Litchfield enquirer., 1868-01-09

 Yet she was very cheerful, and
 Would oft times join our sport and mirtn And many play by her was planned
 Around the winter evening hearth. But then she played, not by the brook,
 She did not gather pretty flowers, She did not sing with merry look,
 Nor make spring-tlme ot tae hours. So. when she said. one sunny morn,
 F:You will be old, like me, some day, wept like one of hope forlorn,
 And threw my playthings all away Be old, like grandma, and not roam
 The glen, in spring for violets blue, Or bring the brig May blossoms home,
 Or pick the strawberries, 'monS the dew! Be old, and in the summer time
 Take weary maps ill midday hours, And fail the Chandiier trees to climb,
 And shake the ripening fruits in showers! Be old? and have no nutting bees
 Upon the hillside, rustlng brown, Or hang upon the vine clad trees,
 And shout the rich ripe clusters down! Be old! and sit round Wintry fires!
 Be fifty! have no sliding-spree:: And hush away all wild desires!
 thought 'twere better not to be. J
 With summers heat and winters cold, With sunny hours and cloudy sky,
 Till now I'm fifty-now I'm old The sun-burnt locks are silvery now;
 That used to dangle in the wind; And eyes are dim, and feet move slow That left my playmates all behind. Spectacies lie upon my nose,
 But no white frills look prim and cold; Ai iu frrox hair T hoy
 l do not feel 50 very old To play among tho pebbles, I
 Would love, on that familiar shore, Where once I watched the swallows fly, The dancing, ripping waters Der. I'd like to climb the apple tree, Where once the spicy sweetning grew, Make grapevine swings, and have glee; But am fifty, 'twould'nt do. I'd like to go a nutting now, And gather violets in the glen And wreath the wild flowers round my brow AS well as ere I did at ten. I'd like to slide upon the pond,
 To watch the old mill struggling there In icy chaius, while all beyond
 Was one broad mirror cold and glare. I'd like to see the noisy school, Let out noonlng, as of old,
 
 My heart throbs quick-it is not cold. I hear the cry of Kate and Jane,
 Of Lottie, Sina, Sue An, yes (I'll own it) in between
 Come, George, and Dan, and William too, I'm fifty, but am not sad; ~ sec 20 gloom in ripening years :; My hopes are bright, my spirits glad How vain were all my childish fears My childish sports, loved them then; love to think them over stil; To shut my eyes, and dream again
 Of slvery stream and woodland hill Blt life has pleasures holier still
 Than childhood's play, with all it's zest, That, as we journey down the hill, Make each succeeding year the best, Now stalwart men arc at my hearth, And "bonnie lassies" laughing free, That had not lived on this good earth, To love and labor, but for me; And shall pine for childhood s joys, For woodland walks and violets blue, While round me merry girls and boys Are doing what used to do? My days of toll, my years of care,
 Have never chilled my spirits flow, Or made one flower of life less fair
  The paths I've trod were sometimes rough. And sharp and piercing to my feet; But there were daisied walks enough To make it all seem smooth and sweet, Friends that loved have passed from sight Before me to the spirit home But in the day that knows no night, know they'll greet me when come. Hopes that I've cherished, too, were. vain; R1fT how n Hoalo J That were to live OCT again,
 'Twere better that it should be so. At every winding of the way,
 I've sought for love, and love have given |: For love can cheer the darkest ray, And make the poorest home heaven. But not the love of mortal birth, That centers in the world alone; No, not the love that cings to earth, But that which seeks tn Eternal Throne O! ye. who're passing down like me, Life's autumn side, be brave and strong. And teach the lispers at your knee =. That fifty years are not so long; That if they would be ever young And free from dOlorous pain and care, The life harp must be ever strung With love of duty everywhere. As violins in foreign lands, .' Broken and shattered OCT and OCT. -t.- When mended and ln skillful hands. Make sweeter music than before. So, oft the heart. by sorrow torn, IF GlVes forth loftier, clearer song Than that which greeted us at morn, When 1t was new, and brave, and strong. Father, thank thee for them all, o Ihese my years which now are passed; (pJ1l6 o,.Ix lI Of death shall hide my form at last. ...,- Let me in love and kindness still Live on, nor e'er grow hard and cold: Bend me and break me to Thy will, But may my spirit ne'er grow old. ....
 1.H }8 a'ii. Missousi Denaocrd.