might be one of admiring interest, upon their private homes.

For many of these, too, I was indebted to a friend, whose property they
more lawfully are. This friend was one of those rare beings who are
equally at home in nature and with man. He knew a tale of all that ran
and swam, and flew, or only grew, possessing that extensive familiarity
with things which shows equal sweetness of sympathy and playful
penetration. Most refreshing to me was his unstudied lore, the unwritten
poetry which common life presents to a strong and gentle mind. It was a
great contrast to the subtleties of analysis, the philosophic strainings
of which I had seen too much. But I will not attempt to transplant it.
May it profit others as it did me in the region where it was born,
where it belongs. The evening of our return to Chicago the sunset was of
a splendor and calmness beyond any we saw at the West. The twilight that
succeeded was equally beautiful; soft, pathetic, but just so calm. When
afterwards I learned this was the evening of Allston's death, it seemed
to me as if this glorious pageant was not without connection with that
event; at least, it inspired similar emotions,--a heavenly gate closing
a path adorned with shows well worthy Paradise.

* * * * *

Farewell, ye soft and sumptuous solitudes!
Ye fairy distances, ye lordly woods,
Haunted by paths like those that Poussin knew,
When after his all gazers eyes he drew;
I go,--and if I never more may steep
An eager heart in your enchantments deep,
Yet ever to itself that heart may say,
Be not exacting; thou hast lived one day;