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ry burns down with all its books。 A new edifice or two may be put up； and a new library begun in the course of the same century； but these places are poor； for the most part； and cannot afford to pull down their old barracks。
These sentimental journeys to old haunts must be made alone。 The story of them must be told succinctly。 It is like the opium…smoker's showing you the pipe from which he has just inhaled elysian bliss； empty of the precious extract which has given him his dream。
I did not care much for the new Academy building on my right； nor for the new library building on my left。 But for these it was surprising to see how little the scene I remembered in my boyhood had changed。 The Professors' houses looked just as they used to； and the stage… coach landed its passengers at the Mansion House as of old。 The pale brick seminary buildings were behind me on the left； looking as if 〃Hollis〃 and 〃Stoughton〃 had been transplanted from Cambridge； carried there in the night by orthodox angels； perhaps； like the Santa Casa。 Away to my left again； but abreast of me； was the bleak； bare old Academy building； and in front of me stood unchanged the shallow oblong white house where I lived a year in the days of James Monroe and of John Quincy Adams。
The ghost of a boy was at my side as I wandered among the places he knew so well。 I went to the front of the house。 There was the great rock showing its broad back in the front yard。 I used to crack nuts on that； whispered the small ghost。 I looked in at the upper window in the farther part of the house。 I looked out of that on four long changing seasons； said the ghost。 I should have liked to explore farther； but； while I was looking； one came into the small garden； or what used to be the garden； in front of the house； and I desisted from my investigation and went on my way。 The apparition that put me and my little ghost to flight had a dressing…gown on its person and a gun in its hand。 I think it was the dressing…gown； and not the gun； which drove me off。
And now here is the shop； or store； that used to be Shipman's； after passing what I think used to be Jonathan Leavitt's bookbindery； and here is the back road that will lead me round by the old Academy building。
Could I believe my senses when I found that it was turned into a gymnasium； and heard the low thunder of ninepin balls； and the crash of tumbling pins from those precincts？ The little ghost said； Never！ It cannot be。 But it was。 〃 Have they a billiard…room in the upper story？〃 I asked myself。 〃Do the theological professors take a hand at all…fours or poker on weekdays； now and then； and read the secular columns of the 'Boston Recorder' on Sundays？〃 I was demoralized for the moment； it is plain； but now that I have recovered from the shock； I must say that the fact mentioned seems to show a great advance in common sense from the notions prevailing in my time。
I sauntered；we； rather； my ghost and I；until we came to a broken field where there was quarrying and digging going on；our old base… ball ground； hard by the burial…place。 There I paused； and if any thoughtful boy who loves to tread in the footsteps that another has sown with memories of the time when he was young shall follow my footsteps； I need not ask him to rest here awhile； for he will be enchained by the noble view before him。 Far to the north and west the mountains of New Hampshire lifted their summits in along encircling ridge of pale blue waves。 The day was clear； and every mound and peak traced its outline with perfect definition against the sky。 This was a sight which had more virtue and refreshment in it than any aspect of nature that I had looked upon； I am afraid I must say for years。 I have been by the seaside now and then； but the sea is constantly busy with its own affairs； running here and there； listening to what the winds have to say and getting angry with them； always indifferent； often insolent； and ready to do a mischief to those who seek its companionship。 But these still； serene； unchanging mountains；Monadnock； Kearsarge；what memories that name recalls！and the others； the dateless Pyramids of New England； the eternal monuments of her ancient race； around which cluster the homes of so many of her bravest and hardiest children；I can never look at them without feeling that； vast and remote and awful as they are； there is a kind of inward heat and muffled throb in their stony cores； that brings them into a vague sort of sympathy with human hearts。 It is more than a year since I have looked on those blue mountains； and they 〃are to me as a feeling 〃 now； and have been ever since。
I had only to pass a wall and I was in the burial…ground。 It was thinly tenanted as I remember it； but now populous with the silent immigrants of more than a whole generation。 There lay the dead I had left； the two or three students of the Seminary； the son of the worthy pair in whose house I lived； for whom in those days hearts were still aching； and by whose memory the house still seemed haunted。 A few upright stones were all that I recollect。 But now； around them were the monuments of many of the dead whom I remembered as living。 I doubt if there has been a more faithful reader of these graven stones than myself for many a long day。 I listened to more than one brief sermon from preachers whom I had often heard as they thundered their doctrines down upon me from the throne…like desk。 Now they spoke humbly out of the dust； from a narrower pulpit； from an older text than any they ever found in Cruden's Concordance； but there was an eloquence in their voices the listening chapel had never known。 There were stately monuments and studied inscriptions； but none so beautiful； none so touching； as that which hallows the resting…place of one of the children of the very learned Professor Robinson： 〃Is it well with the child？ And she answered； It is well。〃
While I was musing amidst these scenes in the mood of Hamlet； two old men； as my little ghost called them； appeared on the scene to answer to the gravedigger and his companion。 They christened a mountain or two for me； 〃Kearnsarge〃 among the rest； and revived some old recollections； of which the most curious was 〃Basil's Cave。〃 The story was recent； when I was there； of one Basil； or Bezill； or Buzzell； or whatever his name might have been； a member of the Academy； fabulously rich； Orientally extravagant； and of more or less lawless habits。 He had commanded a cave to be secretly dug； and furnished it sumptuously； and there with his companions indulged in revelries such as the daylight of that consecrated locality had never looked upon。 How much truth there was in it all I will not pretend to say； but I seem to remember stamping over every rock that sounded hollow； to question if it were not the roof of what was once Basil's Cave。
The sun was getting far past the meridian； and I sought a shelter under which to partake of the hermit fare I had brought with me。 Following the slope of the hill northward behind the cemetery； I found a pleasant clump of trees grouped about some rocks； disposed so as to give a seat； a table； and a shade。 I left my benediction on this pretty little n