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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 01, No. 2, December, 1857"

The old
veteran's early fondness for his nephew revived in full force, and his
enjoyment was alloyed only by the dread of a new separation. "What
shall I do when you are gone, Harry!" was his frequent exclamation;
and then he would sigh and shake his head, and wish he had one son
left.
But the richest treat for my aunt and me was reserved till the late
evening, when the dear patriarch had retired to rest. Those warm,
balmy nights on the piazza, with the moonlight quivering through the
vines, and turning the terraced lawn with fantastic mixture of light
and shadow into a fairy scene, while the cultivated traveller
discoursed of all things beautiful in nature and art, were full of
witchery. Mont Blanc at sunrise, the wild scenery of the Simplon, the
exhumed streets of Pompeii, the Colosseum by moonlight, those wondrous
galleries of painting and sculpture of which I had read as I had read
of the palace of Aladdin and the gardens of the genii,--the living man
before me had seen all these! I looked upon him as an ambassador from
the world of poetry.


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