The Argosy — page 142: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

130 On the Wye. I feel like one who treads alone Some banquet hall deserted, Wiese L hts are fled, whose glory 's dead, all but he departed & Thee in the stilly night, Ere slumber’s chain has bound me,. Sad memory brings the light Of other days around me.” All the events that have taken place crowd in upon the brain. The world for a moment seems to be slipping from us. We realise that, most certainly, time ever rolls on, and that we also shall one day change and pass away from the face of things. Our past life rises up before us like the shifting scenes in a phantasmagoria. Who amongst us would not wish to live some portion of that time over again? In those few weeks of my boyhood I had been much attracted by the branches of a tree that grew within the church, and was trained in front of one of the east windows. The scene is still vividly before me. A quiet Sunday morning. A bird flying about the church during service time; the doors open to admit such cool air as could find its way in. Outside, the green grass, the quiet graves where the dead rested, the waving trees rustling in the breeze. Hot, gladden- ing summer sunshine pouring upon all; but we in the cool shade of the large old church. The stillness and repose of the Sabbath making itself felt; nothing to disturb the peace, to interrupt devotion; nothing but the soothing monotone of the reader or the preacher’s voice, or the diapason of the fine old organ, or the exquisite strains of a boy’s solo. Nothing can eradicate this picture from the mind. To this day church never appears so much like church and worship as on a summer's day in a quiet country place, with doors open to the grave- vard, and the waving trees and the blue sky, and the song of the birds. it seems to bring us nearer to that haven whither, let us hope, we are all travelling. A different influence, this, from a church in a crowded and fashionable metropolis, with the constant roll of carriages and the utter absence of repose and stillness. The next morning was cloudy and threatening. A boat had been orderéd for us overnight to carry us on to Monmouth, and as soon as breakfast was over we lost no time in starting. As we entered the boat the sun broke through the clouds. This we accepted as a good omen, and such it proved. The wind shifted from S.W. to N.W. The clouds rapidly cleared, the blue sky came out, and for the remainder of the time we were favoured with the brightest and most charming weather. A soft N.W. wind, and white fleecy vapours sailing leisurely, and not too closely, over a canopy of clearest azure. Nothing could be more delicious and exhilarating. Alcouple of strong boatmen took the oars, and we were soon gliding rapidly down the river. It is not possible to imagine the reality, reader, unless you have yourself experienced it... The énjoyment was comicbooks.com