86 THE MONK. 



" In the very zenith of success, his wife — she who had accom- 

 panied him through all his fortunes— the being who could alone 

 temper the ebullitions of his too exuberant feelings, or pour the 

 balm of consolation into his wounded spirit — the companion who 

 had shared all his toils and griefs, who participated in all his hopes 

 and fears — the creature on earth he loved more dearly than all that 

 wealth and power, or fame could give, was snatched from him by 

 the relentless hand of death. After this bereavement, he no longer 

 took any part in public affairs, he disposed of his commission, left 

 his native land, with all the scenes of his early youth, and settled 

 in Switzerland, on the banks of the Lake of Geneva, where he re- 

 sided for many years with his only child, the young and beautiful 

 Mary. All his care was directed to her education. All his happi- 

 ness was centred in her welfare. She was the last link that bound 

 him to the world, the green leaf that distilled vitality into his 

 withered heart. He loved to look upon her ; he loved to trace 

 the development of her character through each succeeding year ; 

 and he was richly repaid for all he had bestowed. Her gentle 

 assiduity, her ceaseless solicitude for his comfort, her more than 

 filial obedience, came soothingly to his broken spirit. Her 

 high sentiments of virtue, and pure principles of religion, might 

 have shamed many a sage, and taught even her father to for- 

 get his woes and to kiss the rod that chastened him. Time 

 and his daughter's love had in a great measure softened the 

 poignancy of his grief; and, though happiness, as he had once 

 known it, was dimmed for ever, yet he felt that there were many 

 bright things in store for him. If a fleeting cloud occasionally 

 crossed his brow, it was but as the passing ripple on the bosom of 

 the lake when some slight breeze skims its surface, but is incapable 

 of agitating the calmed depths of its serenity. His transitory gloom 

 was always quickly dispelled by the silver-toned voice of Mary who, 

 at these times would sing to him some of the plaintive airs of their 

 native country, or swell the rich melody of the Swiss mountain lay. 

 He would often gaze upon her sylph-like form and the perfect sym- 

 metry of her graceful figure ; upon her beautiful and fascinating 

 blue eyes, which told of nought but innocence and joy ; and on her 

 expressive countenance forming the faithful index of a spotless 

 mind; and, as he gazed, his heart would overflow with intense 

 affection. He would then clasp her to his breast, and call her his 

 guardian spirit, his only joy, and pour upon her that choicest of all 

 earthly gifts, a father's holy benediction. Such was Mary, ere sor- 

 row and suffering were more to her than mere words. She was yet 



