eparting light, and around whose base thickens the solemn
shadow.

This rapidity of change is most strikingly illustrated when, after a few
years' absence, we return to the scenes of our youth. We plunged into
the current of the world, buoyant and vigorous; our thoughts have been
occupied every hour, and we have not noticed the stealthy shadow of
time. But we come back to that early spot, and look around. Lo! The
companions of our youth have grown into dignified men,--the active and
influential citizens of the place. Care has set

"Busy wrinkles round their eyes."

They meet us with formal deportment, or with an ill-concealed
restlessness, as though we hindered them in their work,--work! Which,
when we parted with them, would have been flung to the winds for any
idle sport. How quickly they have changed into this gravity and anxiety!
On the other hand, those who stood where they stand now,--whose names
occupied the signs and the records which theirs now fill,--have passed
away, or, here and there, come tottering along, bent and gray-headed
men. Those, too, who were mere infants-those whom we never saw-take up
our old stations, and inspire them with the gladness of childhood. And
exactly thus have we changed to others. We are a mirror to them and they
to us.

From this familiar experience, then, let us realize that the stream of
life does not stop, nor are we left stationary, but carried with it;
though our condition may appear unchanged, until we lift up our eyes,
and look for the old landmarks. The brevity of our life! my friends.
Amid our daily business,--in the sounding tumult of the great mart, and
the absorption of our thoughts,--do we think of it? Do we perceive how
nearly we approach a goal which a little while ago seemed far before
us? Do we observe how quickly we shoot by it? Do we mark with what
increasing swiftness the line of our life seems reeling off, and how
close we are coming to the end? Time never stops! Each tick of the clock
echoes our advancing footsteps. The shadow of the dial falls upon it
a shorter and shorter tract, which we have yet to pass over. Even if a
long life lies before us, let us consider that thirty-five years is high
noon with us,--the meridian of that arc which comprehends but threescore
years and ten!

But we may be more vividly impressed with the fact of the brevity of
life, if we adopt some criterion wider than these familiar measurements.
The narrative, the story, eng