Let us, then, following the usual train of thoughts, which the season so powerfully suggests, enter the temple of the twofaced Janus, to whose tutelary care this month, in classic story, was particularly dedicated. Previous to which, however, it may not, perhaps, be unexceptionable to our readers, to learn a little of his history, who in Roman fable was thought to preside over the year. Janus, the patron of the Roman year, is represented with two faces, because he was acquainted with the past and the future; and as holding the number 300 in one hand, and in the other 65, to show that he presides over the year, of which the first month bears his name. He was chiefly worshipped by the Romans, among whom he had many temples. The principal were built with four equal sides, with a door and three windows on each side. The four doors were the emblems of the four seasons, and the three windows in each of the sides, the three months in each season, and all together the twelve months of the year. Janus was generally represented in statues as a young man. The gates of his temple were opened during the time of war, and shut in the time of peace. It was shut three times only, during above 700 years; under Numa, 234 B. C. and under Augustus four times, and during that long period, the Romans were continually employed in war. Thus much, by way of preface, of him whose name this month very aptly bears. For, like him, January, standing as he does, at the head of the year, may truly be said to have two faces: one directed with the joyful look of anticipation to the gladsome prospects which the new year unfolds, and the other, with an ill-concealed expression of disappointment, casting a woful glance over the ruined hopes of "days departed, never to return."

Seated, as we now are, in the temple of Janus, in a time of profound peace, the gates consequently barred, all the conflicting cares and interests of the world shut out, let us direct our "mind's eye" to the varied scenes of the departed year, the echoes of whose joyous revelry have scarcely ceased, as yet, to vibrate on the listening ear.

The first circumstance that attracts our notice, is the breach made in the ranks of our friends and associates. We look in vain for a beloved face, whose features we were wont to gaze upon with delight; for the arm we were wont to lean upon, when the toils of the day had subdued our strength and vigor; the friendly counsel we were wont to participate, when the

perplexities of life had distracted our judgment; whose words of solace our lacerated hearts were wont to drink in with grateful emotion, when the bitter troubles of the world had come over our spirits like a blighting wind, crushing our fondest hopes; ay, we look in vain for the affectionate friend, the judicious counsellor, the jealous guardian of our good name, the beloved parent, perhaps a brother, a sister. Yes, O yes, the tender sister! Where is that playful vivacity that could cheat even sorrow of its bitterness, and make old age forget his infirmity? That speaking eye, which was wont to beam with extatic delight; those ruby lips which seemed as if their glowing red had been lit up "with coals of fire from Heaven's own altar;" those tiny feet which seemed as if they alone possessed the secret of perpetual motion; that lovely countenance, radiant with smiles, which spoke of the divinity that was stirring within ;" that little heart, full to overflowing of joy and innocence, the abode of purity and love; that zephyr voice, whose playful tones were the first to greet my steps, as I returned from walk, and which, even now, methinks, are ringing in my ear, calling up from the depths of the soul, responsive sighs and regrets, that so beautiful a flower should have been nipped in the bud ;-oh, where are they?

In vain, my beloved sister, does memory attempt to portray the winning graces of thy sportive spirit; the laughing glee which ever dimpled those cheeks of thine, where Health seemed to have fixed her chosen seat; that artless innocency of manner which won its way to the most indifferent heart. These, and more than these, that exuberance of affection and love, which from its very fulness was ever bursting forth and attaching to itself the deep sympathy of all within the sphere of its influences-all were thine! But where are they now? Death has fixed his seal upon them forever! What do I say? The countenance he indeed has changed and removed from our sight; but the living graces of mind and heart, all that were truly worth our attachment, will live forever.

The second benefit accruing to retrospection, is the fund of practical wisdom which experience is thus enabled to furnish us, being literally "a lamp to our feet and a light to our path." We thus arrive at truer notions of the real object of this our pilgrimage here on earth. We learn what is the real aim of all the struggles, the sufferings, "the fierce grapple," which most of us are compelled to encounter with the thousand shift

ing scenes and events of life. Without this chart to guide us through the tempestuous "sea of troubles," on which our hopes are ever tossing, we should give up in despair, having no certain, no fixed object in view. But when philosophy and religion, concurring with the testimony of experience, have taught us to look upon life as something more than the trifling chase after empty honors and distinctions; as a probationary state, for the attainment of high moral excellence-for the best developement of all the powers of the mind and heart, and as a preparation for another sphere; then, and not till then, some noble object, worthy the dignity of our nature, is proposed for our pursuit; and life, instead of a gaudy spectacle for the amusement of a crowd of giddy triflers, becomes a most solemn reality. If this, then, be the effect of retrospection-to inspire worthier conceptions of duty, awaken energy of purpose and incite to exertion, who will deny its incalculable advantages? Who but will be ready to confess that it is clothed with a moral power-the key of that maxim of Heathen philosophy, full of practical wisdom--"Know thyself?"

The third, or last benefit which I shall mention, of retrospection, is the solid happiness, if we have been wise, which it will vividly recal to memory. It has been truly said, that we live but in anticipation. It may, with as much truth be said, that we live in retrospection. The present moment seems to be but a cypher. We are not sensible of our enjoyments, till they have become irrevocably the property of the past. It is then, and not till then, that we begin to analyze the pleasures, which time has hurried away forever from our grasp, leaving us in possession, (I had almost said, in conformity with popular language, enjoyment, but this is against my hypothesis,) of other pleasures as evanescent, only to be fully realized, when they too have been succeeded by others still. Thus it is, that retrospection concentrates all past pleasures, and brings them back to our minds, purged of every alloy of pain or dissatisfaction with which they might have been originally miugled. And this forms the greater part of all mere worldly happiness. Take an example which may more clearly exhibit my meaning.

We all, perhaps, may find it easy to recall to mind some venerable friend of our youth, to whose storied worth we cannot but look back with mingled sentiments of pleasure and regret. I well recollect, as if it were but yesterday, a veteran of most benignant aspect, "whose head was silvered o'er with

age," but whose cheerful countenance, ever sunny with smiles, still bore testimony to a heart, whose affections, green as in their prime, as yet took an active part in all our boyish sports and careless merriment.

Such an old age is an object of universal reverence ;— such a hoary head, a crown of glory." After our sports were over, we were wont to gather round this venerable sharer of our little joys: it was then that our hearts beat high with the intense interest which the tales of his youth excited! How would we hang, with entire self-forgetfulness, on those venerable lips, as they pictured forth, in such glowing colors, the pleasures, and the varied scenes of happiness, in which his younger days had been embosomed! It seemed to my childish fancy, that the greatest part of his present enjoyment, was the happy recollections of his former years, as if he was living over again in retrospection, the joyous round of pleasures of his early days, which, because they had always been on virtue's side, now served to cheer the comparative monotony which characterizes old age. To him-and we all, though not so near the goal of life as he, can join in the same sentiments to him, the solid happiness, which crowned the evening of his days, seemed to flow from the retrospective survey of a life well spent, and in drawing from the past, a reasonable hope of final acceptance with Him, who alone can read the heart.

Such, then, are some of the benefits of retrospection: the mollifying influences resulting from the loss of friends, softening the heart which the world, with its perplexing cares, is wont to harden; and calling into vigorous action the finer sensibilities of our nature, which otherwise would have slumbered, and perhaps have become finally extinct. The corrective lessons of experience, leading us to form a truer estimate of the end of our being, and the object of our being placed in the present sphere of active duty; and the solid happiness which flows from the concentrated pleasures and joys of our past lives, called up by memory.

If such, then, be the good effects of retrospection, let us make it the constant duty of our lives. Let us frequently look back upon the past, in order to be able better to shape our future course. But particularly at this season, let us, in fancy, enter the temple of the patron Saint of the present month, and cast a retrospective glance over the year which is gone, that

we may be better enabled to thread the mazes of the untried scenes which await us in the year, on which we have entered.

One day-it is a trifling theme,
And who would heed a day?
An evening's gloom, a morning's gleam,
How soon they pass away!

"Tis but a welcome-an adieu-
The fairest day is gone;

And with to-morrow's hopes in view,

We bid the hours roll on

To-day like bird in tethering string,
With faded eye, and folded wing,
Its narrow circle creeps;
But like a bird in airy flight,
With wing of power and eye of light,
To-morrow heaven-ward sweeps.

Such are the dreams of early youth,
Ere dimmed, by gathering fears;
The halo round the orb of Truth,
Presages clouds and tears-

I trust, my loved ones, still ye see
The brightness clear and pure,
And gloomy thoughts that shadow me
Unmoved I can endure-

The vine, even when its prop is lost,
Its tendrils torn and tempest-tost,

May shield the little flower;

And thus I bide the world's rude strife,
That I may shield your morn of life
From sorrow's blighting power.

N. L.