Something like this appears to have been felt by the group we have
alluded to. Mr. Sinclair, after standing for a moment on the bank of the
river, and raising his eyes to the solemn splendor of the declining sun,
looked earnestly around him, and then out upon the glowing landscape
that stretched beyond the valley, after which, with a spirit of
high-enthusiasm, he exclaimed, catching at the same time the fire and
grandeur of the poet's noble conception--

These are thy glorious works. Parent of good!
Almighty! thine this universal fame--
Thus wondrous fair--thyself how wondrous then--
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works.

There was something singularly impressive in the burst of piety which
the hour and the place drew from this venerable pastor, as indeed
there was in the whole group, as they listened in the attitude of deep
attention to his words. Mr. Sinclair was a tall, fine-looking old man,
whose white flowing locks fell down on each side of his neck. His
figure appeared to fine advantage, as, standing a little in front of his
children, he pointed with his raised arm to the setting sun; behind
him stood his two eldest girls, the countenance of one turned with an
expression of awe and admiration towards the west; that of the other
fixed with mingled reverence and affection on her father. William stood
near Jane, and looked out thoughtfully towards the sea, while Jane
herself, light, and young, and beautiful, stood with a hushed face, in
the act of giving a pat of gentle rebuke to the snow-white dove on her
bosom. At length they resumed their walk, and the conversation took a
lighter turn. The girls left their father's side, and strolled in many