“Surely,” said I to myself, “this must be another country; it is entirely different from any I have ever seen before; the atmosphere wears that peculiar, transparent haze seen only in the lands of a Southern clime.” But I was too weary for further cognitions. I seemed to drink in the charm and beauty of the scene without any volition of will or thought, and to find comfort and rest in so doing. At last, I descried a perfect gem of a spot, one that appeared formed for a fairy bower; just beyond a leaping, laughing streamlet of limpid water, nestling quietly at the foot of a moss-covered, arch-shaped rocky wall, I beheld a tiny cove, so beautiful that it seemed almost sacrilege to intrude therein. Emerald banks, as beautiful as silk pile velvet, starred with a profusion of creamy golden-eyed blossoms; trailing vines like maiden-hair ferns creeping over the rocks; shrubs of vivid green, with scarlet bells, swinging their perfumed censers upon the breeze; sparkling sunbeams and cooling shadows, constituted a place of repose that a monarch might enjoy. And there, amid the beauties of Nature’s works, surrounded by the splendors of creation, pointing to the wondrous power and beneficence of God, I sank down upon the emerald sod; and, lulled by the peace and quiet of the place, my fevered senses grew calm, my pulses even, the blood cooled in my veins, and I fell into as complete a slumber as it is possible for a disembodied spirit to experience. I was unconscious of the lapse of time, yet I now know it was several days before I again awoke to a knowledge of my external surroundings. I was still alone; no human presence could I discern; the flowers still bloomed, the waters danced and gleamed, the sun shone, and all was as beautiful and as real as before. It appeared to me I had reposed there but a few short hours. I aroused myself, and, stepping down to the banks of the stream, proceeded to lave my face and hands, precisely as I would have done were I in the body. The water refreshed me. I seemed renewed with life and vigor; but with the new strength there also came a remembrance of what I had been, and what I had done, and I sank down upon the mossy bed overwhelmed with the recollection of my folly and madness. Remorse had again entered my presence, and my soul cowered down before it in bitter agony; tears and sobs mingled together and shook my frame to its very center, and I wrestled in spirit with the “might have been,” which was as tangible to me as any objective form would be to mortals.