The story which recurred to my mind was of a poor Irishman,
who, in describing a visit which he paid to the home of his childhood
after a long absence, said: "At the sober hour of twilight, I entered
the lonely and desarted home uv me forefathers, an' as I gazed about the
silent walls, I said, 'me fathers, where are they?' an' did not echo
answer, 'Is that you Pathrick O'Flannigan, sure?'"

I was in no mood for laughter, and yet I could not repress a smile, as
memory recalled the comical voice and inimitable gestures with which
young H.M. related the story. He was beloved by us all, and when he left
school we parted from him with real sorrow. As I walked around, and
looked upon the worn and defaced desks, I observed the initials of many
once familiar names, which many years before had been formed with a
knife, which were not so much obliterated but I could easily decipher
the well known letters. That desk in the corner was occupied by two
brothers who when they grew up removed to one of the Eastern States,
where they enlisted as soldiers in the war between the North and South.
One of the brothers received his death-wound on the battlefield. In a
foreign hospital he lingered in much suffering for a brief period, when
he died and was buried, far from his home and kindred. The younger
brother was naturally of a tender constitution and was unable to endure
the hardships and privations of a soldier's life. His health failed him,
and he returned to his friends, who had left their Canadian home, and
removed to the State of Massachusetts; but all that the most skilful
physicians could do, aided by the most watchful care of his tender
mother, failed to check the ravages of disease. Consumption had marked
him for its prey, and he died a few months after leaving the army; and,
as his friends wept on his grave, they could see with their mind's eye
another nameless grave in a far-away Southern State, where slept the
other son and brother. The desk on my left hand was occupied by a youth,
who has been for many years toiling for gold in California; and I have
learned that he has grown very rich. I often wonder if, in his eager
pursuit after riches, in that far-off clime, he ever thinks of the
little brown school-house by the butternut trees, and of the smiling
eager group who used daily to meet there. One large family of brothers
and sisters, who attended this school for several years, afterward
removed, with their parents, to one of