d.
One day suddenly emerging from a dark ravine, he came upon one of those
Italian scenes of rural festivity and mirth in which the classic age
appears to revive. It was a festival, partly agricultural, partly
religious, held yearly by the peasants of that district. Assembled
at the outskirts of a village, animated crowds, just returned from a
procession to a neighbouring chapel, were now forming themselves into
groups: the old to taste the vintage, the young to dance,--all to be
gay and happy. This sudden picture of easy joy and careless ignorance,
contrasting so forcibly with the intense studies and that parching
desire for wisdom which had so long made up his own life, and burned at
his own heart, sensibly affected Glyndon. As he stood aloof and gazing
on them, the young man felt once more that he was young. The memory of
all he had been content to sacrifice spoke to him like the sharp voice
of remorse. The flitting forms of the women in their picturesque attire,
their happy laughter ringing through the cool, still air of the autumn
noon, brought back to the heart, or rather perhaps to the senses, the
images of his past time, the "golden shepherd hours," when to live was
but to enjoy.

He approached nearer and nearer to the scene, and suddenly a noisy
group swept round him; and Maestro Paolo, tapping him familiarly on the
shoulder, exclaimed in a hearty voice, "Welcome, Excellency!--we are
rejoiced to see you amongst us." Glyndon was about to reply to this
salutation, when his eyes rested upon the face of a young girl leaning
on Paolo's arm, of a beauty so attractive that his colour rose and his
heart beat as he encountered her gaze. Her eyes sparkled with a roguish
and petulant mirth, her parted lips showed teeth like pearls; as if
impatient at the pause of her companion from the revel of the rest,
her little foot beat the ground to a measure that she half-hummed,
half-chanted. Paolo laughed as he saw the effect the girl had produced
upon the young foreigner.

"Will you not dance, Excellency? Come, lay aside your greatness, and be
merry, like us poor devils. See how our pretty Fillide is longing for a
partner. Take compassion on her."

Fillide pouted at this speech, and, disengaging her arm from Paolo's,
turned away, but threw over her shoulder a glance half inviting, half
defying. Glyndon, almost involuntarily, advanced to her, and addressed
her.

Oh, yes; he addresses her! She looks down, and smiles. Paolo le