bean--
Then you'll-a r-r-r-re-mem-b-a-e-r-r-r me-e-e,
Then you'll-a r-re-mem-b-a-e-r-r,
You'll-a r-re-mem-ber a-me-e-e!!"

MUSIC.

[Illustration]

The spirit of music, like an archangel, presides over mankind and the
visible creation. Her afflatus, divinely sweet, divinely powerful, is
breathed on every human heart, and inspires every soul to some nobler
sentiment, some higher thought, some greater action.

O music, sweetest, sublimest ideal of Omniscience, first-born of God,
fairest and loftiest Seraph of the celestial hierarchy, Muse of the
beautiful, daughter of the Universe!

In the morning of eternity, when the stars were young, her first grand
oratorio burst upon raptured Deity, and thrilled the wondering angels;
all heaven shouted; ten thousand times ten thousand jeweled harps, ten
thousand times ten thousand angel tongues caught up the song; and ever
since, through all the golden cycles, its breathing melodies, old as
eternity, yet ever new as the flitting hours, have floated on the air
of heaven. The Seraph stood, with outstretched wings, on the horizon
of heaven--clothed in light, ablaze with gems; and with voice attuned,
swept her burning harp strings, and lo! the blue infinite thrilled with
her sweetest note. The trembling stars heard it, and flashed their joy
from every flaming center. The wheeling orbs that course their paths
of light were vibrant with the strain, and pealed it back into the
glad ear of God. The far off milky way, bright gulf-stream of astral
glories, spanning the ethereal deep, resounded with its harmonies, and
the star-dust isles floating in that river of opal, re-echoed the happy
chorus from every sparkling strand.

[Illustration]

"THE PARADISE OF FOOLS."

Have you ever thought of the wealth that perished when paradise
was lost? Have you ever thought of the glory of Eden, the first
estate of man? I think it was the very dream of God, glowing with
ineffable beauty. I think it was rimmed with blue mountains, from whose
moss-covered cliffs leaped a thousand glassy streams that spread out in
mid-air, like bridal veils, kissing a thousand rainbows from the sun.
I think it was an archipelago of gorgeous colors, flecked with green
isles, where the grapevine staggered from tree to tree, as if drunk
with the wine of its own purple clusters, where peach, and plum, and
blood-red cherries, and every kind of berry, bent bough and bush,
and shone like showered d