A LITTLE boy used to sit and gaze at the stars, and wonder and wonder. One in particular caught his attention; it was full and round, and shone with a clear, steady light. One summer evening as he sat in the balcony, he saw it rise above the horizon, and then gradually go up higher and higher. He was so full of thought, and so intent watching it, that he forgot everything about him, till his mother came to him, put her hand on his shoulder, and told him it was bed-time.

After he had gone to bed, he dreamed of his star, and presently awakening, his mind was so full of it, that he would steal out softly, while all in the house were asleep, and see what had become of it. When he reached the balcony he could not at first find it, as it had changed its place while he had been slumbering, but on looking directly overhead, there it was shining down upon him, and as he looked steadily at it, he thought that it seemed almost to smile at him, and twinkle more and more. By and by he remembered he had heard that the stars were worlds like our own, and that there were, most likely, inhabitants in them. He then wondered if the people were like his father and mother and himself; and a longing came into his heart to go to the star and learn all about it, and he stretched out his arms to it and cried aloud, “My own beautiful star, shall I ever be ready to read you and to know all your glories?”

While he was still yearning and crying, a bright angel stood before him and cried, “Poor boy, why do you weep?” The boy answered, “Because I am bound down to the earth, and can never go to yonder shining star that seems to be calling me.”

The angel said, “Do you really then so desire to see it?” and the boy told her how he had been wishing and wishing for it. “Then,” said the angel, “I will give you this pair of wings, by which you may fly upward to the star;” and as she spoke she fastened a pair of silver wings upon his shoulders, and having instructed him how to use them, added, “As long as these are kept brightly polished, they will bear you upward whenever you may desire it, but if suffered to grow dull and to get tarnished, they will no longer avail you.”

The boy thanked her, and felt sure that he never should neglect to keep the angel’s gift, which was to be the source of so much happiness to him, bright and shining as now. She then left him. Again looking at the star, and spreading forth his wings, as directed, he began gently to arise, fluttering and tumbling like a young bird taking its first flight; but gaining boldness as he ascended, he breathed freer, till at last he soared far, far on high, to the star, the beacon towards which he was directing his course; his bosom swelled triumphantly, and looking back, he saw the earth receding like a dull spark beneath him. O, how unlike the glorious light before him! When at last he reached the golden gates, where stood the angel waiting to receive him, his eyes were so dazzled with the brightness that burst upon him, when first he entered, he could no longer perceive anything around him, but was, for a time, as one blind. Soon, however, regaining his vision, he began to descry beings unlike those that he had ever seen before, almost transparent, with wings of golden gauze, sweeping hither and thither; forward bending their pinions, they skimmed along like beams of light—myriads upon myriads passing to and fro, some bearing harps, from whose strings such notes arose as mortal ne’er has heard. Unlike the toiling inhabitants of earth, these beings knew no labor, no hunger, no thirst—all was life, freedom, and enjoyment. The boy’s soul was stirred within him; he could have shouted aloud for joy and gladness.

But now the angel told him that he must return to earth. At this intelligence the boy’s heart grew sad, and he exclaimed, “Bright angel, let me ever remain here—let this be forever more my home!” To this the angel replied, “Your time on earth is appointed—you must fulfill your days,—but while you still keep these wings bright, you can be permitted such glimpses of this world above you as may refresh your weary heart, and when the time for your sojourn beneath is ended, this higher sphere may be your eternal home.”

The angel attended him through the golden portals,—descended with him to the earth again, and alighted upon the same spot from whence he had arisen.

The boy sat himself to work after the angel had left him, to erase from his wings every dull speck that the dampness of the night had left upon them; and presently, when polished as a mirror, and he had laid them carefully away, he retired to rest again and slept till the morning dawned. When he had arisen and looked forth, the scene which used to be so dazzling, now looked dull and blank to him, in comparison with the light of his beloved star. All day long his thoughts were there, and when night came again, he was once more trying his new-found wings toward the heavens. Every successive flight became easier and more delightful to him, and the fleet moments spent among those superior beings became of far more consequence than whole days with his earthly friends. Though short his visits there, he became, as it were, like those glorious beings—and it was remarked by all, that the child’s face shone with an unearthly light, though none knew of his flights to the star above, or the secret of his silver wings.

O! had this childlike obedience to the injunction of the angel continued, what happiness might the boy have always enjoyed! how would these nightly visits to the star have solaced him during the weary hours of his pilgrimage below! But the demon of idleness came at length, stealing in. With diligence at first, he polished, nightly, the silver wings; but soon the task became irksome, and was performed less thoroughly—at times omitting it altogether, till they became each day more difficult to use. He deferred his visits, and made them less frequent, till one night, after having neglected his opportunities for a longer period than ever, in attempting to rise with them, he found that they had entirely lost their power. On taking them off to see the cause of his failure, he beheld the once shining wings of silver so tarnished, that not one bright spot in them was visible. A burst of grief followed this discovery, and he cried again to the angel to come to him in his distress; but finding no answer to his petition he laid them aside and endeavored to forget all about them.

The boy became a man. In the lonely night, sometimes, the visions of his boyhood, and his visits to the star, would present themselves to his memory, and he would have a momentary longing for the brightness of those days, but as soon would he dismiss them, and even doubt that he had ever known such hours of bliss. He would say, “The silver wings were never mine—it was a fantasy of a diseased fancy, born of ignorance and superstition, which the light of the sun of manhood has dissipated;” and then he would weave in his fertile brain plans for an earthly future, more suiting the changed state of his soul than the revelations of his youth.

He passed the summer of his manhood, and in the autumn, crowned with success, he looked for the peace that never came. He found that in every rose of earth is hid a thorn, and when the winter of age advanced toward him, it found him a poor old man, seeking again the home of his boyhood; and there, with his grandchildren about him, looking forward to a termination and a transit from the present scene. And now, as the second childhood came upon him, his old habits grew; and one of them, gazing and longing for that one bright star, resumed its old force, so that night after night he would be found with his eyes upturned; but the tears would dim them, when he thought of the days, when, at his pleasure, he could have reached its golden gates; but now he was shut out, and each day he grew sadder and sadder as he contemplated its undimmed splendor.

One day his grandchild ran to him and cried, “O! grandpa, see what I have found, while searching among the lumber in the attic!” The old man took from the hands of the wondering boy, a little pair of black and tarnished wings; he knew at once the angel’s gift to his boyhood, and the tears flowed down his furrowed cheeks. He took the child on his knee, and told him all about the bright star, the angel, and the silver wings, which his careless idleness had suffered to grow dim till they lost forever their power. The child heard and believed—wept, as his grandsire wept—and after the tale had ceased, he paused awhile—yet presently exclaimed, “But can these wings never again be made as bright! O let us try together, and see if they may not shine as before!”

A bright change came upon the face of the old man, and with his trembling hands, assisted by those of the child, (both feeble, yet both untiring,) commenced the work. Very slow, indeed was the progress they made in removing the rust that years had accumulated; but at length, by little and little, the pale silver shone amid the blackness, till one night, after long and patient labor, the child, with joyous shouts and gladness, and the old man with a calm, placid smile amid his tears, announced that “the work was completed.” Calmly he folded and laid away the polished wings, but at midnight, when the child and all the household were hushed and silent, the tottering old man stood in the place, (with his silver wings,) where years before he had stood, with his eyes now, as then, raised to the star; he stretched his arms toward it and mounted up, till on entering the golden gates, they closed behind him. The star was his resting-place forever.