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 for Oregon.

CHAPTER III.

REFLECTIONS THE GREAT METROPOLIS

T1IK WORM) IN MINIATURE THE NATION AL THEATER T ALARM FIRE AWFUL

PEKIL PROVIDENTIAL ESCAPE, ETC.

STEAMBOATS and railroads! what mighty inven lions! With what startling velocity they hurry us along, until even the over charged mind almost feels it lacks the power to keep pace with their progress. Whoever has passed over the Boston and Providence route to New York, will under stand me. One mile-post succeeds an other with a rapidity almost incredible; and ere he, who travels it for the tirst time, is aware that half the distance is completed, he finds himself in view of the capital of old Rhode Island.

So it was with myself. I had never been from home, and knew little of the speed with which the adventurer is car ried across this mighty continent. I had beard men speak of it, it is true; but I had never realized it till now. Perhaps I was longer on the road than I imagined. When the heart is full, we take but little note of external objects, or the flight of time time which is bearing us to the great ocean of eternity. My mind was oppressed and busy. 1 was thinking of home, of fond parents I had left behind, and all the joys of childhood, which I eould never witness again. A thousand things, a thousand scenes, which I had never thought of before, now crowded my brain with a vividness that startled me. They were gone now forever gone! I I had bid them a last adieu. With one bold leap, I had thrown off youth and become a man a man to think and act for myself. My collegiate days, too, were over days which memory now recalled with sad and painful feelings.

True, my playmate, my fellow student, my chum, my friend, was by my side. But he, too, was sad and thoughtful. He, too, was thinking of home and friends, the domestic happy fireside, and all that he had left behind. His wonted gaiety, his great flow of spirits, his enthusiasm, were gone; and he was silent now dumb as a carved image in marble.

I gazed upon him, and my the ugh U

ew heavier, sadder. He was now so like Lilian sweet, loved, but ah! dis carded Lilian! How could I avoid think ing of her, when I gazed upon the pale, sad features of her only brother! I did think of her; of how I had left her; and now that miles were gaining between us, I bitterly accused myself of injustice. Why did I leave her so abruptly, and in such a condition? My heart smote me, I had wronged her wronged her at the moment of parting, and put reparation out of my power. Why had I done so? Why did I not part with her as a friend? If she did not love me, it was not her fault, and I had no right to abuse her. I had acted hastily, imprudently, unjustly. I knew it I felt it felt it keenly; and, oh! what would I not have sacrificed for one, even one, moment with her, to sue for pardon. Alas! alas! my reflections on my conduct had come too late too late.

Thus I thought, and thus I felt, while time and progress were alike unnoted, un- cared for. What cared I now for time? what cared I now for speed? My mind was a hell of torture almost beyond endu rance, and I only sought to escape myself but sought in vain.

"Passengers for the steamboat," were the first sounds that aroused me from a painful reverie.

I looked up with a start, and lo! I was in the heart of the city, and hundreds were round me. The cars had ceased their motion, and one destination waa gained. At first I could not credit my senses. There must be some mistake we were in the wrong city! But I waa soon convinced of my error; and found, alas! that all was too truly, too coldly correct; for on the impulse of the mo ment, I had counted on a return to my native soil, and and I will not say what else.

I roused my friend, who also looked wonderingly about him as if suddenly awakened from a dream, and heaved a t long, deep sigh a dirge to buried scene* and friends away. Mechanically we en tered a carriage, were hurried to the boat, and soon were gliding over the deep blue waters of Long Island