No language can adequately describe my sensations on viewing this extraordinary change of object. I gazed with rapture upon my wonderful Guide, whose countenance now beamed with benevolence and beauty. "Ah!" exclaimed I, "this is a vision of happiness never to be realized! Thou art a being that I am doomed never to meet with in the world below." "Peace:" whispered an unknown voice; "injure not thy species by such a remark: the object before thee is called by a name that is familiar to thee—it is 'Candour.' She is the handmaid of Truth, the sister of Virtue, and the priestess of Religion."
I was about to make reply, when a figure of terrific mien, and enormous dimensions, rushed angrily towards me, and, taking me up in my crystal chair, bore me precipitately to the earth. In my struggles to disengage myself, I awoke: and on looking about me, with difficulty could persuade myself that I was an inhabitant of this world. My sensations were, at first, confused and unpleasant; but a reflection on the Mirror of Truth, and its divine expositor, in a moment tranquillized my feelings. And thus have I told you my dream.
Lysander had hardly concluded the recital of his dream—during which it was impossible for us to think of quaffing coffee or devouring muffins—when the servant entered with a note from Lorenzo:
"My dear Friend,
"The morning is propitious. Hasten to the Alcove. My sisters are twining honey-suckles and jessamine round the portico, and I have carried thither a respectable corps of bibliographical volumes, for Lysander to consult, in case his memory should fail. All here invoke the zephyrs to waft their best wishes to you.
"Truly your's,
"Lorenzo."
The note was no sooner read than we all, as if by instinct, started up; and, finishing our breakfast as rapidly as did the Trojans when they expected an early visit from the Grecians, we sallied towards Lorenzo's house, and entered his pleasure grounds. Nothing could be more congenial than every circumstance and object which presented itself. The day was clear, calm, and warm; while a crisp autumnal air
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Nimbly and sweetly recommend itself Unto our gentle senses.[423] |