noon
The youth of the year , like the youth of our own existence , is beautiful in the restless activity which marks it . The tender flower that seems to open as we look ; the grass that springs before our eyes , -- all speak of promise . The changing phases of the sky , like the smiles and tears of infancy , excite without weariness , and while they engage our sympathies , they fatigue not our compassion . Partly lost in thought as I looked upon the fair and varied scene before me , now turning to the pages of the book upon the breakfast-table , the hours of the morning passed quickly over , and it was already beyond noon . I was startled from my revery by sounds which I could scarcely trust my ears to believe real . I listened again , and thought I could detect them distinctly . It seemed as though some one were rapidly running over the keys of a pianoforte , essaying with the voice to follow the notes , and sometimes striking two or three bold and successive chords ; then a merry laugh would follow , and drown all other sounds .