The sand in the hour-glass of happiness is surely of a finer quality than that which rolls so slowly through the glass of this world's ordinary cares and fears. Oh! how rosy-footed trip the minutes that lead along the dance of joy! How sweetly they come, how swiftly they fly, how bright their presence, and how speedy their departure! Every one who has ever had a pen in his hand, has said exactly the same words before me; and therefore, though a little stale, they must be true. The hours flew as lightly at Emberton Park as if they had plucked all the down from the wings of their good father Time, in order to furnish their own soft pinions; and many of the days which intervened between the si…
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