ers but I will lend her mine. Miss Lucy
Ellen Guernsey, of Rochester, gave me "Christmas Earnings" and wrote in
it, "Carrie C. Richards with the love of the author." I think that is
very nice. Anna and I were chattering like two magpies to-day, and a man
came in to talk to Grandfather on business. He told us in an undertone
that children should be seen and not heard. After he had gone I saw Anna
watching him a long time till he was only a speck in the distance and I
asked her what she was doing. She said she was doing it because it was a
sign if you watched persons out of sight you would never see them again.
She does not seem to have a very forgiving spirit, but you can't always
tell.

Mr. William Wood, the venerable philanthropist of whom Canandaigua has
been justly proud for many years, is dead. I have preserved this poem,
written by Mrs. George Willson in his honor:

Mr. Editor,--The following lines were written by a lady of this village,
and have been heretofore published, but on reading in your last paper
the interesting extract relating to the late William Wood, Esq., it was
suggested that they be again published, not only for their merit, but
also to keep alive the memory of one who has done so much to ornament
our village.

When first on this stage of existence we come
Blind, deaf, puny, helpless, but not, alas, dumb,
What can please us, and soothe us, and make us sleep good?
To be rocked in a cradle;--and cradles are wood.
When older we grow, and we enter the schools
Where masters break rulers o'er boys who break rules,
What can curb and restrain and make laws understood
But the birch-twig and ferule?--and both are of wood.
When old age--second childhood, takes vigor away,
And we totter along toward our home in the clay,
What can aid us to stand as in manhood we stood
But our tried, trusty staff?--and the staff is of wood.
And when from this stage of existence we go,
And death drops the curtain on all scenes below,
In our coffins we rest, while for worms we are food,
And our last sleeping place, like our first, is of wood.
Then honor to wood! fresh and strong may it grow,
'Though winter has silvered its summit with snow;
Embowered in its shade long our village has stood;
She'd scarce be Canandaigua if stripped of her Wood.

Stanza added after the death of Mr. Wood

The sad time is come; she is stript of her Wood,