even brighter anticipations than those which hallow your bridal night!

They pass; and ere the reflection of their joy has faded from his face,
another spectacle throws a melancholy shadow over the spirit of the
observing man. In a close carriage sits a fragile figure, muffled
carefully, and shrinking even from the mild breath of summer. She leans
against a manly form, and his arm infolds her, as if to guard his
treasure from some enemy. Let but a few weeks pass, and when he shall
strive to embrace that loved one, he will press only desolation to his
heart!

And now has morning gathered up her dewy pearls, and fled away. The sun
rolls blazing through the sky, and cannot find a cloud to cool his face
with. The horses toil sluggishly along the bridge, and heave their
glistening sides in short quick pantings, when the reins are tightened at
the toll-house. Glisten, too, the faces of the travellers. Their
garments are thickly bestrewn with dust; their whiskers and hair look
hoary; their throats are choked with the dusty atmosphere which they have
left behind them. No air is stirring on the road. Nature dares draw no
breath, lest she should inhale a stifling cloud of dust. "A hot, and
dusty day!" cry the poor pilgrims, as they wipe their begrimed foreheads,
and woo the doubtful breeze which the river bears along with it. "Awful
hot! Dreadful dusty!" answers the sympathetic toll-gatherer. They start
again, to pass through the fiery furnace, while he re-enters his cool
hermitage, and besprinkles it with a pail of briny water from the stream
beneath. He thinks within himself, that the sun is not so fierce here as
elsewhere, and that the gentle air does not forget him in these sultry
days. Yes, old friend; and a quiet heart will make a dog-day temperate.
He hears a weary footstep, and perceives a traveller with pack and staff,
who sits down upon the hospitable bench, and removes the hat from his wet