pebbles. How often, with his gentle partner by his side, had
Markland lingered here, drinking in delight from every fair object
by which they were surrounded! Now he wandered amid its cool
recesses, or sat by the fountain, without having even a faint
picture of the scene mirrored in his thoughts. It was true, as he
had said, "Beauty had faded from the landscape; the air was no
longer balmy with odours; the birds sang for his ears no more; he
heard not, as of old, the wind-spirits whispering to each other in
the tree-tops;" and he sighed deeply as a half-consciousness of the
change disturbed his reverie. A footfall reached his ears, and,
looking up, he saw a neighbour approaching: a man somewhat past the
prime of life, who came toward him with a familiar smile, and, as he
offered his hand, said pleasantly--

"Good morning, Friend Markland."

"Ah! good morning, Mr. Allison," was returned with a forced
cheerfulness; "I am happy to meet you."

"And happy always, I may be permitted to hope," said Mr. Allison, as
his mild yet intelligent eyes rested on the face of his neighbour.

"I doubt," answered Mr. Markland, in a voice slightly depressed from
the tone in which he had first spoken, "whether that state ever
comes in this life."

"Happiness?" inquired the other.

"Perpetual happiness; nay, even momentary happiness."