lay scattered
round in rich profusion, telling us of love and affection that cannot
perish, because they are amaranthine flowers that have their root in
the mind, and bear the impress of immortality; and as we gaze upon the
beautiful, either in nature or art, it becomes daguerreotyped upon the
soul, and thus lives forever, coming up at the touch of memory's wand,
with all the vividness of a first impression.

The forest trees standing in solemn grandeur, the winding avenues,
the sloping hills, the deep dells, with the placid waters sleeping in
their bosoms, with the bright red flowers contrasting with the white
polished marble monuments, all conspire to render the place one
of extreme beauty and interest. But when we compare this with the
descriptions we have read of Westminster Abbey, covered with the
mouldering dust of ages, as generation after generation has been added
to it, we can picture to the imagination the change passing years
will make here. The silent hand of time will steal by degrees,
the freshness and beauty from the polished marble, effacing their
beauties, one by one, 'till all are obliterated, and green mould
and moss occupy their places, and the monument shall cease to be a
memorial.

Such is time with its changes, and yet the thoughtless race of man
pass on, unheeding the destiny that awaits them, slow to learn the
lessons these solemn places are calculated to teach.

The birds as they sang in the branches, seemed breathing a dirge-like
melody over the departed, and even their thrilling notes sounded
solemn in this sacred place, so strong is the power of association
over the human mind.

After spending some hours in this shady place, and drinking in its
beauties and its solemnities, 'till the mind became softened and
subdued by surrounding influences, we left it, bearing in the memory
all the rich variety of landscape, we had been gazing on.

We visited Fresh Pond, where so many go for amusement. Thus it is
ever, the living sport upon the very graves of the departed. The
scenery here, though beautiful and picturesque, has not the touching
influences of the Cemetery, and so we lingered not there, but returned
again to the busy city to contrast its bustle, and its stir, with the
deep quiet and silent shades of Mount Auburn.

Lines, From Mary to Her Father in California, with Her Daguerreotype.

Papa, I have hither come,
To cheer you in your lonely home;
No wealth of mind to you