and his eyes are clouded; and Heaven itself may open on his vision, while he is wandering among the shadows of earth, and dwelling in a tabernacle of clay. He may look back to the rosy dawn and faint glimmerings of his intellectual day, and forward till his unchecked sight discerns the dwelling-place of God, and grows familiar with eternity.

2. The greater part of our mental pleasures is drawn from the sources of memory and hope; for, while Hope is constantly adorning the future with her fresh colors and bright images, Memory is as active in bringing back to us the joys of the past. But Hope and Memory are to be consulted on the real business, as well as the meditative delights, of existence; for, what would be the excitement of labor without the encouragements of Hope? and where could Experience go for his treasures, if the storehouse of Memory should fail?

3. Let us attend to the instructive voice of Memory. Let us lend a careful ear to the moral of her tales. Let us, like the Psalmist, when we remember the days of old, hallow our reminiscences by meditating on the works of God, by tracing the hand of a merciful Providence through the varied fortunes of our course.

4. The memory of joy reaches far back in the annals of every one's life. Indeed, there are many who persuade themselves that they never experienced true pleasure, except in the earliest stages of their career; who complain that, when the hours of childhood flew away, they bore off the best joys of life upon their wings, leaving passion to be the minister of youth, and care to be the portion of manhood, and regret and pain to drag old age into the grave. 5. I can not sympathize1 in these gloomy views. I consider them in a high degree unjust to the happiness which

God has spread out liberally through every division of our days, and which can be missed or forfeited in hardly any other manner than through our willful sins. But I do not the less share the visions and participate in the pleasures of those who love to retrace the green paths of their early years, and refresh their hearts with the retrospect2 of guileless innocence, of sun-bright hopes, of delights that the merest trifle could purchase, and of tears that any kind hand could wipe away.

6. How many scenes exist in the remembrance of each one of us, soft, and dim, and sacred, beyond the painter's art to copy, but hung up, as in an ancient gallery, for the visits and contemplation of our maturer minds! Mellowed they are, and graced, like other pictures, by the slow and tasteful hand of Time.

7. The groves, through which we ran as free as our playmate, the wind, wave with a more graceful foliage, and throw a purer shade: the ways which our young feet trod, have lost their ruggedness, and are bordered everywhere with flowers; and no architecture that we have since seen, though we may have wandered through kings' palaces, can equal the beauty of the doors which our hands first learned to open, and of the apartments which once rang with the echoes of our childish glee.

8. There was joy in our hearts when we first began to take a part in the serious business of life, and felt that we were qualifying ourselves for a station-perhaps an honorable one among our seniors. We were joyful when we won the prize of exertion, or received the praise and the smiles of those whose praise and smiles were worth to us more than any other reward. Joy was our companion when we first went out a little way upon the broad face of the Earth, and saw how fair and grand she was, covered

with noble cities, and artful monuments, and various productions, and the busy tribes of men. Joy came with friendship, and affection, and confidence, and the pure interchange of hearts and thoughts.

9. And more than this, we were joyful when we were virtuous and useful; when we strove against a besetting temptation, and knew that our spirit was strong to subdue it; when we came out boldly, and denounced injustice, and defended the right; when we gave up a selfish gratification, and received a blessing; when we forbore to speak ill of a rival, though by so doing we might have advanced our own claims; when we dismissed envy from our bosoms, and made it give place to a generous admiration; when we forgave an enemy, and prayed from our hearts that God might forgive him too; when we stretched out a willing hand to heal, to help, to guide, to protect, to save; in short, whenever we discharged an obligation and performed a duty, and earned the approbation of conscience.

10. The recollection of our joys will show us how benefi cent our Creator has been to us, in furnishing each age with its appropriate pleasures, and filling our days with a variety, as well as a multitude, of blessings. It will teach us to keep an account of our enjoyments, and to avoid the fault of those who minutely reckon up their pains and misfortunes, but ungratefully pass over the kind allotments of Providence. We shall find, if our moral taste is not entirely perverted, that the joys which afford the greatest delight to our memory, are those which flowed in childhood from its innocence, and, in after life, from our good deeds. If we take pleasure in recurring to the innocence of our first years, let it be our watchful care to retain and preserve it; for it is not necessarily destroyed by knowledge, nor does it invariably depart at the approach of maturity.

11. A similar improvement may be made of the memory of our good deeds. We should use all diligence in adding to their store; for, if they are now the most precious treasures of the soul, they certainly will not diminish in price, when the common enjoyments of life are losing their relish, and its bustle no longer engages us, and the tide of our energies is fast ebbing away, and we only wait for the summons of departure. What solace is there to an aged man like the memory of his virtuous actions? What medicine is there so healing to his wasted, solitary heart? What ground of hope is there so sure to his spirit, next to the mercy of his God?

LESSON VIII

THE HOUSE BY THE ROLLING RIVER.

LINNA SCHENK.

1. HERE stood, in the beautiful olden time,

THER

A house by the rolling river;

Behind it there towered a bluff old hill,
And by it wandered a murmuring rill,
On its way to the rolling river.

2. 'Twas a happy house in the olden time,–
That house by the rolling river,

And happy the children who lived in it then,
Happier far than they can be again,

In the house by the rolling river.

3. 'Twas beautiful, too, in the olden time, –
That spot by the rolling river, ——

With the maple bough shading its lowly eaves,
Where the little ones played with the falling leaves,
Near by the rolling river.

4. But time rolled on o'er the old brown house
That stood by the rolling river;

And the gray rats raced through the crumbling wall,
And the wild winds wailed through the vacant hall,
Of the house by the rolling river.

5. And the little ones all have passed away (pl.) From the house by the rolling river; "Some are married and some are dead, — All are scattered now and fled"

Away from the rolling river.

6. One 'neath southern skies is sleeping, Far from the rolling river;

And none can weep o'er the place of his fall,—
He was dearest and best beloved of all

In the house by the rolling river.

7. But now there standeth a town in its pride,
On the banks of the rolling river;

The whiz of the mill-wheel is noisy and loud,
And the church-spire points aloft to the cloud,
By the side of the rolling river.

8. And the busy young town will grow old in its time, That stands by the rolling river;

The spire and the mill-wheel will go to decay,
And all the people will pass away,

That dwell by the rolling river.