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attain the end at which we aimed, we survey our 
track with grateful but subdued feelings; for the 
pleasure we bave enjoyed is for ever fled—the time 
we hâve spent is for ever gone! Yet, another 
treasure is added to the stores of memory, and these 
the poet would persuade us are préférable to présent 
enjoyments. 
“ Bliss in possession will not last ; 
Remembered joys are never pass’d— 
At once the fountain, stream, and sea : 
They were—they are—and yet shall be.” 
When the hours are darkest, the Christmas Rose 
' unfolds her pale flower, and, regardless of the storm, 
cheers the deserted garden. She readily présents 
herself to our minds as a type of those who encounter 
with serenity the trials of life, or rather of the hope 
which animâtes them in the season of adversity. I 
hâve known one, bent with the weight of nearly a 
hundred years, and worn with many infirmities, 
whose lot was poverty, — whose dwelling a gloomy 
garret, who was yet one of the happiest persons I 
hâve ever seen. What was that spring of joy which 
ever lighted up the countenance, and enlivened the 
discourse of this aged widow, making the hour of 
