I wandered, scarce knowing where, into an old wood, that stands at the back of the house--we called it the _Wilderness_. A well-known _form_ was missing, that used to meet me in this place--it was thine--Ben Moxam--the kindest, gentlest, politest of human beings, yet was he nothing higher than a gardener in the family. Honest creature! thou didst never pass me in my childish rambles, without a soft speech, and a smile. I remember thy good-natured face. But there is one thing, for which I can never forgive thee, Ben Moxam--that thou didst join with an old maiden aunt of mine in a cruel plot, to lop away the hanging branches of the old fir-trees--I remember them sweeping to the ground. I have often left my childish sports to ramble in this place--its glooms and its solitude had a mysterious charm for my young mind, nurturing within me that love of quietness and lonely thinking, which has accompanied me to maturer years. In this _Wilderness_ I found myself, after a ten years' absence. Its stately fir-trees were yet standing, with all their luxuriant company of underwood--the squirrel was there, and the melancholy cooings of the wood-pigeon--all was as I had left it--my heart softened at the sight--it seemed as though my character had been suffering a _change_ since I forsook these shades. My parents were both dead--I had no counsellor left, no experience of age to direct me, no sweet voice of reproof. The Lord had taken away my _friends_, and I knew not where he had laid them. I paced round the wilderness, seeking a comforter. I prayed that I might be restored to that _state of innocence_, in which I had wandered in those shades. Methought my request was heard, for it seemed as though the stains of manhood were passing from me, and I were relapsing into the purity and simplicity of childhood. I was content to have been moulded into a perfect child. I stood still, as in a trance. I dreamed that I was enjoying a personal intercourse with my heavenly Father--and, extravagantly, put off the shoes from my feet--for the place where I stood I thought, was holy ground. This state of mind could not last long, and I returned with languid feelings to my inn. I ordered my dinner--green peas and a sweetbread--it had been a favorite dish with me in my childhood--I was allowed to have it on my birthdays. I was impatient to see it come upon table--but, when it came, I could scarce eat a mouthful--my tears choked me. I called for wine--I drank a pint and a half of red wine--and not till then had I dared to visit the church-yard, where my parents were interred. The _cottage_ lay in my way--Margaret had chosen it for that very reason, to be near the church--for the old lady was regular in her attendance on public worship--I passed on--and in a moment found myself among the tombs.