{"newspaper_name": "Litchfield enquirer.", "edition": "01", "page": "p2", "byline": ""}
{"character_count": 1188, "word_count": 208, "ccnet_language_score": [0.9690999984741211], "ccnet_perplexity": [722.0], "fasttext_language": ["en"]}
"HoME AT LAST !"-Our present feelings are not unlike those of wanderer, who, having spent the morning of his days amidst distant and diverse scenes, returns at length to the home of his child hood with the hope and expectation ofthere spend- ing the meridian of life, and perhaps its decline. During twenty years' absence-broken only by occasional visits, more or less brief-we have look ed upon the scenes which now surround us, as up- on the "world's center,'' from which all things beyond its magic circle diverged. Wherever for tune or fate may have directed our steps, these hills and valies have been held in vivid recollection nor time nor change have served for moment to efface or mar the pleasant picture. Here, too, meet us at every turn, faces familiar once and still unforgotten-the recurrence of some of which seem like the faint lineaments of personages seen long ago in dreams Yet, that they are no coun- teriet sembances of humanity, but beings possess ed of hearts and souls, we have had not unfrequent reason to know. We hardly need to say, that our return hiher is source of qualification to us, and we trust it may not prove unacceptable to our friends or the public.