CHAPTER XXX.

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.