and preferred the prospect of
what we were to do, to the recollection of what had been done. We felt that
for this year danger was past; and we believed that, for some months, we
were secured to each other. There was a thrilling, agonizing delight in the
thought--it filled the eyes with misty tears, it tore the heart with
tumultuous heavings; frailer than the "snow fall in the river," were we
each and all--but we strove to give life and individuality to the
meteoric course of our several existences, and to feel that no moment
escaped us unenjoyed. Thus tottering on the dizzy brink, we were happy.
Yes! as we sat beneath the toppling rocks, beside the waterfalls, near

--Forests, ancient as the hills,

And folding sunny spots of greenery, where the chamois grazed, and the
timid squirrel laid up its hoard--descanting on the charms of nature,
drinking in the while her unalienable beauties--we were, in an empty
world, happy.

Yet, O days of joy--days, when eye spoke to eye, and voices, sweeter than
the music of the swinging branches of the pines, or rivulet's gentle
murmur, answered mine--yet, O days replete with beatitude, days of loved
society--days unutterably dear to me forlorn--pass, O pass before me,
making me in your memory forget what I am. Behold, how my streaming eyes
blot this senseless paper--behold, how my features are convulsed by
agonizing throes, at your mere recollection, now that, alone, my tears
flow, my lips quiver, my cries fill the air, unseen, unmarked, unheard!
Yet, O yet, days of delight! let me dwell on your long-drawn hours!

As the cold increased upon us, we passed the Alps, and descended into
Italy. At the uprising of morn, we sat at our repast, and cheated our
regrets by gay sallies or learned disquisitions. The live-long day we
sauntered on, still keeping in view the end of our journey, but careless of
the hour of its completion. As the evening star shone out, and the orange
sunset, far in the west, marked the position of the dear land we had for
ever left, talk, thought enchaining, made the hours fly--O that we had
lived thus for ever and for ever! Of what consequence was it to our four
hearts, that they alone were the fountains of life in the wide world? As
far as mere individual sentiment was concerned, we had rather be left thus
united together, than if, each alone in a populous desert of unknown men,
we had wandered truly companionless till life's last term. In this manner,
we endeavou