We neared the city of New York. Soon its domes, turrets, and spires,
became more distinct. We were fast nearing home. Home! How the mention
of that word sent a thrill to my heart! It is scarcely possible to
describe my feelings at that time; exuberant joy, mingled with sorrowful
reminiscences which came crowding thick and fast over the ocean of
memory, overshadowing all the bright hopes and sunny feelings of the
heart.
We reached the wharf late in the afternoon. It is needless to describe
the bustle incident to the arrival of an ocean steamer, crowded with
passengers. It is enough to say, that after being jammed, and jostled,
and crushed, to your infinite satisfaction, you find yourself on board a
hack, bound to one of the many hotels which intersperse the city.
The next day, I was too sick to start for home, completely prostrated by
excitement, I suppose. The next day, I left New York. The following
morning, I neared my native town. The station was reached; I left the
cars. I had purposely kept my arrival secret, the better to take them by
surprise.
In returning, after a long absence, to the home of our youth, we often
find ourselves disappointed. A part of the brightness is almost sure to
have passed away. Our eyes are changed, even if the things we look upon
remain the same. The persons we have loved too are sure to have altered,
and rarely for the better; for, if they be still on the bright side of
life, the rose-bud is generally more beautiful than the rose; and, if
they be on the autumnal side of the hill, we shall have to mark many a
leaf that has fallen, many a flower that has faded away.