The interior journal., 1872-07-26
GOLDEN HOURS.


weary OF cdrtn anu VII is ouitu JOY
I wandered through the moon-lit space
of grove, and amid its solitude n!
spirit learned 10 bear each heavy eros
with cheerful heart.
I heard the murmuring of fountai
far away, and long, low whispering 4
the winds chantcd over all sorrows thst
have no other mourners. Then to IN
listening moon I snid: Tho night 3
sweeter than the day, and this is perfect
night! Lol as I spoke bright winged
being took my hand and said: Ceae
whispering TO the moon and follow ins
for I can reveal to you the treasures Of a
realm whose wealth is power. All Other
beauty disregarding, transfxed with
happiness dared not stir. My heart
beat faster, and faint with delicious sen
sations. l seemed as one unconscious.
Who was this beautiful being, ] asked
Of the flowers which scattered their per-
fume on the air of the evening, and Of
those which would open in the morning,
but neither replied to my demandS And
seeing that I hesitated, she said with
some impatience, why will you not come!
I am no inferior being, and with gentle
force she led neon. When we reached the
end of the grove the moon had kissed
the horizon and the gentle stars were ex-
tinguished in the heavens, still with un-
wearied footsteps my guide kept on her
way, and as we went she told me Of her
mission.
"My name," said she, "is.Memory. /
am the guardian of an imperial realm,
and my home is the home of thought"
At length we reached her domain. and
bidding me enter, She proceeded TO re-
veal the mysteries of her power.
That" she said, pointing to a magni-
ficent structure, sis the Temple of
knowledge, and what you see has been
the work of many years. Each gem that
sparkles there is treasure of high value.
The floor is mosaic, most quantity inlaid
with pearls that, but for me, would have
been lost forever, though so costly, bright
and beautiful. Lovely flowers which
were gathered long ago are strewn here,
but their fragrance and beauty can never
depart, and for those who do not abuse
my power, my mission is to gather up
those bright flowers, and weave them in
to beautiful garlands, so when hearts are
lonely or oppressed again present them
in their loveliest forms. Tis thus / soothe
my friends, and from their lips hear,
o! Memory, kind friend of my happy
days, you gave me in other years your
gentle sympathy grant still your friend
ship. for my weary feet and pantinghea
would rest awhilc and would muse
upon the dear old joys which lent their
glow to years that cannot come again and
scenes l never more shall see. o, Mem
ory, Memory, deprer to the heart than
gems of untold vslue art thou, though l
scarce may read thy mystic scroll, it
shines upon my spirit with pure, deep
and mystic power, charms away care, sin
and woe, and makes me strong to bear
the strifes of mortal being"
"But, woel woel to those who abuse
my power, and intrust to my keeping
only the thorns that they have gathered
from the roses which had strewn their
pathway. From their lips | hear, ooh,
cruel Memory, why will you present to
the harrassed mind only those scenes
which I'll il with sadness 'Oh, for one
short hour, respite however brief, to
still the agony of my fevered brainP'
"But forgetfulness is boon not given
them. We hear the echo of their grief
until it is hushed in the silent grave
"Mortal," she said, "would you be
happys Then l leave you with these
words of warning; Look not mourniully
into the past. Remember only the Golden
Hours, for they alone are suitable to
adon the chambers of memory. Grief
may crush the beautiful buds but it can
not wound the root of joy. Flowers may
yet bloom. that, like the crimson clouds
which softly rest on icy hills, shall cheer
you with their rosy hue" u.