covered by Jessamine, vines, and Honeysuckles. The hour now
added to the beauty of the scene. The full Moon, ranging through
a blue and cloudless sky, shed upon the trees a trembling lustre,
and the waters of the fountains sparkled in the silver beam: A
gentle breeze breathed the fragrance of Orange-blossoms along the
Alleys; and the Nightingale poured forth her melodious murmur
from the shelter of an artificial wilderness. Thither the Abbot
bent his steps.

In the bosom of this little Grove stood a rustic Grotto, formed
in imitation of an Hermitage. The walls were constructed of
roots of trees, and the interstices filled up with Moss and Ivy.
Seats of Turf were placed on either side, and a natural Cascade
fell from the Rock above. Buried in himself the Monk approached
the spot. The universal calm had communicated itself to his
bosom, and a voluptuous tranquillity spread languor through his
soul.

He reached the Hermitage, and was entering to repose himself,
when He stopped on perceiving it to be already occupied.
Extended upon one of the Banks lay a man in a melancholy posture.

His head was supported upon his arm, and He seemed lost in
mediation. The Monk drew nearer, and recognised Rosario: He
watched him in silence, and entered not the Hermitage. After
some minutes the Youth raised his eyes, and fixed them mournfully
upon the opposite Wall.

'Yes!' said He with a deep and plaintive sigh; 'I feel all the
happiness of thy situation, all the misery of my own! Happy were