The children were now accustomed to assemble round Grandfather's chair, at all their unoccupied moments; and often it was a striking picture to behold the white-headed old sire, with this flowery wreath of young people around him.

When he talked to them, it was the past speaking to the present,--or rather to the future, for the children were of a generation which had not become actual.

Their part in life, thus far, was only to be happy, and to draw knowledge from a thousand sources.

As yet, it was not their time to do.
Sometimes, as Grandfather gazed at their fair, unworldly countenances, a mist of tears bedimmed his spectacles.

He almost regretted that it was necessary for them to know any thing of the past, or to provide aught for the future.