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"You here, reverend father?" cried the novice.
At the same time starting from his place in confusion, he drew his cowl hastily over his face. Ambrosio seated himself upon the bank, and obliged the youth to place himself by him.
"You must not indulge this disposition to melancholy," said he: "What can possibly have made you view in so desirable a light, misanthropy, of all sentiments the most hateful?"
"The perusal of these verses, father, which till now had escaped my observation. The brightness of the moon-beams permitted my reading them; and, oh! how I envy the feelings of the writer!"
As he said this, he pointed to a marble tablet fixed against the opposite wall: on it were engraved the following lines:
INSCRIPTION IN AN HERMITAGE.
Whoe'er thou art these lines now reading,
Think not, though from the world receding,
I joy my lonely days to lead in
Think not, though from the world receding,
I joy my lonely days to lead in
This
