little knoll at the foot of a large black cross, at the highest point of the ridge where stood two pale ladies dressed in mourning, their mild, serious countenances lit up by the light of the fiery streams. Here it was quiet and solitary, and one could contemplate in peace that grand, gloomy spectacle, in which the blind power of nature is the hero, and mankind only impotent accessories. Ah! this scene was not new to me. Ever since my earliest childhood, I have been disturbed, or terrified by it, when I have contemplated life, either in great or small. Often, often, has it hidden God from my sight. And again, I beheld here this enigmatical power, which, like a blind necessity, goes forth over human life, overturns small human dwellings, converts their harvests and their hopes into ashes, and the career of which no prayers and no tears can avail to stop! And again, the old, dark question arose out of the old wound,—is there a Father above the earth? Does He trouble himself about the children of men? I never had very strong faith, and I never shall have it. I am a seeking spirit who beholds, in hope, one who embraces the cross and trusts in Him who there, amidst life's deepest sufferings, revealed to us the Father; I rest in Him, waiting for the perfecting of my sight. Though life's dark phenomena operate overpoweringly for a time, yet, no sooner is the conflict over, than my true sight, my hope, and my faith return. So was it even now; above the dark crater on the summit of Vesuvius, I saw a little star gleam softly through the smoke, which hitherto had totally obscured the heavens; I then became really better both in body and mind; I breathed more freely.
- Vol. II.—21
