And thus it is that Home, boy home, passes away forever,--like the
swaying of a pendulum,--like the fading of a shadow on the floor!





_SUMMER;_

OR,

_THE DREAMS OF YOUTH._




_DREAMS OF YOUTH._

_Summer._


I feel a great deal of pity for those honest but misguided people who
call their little, spruce suburban towns, or the shaded streets of their
inland cities,--the country and I have still more pity for those who
reckon a season at the summer resorts--country enjoyment. Nay, my
feeling is more violent than pity; and I count it nothing less than
blasphemy so to take the name of the country in vain.

I thank Heaven every summer's day of my life, that my lot was humbly
cast within the hearing of romping brooks, and beneath the shadow of