as the landscape, that charmed by day, gradually fades upon the sight, and, to the moralizing mind, presents an emblem of the transitory pleasures of life. Silence had returned many minutes ere Olivia or Madeline thought of stirring; they were at length rising for the purpose of departing, when they were again riveted to their seat by the soft breathings of an oboe, which seemed to come from some cliff above them at no great distance. The air was simple, tender, and pathetic; and played in a stile which evinced exquisite taste and feeling in the performer.
"How soft, how sweet, how melodious (cried Mademoiselle Chatteneuf, during the pause of a minute, for till then she and Madeline had been wrapped in attention too profound to permit them either to speak or move), what pathos, what masterly execution: but hark! the echoes revive the strains which we imagined had utterly died away; they seem celestial strains, and almost
