The dew hung shining upon the leaves, and fell in pattering showers from the trees, as a bird, alarmed at my approach, would spring from the branch and leave it vibrating in the air behind her; the early challenge of the cock grouse, and the quick-go-quick of the quail, were cheerfully uttered on all sides.  The rapid martins twittered with peculiar glee, or, in the light caprice of their mirth, placed themselves for a moment upon the edge of a scaur, or earthly precipice, in which their nests were built, and then shot up again to mingle with the careering and joyful flock that cut the air in every direction.  Where is the heart which could not enjoy such a morning scene?  Under any other circumstances it would have enchanted me; but here, in fact, that intensity of spirit which is necessary to the due contemplation of beautiful prospects, was transferred to a gloomier object.  I was under the influence of a feeling quite new to me.  It was not pleasure, nor was it pain, but a chilliness of soul which proceeded from the gloomy and severe task that I had undertaken—­a task which, when I considered the danger and the advantages annexed to its performance, was sufficient to abstract me from every other object.  It was really the first exercise of that jealous spirit of mistaken devotion which keeps the soul in perpetual sickness, and invests the innocent enjoyments of life with a character of sin and severity.  It was this gloomy feeling that could alone have strangled in their birth those sensations which the wisdom of God has given as a security in some degree against sin, by opening to the heart of man sources of pleasure, for which the soul is not compelled to barter away her innocence, as in those of a grosser nature.  I may be wrong in analyzing the sensation, but for the first time in my life I felt anxious and unhappy; yet, according to my own opinions, I should have been otherwise.  I was startled at what I experienced, and began to consider it as a secret intimation that I had chosen a wrong time for my journey.  I even felt as if it would not prosper—­as if some accident or misfortune would befall me ere my return.  The boat might sink, as in 1796:  this was quite alarming.  The miraculous experiment on the pond here occurred to me with full force, and came before my imagination in a new point of view.  The drenching I got had a deep and fearful meaning.  It was ominous—­it was prophetic,—­and sent by a merciful Providence to deter me from attending the pilgrimage at this peculiar time—­perhaps on this particular day:  to-morrow the spell might be broken, the danger past, and the difference of a single day could be nothing.  Just at this moment an unlucky hare, starting from an adjoining thicket, scudded across my path, as if to fill up the measure of these ominous predictions.  I paused, and my foot was on the very turn to the rightabout, when instantly a thought struck me which produced a reaction in my imagination.  Might not all this be the temptation of the devil,