cadence over the dam, was heard at a little distance. "How
still is nature," said Alida. "The sun has withdrawn his radiance, yet
the gleam from yonder western sky bespeaks him still at hand, promising
to return with his reviving warmth when nature is refreshed with
darkness. The bay is already beginning to be silvered over by the mild
rays of the queen of night. Gently she steals on the world, while she
bestows on us her borrowed splendour. She lights the wandering
traveller, she warms the earth with gentle heat. She dazzles not the eye
of the philosopher, but invites him to contemplate and admire. Scarcely
a breeze is stirring; the shadow of each tree remains undisturbed; the
unruffled bay and river glide smoothly on, reflecting nature's face.
Again the attention is drawn, and the eye wanders to yon vast concave,
where the mind follows in silent wonder, wandering among the planets,
till, struck with beauty of the whole, it acknowledges 'the Hand that
made it is divine.'

"Surely," said Alida, "all nature conspires to calm the mind, to restore
tranquillity, to soften every care and corroding thought. But what can
ease the troubled mind, which, like the angry sea, after agitation by
blustering winds, 'tis still tumultuous?" Where now, thought she, is
Theodore? What sadness and difficulty may not his noble and generous
spirit have had to encounter! His tender sensibility, his serene and
pacific disposition, may have had numerous trials; and how unhappy he
may be, who was ever ardent in his endeavours to communicate peace and
happiness to others! When she reflected upon all his goodness, his
zealous piety, his religious sentiments the same as her own, and
recalled to her memory happier days, when she had listened with pleasure
to the powerful eloquence of a corresponding spirit. And her esteem for
him rose higher, while he commented on religious truths, and bade her
place a firm dependence on Divine Providence. Amid these uneasy
sensations, which filled the bosom of Alida with anxiety and grief, and
left her mind in a state of despondency, the period arrived for the
celebration of her father's birth-day, which brought with it, as usual,
much company from the city, from the neighbouring village, with the
parish minister and his family.

After her several sisters had arrived, and nearly all the company had
collected, Alida entered the drawing-room with spirits somewhat
re-animated. Bonville was already there. He arose and