ABSTRACT
When I entered the garden of the parsonage-house, I stopped to collect my shattered resolution, and the first object that met my sight was the bower which I had made for Isabella: it was nearly destroyed by the wintry wind; the hoops which supported the leafy canopy in the season of vegetation, were broken, and only held together by the interwoven twigs, which time had rendered strong and numberless. I was obliged to pass quite close to this once dear retreat, and my eyes involuntarily turned towards it: I beheld the rude bench where I had beguiled many a studious hour. It was notched and carved in various devices; among others, the name of Isabella was distinguishable in every direction. I placed my hand before my eyes, paused a moment, and then, endeavouring to shake off the phantoms which memory was rapidly gathering round me, hurried towards the parsonage.
