Your eye dwells upon some patches of pasture wood, which were famous for their nuts. Your rambling, and saddened vision roams over the houses; it traces the familiar chimney-stacks; it searches out the lowlying cottages; it dwells upon the gray roof, sleeping yonder under the sycamores.

Tears swell in your eye, as you gaze; you cannot tell whence, or why they come. Yet they are tears eloquent of feeling. They speak of brother children— of boyish glee, of the flush of young health,-of a mother's devotion,-of the home affections,-of the vanities of life, of the wasting years, of the Death that must shroud what friends remain, as it has shrouded what friends have gone,—and of that Great HOPE, beaming on your sered manhood dimly, from the upper world!

Your wealth suffices for all the luxuries of life: there is no fear of coming want; health beats strong

in your veins; you have learned to hold a place in the world, with a man's strength, and a man's confidence. And yet in the view of those sweet scenes which belonged to early days, when neither strength, confidence, nor wealth were yours, days never to come again,--a shade of melancholy broods upon your spirit, and covers with its veil all that fierce pride which your worldly wisdom has wrought.

You visit again, with Frank, the country homestead

of his grandfather; he is dead; but the old lady still lives; and blind Fanny, now drawing toward womanhood, wears yet through her darkened life, the same air of placid content, and of sweet trustfulness in Heaven. The boys whom you astounded with your stories of books are gone, building up now with steady industry the queen cities of our new Western land. The old clergyman is gone from the desk, and from under his sounding board; he sleeps beneath a brown stone slab in the church yard. The stout deacon is dead; his wig and his wickedness rest together. The tall chorister sings yet: but they have now a bass-viol— handled by a new schoolmaster, in place of his tuning fork; and the years have sown feeble quavers in his voice,

Once more you meet at the home of Nelly, the blue eyed Madge. The sixpence is all forgotten; you cannot tell where your half of it is gone. Yet she is beautiful—just budding into the full ripeness of womanhood. Her eyes have a quiet, still joy, and hope beaming in them, like angel's looks. Her motions have a native grace, and freedom, that no culture can bestow. Her words have a gentle earnestness and honesty, that could never nurture guile.

You had thought, after your gay experiences of the world, to meet her with a kind condescension, as an old friend of Nelly's. But there is that in her eye,

which forbids all thought of condescension. There is that in her air, which tells of a high womanly dignity, which can only be met on equal ground. Your pride is piqued. She has known-she must know your history; but it does not tame her. There is no marked and submissive appreciation of your gifts, as a man of the world.

She meets your happiest compliments with a very easy indifference; she receives your elegant civilities with a very assured brow. She neither courts your society, nor avoids it. She does not seek to provoke any special attention. And only when your old-self glows in some casual kindness to Nelly, does her look beam with a flush of sympathy.

This look touches you. It makes you ponder on the noble heart that lives in Madge. It makes you wish it were yours. But that is gone. The fervor and the honesty of a glowing youth, is swallowed up in the flash and splendor of the world. A half-regret chases over you at night-fall, when solitude pierces you with the swift dart of gone-by memories. But at morning, the regret dies, in the glitter of ambitious purposes.

The summer months linger; and still you linger with them. Madge is often with Nelly; and Madge is never less than Madge. You venture to point your attentions with a little more fervor; but she meets the

fervor with no glow. She knows too well the habit

Strange feelings come over you;--feelings like halfforgotten memories-musical-dreamy-doubtful. You have seen a hundred faces more brilliant than that of Madge; you have pressed a hundred jewelled hands that have returned a half-pressure to yours. You do not exactly admire;—to love, you have forgotten;— you only-linger!

You

It is a soft autumn evening, and the harvest moon is red and round over the eastern skirt of woods. are attending Madge to that little cottage home, where lives that gentle and doting mother, who in the midst of comparative poverty, cherishes that refined delicacy, which never comes to a child, but by inheritance.

Madge has beer passing the day with Nelly. Something-it may be the soft autumn air wafting toward you the freshness of young days,-moves you to speak, as you have not ventured to speak, as your vanity has not allowed you to speak before.

"You remember, Madge, (you have guarded this sole token of boyish intimacy) our split sixpence ?"

"Perfectly:" it is a short word to speak, and there

is no tremor in her tone-not the slightest.

"You have it yet?"

"I dare

say, I have it somewhere :" no tremor now:

she is very composed.

"That was a happy time:" very great emphasis on

the word happy.

"Very happy :"-no emphasis anywhere.

"I sometimes wish I might live it over again." "Yes?"-inquiringly.

"There are after all no pleasures in the world like those."

"No?"-inquiringly again.

You thought you had learned to have language at command: you never thought, after so many years schooling of the world, that your pliant tongue would play you truant. Yet now,-you are silent.

The moon steals silvery into the light flakes of cloud, and the air is soft as May. The cottage is in sight. Again you risk utterance:—

"You must live very happily here."

"I have very kind friends:"-the very, is emphasized.

"I am sure Nelly loves you very much."

66

'Oh, I believe it !"--with great earnestness.

You are at the cottage door :—

"Good night, Maggie,"-very feelingly.

"Good night, Clarence,"―very kindly; and she draws her hand coyly, and half tremulously, from your somewhat fevered grasp.

You stroll away dreamily,-watching the moon,-