A Melancholy Return Home

My journey was very melancholy. At first I wished to hurry on, for I longed to

console and sympathize with my loved and sorrowing friends; but when I drew near my native town,

I slackened my progress. I could hardly sustain the multitude of feelings that crowded into my mind.

I passed through scenes familiar to my youth, but which I had not seen for nearly

six years. How altered every thing might be during that time? One sudden and desolating

change had taken place; but a thousand little circumstances might have by degrees worked other alterations

which, although they were done more tranquilly, might not be the less decisive.

Fear overcame me; I dared not advance, dreading a thousand nameless evils that made me tremble,