144 THE SMUGGLER. 



thought and memory that are ever flowing into it, each bring- 

 ing its store of dullness and pollution as it tends towards the 

 end. Its voice, too, varies as it goes ; now it sings lightly as 

 it dances on ; now it roars amidst the obstacles that oppose its 

 way; and now it has no tone but the dull low murmur of ex- 

 hausted energy. 



Such is the stream of life! yet, perhaps, few of us would 

 wish to change our portion of it for the calm regularity of a 

 canal, even if one could be constructed without locks and flood- 

 gates upon it, to hold in the pent-up waters of the heart till 

 they are ready to burst through the banks. 



Life was in its sparkling aspect with Zara Croyland and 

 Sir Edward Digby, when they set out on horseback for the 

 house of old Mr. Croyland, cantering easily along the roads of 

 that part of the country, which, in the days I speak of, were 

 soft and somewhat sandy. Two servants followed behind at a 

 discreet distance; and lightly passing over hill and dale, with 

 all the loveliness of a very bright portion of our fair land 

 stretched out around them, the young lady and her companion 

 drew in, through the eyes, fresh sensations of happiness from 

 all the lovely things of nature. The yellow woods warmed 

 their hearts; the blue heaven raised their thoughts; the soft 

 air refreshed and cheered all their feelings; and when a pass- 

 ing cloud swept over the sky, it only gave that slight shadowy 

 tone to the mind, which wakens within us the deep, innate, 

 and elevating movements of the spirit, that seem to connect 

 the aspect of God's visible creation with a higher and a purer 

 state of being. Each had some spring of happiness in the 

 heart fresh opened; for, to the fair girl who went bounding 

 along through that gay world, the thought that she was con- 

 veying to a dear sister tidings of hope, was in itself a joy; 

 and to her companion a new subject of contemplation was pre- 

 senting itself, in the very being who accompanied him on the 

 way: a subject quite untouched and novel, and, to a man of 

 his character and disposition, a most interesting one. 



Sir Edward Digby had mingled much with the world; he 

 had seen many scenes of different kinds ; he had visited various 

 countries, the most opposite to each other; he had frequented 

 courts, and camps, and cities; and he had known and seen a 

 good deal of woman, and of woman's heart; but he had never 

 yet met any one like Zara Croyland. The woman of fashion 



