uilding stood in its place. Nor was the old landlord there. Why had
I expected to see him? Twenty years before, he was bent with age.
His eyes were dim and his step faltered when last I saw him. It was
but natural that he should pass away. Still, I felt a shade of
disappointment when the truth came. He who filled his place was
unknown to me; and, in all his household, not a familiar countenance
was presented.

But I solaced myself for this with thoughts of the morrow, when my
eyes would look upon long-remembered scenes and faces. The old
homestead, with its garden and clambering vines--a picture which had
grown more vivid in my thoughts every year--how earnest was my
desire to look upon it again! There was the deep, pure spring, in
which, as I bent to drink, I had so often looked upon my mirrored
face; and the broad flat stone near by, where I had sat so many
times. I would sit there again, after tasting the sweet water, and
think of the olden time! The dear old mill, too, with its murmuring
wheel glistening in the bright sunshine, and the race, on whose bank
I had gathered wild flowers and raspberries?

I could sleep but little for thinking of these things, and when
morning broke, and the sun shone out, I went I forth impatient to
see the real objects which had been so long pictured in my memory.

"Am I in Brookdale? No--it cannot be. There is some strange error.
Yes--yes--it is Brookdale, for here is the old church. I cannot
mistake that. Hark! Yes--yes--it is the early bell! I would know its
sound amid a thousand!"

On I moved, passing the ancient building whose architect had long
since been called to sleep with his fathers, and over whose walls
and spire time had cast a duller hue. I was eager to reach the old
homestead. The mill lay between--or, once it did. Only a shapeless
ruin now remained. The broken wheel, the crumbling walls, and empty
forebay were all that my eyes rested upon, and I paused sadly to
mark the wreck which time had made. The race was dry, and overgrown
with elder and rank weeds. A quarter of a mile distant stood out
sharply, against the clear sky, a large factory, newly built and
thither the stream in which I had once sailed my tiny boat, or
dropped my line, had been turned, and the old mill left to silence
and decay. Ah me! I cannot make words obedient to my thoughts in
giving utterance to the disappointment I then felt. A brief space I
stood, mourning over the ruins, and then moved on aga