the poetry of his descriptions; and from his
research he gave even scenes the most familiar, a charm and interest
which had been strange to them till then. To this stream some romantic
legend had once attached itself, long forgotten and now revived;--that
moor, so barren to an ordinary eye, was yet productive of some rare
and curious herb, whose properties afforded scope for lively
description;--that old mound was yet rife in attraction to one versed in
antiquities, and able to explain its origin, and from such explanation
deduce a thousand classic or celtic episodes.

No subject was so homely or so trite but the knowledge that had
neglected nothing, was able to render it luminous and new. And as he
spoke, the scholar's countenance brightened, and his voice, at first
hesitating and low, compelled the attention to its earnest and winning
music. Lester himself, a man who, in his long retirement, had not
forgotten the attractions of intellectual society, nor even neglected a
certain cultivation of intellectual pursuits, enjoyed a pleasure that
he had not experienced for years. The gay Ellinor was fascinated into
admiration; and Madeline, the most silent of the groupe, drank in every
word, unconscious of the sweet poison she imbibed. Walter alone seemed
not carried away by the eloquence of their guest. He preserved an
unadmiring and sullen demeanour, and every now and then regarded Aram
with looks of suspicion and dislike. This was more remarkable when
the men were left alone; and Lester, in surprise and anger, darted
significant and admonitory looks towards his nephew, which at length
seemed to rouse him into a more hospitable bearing. As the cool of
the evening now came on, Lester proposed to Aram to enjoy it without,
previous to returning to the parlour, to which the ladies had retired.
Walter excused himself from joining them. The host and the guest
accordingly strolled forth alone.

"Your solitude," said Lester, smiling, "is far deeper and less broken
than mine: do you never find it irksome?"

"Can Humanity be at all times contented?" said Aram. "No stream,
howsoever secret or subterranean, glides on in eternal tranquillity."

"You allow, then, that you feel some occasional desire for a more active
and animated life?"

"Nay," answered Aram; "that is scarcely a fair corollary from my remark.
I may, at times, feel the weariness of existence--the tedium vitae;
but I know well that the cause is not to be remedied by