spot! How my thoughts reverted to other
days--the days of my early youth--that sweet "spring-time" of life,
when I trod the blooming pathway before me so fetterless and free,
with no overshadowing of coming ill--no anxious, fearful gazing into
the dim future, as in after years, but with the bounding step that
bespeaks the careless joyousness which Time, oh all too soon! brushes
from the heart with "rude, relentless wing." How eagerly I would
strive to subdue my impatient footsteps then to the calmer pace of
more thoughtful years, as I gradually drew nearer to the holy
sanctuary, although mine eyes would oft, despite my utmost endeavors,
wander to the eaves of that time-worn, low-browed church, to watch the
flight of the twittering host who came forth, I fancied, at my
approach to bid me welcome! How I would cast one "longing, lingering
look" at the warm, bright sunshine that irradiated even those gray
walls, ere I entered the low porch whence it was all excluded by the
ivy which seemed to delight in entwining its slender leaves around the
crumbling pillars, as if it would fain impart strength and beauty to
the consecrated building in its declining years.

But a long--long time had passed since then, and I had come to revisit
my village-home, and the memory-endeared haunts of my girlhood, for
the last time, ere journeying to a distant land. The place was little
changed, and every thing around that well-remembered spot came laden
with so many sweet and early associations, that the memory of by-gone
hours swept thrillingly across my heart-strings, and it was not until
after I had taken my accustomed seat in the old-fashioned high-backed
pew, that I was roused from my busy wanderings in the "shadowy past,"
by the voice of our pastor--

"Years had gone by, and given his honored head
A _diadem of snow_--his eye was dim"--

his voice grown weak and tremulous with increasing years, although
there was a something in its tone so full of simple-hearted
earnestness, that had never failed to find its way to the most gay and
thoughtless spirits of his little flock. And now how reverently I
gazed upon the silvered locks of him who had been mine own faithful
guide and counselor along the devious pathway of youth--feeling that
his pilgrimage was almost ended--his loving labors well nigh over--and
soon he would go down to the grave

"Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
Around him and lies down to peaceful d