afterwards no
quarrel was fought without him; and his prowess rose until he had gained
the very pinnacle of that ambition which he had determined to reach.
About this time I was separated from him, having found it necessity,
in order to accomplish my objects in life, to reside with a relation in
another part of the country.

The period of my absence, I believe, was about fifteen years, during
which space I heard no account of him whatsoever. At length, however,
that inextinguishable attachment which turns the affections and memory
to the friends of our early days--to those scenes which we traversed
when the heart was light and the spirits buoyant--determined me to make
a visit to my native place, that I might witness the progress of time
and care upon those faces that were once so familiar to me; that I might
again look upon the meadows, and valleys, and groves, and mountains,
where I had so often played, and to which I still found myself bound by
a tie that a more enlightened view of life and nature only made stronger
and more enduring. I accordingly set off, and arrived late in the
evening of a December day, at a little town within a few miles of my
native home. On alighting from the coach and dining, I determined to
walk home, as it was a fine frosty night. The full moon hung in the blue
unclouded firmament in all her lustre, and the stars shone out with that
tremulous twinkling motion so peculiarly remarkable in frost. I had been
absent, I said, about fifteen years, and felt that the enjoyment of this
night would form an era in the records of my memory and my feelings. I
find myself indeed utterly incapable of expressing what I experienced;
but those who have ever been in similar circumstances will understand
what I mean. A strong spirit of practical poetry and romance was upon
me; and I thought that a commonplace approach in the open day would
have rendered my return to the scenes of my early life a very stale and
unedifying matter. I left the inn at seven o'clock, and as I had only
five miles to walk, I would just arrive about nine, allowing myself to
saunter on at the rate of two miles and half per hour. My sensations,
indeed, as I went along, were singular; and as I took a solitary road
that went across the mountains, the loneliness of the walk, the deep
gloom of the valleys, the towering height of the dark hills, and the
pale silvery-light of a sleeping lake, shining dimly in the distance
below, gave me such a