t of heart, in youth and strength
and beauty, climbed these rocks, shouted in these old woods, and gathered
the summer flowers along these banks--and passed away! Where are they now!
Some who wrote their names in the traveller's book in this cottage, have
them now written by others on their tombstone. One I knew well, who, full
of health and beauty, passed up this wild ravine, who has faded like the
flowers she culled, and is now in her father's house, to pass in a few
more days to heaven. And of all the rest, did we know their history, what
a picture would it give of life!'

'You are thoughtful for one so young.'

'Are not twenty years enough to make one a moment thoughtful? Tell me now,
thou of the gray head, of what art _thou_ thinking?'

'Of earth's fairest scene, blent with her fairest daughter.'

'Bravo! For what fair lady on your native mountains did you frame that
compliment twenty years ago?'

'Madam!'

'Well?'

'It is time to return.'

G. P. T.

THE RUINS OF BURNSIDE.

Sadly, amid this once delightful plain,
Stern ruin broods o'er crumbling porch and wall,
And shapeless stones, with moss o'ergrown, remain
To tell, Burnside, the story of thy fall:
These ancient oaks, although decaying, green,
Like weary watchers, guard the solemn scene.

Where cowslip cup and daisy sweetly bloomed,
Hemlock and fern, in rank luxuriance spread;
Where rose and lily once the air perfumed,
Wild dock and nettle sprout, no fragrance shed:
And here no more the throstle's mellow lay
Awakes with gladsome song the jocund day.

O'er yon church wall the ivy creeps, as fain
To shield it from thy withering touch, Decay;
No pastor ever more shall there explain
The sacred text, nor with his hearers, pray
To the Eternal Throne for grace divine;
Nor sing His praise, nor taste the bread and wine.

And here of yore the parish school-house stood,
Where flaxen-pated boys were taught to read;
At merry noon, in wild unfettered mood,
They rushed with boisterous glee to stream or mead;
The care-worn teacher homeward wends his way,
And freer feels than his free boys at play.

Yon roofless cot, which still the alders shade,
While all around is desolate and sere,
Perchance the dwelling of some village maid,
Who fondly watched her aged parents here;
And with her thrifty needle, or her whe