the moon ascends the east in matchless splendor, and roams in tranquil beauty through infinitude, spreading its snowy light on vale and mead, that vie with lakes of liquid silver; my aunt lingers at my bed, while I say my evening prayer, and invests my heart with sacred feelings; myself and brother William, on our way to school, through a dreary wood, espy a boy in a wagon, when I exclaim: “Why, Bill, there’s our brother Albert;” Bill stares and says: “Steve, your perceptions are very foggy, and I begin to think you aint got good sense;” I closely scan the boy, and smile, but elicit no response, the little rogue riveting his bright blue eyes on the vacant air; Bill passes on to school, with: “Steve, you are raving mad, and I’m going to tell Aunt Freeman so;” when I address the stranger thus: “Little boy, you look like my brother Albert, and this horse and wagon resemble ours, and won’t you please to tell me if you aint my brother Al, who lives far away from here, in a place called Providence? I always dearly loved him, and I havn’t seen him for a long time now, and I would like to see him very much; come, now, little boy, aint you Ally Branch, and if you are, won’t you please to tell me so?” Tears roll down his pale cheeks, followed by the sweetest smiles, (like simultaneous rain and sunshine,) extending his arms, with: “How do you do, dear brother Stevy;” I scream; dart into the wagon, and, placing my arms around his neck, fondly kiss him. And then I made the woods ring with my cries for Bill to return, and behold our dear brother, found so mysteriously alone in the forest wild. Bill slowly returns; and I hear the echo of a laugh, and see a man emerge from the monarch oaks, whom I discern as father, whose playful stratagem blares brightly before my enraptured vision. And with the velocity of light, I spring from the wagon, and at a bound, am in the embraces of my adored father. The vail slowly passes from the eyes of Bill, who stands like a statue in the dim perspective, crying lustily over my triumphant conquest. We all shout and wave our hands, and Willie bounds into Albert’s and father’s arms, whose fervent kisses soon dispel his tears; when his crescent and revolving eyes gently threaten to eclipse the sun and moon with hilarious splendor; three happy brothers then rock the forest solitude with merry vociferations, and run like deer, and sing like infant Jubals, with sweet responses from congenial birds, prancing on the oaks’ majestic branches. And with hearts of gladness, we spring like hounds into the wagon, and return to Aunt Freeman’s, and that I regard as one of the happiest days of my early boyhood.