ges, which lie between the
Testaments, and which hold the Family Record.

7. There are the Births;--your father's and your mother's; it seems as if
they were born a long time ago; and even your own date of birth appears an
almost incredible distance back. Then there are the Marriages;--only one
as yet; and your mother's name looks oddly to you: it is hard to think of
her as anyone else than your doting parent.

8. Last of all come the Deaths;--only one. Poor Charlie! How it looks!--"
Died, 12 September, 18--, Charles Henry, aged four years." You know just
how it looks. You have turned to it often; there you seem to be joined to
him, though only by the turning of a leaf.

9. And over your thoughts, as you look at that page of the Record, there
sometimes wanders a vague, shadowy fear, which will come,--that your own
name may soon be there. You try to drop the notion, as if it were not
fairly your own; you affect to slight it, as you would slight a boy who
presumed on your acquaintance, but whom you have no desire to know.

10. Yet your mother--how strange it is!--has no fears of such dark
fancies. Even now, as you stand beside her, and as the twilight deepens in
the room, her low, silvery voice is stealing upon your ear, telling you
that she can not be long with you;--that the time is coming, when you must
be guided by your own judgment, and struggle with the world unaided by the
friends of your boyhood.

11. There is a little pride, and a great deal more of anxiety, in your
thoughts now, as you look steadfastly into the home blaze, while those
delicate fingers, so tender of your happiness, play with the locks upon
your brow. To struggle with the world,--that is a proud thing; to struggle
alone,--there lies the doubt! Then crowds in swift upon the calm of
boyhood the first anxious thought of youth.

12. The hands of the old clock upon the mantel that ticked off the hours
when Charlie sighed and when Charlie died, draw on toward midnight. The
shadows that the fireflame makes grow dimmer and dimmer. And thus it is,
that Home,--boy home, passes away forever,--like the swaying of a
pendulum,--like the fading of a shadow on the floor.

DEFINITIONS.--l. In-ex'or-a-ble, not to be changed. 4. Wont'ed,
accustomed. Ad-mo-ni'tion (pro. ad-mo'nish'un), counseling against fault
or error. 13. Pon'der-ous, very heavy. Quaint (pro. kwant), odd and
antique. 7. In-cred'i-ble, impossible to be believed. Dot'-ing, loving to
excess.