CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
Of seats they tell, where priests, 'mid tapers dim, Breathed the warm prayer, or tuned the midnight hymn To scenes like these the fainting soul retired; Revenge and Anger in these cells expired: By Pity soothed, Remorse lost half her fears, And softened Pride dropped penitential tears.
Crabbe's Borough.
The morning of Friday was as serene and beautiful as if no pleasure party had been intended; and that is a rare event, whether in novel-writing or real life.

Lovel, who felt the genial influence of the weather, and rejoiced at the prospect of once more meeting with Miss Wardour, trotted forward to the place of rendezvous with better spirits than he had for some time enjoyed.

His prospects seemed in many respects to open and brighten before him--and hope, although breaking like the morning sun through clouds and showers, appeared now about to illuminate the path before him.

He was, as might have been expected from this state of spirits, first at the place of meeting,--and, as might also have been anticipated, his looks were so intently directed towards the road from Knockwinnock Castles that he was only apprized of the arrival of the Monkbarns division by the gee-hupping of the postilion, as the post-chaise lumbered up behind him.

In this vehicle were pent up, first, the stately figure of Mr.Oldbuck himself; secondly, the scarce less portly person of the Reverend Mr.Blattergowl, minister of Trotcosey, the parish in which Monkbarns and Knockwinnock were both situated.