But let it not be thought, that it is as one who peevishly resents the improvements made in mechanical and other departments of knowledge, we dwell upon these particulars. We are quite awake to the fact that the world turns round, and although the consequence is an alternation of light and darkness, are satisfied with the change. With the philosopher Pangloss we would rather believe, "_dans ce meilleur des mondes possible_," than to entertain any less cheerful opinion. No. It is rather to perpetuate the remembrance of what has been, or to qualify more truthfully and modestly the expression, to save it for a moment longer from oblivion. It is with a melancholy pleasure that one who has reached that stage of the journey of life, from which henceforth his progress can only be one of continued descent towards the valley whereon broods the cloud not untouched with rays of divine light, reverts to whatever, even though they may seem trifles, characterized the beginning of his career. Ah! it was the breaking of the morning. For a time the sky glowed with a deepening glory, to fade at last into the "light of common day." We never can, we never would forget that lovely dawning. Holden, nothing doubting, was confident that the voyage would terminate for him in the restoration to his arms, of the son whom he had mourned as one dead. Nor did he seem to have a doubt of the worthiness of the long lost treasure. A hope, brilliant and beautiful, that glorified whatever it touched, had taken absolute possession of him. It would admit no fear, no uncertainty, no despondency. The new feeling penetrated all departments of his mind, and mixed itself up with and colored even his religious speculations. He began to connect, in some way, the realization of his awakened hopes with the millennium, of which it was to be a forerunner. This appeared especially on the second day of the voyage, which lasted three days. It was a warm, bright afternoon in the latter part of the month of May, just before the setting of the sun, and Holden and Pownal had walked to the bow of the vessel, as if to be nearer the golden luminary when he should sink from sight. A gentle breeze filled the sails of the Calypso, the soft murmur from under whose cutwater seemed to testify to the delight with which she moved on her liquid way. For some time Holden had stood with folded arms, watching the sun, as by slow degrees he sunk into the waves. Pownal, himself, was thrillingly alive to the magnificence of earth, and sky, and ocean, and all fair forms and hues of nature, and noticing the exalted and rapt expression of his elder friend's face, and sympathizing in the influence that produced it, was in no mood to break the silence.