suited well with such a picture—they were in perpetual motion, and their long chesnut curls were but the more glossy for the wind that tossed the silken lengths, and the sunshine that turned the rich brown into gold. Their bright black eyes grew yet brighter with eagerness, as, laughing, they said, "How tall they were grown!" and each pursued the other's shadow, while the exercise deepened the already vivid red on each warm and glowing cheek.
But happiness is not for this world—a conviction that cannot be too soon acquired: it will destroy a thousand vain expectations, dissipate the most perplexing of our illusions—the early knowledge that life is but a trial, whose triumph is hereafter, and this earth a place appointed for that sorrow and patient endurance which is gradually fitting us for a better and a happier state. With this belief ever present before us, we should be more ready to enjoy the many moments of content and rest vouchsafed on our pilgrimage; and more ready to submit to that suffering which but
