little white pony father gave me to ride!

The spring by the hill, where our bottles were placed
To bathe in its waters, so clear and so cool,
Till dinner-time came! Oh! then how we raced
To get them, and dine in the shade by the pool!
The spring, and the pool, and the shade are still there,
But the dear old school-house has rotted and gone,
And all who were happy about it are--where?
Go--go to the church-yard, and ask the grave-stone!

A few there are left, old, tottering, and gray,
Apart and forgotten, as those who are dead;
Yet sometimes they meet on life's thorny way,
And talk, and live over the days that have fled.
Oh! how I remember those faces so bright,
Which beamed in their boyhood with honesty's ray!
And oft, when alone, in the stillness of night,
We're all at the school-house again, and at play!

Of all those who were there with me, the best loved was H.S. Smith, now
of Mobile; and he, with perhaps one or two more, are all that are now
living. Our ages are the same, within a week or two, I am sure; and we
are of the same height and same weight; and our attachment was mutual:
it has never been marred through threescore years and ten, and to-day
we are, as brothers should be, without a secret hidden in the heart,
the one from the other. As a friend, as a husband, as a father, as a
man, I know none to rival H.S. Smith. He never aspired to political
distinction: content to pursue, through life, the honorable and
responsible business of a merchant, he has distinguished himself for
energy, capacity, probity, and success; and in his advanced years
enjoys the confidence and esteem of all honest men. Our years have
been, since 1826, spent apart--communication, however, has never ceased
between us, and the early friendship, so remarked by all who knew us,
continues, and will until one is alone in life.

I know this narrative will not be interesting to those unacquainted
with Smith and myself. To such I say, close the book, nor read on, but
turn to that which may interest more, because more known. I could not
pen the memories of fifty years, and forbear those the sweetest now,
because their fruit to me has ever been the sweetest; and the noble
virtues of the private gentleman cannot be the less appreciated because
they have only adorned a circle where they shone in common with those
around him. These are the men who preserve the public morals, and
purify the atmosphere polluted by