wretched as the day is long. You are my friend, and my friend mustn't go
amongst strangers without an independent spirit. If you have twenty
guineas in your pocket, you needn't be worrying yourself about little
things. You'll find plenty of ways to make the money useful. You shall
pay me, if you like, when you grow rich, and we meets again; but take it
now, and make John Thompson happy."

In the lap of nature the troubled mind gets rest; and the wounds of the
heart heal rapidly, once delivered there, safe from contact with the
infectious world; and the bosom of the nursing mother is not more
powerful or quick to lull the pain and still the sobs of her distressed
ones. It is the sanctuary of the bruised spirit, and to arrive at it is
to secure shelter and to find repose. Peace, eternal and blessed,
birthright and joy of angels, whither do those glimpses hover that we
catch of thee in this tumultuous life, weak, faint, and transient though
they be, melting the human soul with heavenly tranquillity? Whither, if
not upon the everlasting hills, where the brown line divides the sky, or
on the gentle sea, where sea and sky are one--a liquid cupola--or in the
leafy woods and secret vales, where beauty lends her thrilling voice to
silence? How often will the remembrance only of one bright spot--a
vision of Paradise rising over the dull waste of my existence--send a
glow of comfort to my aged heart, and a fresh feeling of repose which
the harsh business of life cannot extinguish or disturb! And what a fair
history comes with that shadowy recollection! How much of passionate
condensed existence is involved in it, and how mysteriously, yet
naturally connected with it, seem all the noblest feelings of my
imperfect nature! The scene of beauty has become "a joy for ever."

I recall a spring day--a sparkling day of the season of youth and
promise--and a nook of earth, fit for the wild unshackled sun to skip