endants (for my uncle, with old-fashioned grandeur of
respect, suitable to his great wealth and aristocratic temper, allotted
to each of us a separate suite of servants as well as of apartments)
believed he was in the park. Thither I repaired, and found him, at
length, seated by an old tree, with a large book of a religious cast
before him, on which his eyes were intently bent.

"I rejoice to have found thee, my gentle brother," said I, throwing
myself on the green turf by his side; "in truth you have chosen a
fitting and fair place for study."

"I have chosen," said Aubrey, "a place meet for the peculiar study I am
engrossed in; for where can we better read of the power and benevolence
of God than among the living testimonies of both? Beautiful--how very
beautiful!--is this happy world; but I fear," added Aubrey, and the glow
of his countenance died away,--"I fear that we enjoy it too much."

"We hold different interpretations of our creed then," said I, "for I
esteem enjoyment the best proof of gratitude; nor do I think we can pay
a more acceptable duty to the Father of all Goodness than by showing
ourselves sensible of the favours He bestows upon us."

Aubrey shook his head gently, but replied not.

"Yes," resumed I, after a pause,--"yes, it is indeed a glorious and fair
world which we have for our inheritance. Look how the sunlight sleeps
yonder upon fields covered with golden corn; and seems, like the divine
benevolence of which you spoke, to smile upon the luxuriance which
its power created. This carpet at our feet, covered with flowers that
breathe, sweet as good deeds, to Heaven; the stream that breaks through
that distant copse, laughing in the light of noon, and sending its voice
through the hill and woodland, like a messenger of glad tidings;
the green boughs over our head, vocal with a thousand songs, all
inspirations of a joy too exquisite for silence; the very leaves, which
seem to dance and quiver with delight,--think you, Aubrey, that these
are so sullen as not to return thanks for the happiness they imbibe with
being: what are those thanks but the incense of their joy? The flowers
send it up to heaven in fragrance; the air and the wave, in music. Shall
the heart of man be the only part of His creation that shall dishonour
His worship with lamentation and gloom? When the inspired writers call
upon us to praise our Creator, do they not say to us,--'Be _joyful_ in
your God?'"

"How can we be joyful w