Throughout the chamber there is the same obscurity as before , but not the same gloom within your breast . As your head falls back upon the pillow you think -- in a whisper be it spoken -- how pleasant in these night solitudes would be the rise and fall of a softer breathing than your own , the slight pressure of a tenderer bosom , the quiet throb of a purer heart , imparting its peacefulness to your troubled one , as if the fond sleeper were involving you in her dream . Her influence is over you , though she have no existence but in that momentary image . You sink down in a flowery spot on the borders of sleep and wakefulness , while your thoughts rise before you in pictures , all disconnected , yet all assimilated by a pervading gladsomeness and beauty . The wheeling of gorgeous squadrons that glitter in the sun is succeeded by the merriment of children round the door of a schoolhouse beneath the glimmering shadow of old trees at the corner of a rustic lane . You stand in the sunny rain of a summer shower , and wander among the sunny trees of an autumnal wood , and look upward at the brightest of all rainbows overarching the unbroken sheet of snow on the American side of Niagara . Your mind struggles pleasantly between the dancing radiance round the hearth of a young man and his recent bride and the twittering flight of birds in spring about their new-made nest . You feel the merry bounding of a ship before the breeze , and watch the tuneful feet of rosy girls as they twine their last and merriest dance in a splendid ball-room , and find yourself in the brilliant circle of a crowded theatre as the curtain falls over a light and airy scene . With an involuntary start you seize hold on consciousness , and prove yourself but half awake by running a doubtful parallel between human life and the hour which has now elapsed . In both you emerge from mystery , pass through a vicissitude that you can but imperfectly control , and are borne onward to another mystery . Now comes the peal of the distant clock with fainter and fainter strokes as you plunge farther into the wilderness of sleep . It is the knell of a temporary death . Your spirit has departed , and strays like a free citizen among the people of a shadowy world , beholding strange sights , yet without wonder or dismay . So calm , perhaps , will be the final change -- so undisturbed , as if among familiar things , the entrance of the soul to its eternal home . THE VILLAGE UNCLE . AN IMAGINARY RETROSPECT . Come ! another log upon the hearth . True , our little parlor is comfortable , especially here where the old man sits in his old arm-chair ; but on Thanksgiving-night the blaze should dance higher up the chimney and send a shower of sparks into the outer darkness . Toss on an armful of those dry oak chips , the last relicts of the Mermaid 's knee-timbers -- the bones of your namesake , Susan .
Higher yet , and clearer , be the blaze , till our cottage windows glow the ruddiest XXXXX the village and the light of our household mirth flash far across the bay to Nahant .
As at in like of than to up with without