the sailor mounts on the roof; whilst the Jews hang
round with oranges, knives, and sealing-wax: whilst the guard is closing
the door. Where are they now, those sealing-wax venders? where are the
guards? where are the jolly teams? where are the coaches? and where the
youth that climbed inside and out of them; that heard the merry horn
which sounds no more; that saw the sun rise over Stonehenge; that rubbed
away the bitter tears at night after parting as the coach sped on the
journey to school and London; that looked out with beating heart as
the milestones flew by, for the welcome corner where began home and
holidays?

It is night now: and here is home. Gathered under the quiet roof elders
and children lie alike at rest. In the midst of a great peace and calm,
the stars look out from the heavens. The silence is peopled with
the past; sorrowful remorses for sins and short-comings--memories of
passionate joys and griefs rise out of their graves, both now alike
calm and sad. Eyes, as I shut mine, look at me, that have long ceased
to shine. The town and the fair landscape sleep under the starlight,
wreathed in the autumn mists. Twinkling among the houses a light keeps
watch here and there, in what may be a sick chamber or two. The clock
tolls sweetly in the silent air. Here is night and rest. An awful sense
of thanks makes the heart swell, and the head bow, as I pass to my room
through the sleeping house, and feel as though a hushed blessing were
upon it.

ON A JOKE I ONCE HEARD FROM THE LATE THOMAS HOOD.

The good-natured reader who has perused some of these rambling papers
has long since seen (if to see has been worth his trouble) that the
writer belongs to the old-fashioned classes of this world, loves to
remember very much more than to prophesy, and though he can't help being
carried onward, and downward, perhaps, on the hill of life, the swift
milestones marking their forties, fifties--how many tens or lustres
shall we say?--he sits under Time, the white-wigged charioteer, with his
back to the horses, and his face to the past, looking at the receding
landscape and the hills fading into the gray distance. Ah me! those
gray, distant hills were green once, and HERE, and covered with smiling
people! As we came UP the hill there was difficulty, and here and there
a hard pull to be sure, but strength, and spirits, and all sorts of
cheery incident and companionship on the road; there were the tough
struggles (by h