And--whatever may be said for the ancient ghost stories, which are fast losing ground--fitting it is that, amid the mirth of this pleasant time, such thoughts should be occasionally stirred, and those phantoms of the heart brought back. Not that the joy of the young and hopeful should be thereby darkened, but that they may be duly warned that "youth's a stuff will not endure," and taught in time the tenure upon which hope is held. That was a beautiful custom of the Jews which led them, when they built houses, to leave ever some part unfinished, as a memento of the ruin and desolation of their city. Not that they, therefore, built the less, or the less cheerfully; but that in the very midst of their amplest accommodations they preserved a perpetual and salutary reference to the evil of their condition,--a useful check upon their worldly thoughts. And thus should mirth be welcomed and hopes built up, wherever the materials present themselves; but a mark should, notwithstanding, be placed upon the brightest of them all, remembrances ever let in, which may recall to us the imperfect condition of our nature here, and speak of the certain decay which must attend all hopes erected for mere earthly dwellings. But _thou_ shouldst speak of this, thou for whom the following lines were written long ago, though they have not yet met thine eye, thou who hast learnt this lesson more sternly than even I, and speakest so well of _all_ things! Many a "Winter's Tale" have we two read together (Shakspeare's among the rest--and how often!), and many a written lay has linked our thoughts in a sympathy of sentiment, on many an evening of Christmas. It may be that on some night of that which is approaching, these lines may meet thy notice, and through them, _one more_ winter's eve may yet be spent by thee and me, in a communion of thought and feeling. No fear that joy should carry it all, with us! No danger that the ghosts of the past should fail to mingle with our Christmas feelings, in that hour! There can be no future hope built up for thee or me, or for most others who have passed the first season of youth, to which something shall not be wanting; which shall not, like the houses of the Jews, be left imperfect in some part; and for the same reason,--even for the memories of the ruined past! Farewell! I do not bid thee weep; The hoarded love of many years, The visions hearts like thine must keep, May not be told by tears! No! tears are but the spirit's showers, To wash its _lighter_ clouds away, In breasts where sun-bows, like the flowers, Are born of rain and ray; But gone from thine is all the glow That helped to form life's promise-bow!