ude of the glen. Then the
disenthralled Orohy began to rejoice as before, through all her streams
and falls; and at the sudden leaping of the waters and outbursting of
the moon, we awoke.

Age is the season of Imagination, youth of Passion; and having been long
young, shall we repine that we are now old? They alone are rich who are
full of years--the Lords of Time's Treasury are all on the staff of
Wisdom; their commissions are enclosed in furrows on their foreheads,
and secured to them for life. Fearless of fate, and far above fortune,
they hold their heritage by the great charter of nature for behoof of
all her children who have not, like impatient heirs, to wait for their
decease; for every hour dispenses their wealth, and their bounty is not
a late bequest, but a perpetual benefaction. Death but sanctifies their
gifts to gratitude; and their worth is more clearly seen and profoundly
felt within the solemn gloom of the grave.

And said we truly that Age is the season of Imagination? That Youth is
the season of Passion your own beating and bounding hearts now tell
you--your own boiling blood. Intensity is its characteristic; and it
burns like a flame of fire, too often but to consume. Expansion of the
soul is ours, with all its feelings and all its "thoughts, that wander
through eternity;" nor needeth then the spirit to have wings, for power
is given her, beyond the dove's or the eagle's, and no weariness can
touch her on that heavenward flight.

Yet we are all of "the earth earthy," and, young and old alike, must we
love and honour our home. Your eyes are bright--ours are dim; but "it is
the soul that sees," and "this diurnal sphere" is visible through the
mist of tears. In that light how more than beautiful--how holy--appears
even this world! All sadness, save of sin, is then most sacred; and sin
itself loses its terrors in repentance, which, alas! is seldom perfect
but in the near prospect of dissolution. For temptation may intercept
her within a few feet of her expected rest, nay, dash the dust from her
hand that she has gathered from the burial-place to strew on her head;
but Youth sees flowery fields and shining rivers far-stretching before
her path, and cannot imagine for a moment that among life's golden
mountains there is many a Place of Tombs!

But let us speak only of this earth--this world--this life--and is not
Age the season of Imagination? Imagination is Memory imbued by joy or
sorrow with creative