r
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Fancy kkktciiks.
Vol. vh,
i f
t
i
!
ma jm?
sight grow dim, ami tltut plituitom of tlio
past hovered before my oycs in myriad
forms. The Inilh came liomo ul last as
all truths will, that to evory-onc, tlio
phantom wears a diH'ciout shape; yet.
each, from every other one, may be asun
der, as the pedes; us dillerent as light anil
darkness, as love and hate, Niagara and
falling dew.
Let us sketch the Present. Ah yes! hut
how? If we turn backward but a single
step, we are in the past. If we move for
ward but u single step, we are in the fu
tttre. Then the present must be but a sin
gle line of demarcation between those
two realms. Yet, is it possible, that the
all-absorbing present, only lot which, so
many boast to live, can be so small ? Can
it be, that nil we know of i entity, is en
compassed by one single breath? Still so
it is, for of this much, and this only, are
we sure. Then let us sketch it as a gate,
separating those two realms, past and fu
tiirr, at the only passable point. How
many pictures we thus may see fioni the
strong, substantial gate, with many a
brace and bar, which moves upon its
hinges, with a steady wing, down to the
old rickety gate, with half its hinges bro.
ken, scraping upon the ground as it
moves to and fro. This gate also has a
keeper, the will; and only to his touch
will it open, as the door of that storied
cave, swung hack but for those magic
word", "open sesame." Guard the pies
ent. keep your gate, in good repair.
Again, speculation leads us behind a
cloud, to catch a glimp.s of the mystic
and uni'cliuahlc, future. Upon an el here
al, and ever changing plain, which, one
moment, is bright with joy, the next is
ovor-east witli sorrow, there stands a beau
tiful throne, of strange device, resting Up
on u gold-tinted cloud. The pillars
which support it, are of curiously cawed
sunbeams, and tlio body of the throne
which these support is of the form of a
great arm-chair. The arms were made of
sections of the brightest rainbow. Upon
this beautiful throne, was seated, Ambi
tion, the ruler of the realm. On either
hand, was gathered u host of subjects, all
seeming anxious to know his will. These
wore gathered into little knots or groups,
each with his own kind. .Nearest the
throne was gathered a group, with up.
turned faces, as though anxious to do the
monarch's bidding. As some of the faces
were turned toward me, I noticed that the
name of each was .stamped upon his brow
and conspicoiis among them I noticed,
Envy, Malice, Decit, False Pride, Cruelty
and many more of their kind. On the
other side, seated at a short distance, was
another group, of a different character,
Among them I noticed, Truth, Honesty,
Patience, Prudence, and others of their
kind ; but they all were sad, for their sister
Hope, was gone to character her history in
the past. Presently the monarch called
two of his subjects to hint, l)ishonesl
and Cruelty, and told them logo to a certain
place where they would find an old man
bent and foot.sore,('arry ing a ragged bundle,
this thev were to steal away while the old
man slept, for Curiosity had repoited that
it contained immense wealth. The faces
of those two brightened with a wicked
joy as they started on their way. Hut
soon, all was dark, for Sorrow cast her
shadowy wing over all the scene and we
reluri.ed, no less wise perhaps, for our
llight on fancy's wing.
These three ideal pictiucs, two of the
ideal, one of the teal from that of life.
When lirst tin- Hgbt of this picture breaks
upon our eyes, all is in the future; I) tthe
present, swings back and forth, taking in
breath after bieatb of the future till its
hinges are worn through, tlieu all is pa-l
O, that phantom Past, whose wierd spec
tie comes up at such unseemly times!
Thou inevitable, and ever present iinagi
of that which has been; the outlines of
whose forms are but the footprints, of
deeds, stamped upon the tablet of memo,
ry. Deeds, which, perhaps, the world
wou'd gladly be given for the power to
obliterate; but which are branded upon
the heart, with a lire that is unquenchable;
one which, though it smoulders for a time
and is ever hidden Irom the eyes of the
world, may yet be burning with the tierc
est llaine.
Does the world, to-day, know a heart,
which has not its hated secret? Is there
on" singjc heart, so that it could raise its
pel feet image, to eyes of the world, with
out a blush ? The picture of a man's own
heailis the landscape of his eternity, be
it heaven or hell! Our Creator is our
painter, and on that landscape we in.n
trace the Imprint of our every deed, our
every thought, each bringing its own
reward. g sj.
. llnr