The Columbian fountain., 1846-08-18
.a..' n LIE "A " EaSi 4irs m
FROM MY JOURNAL Lasts
No. l..
BY CHARLES WILSON, U. s.A.a

u
/, -.--a--~ Z.
It's impossible for man To- root from his
heart the first affections Of his youth, the
dreams and hopes Of his childhood; to blot
from his Sc kthe recollection Of a mothers
love, fathers kindness; Or the smiles 81
the gentle being that glided like a blessing
spirit Ger, the, waking, visions of his boy
hood Time may plant burrows upon his
brow j and sorrows in his heart; Joy may
cast a sparkle in his eye, or pain cause
the tear to'roll; wealth may throw around
him the iuxuries Of life, or poverry sweet
en- the hard crust; hopes Of fame5may draw
forth the energies Of his soul, or illness
sap, the attributes Of his nature of their vi
gor; no matter what his situation, ifvice has
not destroyed. the finer sensibiIitics Of his
nature, the mind returns 10 the past with
joyful pleasure, flies DER long years gone,
to cull q moments bliss BY, reyelling in the
shadows of. scenes, that forever gglimmer
before the ming, ,!as, beautiful to the,view,
as soothing to the soul, as the faint sparkle
Of the beacon light 10 the shipwrecked ma.
riner!M And how slight a cause viii suffice
to send the spirit on this voyage, o'er the
past; a word, q look, the waving of tree,
the mprmur of a. brook, the falling Of a
leaf, s!s tq943a15 yassfd s8+f's 4Tf II tF@s
y ..Iriaes, light as air,o@ ,'.F,,s II,
viii amidst the busiest scenes of this bust
ling world, dash the present from our
thoughts, bring to view friends who have
long slept in iunbroken silence beneath the
green sod, hours Of untinetured Joy which
can never return, and scenes Of happiness,
the recollection Of which alone remains
Whether this power Of calling up the past
fromsits dark grave, disesting IL Of all That
is gloomy and decorating il with pleas
ing times of fancy be a special gift Of
kind Heaven, or whether II arises from the
depth of the Impressions implanted in .onr
hearts in the days Of purity and Innocence,
when the heartgis soft and the soul pure,
too deeply to be eradicated save
by the hand Of death, we know not; but
this we do know, that the memories Of the |
past are more soothing to the soul than the
Joys Of the present, no matter what the per
culiars circumstances places us in, comes
50 spfinkled with cares, so spotted with
woes, that we scarce grasp the flower, ere
the thorn pierces our eager hand, we scarce
raise the. cup Of Joy to our lips, ere pain
dashes into the goblet the seeds of agony.
But the past comes to us stored with only
that which is pleasing, the trifles that then
started the tear or gave birth to the sigh,
are forgotten, blotted from the view, the
thorns are concealed, the flowers alone
dance before the mind, Oh we would
no, give one hour Of this dreamy existence
in the past, this communion with the spirits
Of the dead, this intellectually acting over
again scenes long gone, for years Of cold,
duh life, Z" i1'aa ,,.. .5.
No, we would not give the memory Of
our sainted mothers dying kiss, imprinted
upon our tear wet cheeks, by lips chilled
BY the hand Of death, for the wealth Of
mines And oh! s.-. a. ..g
elbow many soft and secret trips" p
has our memory taken. to revisit that hour;1
tis painful pleasure for the mind to dwell
upon it, and were it not for the Christians
hope, the pleasure would vanish, and the
pain alone remain. aaa ,ests 1pgl
Since that time, we have passed through
irving scenes, the stream of our existence
has been ruffled by the rough winds Of po-
verty and adversely, our fail bark has
struck rock after rock, until it seemed but
to float for the Joy of the angry pillows,
and that kiss still burns upon our cheek.
Reader, laugh if you please, call. it sickly1
imagination il you will, but we never done
wrong in word or deed, that we did not
feel the cold lips, the thrill, the fearful SEN
sa,ion of that last kiss. And often when
strong passions have burnt within our bo-
som, when anger has raised our feelings, or
wrong caused us to murmnr at our fate,
have we felt the same, in a moment all was
hushed, and our spirit was weeping at the
leath-bed of dying parent, never more
deeply impressed with the vanity of human
life, or with greater longings for reu-
MON in Heaven. ... .y.
What is this is It not beautiful to be-
|ieve that the. spirits of departed friends are
permitted to hover around, watch o'er, and
guide us through this dark vale Of tears
whisper words of hope and adnionition in
our ear, perhaps attends our soul in its flight
from death-bed, to the throne of the great
Judge. We will not say that it is so,
but the bare supposition has to US been a
source of consolation and Joy, Who is
there, that has not often (,nostly in hours
&c alonml eyneripnced almnst audible whis-l