To be sure I will, with all my heart, Master James. But first look at the picture at the head of this article. It represents a scene in a garden, during the summer. The trees and shrubs are covered with leaves: many of the plants are in bloom, and the little group of children are gathered around a tuft of pinks, upon which they are pouring some water. You look at the picture, and fancy that you actually see such a scene as it presents. And now go to the door, and look abroad. Behold, it is winter! The leaves are actually stripped from the trees; the green grass is withered; the blossoms are blighted and dead. The garden is frozen and rough, and not a flower is there to enliven its sullen aspect. The scene thus suggested by the picture,――that scene in the mind, so beautiful and bright――so like the joyous, sweet realities of summer――was but a sort of dream. That magic power which painted it, we call Imagination,――or Fancy. It is a power which can present the loveliest scenes to the eye of the mind, and make them seem like truth, while yet they are only fleeting visions, passing away as lightly as they came. Imagination can bring us its flowers, though it be winter, and all around us is wrapped in a chill mantle of snow. Though it be night, imagination can paint to the mind the fairest and brightest scenes of day. Though we may be in Boston, imagination may transport our thoughts to Rome, or London, or Jerusalem, or Persia, and for a time we may seem to be there. Imagination, then, is like a painter who sketches unreal scenes so distinctly as to make them seem like reality. It is a power so captivating that it often leads us to act upon what is illusory and deceptive. You have heard of persons who walk in their sleep. They are dreaming something, and they go forth, under the influence of their dream. They fancy that they see what they do not see, and are to do what they cannot perform. These sleepwalkers are persons who are led away by dreams: and all who give themselves up to the guidance of imagination, are like sleepwalkers,――misled by dreams. While the imagination is, therefore, a wonderful power of the mind, and capable of affording great delight, we should be careful to keep it within due bounds. It is a good servant, but a dangerous master. If we indulge imagination in picturing what is good, and beautiful, and virtuous, and happy――we do that which is at once useful and pleasing: but if we indulge it in portraying what is vicious, and vain, and hurtful, we are likely to be led into some fatal pit of ruin. [Illustration] Sister. What word in our language is more beautiful than _sister_? And why is it so beautiful? Because it brings with it so many pleasant ideas. Can any one look at the engraving, and not feel the truth of this?