their path terminated by an abrupt precipice, which presented at its feet a scene of so much beauty, that they were glad they had so far missed their way as to enjoy it. It looked immediately down into a narrow valley of mingled rock and wood, at the entrance of which stood the village of Deborah, supposed to take its name from Deborah, the famous judge and deliverer of Israel.

Near this place was the fountain of the Kishon, which was generally but an inconsiderable stream, but was now increased to a rolling flood, by the mountain torrents that foamed over the large gray stones that had been washed down, or laid bare by similar currents, and which distinctly marked out the channels of the fallen tempest, even when not a drop of water trickled over them. This cascade now formed a very beautiful object, and more especially a little lower down, where it made a more abrupt fall, and entered a ravine of the rock, rising again with a sparkling light spray that scattered itself over the surrounding shrubs. They

thought it a pity to have the enjoyment of this lovely scene all to themselves, and supposing they could not be very far from the place where they had left their more timid friends, they were setting out to seek them, that they might at least have the pleasure of this sight, but on looking forward towards the plain, they saw the group already far advanced towards their rustic habitations.

They now began to fear that they should not find their mules, but on descending to the spot where they left them, they met again the party from whom they had separated in their search after plants, and found the poor animals safely secured to the trees, and from their still dripping appearance they judged that those who staid had fared as bad as themselves, without having had any thing to recompense their toil and their alarm. The most enterprizing of the party were however by this time tolerably fatigued, and glad to get on their mules and follow the path of their more cautious companions.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE birds were singing sweetly as they went along, and seemed rejoicing that the storm was past. Sephora and Arbalio spoke of the variety of tuneful sounds which these little choristers display. "There is something," said Arbalio, "in the notes of the birds in spring, which I think have beyond any other music the power of recalling the past. Those peculiar and delightful sounds seem to unite the balmy air on which they are borne, and to open all the cells of memory by a kind of magic force. There is in spring a fragrance that wants a name; it is to the smell what honey is to the taste the essence of every sweet mingled and compounded; and like the lotus of the ancients, it makes us forget all our cares; or if we should happen to have no cares to forget-if our visions should be gilded by hope and expectation, then this bewitching gale comes over

us with too much force; and we so completely yield ourselves up to an intoxicated imagination, that we almost forget we still tread on earth, subject to pain, vexation, and disappointment. Do you, my young friend, ever feel any thing of that inebriating influence of the vernal season of which I speak?"

Sephora acknowledged that she did, and she could trace the delusive joys of her own imagination, as he was describing the wanderings of his. "But," added she, "besides all the witcheries of spring, there are certain natural objects belonging to every season, which call forth in me inexplicable sensations of delight. An uncultivated mountain on an early summer's morning, purple with heath, and wet with dew, and the wild bees flying from flower to flower, or sleeping in the hanging bells, has always conveyed to my mind enthusiastic ideas of peace and liberty, which I can feel and recall, but cannot describe; or, when the high autumnal blast sweeps the bending trees, and returns

with a shower of many-coloured leaves, which are now wheeled in rapid circles, now lightly poised in air, now falling to the earth, then again rising again to fall, it leads to solemn thought. I think of the time when I watched the unfolding of their fragrant buds; of the time when I sheltered under their leafy branches; and I feel as if I were parting from a friend. I feel the instability of nature, the littleness of man, and myself the least; and yet, amidst these humiliating convictions, I find a consciousness of being allied to that power who sways the blast, and makes the forest bend."

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Sephora," said Arbalio, "you have mentioned some of those scenes in nature, which I have often found affect my mind in the same way that you describe them to have done yours. There is something very gratifying in finding a friend whose intellectual pleasures are congenial with our own: how much higher then does our joy arise, when we feel an entire unity of soul as well as of mind, and know that our friendship in this