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had been so interested in the foregoing, and other narratives, that the gradual melting of twilight into night had taken place unheeded by me. Before I retired to my room, I again admired the moss-grown cottage over the way, which was a perfect picture of repose and happiness, and considered for a moment the summer-like character of Old Louis Olmsted. He will "come to his grave," thought I, "in a full age, like as a shock of corn cometh in his season."

ness.

It was a summer night of exceeding loveliThe moon and stars were beaming and twinkling in the cerulean sky, mirroring themselves on the quiet bosom of stream and lake. "The murmur of voices, and the peal of remote laughter, no longer reached the ear." The heavens were awake; but the earth was sleeping.

sky",

The "topmost twig that looked up to the was motionless, for even the zephyrs were asleep. The scene, the hour, and the new feelings of my heart, caused me to exclaim, with tearful eyes of joy, (as I left the

window,) How beautiful is this gay dressed world! how beautiful is that human heart, which is made white in the blood of Jesus! what a great and good Being is the Creator of the Universe!

THE POET'S PILGRIMAGE.

A SUNNY-HAIRED boy had wandered far away from home one pleasant summer day, until, at last, he reached the shore of the great ocean. The "ocean's blue" was in his eye, and its freedom in his soul. He leaped and shouted with delight, now dipping his feet in the subsiding wave, then, running from beyond its reach as it came with greater force, booming upon the sand. Many and beautiful were the shells he gathered, and who can tell how many, and beautiful, and lofty, were the thoughts of that Poet boy? On either side of him, the smooth circular beach faded away until it was lost in the horizon. On the

boundless waste, nothing was seen save the white crests of the billows, and a single ship in the distance bound to some unknown clime. At length, wearied with sport, he retreated to a little green knoll overlooking the sea, to rest himself. The breeze parted his flowing hair, and pressed his brow with its cooling kiss. The low murmur of the waves lulled him into a sweet slumber, and he had a dream.

The sound of an unusual splashing came indistinctly to his ear, and, looking downward, he beheld, on the very margin of the sea, a sight which made him wonder and admire. It was a pearly car, thick set with agate and coral, and drawn by four dolphins. The voice of an invisible spirit told him that those fishes were the subjects of his will, and that, if he desired it, he might enter the car, and roam wherever his fancy pleased, "o'er the deep waters of the dark blue sea."

Timidly he descended to comply with this strange invitation, and no sooner had he seated himself, than the fishes, with a billowy motion, darted away on their mysterious pilgrimage.

Ere the coming on of evening he had been borne an hundred leagues from home, and

on looking around he found himself

"Alone, alone, all, all alone,

Alone on a wide, wide sea!"

And in a little time,

"The western wave was all a flame,
The day was wellnigh done,
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright sun.".

Coleridge.

There was a perfect calm, and the world of waters seemed like liquid gold; and O, how beautiful did the dolphins appear as the sun

tinged them with his rays.

lently the car moved onward.

Slowly and si

The Poet bent

forward and dipped his little hands in the cool wave, and then clapping them above his head would give vent to his gladness by a shout of laughter. A bubble rose to the surface; and looking down into the deep "blue halls of ocean," fancy pictured to his mind many a wondrous scene. Far beyond the reach of the plummet, and half covered with sand, lay the

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