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time of life and went hand in hand with US thro'
the summer journey of youth, all perhaps have
parted from us the verge Of manhood, each to
pursue a separate path towards his own destina
tion. This parting may have been the last time
we bcheld them, from whom we never before
parted. We recolect the farewell pressure of
the hand, the countcnance Of hope and sadness,
and the melancholy voice whose tones we now
think had something prophetic in them, that told
us we were never to meetagaln They had gone
to distant climes had become strangers in strange
lands, felt the chastenings of adversely, and found
rest from the tolls and troubles o. life in the
pose of the tomb.


When we hear of the death of friends, when
we know that those who loved, and were loved |
by us, have gone before us into the vale of death,
and have fallen asleep upon the bosom Of the
earth, never to wake en-, the thousand endearmen's
and tendernesses, that had wound unno',ced u |
round our tearts, and strengthened with the
| lapse of years, are broken and wlthered away,
though hardly without severing the chords Of the
heart with them. We Cal to mind their gentle.
ness, their fprgivng kindness and beneyulence to.
wards us; 4; and with these come the recolectons
of our own pride, our own revengefu thoughts,
and the swelings of our hearts against them. But
our repentance is too late our tears unavsihng,
our sorrow unnotced The fame of their be-
ing is quenched the lamp of their existence is
gone out, and they have pissed away from us in


o the land of silence. There is something wi hin
us that shrinks from the cold heavy hand OF
death Nature struggles at the portal OF the
grave Yet when the hand Of tile living presses
that of the dying-wen the voice of love is heard,
and religion has plucked away the thorn from the
death pillow, the spirit departs on silent wings
from its wasted tenement Bat 10 die IA dis
tant land, to be taken away when the eye is turn.
ed again to our homes, to know that the friends
who await our coming shall see us no more, snd





sadder measures, is the bitterest dreg in the cup
We must drink, and adds sorrow 10 The thought,
that the feet of strangers will tread upon nur Sc
Ipulchres. The friends of our earlier and better
years may weep at our departure, but they can
not weep upon our graves! hey may awaken
ltender recollections OF the past, but there - no
urn for love to encircie with her cypress wresh.
Even memory withers and decays, when there /,
nothing to cherish it, as the taper goes out whose
oil is wasted and the hard tame wipes dry the
lmOurncr's tear and heals the broken hear.


| There is something so silent, SO calm, and so
holy in The close of summer evenng, that love
TO linger in the melancholy twilight, and mark


the crimson of sunset growing fainter and FAINTER,
and fading away, like the hue of the withering
rose. When the quiet moon is rising, and the
skies and woodlands are mrrorcd in the silver
lake beneath them when the breeze sighs il.
evening song am. the distant bell swings SLOW
and heavily, love to loiter about the spot. that


was the scene of so many ot the joys and festivi
Z ties of my boyish days. Near tins haunt OF my


childhood a small rivulet winds slowly along


through woodland of beach and mapIt, and a


last pnurs its still waters into the bosom OF peace


ful lake. Upon It's bank is small terrace o


green turf, in the centre of which stands an olt


beech-tiYe, scathed and worn by time, which II
the days of my boyhoud was in the vigor ct IL
years. Beneath the shades Of its level branches


as they spread


"To the sigh of the south wind their tremulou.


green''-


it was our custom to meet together at the CLOSE


Of the long summcr.day, and wear tie evening a


way in the harity OF youthful sports. Here toe
G the germs O. friendship were warmed and cher


ished in our bosoms, whose buds, and blossoms


and fruits, have since appeared in the interval o
lyears. My eye can yet trace upon its venerable


trunk the names OF friends, that were, but ar,


not,"-ofthos that crossed H. thrcshhold of The


grave in youth, and in manhood, at home and a


broad and of those that are still vigorous and


active in the bnsle of the world, or ke mysel


slowly descending the declivy of years. AS
lglancc my eye over this brief catalogue, Imag


inc that the friends. who left these memorials ~
tner youth behind them, again gathered a
=, round NE They return from the land of stran


gers, from the land of the dead they put o!f',hs


flrms of manhood age, and dea'h, and are y yoihg
q lght.hearted and cheerful again The cheek o
:, heath, the eye Of 10y, the smile of gaiety II see
'i them now hear the mrtIful shout, and the
" sound of youthful VOICES! join in the sports o
ther days, and listen again to the song that


delighted the tale that terrified whilst it pleas
d ed But those days are no longer The tale IS
: told, the song is finished, the gaiety done, and
{ friends departed. The grave has closed over
!, many, rs the bark OF the tree over their names.
II But the retrospect OF age is not always upon q
!. youth of gladness We may be young in years
d though old in SORROWS. Indeed in the pilgrimage
, of life we pluck but few towers without feel
, ing the thorns weave but few laurels. where the
d cypress will not mnglc. The breeze that curls


the wave at sunset, chates the ocean in the night
storm, and what we woo in youth as our JOY, is
II often our atfliction. The feet dea'h are of
Y ten heard in the circles of the young as Of the
g od his hand rests as often aad as heavily upon
y the hearts of youth as otsge. His touch, strong
+ er than the finger of time, vi'hers the rose on
n the cheek of beauty; and sorfow qnenches the
: pri'ie and buoyancy Of tie sririt and If in our
$ pilgrimage, the wing deathl'as past harmless
e ly oy Us, that must soon pass over us AMI If We
have been left TO toll on until he hour when the
lame of existence shall SO oui from lis own {, e.
S beness, experience must have taught us, that the
Y sorrows and tears of youth AREAS bitter as those
J, Of age, though sooner wiped away; AMI the i'm.
e press from the seal oi asicton as deep upon The
Iung and tender heart, as upon that whose
] chords have been withered by years. Indeed the
e arrow wounds as surely but the wings of the
youthful spirit are soon expanded, and il falls to