Burlington free press. [volume] (Burlington, Vt.) 1827-1865, 1839-03-01

on from 1ay TO uNv. or CnarIC3 fIarCourt
sent him tho books he had promised. which
were new and fashionable novels, and took
no hold Of his mind. Musgrave passed with
him an hour or Two daily, and he never
could shake off the impression made by his
manner aud language. When no found
this image wearsome, he could not rid him.
self Of It as he had been used to do when
any thing annoyed him, by shooting out
into action, for he was confined by his in
jured limb to the room he had been first
placed in. Vcxcd aud fretled at a stiffness
80 unlike his usual life, no became at last
thoroughly impatient. One day he gave
vent 10 this feeling, 10 words of something
like dIspleasure, while speaking to Mus
grave. The clergyman's pale cheek COL
CURED slightly, and, as was his fashion, he
paused for moment before he spoke. He
then eaid to Hastings that he feared his
society was burthehsomc, and begged his
pardon lit were go, but assured him tina,
he had been in the habit Of visiting him
only in hopes of being in some way useful
or agreeable. 'The patient fell, much
ashamed at his own folly, entreated forgive
ness. earnestly thanked Musgrave for oil
his kindness, and begged him to continue
his visits 90 often as might be convenient to
him. Indeed, he added, his hosts company
sometimes give him kind Of strange OBJ
scure pleasure, euch as he had never before
but once experienced.
Nine years ago. he said, I was travel.
ling in Armenia, and the night fell while
| was examining some noble ruins on the
banks Of the Ataxcs, with the peak Of Ara
rat in view before mo. secured my horse
in nook of the decaycd and shattered
bui'dnge, and lay down beside him for the
night, when heard at great distance the
sound OF mems voices singing hymn,
which. to my present recollection, had
much the rhythm and tone of ono ,ha,
struck mo in your hymn The sing.
ers were, doubtless, monks engaged in their
| evening devotions. | rose and went few
PAGES in the direction Of the sound to listen,
when l saw figure moving among the
ruins. as if coming towards mo, from the
river. As he drew nearer, leaning on his
staff, saw by the moonlight that he much
resembled pictures I have met with of
Saint Joseph, the husband Of Mary. When
close at hand, he looked at me in,ently. aud
felt that had never seen go venerable a
being. He then addressed mo in the Ar.
menlan tongue. Of which | had learnt some
thing from the Mekhtaris,es Of San Lazaro
at Venice. and he said, My son, thou seek
est many things on earth; but the one thing
WHICH thou modest thou seekest not; else
woultst thou find it with less journeyng
:And what | sad, Father, ia tina, p
Peace
blast thou then found it?'
| ''If knew it not. then like others,
should not believe in its existence. Fare.
well. Remember the measure OF the di.
vine song thou hast but now hoard; and
remember me-
He turned away, and in moment was
hidden by massive pier. The feeling
that his presence gave me have never
since experienced till met with you
Musgrave seemed much surprised and
confused at this remark, but they parted
for the night in very friendly terms. II
was now the close Of the week which Hast
inGs had spent in a bodily inactivity hardly
he sp,nt, hour after hour, in reviewing the
innumerable images Of the past, which
hoatcd before him, and sometimes in form
ing plans for the future. At last it wa:
deep night, and he heard the clock of the
neirhboring church strike twelve. The
last stroke had scarcely trembled away
over the churchyard when he recollec,e,
the destiny to which he was subject, ant
saw standing before him. in the brightness
of reality, the different beings in whose lot
he had so lately shared-Edmonstone--
Wllson--and, lastly, Hastings
As n none Of these had he been perfect y
happy, and as little in his last character a.
in any Of the former ones. he remembered
at the same time, that tho power of The
ring was not ended, and with little hesita
ton he breathed upon it, and named TIT
name Of Musgrave.
CHAPTER ".
4 Muscrave went through tho duties o
his station with an exemplary zeal and de
, votion. But his heart was in his solitude
, where in private study, meditation. ant
PRAYER, he cherished the mild and musn.
temper of an eremie. The world that hi
, outwardly lived in lay Mt distance from
, his upprehcnsions, nor was he ever truly a
t case and Joyous but whom he felt himsel
in an imaginary heaven, conversng onIl
: WITH slsloudIy ou'Hgo d"u tho Iu"siSu 'c'
n pcrsonages Of sacred story, or lost in TIT
4 flaming ebatitude of prayer and praise
He was respected, and even beloved by hi
0 practitioners, but az a creature Of anothe
race, chance visitor to them from
! different state Of existence. The
t thought Of him less as a better an
Q wiser man, with true and warm, but en-
obled human heart, than as a seraph'
0 phantom breathing always some celest'a
z air, and having, instead Of life blood, a
It immaterial spirit.
h He performed, however, his Sunday du
n ties with meek and graceful forvour, an
1t the worst and most embruted of those VIII
IT heard him at least carried away tho impre'
sion that he was sincerely good and god
r man. The next day, as indeed almost e,
So erv day. he spent some hours in vslln