“Report speaks favorably of the preacher we are to hear to-day, Miss Munro—­have you ever heard him?” was the inquiry of the youth.

“I have, sir, frequently, and have at all times been much pleased and sometimes affected by his preaching.  There are few persons I would more desire to hear than himself—­he does not offend your ears, nor assail your understanding by unmeaning thunders.  His matter and manner, alike, are distinguished by modest good sense, a gentle and dignified ease and spirit, and a pleasing earnestness in his object that is never offensive.  I think, sir, you will like him.”

“Your opinion of him will certainly not diminish my attention, I assure you, to what he says,” was the reply.

At this moment the cavalcade was overtaken and joined by Rivers and Munro, together with several other villagers.  Ralph now taking advantage of a suggestion of Forrester’s, previously made—­who proposed, as there would be time enough, a circuitous and pleasant ride through a neighboring valley—­avoided the necessity of being in the company of one with respect to whom he had determined upon a course of the most jealous precaution.  Turning their horses’ heads, therefore, in the proposed direction, the two left the procession, and saw no more of the party until their common arrival at the secluded grove—­druidically conceived for the present purpose—­in which the teacher of a faith as simple as it was pleasant was already preparing to address them.

The venerable oaks—­a goodly and thickly clustering assemblage—­forming a circle around, and midway upon a hill of gradual ascent, had left an opening in the centre, concealed from the eye except when fairly penetrated by the spectator.  Their branches, in most part meeting above, afforded a roof less regular and gaudy, indeed, but far more grand, majestic, and we may add, becoming, for purposes like the present, than the dim and decorated cathedral, the workmanship of human hands.  Its application to this use, at this time, recalled forcibly to the mind of the youth the forms and features of that primitive worship, when the trees bent with gentle murmurs above the heads of the rapt worshippers, and a visible Deity dwelt in the shadowed valleys, and whispered an auspicious acceptance of their devotions in every breeze.  He could not help acknowledging, as, indeed, must all who have ever been under the influence of such a scene, that in this, more properly and perfectly than in any other temple, may the spirit of man recognise and hold familiar and free converse with the spirit of his Creator.  Here, indeed, without much effort of the imagination; might be beheld the present God—­the trees, hills and vales, the wild flower and the murmuring water, all the work of his hands, attesting his power, keeping their purpose, and obeying, without scruple, the order of those seasons, for the sphere and operation of which he originally designed them.  They were mute lessoners, and the example which, in the progress of their existence, year after year, they regularly exhibited, might well persuade the more responsible representative of the same power the propriety of a like obedience.