1829.J fl Candle-light Story. G23 



" Which kept the word of promise to the eye 

 " But broke it to the hope ;" 



md yet, for the first half of my journey, a feeling of pristine enjoyment 

 v^nt an elasticity to my steps to which they had long been a stranger. I 

 could feel that singular thrill which sometimes rims through the nerves, 

 proclaiming that the body is alive as well as the mind, and the pleasant 

 coolness of the cheek, which responds to the medicative influences of 

 nature, like the freshness of a newly watered plant. 



But the Island of the Blest, like its prototypes in antiquity, retreated 

 before the steps of the pilgrim. ]\Iy romantic oasis turned out to be a 

 clumsy sinister-looking hill; while its whole colony of sunbeams had 

 stablished themselves on a more western neighbour. Coasting along 

 he base, and looking askance at its ill-favoured brow with a marked 

 lostility of manner, I pursued my journey towards the new mirage of 

 .he desert — and with precisely the same success. By this time my ar- 

 lour was cooled, and my cheek warmed ; and the country dance that 

 {lygiara had been playing upon my nerves, jarred as miserably out of 

 une as the music at a village wedding, when the guests have become 

 ired, and the fiddler tipsy. 



The sun had farly sunk beneath the horizon, and numerous columns 

 t>f dark clouds were seen moving upon the region occupied by his rear- 

 guard of golden beams. The conflict was brief but brilliant ; and al- 

 though still a few skirmishers of the flying army would now and then 

 whirl round and break the line of their pursuers, in a space of time 

 Imost as short as I take to write it, the fate of the day was decided. 

 he night wind arose ; the dark trees that surrounded me began to 

 move ; and instead of the song of the birds, which was now hushed, a 

 thousand strange voices crept around my feet, bringing tidings to whom 

 it might concern, from the fairy-haunted toadstool — from the fringed 

 fern — from the ivy of the ruined walls — from the whin-bush, the dock, 

 the hemlock, and the nettle. 



The village was somewhat nearer to me than my OAvn house, and 

 thinking that the w'alk would be more cheerful through its living street, 

 and home by the long avenue, I addressed by steps towards it. The 

 ^jath, however, was more intricate, the fields smaller, and the gaps in the 

 "ledges less accommodating ; and, owing to these circumstances, I did 

 not reach the houses till it was nearly dark. The appearance, doubtless, 

 of a stranger, plunging upon them from the woods, did not seem devoid 

 of suspicion to the simple inhabitants ; for many of them stopped as they 

 were fastening the shutters of their houses, to turn round and look at me, 

 and when I passed I could hear numerous doors opening hurriedly behind. 



Shuffling along as hastily as the imperfect light wovdd permit, I at 

 length cleared the village and entered the avenue. It was as cold and 

 dark as a burying vault ; and although the wind moaned loudly in the 

 trees, the sound seemed, as it were, without, while the Interior was as 

 silent as the grave. It was impossible to wander laterally from a road 

 which was so well lined ; and I knew, that by pushing straight forward, 

 I should infallibly arrive, one time or other, at my own door. These 

 geographical considerations were comfortable ; but, upon the whole, the 

 scene was gloomy. It was here my deceased uncle had delighted to 

 walk in the evening — perhaps at this very hour. It was here, no doubt, 

 he had meditated oji self-murder, long enough to familiarize himself 



