nor could he see any prospect in life which could
repair to him her loss.

Unwilling to disturb the serenity of his parents, he did not wish to
acquaint them with the whole affair of his troubles. He answered, that
perhaps all might