63

THE SEASONS OF LIFE.

CHAPTER I.

THE SPRING-TIME OF LIFE.

In the rise, progress, maturity, and decay of the human body, there is such an obvious similitude to the production, growth, perfection, and decomposition of inanimate matter, which the varied seasons of the year present to our view, that the most inattentive observer must be forcibly impressed with it; while such as duly consider their importance in the scale of creation, and reflect that their sojourn here is but a probationary ordeal for immortality, cannot fail to apply the grand moral it inculcates, as they tread the devious paths of life.

Behold that happy emblem of innocence and beauty! Fostered by a watchful mother's care, and soothed by her fond caresses, the lovely infant day by day puts forth its tender blossoms, and, as it clings to the maternal bosom, repays with cherubic smiles her anxious solicitude; every dimple on its lovely cheek is a fresh bud of promise to her; every articulate sound it breathes seems prophetic of some future joy. Unruffled by care and unpolluted by sin, the new comer sips sweetness from the cup of life; it dreams only of existing luxury; and, ignorant of the dangers and vexations of a troublesome world, it opens its beautiful eyes beneath the smiling beams of motherly delight, like an early gem which timidly peeps out from its winter hiding-place. From the moment it is capable of distinguishing, it displays an instinctive attachment to her love, as if providentially designed to express its gratitude, and, lovely and passionless, it now begins, by a first acknowledgment, to recognize the care and solace of maternal tenderness. As this fair and delicate plant, which has been reared in her own bosom, continues to expand its leaves into bodily and mental powers, to open its infant petals expressive of future joys or woes, and to grow fertile in perception and sensibility, her utmost ingenuity is called into action to contribute to its

nourishment and sportive enjoyment. From its sweet lips is now conveyed to her delighted ear every gratification of which its infant reason is susceptible; and amid a contest of its playful struggles, it preferably turns to its fond parent, to reward her transport with its frolicsome gambols. Then

"Forgive the mother, if her gaze

Be fill'd with more than fondest praise,
And nature whisper through the heart,
My child, how beautiful thou art !"

Her sympathy is keenly alive to every little grief, and her faithful bosom the deposit of its many joys. Its hopes are founded on her fondness, and its fears allayed by her guardian

cares.

Such love is composed of the most exquisite feelings; of all that is delicate, natural, and delightful. It is the genuine spring of pure affection which flows from the deep recess of virtue; that sacred rapture which a mother only can properly estimate, and that combination of mildness, solicitude, and tenderness, which animates the wise, and inspires the sentiments of others with a similar pleasure and benevolence. It exalts the most elevated station of woman, nor is it abased when seated in the more menial breast; the noblest

of their kind perform with unwearied attention the most delightful, though often painful, occupations which nature has imposed on them.

Nor is it limited to the human race-this sovereign law is universal and immutable; in the recesses of the forest, and in the depths of the sea, its power is felt, and its dictates responded to with all the force of parental feeling and instinctive love. The fierce and the wild, equally with the tender and the tame, acknowledge its influence and obey its high behests:

"On iron pinions borne

The blood-stain'd vulture cleaves the storm, yet is

The plumage closest to her breast soft as

The cygnet's down, and o'er her unshell'd brood

The murmuring ring-dove sits not more gently."

As we contemplate the various scenes which daily present themselves, and behold the melancholy picture of early life, overcast by sickness and disease, we cannot fail to observe the old, the young, and the beautiful, alike eager to soothe the pangs and assuage the pains of the innocent sufferer. The maternal fosterer becomes negligent of her personal graces; her care-worn countenance, betrayed by trouble, depicts her mental anguish; her delicate constitution is racked by terror and fatigue, and as she has been the diligent companion of its health and gaiety, she is now the

watchful and unceasing attendant in the gloomy hour of anxiety and sickness. Here, cheered even by the most fallacious source of consolation, she indulges in every faint gleam of hope, and with patient submission relies on Him, who is alone a spectator of her sorrow.

"Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps,
Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps ;
She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,
Smiles on her slumb'ring child with pensive eyes,
And weaves a song of melancholy joy-

Sleep, image of thy father, sleep, my boy."

But, to the sweet babe, both tribulation and danger are unknown. The tumults of the world are, perhaps, hovering around its hectic cheek, and adversity fast impending to blight its fragile form; yet, during the intermission of pain, the happy sojourner sleeps quietly on in that tranquil state of repose which knows no ill. Once more, alas! it faintly uncloses its drooping eyelids to take a farewell glance of that well-known being from whom it has derived every comfort; when its health seems precarious, its disease grows insupportable, and the axe is laid unto its tender root, the fatal blow severs its withering branches, and the peaceful soul of her darling takes its flight to the undisturbed regions of everlasting bliss.