the very shadowings of error, was his deep,
constant love for her. Oh, how the maternal heart, smitten by the
heaviest of griefs, bathes itself in the fountain of filial love; and
when, at last, the over-wrought frame yields to the undermining
sorrow, the mourner comforts herself with the reflection of the
afflicted monarch of Israel, "I shall go unto him, he shall not come
again unto me." These reflections, with all of blighted hopes which
parent, lover, friend and patriot have indulged, the falling leaves of
autumn suggest; but the evergreen tells us of the survival of
affections, of friends, of beauty, and, perhaps, of attainments, and
teaches us that while we bend, and may bend in bitter anguish--anguish
long indulged beneath the rod of affliction--it is good for us also to
kiss the rod--for it has the power of budding anew in the hand of Him
who wields it; and the same might which made it the instrument of His
afflictive dealings can make it also the means of after joy and peace.

Perhaps, upon the leaves that we examine, the sybil, with rearward
glance, has recorded some event for joyous reflection. Have we not
been made participants of high gratifications--domestic, social,
public associations of instructive and pleasant operation? Have not
new affections warmed the heart, or old ones sent out new tendrils to
cling with a stronger hold upon us? Perhaps we have had the
acquisition of wealth without the augmentation of desires, so that we
can make ourselves happy by judicious distribution. Perhaps, above
all, and over all, we are better, by the passage of the year, better
by newly acquired, and especially newly exercised virtues--virtues
that bless others, and, through them, bless ourselves. If so, surely
we have grounds for pleasant reflections on the close of the year, and
may hope that we have not lived in vain.

The virtues of the human heart are like the water-springs of the
earth, their worth is measured by what overflows; nay, as an
accumulation even of the purest water must become stagnant, profitless
and offensive without an outlet, so what we call the virtues of man
become useless and even injurious, unless they extend to others, by
overflowing the fountain breast. Virtue is communicable; and those who
associate with the good, find an influx of affection and piety, as the
woman of faith was cured by touching the hems of the garment, that
covered the source and example of all health and goodness. If we ha