CHAPTER XXI.
Come, bright Improvement! on the car of Time.
And rule the spacious world from clime to clime: Thy handmaid arts shall every wild explore, Trace every wave, and culture every shore.
CAMPBELL.
The tempered beams of a September sun glanced mildly on the quiet shores of the Massachusetts, and tinged with mellowed hues the richness of its autumnal scenery.

It was on that holy day, which our puritan ancestors were wont to regard emphatically as a "day of rest;" and nature seemed hushed to a repose as deep and expressive as on that first earthly sabbath when God finished his creative work, and "saw that it was very good." The public worship of the morning was ended; and the citizens of Boston were dispersing through the different streets and avenues of the town, to their various places of abode.

The mass which issued from the portal of the sanctuary with grave and orderly demeanor, appeared to melt away as one by one, or in household groups, they turned aside to their respective dwellings, till all gradually disappeared, and the streets were again left silent and deserted.
Arthur Stanhope had withdrawn from the crowd, and stood alone on the margin of the bay, which curved its broad basin around the peninsula of Boston.

He had received no tidings from St.John's, since the day he quitted it; and, with extreme impatience, he awaited the return of a small trading vessel, which was hourly expected from thence.

But his eyes vainly traversed the wide expanse of water; all around it blended with the bright blue sky, and no approaching bark darkened its unruffled surface.