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The long term is over.
Vacation has come. And whither now?
“ To New Brunswick," was the decision of the cabinet council, for the best of reasons, which our readers will not thank us for repeating. Having taken a general survey of our goods, and faithfully selected and packed whatever might be wanted during our absence, we set forth Saturday morning, August 9, 1862. The cars carried us to Portsmouth, N. H.; and the excellent yacht, Sibyl, down the harbor and over the open sea, twelve miles, to Appledore, the largest of the Isles of Shoals. After the fullest enjoyment of the sea-air, of a thunder storm on the ocean, of rowing among the islands, of their rock-scenery and remarkable geological formations, and of the various “ Institutions of Appledore,” – to borrow a phrase from our landlord, the sole owner and, with his family, sole resident of the island, - we returned Monday evening to Portsmouth, satisfied that the wearied teacher, who needs the bracing air of the ocean, can find no better place along our coast for repairing his wasted energies, than the Isles of Shoals. description of the storm which we watched with so much pleasure, read, in the Atlantic Monthly for August last, the poem entitled “A Summer Day," written we are told, by a daughter of the island :