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274 the elders in the centre of the glen. At a signal from the elders the whole multitude sang softly in the most beautiful harmony, a melody that was more like the melody of saints than that of ordinary mortals. The music seemed to come from their very souls; it was at one moment like a gentle, refreshing shower, that pattered on the leaves; then, the rain would clear away, and bright rays of soft, genial, sunshine would break as it were through clouds, lighting the whole scene with joyfulness. Then, it would come on again with a sweet, rolling, rippling sound, gliding softly with quivering intonations that seemed to strike on the ear with a cushioned re-echoing of melodious sympathy, which could not fail to penetrate the hardest and most cruel heart, melting its flinty cells into sympathetic love strains laden with condescension, humility, and feeling for others.

Birds were flying about in sportive joy, and the butterflies with their gem-like wings fluttered over the entire glen. Truly it was a scene of beauty never to be forgotten, so long as memory