THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. 167 



years ; nor trace the happy tie entwined even amid 

 the scenes and sensations of childhood, to which 

 no human being can avoid sometimes recurring 

 with fond recollection. But, whatever may have 

 been the duration of such endearing attachments, 

 that chasm of which I speak can never be filled 

 up. It is as when a mould is delicately taken from 

 a peculiar countenance ; with which no other fea- 

 tures will be found exactly to correspond. The 

 many millions of earth's inhabitants may be num- 

 bered over in vain, to discover a face upon which 

 that mould shall fit : resemblances there are, and 

 strong ones ; but a counterpart the world cannot 

 furnish — the mould will remain, an unappropriated 

 memento of what we can no more recall. It may 

 multiply by thousands the lifeless images of what 

 once was ; but the reality is gone forever. 



What then remains ? Something which is not 

 in the world's gift. We have a better and more 

 enduring substance, capable of so filling every 

 vacancy, that we should have nothing to repine at, 

 if we would avail ourselves of it. " A shadow that 

 departeth," is legibly written on every created 

 thing around us : this we know ; and is it not 

 strange that, having seen the most precious of 

 these shadowy possessions elude our eager hold, 

 and vanish away, we should rather love to look 

 about for something equally insecure, whereon to 

 lavish our disappointed affections, than turn at once 



