From hte NeW Monthly Magazine. THE DESERTED HOUSE.
{"newspaper_name": "The Litchfield County post.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": "BY MRS. HEMANs"}
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 BY MRS. HEMANs.

 Gloom is upon the lofty hearth,

 o silent House! once flld with mirth; Sorrow is in the breezy sound

 Of thy tall poplars whispering round. The shadow of departed hours

 Hangs dim upon thine early flowers; Even in thy sunshine seems to brood Something more deep than solitude. Fair art thou, fair to the strangers gaze, Mine own sweet home of other days! My childrcn's birthplace yet for me IL IS too much to look theei

 Too much! for all about thee spread, feel the memory of the dead

 And almost finger for the feet

 That never more my step shall meet. The looks, the sniles,-all vanished now, Follow me where thy roses blow; The echoes of kind household words Are with me midst thy slnglng-birds Till my heart dies, it dies away

 In yearnings for what might not stay; For love which ne'er deceived my trust, For all which went with |" dust to dust.' What now is left me, but to raise

 From thee, lorn spot thy spirits gaze To lift through tears my stlzainng eye Vp to my Fathers House on high .! Oh! many are the mansions thcre,* I'nt not in one hath grief share!

 No haunting shades from things gone by May there o'ersweep tn unchanging sky And they are there whose long-loved men In earthly home no more is seen

 Whose places where they smiling sate, Are 4cft unto US Gcs0latc.

 We miss them when the board Is spread We miss them when the prayer Is said; Upon our dreams their dying eyes

 In still and mournful fondness r6e

 But they are where these longings vain Trouble no more the heart and brain; The sadness ofthis aching love

 Dims not our Fathers House above. Ye are at rest, and in tears,f

 Ne dwellers of immortal spheres

 Under the poplar bOug hs stand,

 And mourn the broken household band. But by your life oflowiy faith,

 And by your joyful hope in death

 Guide me, till on some brighter shore, The scyer'd wreath Is bound once more. Holy ye werc and good, and true!

 No change cloud my thoughts of you Guide me like you to live and die,

 And reach my Fathers House on high. St. John, oh. xiv. tFrom an ancient Hebrew dirge-" Mourn for the nourner and for the dead for he IS at rest and Il tears.'

 The following stanzas are copied from the New England Galaxy. They are from satirical poem now n the press of Messrs. Wells & Lilly, entitled, Our  There is thin and swarthy senator Mad with much learning and tongue OCT free, Who not content to live by Wit and law, During the long vacation goes to sea. He is kind of literary weaZle hold tlCr rIo cv1la nf flaUYe He has stormed onward now for twenty years Flashing and brilliant the meteor, sent Der southern skies, when all its dewy tears Are falling from the starry Armament. Such Is his pathos when he stirs the ladies, And summons shapes and sounds alike from Heaven

 and lIades.

 He is licens'd jester of the court A petty pyrotechnic politician Moving with all razor's royal port, The bilious general of the opposition. The dull and dubious all declare him crazy But then in genius he's perfect EsterhaZy! He cast curse on Panama. Indeed He could not well do better and be civil, For every measure waits from him the need And honor of dismissal to the dev-- For so it is, in spite of waxen noses, The better it succeeds, the stronger he opposes. He is a walking reservoir of gall-" The evanesccnt essence of all bile And should he find his spleen is growing small, He'll daily ride sharp backed horse mile, To stir his goodly juices to their duty Of pouring alcohol on government and beauty! He IS the thinnest senator on eartl- And has voice the thinnest of his gender; But to what thrills its eloquence gives birth, Go ask the riv'd and galvanized offender! Sometimes far north his whitening fancy roams, And you may get particulars from Mir. H"*"@s

 

 ''Will you give poor woman with ahelp- less child, trihe to help her on to Phiiadel- phia 2" said voice in mournful accents. looked up and beheld a female figure clad in a coarse home dress, with the fragments of a Leghorn hat, and pair of shoes that seemed ready to drop off at every step she took.- She was young. and once might have been handsome. But no matter for that. As il was, there was faint expression of cheerful ness upon her countenance, that still peered out from beneath the cloud of sorrow that o. her brow, creating purer in' terest in the breast of the beholder than the