has been brewed; all the arrows of heaven have been directed against my
weak, defenceless head. For me the elements have mixed in tremendous
confusion; portents and prodigies have been accumulated for my
destruction. Oh, then, generous and hospitable Druid, what path is
there, that is left for my deliverance? What chance remains for me, now
that a host of invisible beings combats against me? Teach me, my friend,
my father, what it is that I must do. Tell me, is there any happiness in
store for Edwin, or must I sink, unresisting, into the arms of
comfortless despair?"

"My son," cried the venerable hermit, "hope is at all times our duty,
and despair our crime. It is not in the power of events to undermine the
felicity of the virtuous. Goblins, and spirits of darkness, are
permitted a certain scope in this terrestrial scene; but their power is
bounded; beyond a certain line they cannot wander. In vain do they
threaten innocence and truth. Innocence is a wall of brass upon which
they can make no impression. Virtue is an adamant that is sacred and
secure from all their efforts. He whose thoughts are full of rectitude
and heaven, who knows no guile, may wander in safety through
uncultivated forests, or sandy plains, that have never known the trace
of human feet. Before him the robber is just, and the satyr tame; for
him the monsters of the desert are disarmed of their terrors, and he
shall lead the wild boar and the wolf in his hand. Such is the sanctity
that heaven has bestowed on unblemished truth."

"Alas, my father," cried Edwin, "this is the lesson that was first
communicated to my childhood; and my infant heart bounded with the
sacred confidence it inspired. But excuse the presumption of a
distracted heart. This lesson, to which at another time I could have
listened with rapture and enthusiasm, seems now too loose and general