mighty souls of men appear and speak. The lesson of the alphabet was the
first that I gave, and a heavy sadness depressed and humbled me when, as
the child repeated wonderingly after me, letter by letter, I could not
but feel deeply and acutely the miserable blighting of my youthful
promises. How long was it ago--it seemed but yesterday, when the sun
used to shine brightly into my own dear bed-room, and awake me with its
first gush of light, telling my ready fancy that he came to rouse me
from inaction, and to encourage me to my labours. Oh, happy labours!
Beloved books! What joy I had amongst you! The house was silent--the
city's streets tranquil as the breath of morning. I heard nothing but
the glorious deeds ye spoke of, and saw only the worthies that were but
dust, when centuries now passed were yet unborn, but whose immortal
spirits are vouchsafed still to elevate man, and cheer him onward. How
intense and sweet was our communion; and as I read and read on, how
gratefully repose crept over me; how difficult it seemed to think
unkindly of the world, or to believe in all the tales of human
selfishness and cruelty with which the old will ever mock the ear and
dull the heart of the confiding and the young. How willing I felt to
love, and how gay a place was earth, with her constant sun, and
overflowing lap, and her thousand joys, for man! And how intense was the
fire of _hope_ that burned within me--fed with new fuel every passing
hour, and how abiding and how beautiful _the future_! THE FUTURE! and it
was here--a nothing--a dream--a melancholy phantasm!

There are seasons of adversity, in which the mind, plunged in
despondency and gloom, is startled and distressed by pictures of a
happier time, that travel far to fool and tantalize the suffering heart.
I sat with the child, and gazing full upon him, beheld him not, but--a
vision of my father's house. There sits the good old man, and at his
side--ah, how seldom were they apart!--my mother. And there, too, is the