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J

COLOPHON.

COLOPHON.

Heart, take thine ease,―

Men hard to please

Thou haply mightst offend;

Though some speak ill

Of thee, some will

Say better;-there's an end.

HEYLIN.

My pilgrimage is finished. I have come home to rest; and recording the time passed, I have fulfilled these things, and written them in this book, as it would come into my mind,—for the most part when the duties of the day were over, and the world around me was hushed in sleep. The pen wherewith I write most easily is a feather stolen from the sable wing of night. Even now, as I record these parting words, it is long past midnight. The morning watches have begun. And as I write, the melancholy thought intrudes upon me

To what end is all this toil? Of what avail these midnight vigils? Dost thou covet fame? Vain dreamer! A few brief days-and what will the busy world know of thee? Alas! this little book is but a bubble on the stream; and although it may catch the sunshine for a moment, yet it will soon float down the swift-rushing current, and be seen no more!

THE END..

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