CHAPTER XVIII.
Its holy flame forever burneth,
From heaven it came, to heaven returneth;
Too oft on earth a troubled guest,
At times deceiv'd, at times opprest,
It here is tried, and purified,
Then hath in heaven its perfect rest."
Southey.
The clergyman, after his return from performing the last pious offices for Oriana, read the following letter, which had been presented to him at her grave.
"You have expressed a wish, my dear and reverend benefactor, to possess a more particular acquaintance with my history, than my weakness has yet permitted me to impart. I will, as God may give me strength, recount some of its circumstances, to meet your eye when mine is closed in dust. It will then be time enough to lift the veil of mystery, when I shall no longer be pained at the curiosity of strangers, or affected by their opinion. You, Sir, have without suspicion reposed confidence in the imperfect narrative, which has been entrusted to you. You have not, as the cold-hearted multitude might have done, wounded with the cruelty of distrust a heart long sinking beneath the visitation of God. You will not now believe that a spirit, nurtured in the love of truth, could use guile,
