...ong, still afternoons, when the sun sank slowly to the western woods; there was the sandy road; the dim old pinewood; the flower-garden-every object which surrounded me in the glad hours of youth-but Roslyn itself, the sunny old mansion, where the weeks and months had passed so joyously, where was Roslyn? That smouldering heap of debris, and those towering, ghost-like chimneys, replied. From the sh...