There is an "even-tide" in the year - a season when the sun withdraws his propitious light - when the winds arise, and the leaves fall, and nature around us seems to sink into decay. Such, in a few years, will be our own condition. The blossoms of our spring, the pride of our summer, will fade into decay; and the pulse that now beats high, with virtuous or with vicious desire, will gradually sink, and then must stop for ever. When the changing leaves of the deciduous trees fall around us, their voice whispers a fatal truth; and the lesson they teach us is not that we alone decay, but that such also is the fate of all living things that abide on this earth.