of nearly idolatrous memory. Upon this very green, the joyous march of
youth went on. Here the glad days whirled round like wheels. At morn the
laugh was loud; at eve the laughter rang. To-day, perhaps the most
joyous of the flock lies in the earth. Perhaps the chief spirit of the
wildest gambols is bent with sharp affliction; the one that loved his
mother best is in a foreign land; the one that doubled her small cares
with dolls goes every week to gaze at little gravestones, and the one
that would not stay in bed upon the sun's bright rise now sits in awful
blindness. You cannot rob these hearts of their sweet memories. The
mystic keyword unlocks the gates. The peaceful waters flow; the thirsty
soul is satisfied.