meets the eye! The marks of wear and tear, and unrenewed decay,
which distinguish the works of man from the growth of nature! What
is there in all this, capable of the slightest significance to minds
that know nothing of the artificial system which is implied in every
lamp-post and each brick of the houses? Moreover, the utter
loneliness and silence, in a scene that originally grew out of noise
and bustle, must needs impress a feeling of desolation even upon
Adam and Eve, unsuspicious as they are of the recent extinction of
human existence. In a forest, solitude would be life; in a city, it
is death.

The new Eve looks round with a sensation of doubt and distrust, such
as a city dame, the daughter of numberless generations of citizens,
might experience if suddenly transported to the garden of Eden. At
length her downcast eye discovers a small tuft of grass, just
beginning to sprout among the stones of the pavement; she eagerly
grasps it, and is sensible that this little herb awakens some
response within her heart. Nature finds nothing else to offer her.
Adam, after staring up and down the street without detecting a
single object that his comprehension can lay hold of, finally turns
his forehead to the sky. There, indeed, is something which the soul
within him recognizes.

"Look up yonder, mine own Eve," he cries; "surely we ought to dwell
among those gold-tinged clouds or in the blue depths beyond them. I
know not how nor when, but evidently we have strayed away from our
home; for I see nothing hereabouts that seems to belong to us."

"Can we not ascend thither?" inquires Eve.