elbow-chair, which, at that moment, appeared to his fancy as if stretching forth its hospitable arms to receive him; but scarcely had he accepted the imaginary invitation of his old friend to its luxurious lap of down, than a sudden sforzato, or crash in the minor key, made him rebound upon his legs, as nimbly as though the cushion had been a bed of thorns. Miss Villers now resolved the discord, and dexterously dashed into an allegro movement, in which she introduced the air of "How sweet are the flowers that grow!"

The vicar's face mantled with a smile, as the bouquet on the chimney-piece met his eye, and harmonised with the sounds that floated in his ear. "It is evident," thought he, "that those flowers are the objects of my pursuit,"—but what was he to do with them? The musician solved the question, by tastefully exchanging the former air for that of "Ask if yon damask rose be sweet." No sooner had these notes delivered their melodious errand to the subtle ear of the vicar, than he instantly seized the rose, and carried it in triumph to his olfactory organs; at the same moment the music ceased. The pause, however, was but of short duration; for Miss Villers, by resuming her labours, intimated that some farther service was expected. Was he to return the rose? Certainly not; for the attempt was marked by strong disapprobation. Was he to take it out of the room? The music put a decided negative upon that movement; for the vicar had scarcely measured half the distance of the apartment before the air of "Fly not yet" arrested his steps. By a continuation of the same varying style of expression and strongly-marked rhythm, the vicar was shortly led to affix the rose upon the harp.

Upon my word," exclaimed the vicar, " I shall no longer hesitate to credit the story related in 'Peter Simple,' of a certain lady who played so exquisitely, that, upon introducing an imitation of thunder, the cream for tea became sour, besides three casks of beer in the cellar!"

"Why, papa!" exclaimed Louisa, "Miss Villers reminds me of the 'Elfin Damsel,' in the Danish fairy legends, who, when she struck the second chord of her golden harp, compelled the company to do whatever she wished."

In closing our account of this interesting scene, it is scarcely necessary to describe the delight and mirth of the juvenile party. It was, in truth, a very extraordinary exhibition; and when the reader considers that, beyond what was furnished by the expressive language of music, the vicar did not receive a single hint for his guidance, he may, perhaps, cherish some scepticism upon the subject; but we can assure him that we have repeatedly witnessed, not only a similar, but a still more complicated performance of the same kind, and with equal success. (50.)

The evening of the day on which this musical divertisement was

performed was one of those which so frequently occur in August, when sultry heat is succeeded by refreshing coolness. Isabella Villers possessed a quick sensibility to the beauties of nature, and she quitted the drawing-room to enjoy, without interruption, that pensive quiet which maintained an undisputed dominion. The moon had but just risen, tipping the summits of the wood with silver, while it left the mass of foliage in deeper shadow. Never was there a fairy scene better calculated to awaken the emotions of the heart, or to kindle the energies of the imagination. It was a spot in which Oberon and Titania might well have dwelt. The hour, too, was propitious to the indulgence of that undefined species of reverie which is the refinement of intellectual pleasure. Having traversed the winding path of the wood for some distance, she found herself in one of those sequestered glades we have formerly described. She seated herself on a rustic bench, tastefully formed out of an aged oak, whose venerable figure was bending under the hand of time, and her mind was gratefully lulled into a pensive calm by the review of past events, as the ear is soothed by the murmur of wild and distant music. A sudden breath of wind, as it swept the foliage, aroused her from her reverie, and turned the current of her ideas from past scenes to future prospects. The moon, as if in sympathy, suddenly peered through the sylvan avenue, and threw her tender light upon one of those statues which we have already described as giving such an air of classic sanctity to these secluded glades. It was the figure of TIME, which in the gloom of the wood had hitherto escaped her observation. To a mind of exuberant fancy, a leaf cannot fall to the ground, nor a zephyr waft the fragrance of the violet on its dewy pinions, without conveying some beautiful emblem of mortality. Isabella rose from her seat, and approached the figure, whose hoary countenance appeared as if lighted up into a placid smile by the beams of the moon, which fell directly upon it; her eye glanced from his face to his scythe; its blade was hidden in a cluster of roses, while a bright evergreen played around his hourglass "Were I susceptible of a superstitious impression," thought Isabella, "did ever an occasion present itself better calculated to justify its indulgence?" On the pedestal of the figure was a basso-relievo, in which Time appeared in the act of shivering into pieces the club of Hercules with a crutch. In a few minutes she quitted the scene, which, in spite of her better reason, she could not wholly divest of its prophetic influence, and proceeding along the winding path, at length descended into the valley. The moon was at this time shrouded in dark clouds; and although, by a painful effort, Isabella Villers summoned all the powers of her vision, the objects around her remained invisible, until the eye had so far accommodated itself to the gloom, as to recognise the white foam of the waterfall. The moon now gave a coy and furtive glance, the water for an instant sparkled in her beams, and then was lost in

deeper shadow. A spectre of human form, but of gigantic stature, arose from the spot to which the eyes of Isabella had been directed. Was it the spirit of the Fountain? It appeared to advance, but, the moon once again shining forth in splendour, it vanished;

"and what seem'd corporal melted

As breath into the wind."

The courage of Isabella was destined to sustain another trial, for scarcely had the vision disappeared when she distinctly heard her own name pronounced; and since, from the direction of the sound, she well knew that the spot from whence it issued was inaccessible, we ought not to feel surprised at her having at the instant referred it to a supernatural origin—it was, however, but the illusion of the moment, and she determined to return to the house and submit the events of the evening to the judgment of Mr Seymour.

We shall not trespass any longer upon the patience of the reader, than to assure him that Miss Villers, having arrived in safety at the Lodge, very shortly afterwards retired to rest. With your permission, gentle reader, we will follow her example; for, to say the truth, our lamp—that midnight sun which illumines the path of the author— is dimmed by the dark clouds that lower at its setting; our Pegasus, the pen, which has raced for so many hours over the snowy plains of foolscap, is fairly “done up,” and refuses any longer to sip of that spring which can alone sustain its powers, and impart utility to its movements.

Ecce!

"And these were not fairies? I was three or four times in the thought they were not fairies."

-Merry Wives of Windsor.

CHAPTER XIX.

ON entering the library on the following morning, Mr Seymour informed Miss Villers that Major Snapwell had taken his departure in order to breakfast with the vicar, and that he had invited Tom and Louisa to accompany him, for the sake of inspecting the cabinet of medals; but he added, that he expected the return of the party at two o'clock, when he proposed to give them a lecture upon the philosophy of the several toys which are indebted for their action to atmospheric vibrations.

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66 Suppose, then," said Miss Villers, "that we walk towards Forest Lane, and meet them on their return. This arrangement," she added, will afford me an opportunity of communicating to you the history of some adventures I encountered last evening, and of taking your opinion upon them."

"You well know," answered Mr Seymour, " that you may always command my services. But you have really raised my curiosity: what can be the nature of the adventures you speak of?"

Miss Villers then entered into a particular account of all she saw and heard the preceding evening; with which the reader is already acquainted. Mr Seymour, however, suggested the propriety of abstaining from any discussion upon the subject until the children were present to hear it; for, said he, "I am most desirous that they should be familiarized with those natural sources of illusion which enlighten the wise, while they minister to the superstitious fears of the ignorant."

They had not reached the entrance of Forest Lane, before they perceived the vicar with Tom and Louisa, followed by the major. "Well," exclaimed Tom, as he ran to meet his father,

66

we have

had a most delightful morning; amongst other things, do you know we have found out the meaning of the crescent, which the Turks always wear and use as their ensign?"

"Indeed! then, let me hear your explanation," said his father.

Major Snapwell and the vicar had by this time joined the party, and with their assistance, Tom was enabled to offer the following account of it. The crescent appears on the early coins of Byzantium, and was intended to commemorate the defeat of Philip of Macedon, who, as he was about to storm it on a cloudy night, was discovered by the sudden light of the moon. When the Turks entered Constantinople, they found this ancient badge in various parts of the city, and, suspecting that it might possess some magical power, they assumed the symbol and its power to themselves; so that the crescent became, and still continues to be, the chief Turkish ensign.

"Well, I must own that you have given me a new and very curious piece of historical information, and I thank you for it," said Mr Seymour.

"Medals, then, are occasionally of some little use," remarked the vicar, with a sarcastic smile; for, if the truth must be told, the reverend antiquary had been a little nettled as usual by the freedom with which Major Snapwell had criticised some of his rarities; but let that pass.

As soon as the party reassembled after the excursion of the morning, the circumstances which so greatly astonished Miss Villers on the preceding evening were again related by her.

"My dear young lady," observed Mr Seymour, "I never heard a better story for illustrating the illusions to which the senses are exposed; and if you will read the second letter on 'Natural Magic,' by Sir David Brewster, you will obtain a ready explanation of your vision: but let us examine it philosophically. In the first place, you acknowledge that your imagination had been previously excited during your ramble through the wood, and more especially by your reverie at the statue of Time; now it is well known that such a condition of the mind prepares and adapts the organs of vision for those illusions which I am about to explain. You have told us that, on your descent into the valley, the moon had withdrawn its light, and several minutes had elapsed before an object became visible, and that was the white foam of the waterfall."

"If I rightly remember, Brewster has stated that the spectres that are conjured up by the imagination are always white, because no colour can be seen at night," observed Mrs Seymour.

"Undoubtedly," replied her husband; "and as these spectres are formed out of objects whose different parts reflect different degrees of light, their fainter parts will appear and disappear with the evervarying degree of illumination which is occasioned by the moon shin

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