From the Bdth (N. Y) Comstitutionolist. MRS. L. M. THURSTON.
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The death of this inestimable lady and sweet ms tess, at her residence in Indiana, has been announC ed m the newspapers within a few days past It event that will carry sadness to the hearts of m, ny friends and excite in the bosom of an extenJe circle ot admirers most poignant regret. Mir: 'Thurston was young, but had made her genius wide !y known, by number of productions which tn lovers of good poetry will not willingly let perish. Tn ago, are marked by grace, feeling and melody, tba will commend them to every heart. Like the unfoI tunate and lamented Peters, Mrs. Thurston was native of Connecticut and this song of her exl will form fit comparison to his beautiful and pro phetic Good Night" THE GREEN HILLS OF MY FATHER LAND The green hills of my father land

 In dreams still greet my view; I see once more the wave-girt strand

 The ocean depth of blue The sky-the glorious sky. outspread

 Above their calm repose- The river, OCT it's rocky bed,

 Still singing as it flows The stiffness of the Sabbath hours,

 When men go up to pray The sunlight resting on the flowers The birds that sing among the bowers,

 Through all the summer day. Land of my birth mine early love!

 Once more thine airs breathe! see thy proud hills tower above

 Thy green vales sleep beneath Thy groves. thy rocks, thy murmuring rils,

 All rise before mine eyes; The dawn of morning on thy hills,

 Thy gorgeous sunset skies Thy forests, from whose deep recess

 A thousand streams have birth, Glad ming the lonely wilderness, And filling the green silentness

 With melody and mirth. lwonder if my home would seem

 As lovely as of yore! wonder if the mountain stream

 Goes singing by the door! And if the flowers still bloom as fair,

 And if the woodbines climb, As when used to train them there,

 In the dear olden time! wonder if the birds still sing

 Upon the garden tree, As sweetly as in that sweet spring Whose golden memories gently bring

 So many dreams to me. 1know that there hath been change,

 A change OCT hall and hearth Faces and footsteps new and strange,

 About my place of birth! The heavens above are still as bright

 As in the days gone by. But anished in the beacon light

 That cheered my morning sky! And hill, and vale, and wooded glen,

 And rock, and murmuriag stream, That wore such glorious beauty then, Would seem, should return again,

 The record of dream! mourn not for my chi'dhoods hours,

 Since in the far off West, '-. Meath sunnier skies, in greener bowers,

 My heart hath found its rest lmourn not for the hills and streams

 That chained my steps so long, Yet still see them in my dreams, And hail them in my song; And often by the hearth-fre's blaze,

 When winter eyes shall come, We n sit and talk of other days. And sing the well rememberod lays

 Ofmy green mountain home.