CHAP. I.

FRUITS OF THE FALL.

The flaming sword of the Cherubim had just waved above the closing gates of Paradise, as they shut against our first parents. Adam and Eve stopped for a moment on a commanding hillock, which gave them a sad and parting view of the Eden they had now lost for ever -they looked back upon its retiring loveliness in vain, and tears of shame and anguish wet their burning cheeks. In vain did the wilds of nature, as yet untrodden by a created foot, and rich in maiden beauty, stretch around them—in vain did the luxuriant balsam and palm trees (emblem of Palestine,) wave their graceful foliage as they passed! The heart, in its first divorce from its God; in its first encounter with the dark shadows of its ruin; melted in the sorrows of despair; and

In front of the spot so selected by the pilgrims, flowed a broad, limpid stream, whose banks were fringed with the aromatic plants which yielded to the wild bees, hiving in the hollow rocks behind them, a profusion of the raciest honey. A banquet of this spoil regaled and refreshed our parents. Adam, too, gathered some dates, and Eve plucked the ripe citrons, whose fragrance floated around in a thousand odours. Then they leaned along the flowery margin of the stream and slaked their thirst. Ah, it was the first time they had been pressed by hunger,—the first time they had been parched by thirst.

Alas! these were the effects of sin.

"How strange, how sadly strange, Adam, do I this moment feel!" exclaimed Eve; 66 some portion of that awful load which even now I am doomed to bear already is upon me--something like that unseen and terrible death which I have brought thee, dear partner of my punishment. It must be death-yes, I know, I am now sure it must be! Nearer, O come yet nearer, Adam! Would indeed that I were dead!"

The first of men ran to his lovely forlorn one; he kissed her pale cheek; he received her sorrows in his bosom; and shrank involuntarily, though

but for an instant, at the chill of her embrace. As she clung shivering to him, swiftly he bore her from the place to the shade of a magnificent oak, that flung its impervious branches from the centre of a bower of acacias; and in the fever of wild affection covered her with the broad leaves of the fig-tree; and with a tremulous arm supported the drooping flower. After a short interval of breathless pause, Adam rejoices to catch once more the music of her voice: "Death is going away, Adam-No, I do not die-Adam, I do not, indeed, die!"

You who have purely and virtuously loved ;— you who have loved in all the devotedness of a first and only passion-yes, you alone are competent judges of the returning flow of transport to Adam's breast! O, how softly gushed the springs of consolation on his misery! Sweet to the heart is the moment that ends suspense; and sweeter still, the despaired-of sound that rolls again in hope over the lips we love. Wild and gloomy had, only now, been Adam's thoughts-to be left alone in creation- -to lose her upon whom he doated-to lose her, too, for ever—her, who was all to him!

Eve becomes composed, and gently the dark

curtains of her eye-lids fall,-she slumbers. Adam seizes the opportunity to procure some ripe fruit before she awakes. Lightly he disengages himself from her fond hold, and lays her head on a swelling tuft of anemonies. He will now steal abroad to gather the purple juices of the grape to moisten her lip; to invigorate her frame. As he proceeds, a pang seems to cross his heart also, and a faintness to unnerve his limbs. Ah! this visitation is but part and parcel of his new heritage of sufferingthe harvest of the conflict of the passions. As he throws himself on the ground to recruit his strength, he becomes at once sensible of a general numbness creeping over him. He feels the turf cold and clammy. Now he discerns it gemmed with millions of spangles-spangles of the dew! His gaze is bewildered; his fears are painfully excited. The judgment issued in Paradise seems again to thunder in his ears. He now starts up, rifles the bended bough of its

ripeness, and hur

ries back to Eve. Still she sleeps! He reclines near her, musing and wondering at the gay brilliants of nature. At last, he thinks he is able to solve the riddle. Ah, the earth for him is cursed-and these are no other than the tears of

heaven falling, in compassion, upon his guilt!

Yes, it must be so-these dews are the dews of pity, shed by sorrowing Angels on the infirmities of man.

Already had the avenging mandate of the Supreme been unerringly obeyed. In Paradise the balmy morning, the refreshing day, and the serene, and tranquil, and delightful evening, far removed from all extremes of temperature, had been wont to run their golden round. Now, a sultry air made the day oppressive; and that sultry day is succeeded by the rapid vicissitude of copious and chilling evening dews, again succeeded by intensely cold nights-nights unknown until then.

Alas! these are the fruits of sin.

But Eve had recruited her strength by rest. The provident anxiety of Adam was more than rewarded, as he again gazed on her. She softly smiled her gratitude through tears of sensibility, and cheerfully partook of the grapes he offered for her acceptance. The interlacing boughs were trained into a pavilion for the night.

Before they sought, in a short oblivion, a respite from the agonizing reflections of that day, hand in hand they advanced to the entrance of their bower; and as they admired the armies of the