It was a time and place of such rare, such
Eden-like beauty! Philip paused at the summit of an upward slope,
and gazed around him. Some few miles off he could see a gleam of the
Hudson river, and above it a spur of those rugged cliffs scatter'd
along its western shores. Nearer by were cultivated fields. The clover
grew richly there, the young grain bent to the early breeze, and the
air was filled with an intoxicating perfume. At his side was the large
well-kept garden of his host, in which were many pretty flowers, grass
plots, and a wide avenue of noble trees. As Philip gazed, the holy
calming power of Nature--the invisible spirit of so much beauty and so
much innocence, melted into his soul. The disturb'd passions and the
feverish conflict subsided. He even felt something like envied peace
of mind--a sort of joy even in the presence of all the unmarr'd
goodness. It was as fair to him, guilty though he had been, as to
the purest of the pure. No accusing frowns show'd in the face of the
flowers, or in the green shrubs, or the branches of the trees. They,
more forgiving than mankind, and distinguishing not between the
children of darkness and the children of light--they at least treated
him with gentleness. Was he, then, a being so accurs'd? Involuntarily,
he bent over a branch of red roses, and took them softly between
his hands--those murderous, bloody hands! But the red roses neither
wither'd nor smell'd less fragiant. And as the young man kiss'd them,
and dropp'd a tear upon them, it seem'd to him that he had found pity
and sympathy from Heaven itself.
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