he experienced the sad fate of the poor soldier dreaming of his distant home:—
"But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away."
Few, we presume, have passed through the period of youth, without having had experience of these airy raptures. It is not therefore our purpose so much to describe them, as to call attention to their source and origin. The unreflecting are apt to speak of these innocent delights, as "things very natural and very pleasant," and to trace them no further,—seeming to regard them as states of mind, which in a manner come of themselves, and are to be ascribed to no particular source. But we would ask such careless thinkers, can anything good or pleasant come but from the Giver of all good? Is anything so small as to be beneath His notice, or so great as to be independent of Him? Does not He, who watches over the helpless infant, and fills its little heart with joy, care also for the youth, and provide all things for his happiness? Can any pure and innocent delight enter the youthful mind, which is not the provision and the gift of Him, who, in His perfect love, desires to make all His creatures happy to the utmost of their capacity and in the highest degree, according to each one's age and condition? Who can tell the immense and lasting effects that sometimes follow from these seemingly trifling causes? The pure and fresh delights of youthful love, like the innocence of infancy and childhood, are links that bind the soul to heaven. They are purifiers of the spirit. Those joyous states of mind are the treasure-houses, in which are stored up, by a
