ymn, the first I ever learned; and how at each
moment my eyes would turn and my thoughts stray to that open casement,
through which the odor of flowers and the sweet song of birds were
pouring, and my little heart was panting for liberty, while her gentle
smile and faint words bade me remember where I was. And then I was
straying away through the old garden, where the very sunlight fell
scantily through the thick-woven branches, loaded with perfumed
blossoms; the blackbirds hopped fearlessly from twig to twig, mingling
their clear notes with the breezy murmur of the leaves and the deep hum
of summer bees. How happy was I then! And why cannot such happiness be
lasting? Why can we not shelter ourselves from the base contamination of
worldly cares, and live on amid pleasures pure as these, with hearts as
holy and desires as simple as in childhood?

Suddenly a change came over my dream, and the dark clouds began to
gather from all quarters, and a low, creeping wind moaned heavily along.
I thought I heard ray name called. I started and awoke. For a second or
two the delusion was so strong that I could not remember where I was;
but as the gray light of a breaking morning fell through the half-open
shutters, I beheld the two figures near the fire. They were both
sound asleep, the deep-drawn breathing and nodding heads attesting the
heaviness of their slumber.

I felt cold and cramped, but still afraid to stir, although a longing to
approach the bedside was still upon me. A faint sigh and some muttered
words here came to my ear, and I listened. It was my father; but so
indistinct the sounds, they seemed more like the ramblings of a dream.
I crept noiselessly on tiptoe to the bed, and drawing the curtain gently
over, gazed within. He was lying on his back, his hands and arms outside
the clothes. His beard had grown so much and he had wasted so far that I
could scarcely have known him. His eyes were wide open, but fixed on the
top of the bed; his lips moved rapidly, and by his hands, as they were
closely clasped, I thought it was in prayer. I leaned over him, and
placed my hand in his. For some time he did not seem to notice it; but
at last he pressed it softly, and rubbing the fingers to and fro, he
said, in a low, faint voice,--"Is this your hand, my boy?"

I thought my heart had split, as in a gush of tears I bent down and
kissed him.

"I can't see well, my dear; there's something between me and the light,
and a weight is