Year: 1860

were happy days that ] spent at Elm Grove
Well do remember the old farm house with its
| long piazza fronting the river and meath whose
roof l have sat many an hour at night watching
the stars as they twinkled away up above-think-
/ ing of the time when should become a man and
drawing bright pictures and visions of the far off
future-and ofttimes during the long summer eve
nings how / sat in its shade-with the cool
breeze tanning my brow-and watchd the yes
sells with their spotless sails, gliding like huge
white wing'd birds over the ripling waters of the
river-how many pleasant and joyous reminis-
cences come crowding back my memory at
the recollection of that dear old river. Methinks
I can see it now-just it looked, when used
to sit, at eventide, the steps of the old Mill
that stood at the foot of the lane-and watch its
bright waters rolling away to the sea- listen to
the murmur of the wavelets breaking on the peb
ly shore, making music more soothing than the
eolian harp-or at other times have l stood on
its bank, when the Storm God was abroad the
face of the deep-the wild winds bowling and
shrieking in their fury-and the waters one broad
sheet of seething foau>-aye-a grand and sub
lime sight it to stand and see the waves
mady chasing each other over that tract of rag
ing, Missing waters. But there are other recol-
lections connected with my visit to Elm Grove,
recoections that came floating back like the re-
membrance of some pleasant dream; well do
remember my first visit to the little log school
house with its rows of rough, unpainted seats, |
stained with blots of ink and carved with rude in
itials; and the wooden pegs nailed to tie wall on
which was suspended the dinner baskets of those |
who lived too far to return home at noon, and |
the scholars too, how well remember them all, |
from the tall, ungainiy plow Boy TO tie little flax
en- har'd girl of five summers. Since those days |
have often wandered of the future destiny of
those boys and girls and knows but that
under the sunburnt brow of some of them, there |
may have throbed brain which if properly cult
waited and directed, ould have made them or
nament to country and brilliant light in the |
galaxy of litrature. But my thoughts recur to |
the old school house again and to the kind old
teacher, whose pleasant manners rendered him
beloved by all who knew him, and how in the |
evenings when the duties of the day over
he would accompany us home through the woods |
begung our way with anecdotes of his earlier
days. they were very pleasant, those strolls
through the grand old forest, listening to the sing
ing of the birds and the signing of the wind i'll
the tree tops, and in the Autumn months, when
the leaves brown and sere, would wan
der away through the woods in search of nuts to
crack around the treside gather the punches
of purple grapes that hang in each profusion
around lis; sometimes would lnser rtntill twi
light had thrown its dusky mantle over the earth,
and the little stars would come out, one by
at such an hour tinge of sadness would rest up
on the features of dear old teacher, as he would
stard gazing at the g star lit DOME, thinking,
suppose of the time when he too, like ourselves
was merry, light-hearted schooboy, and
as think of it, how forcibly the beautiful words
of the poet come to mind


And thus as in mamory's bark we shall glide,


To visit the scenes of our bOyh0od anew,
Though oft NAV see, looking down on tue tide


The wreck of full many hope shining through
Yet still as in fancy point to the flowers


That once made garden of all the gay shore,
Received for moment, We'll think them still ours


And breathe the fresh air of lifes morning


How true those words, and there is nothing
more pleasant than to let memory wander back
little incidents connected with childhood
days. and amongst all the recollections of my boy
hood there is none that are fraugh with as much
pleasure those connected with Elm Grove and
its beautiful fields and green wavy meadows, and
the old well, with its 'moss covered bucket, that
stood in the corner of the yard, and the little
pond went to skate on in the cold winter
months, and the long winter evenings when we
would gather around the spacious tire-side, with
its huge fire of hickory and oak, burning so
brightly and casting out such genial warmth
feenng OF cOHlneSS tnaG is never l6lL De-
side the scanty fire of city grate-and the 'Un-
Gle JolIt1,' the owner of Elm Grove, and his kind
matronly wife would sit for hours talking about
old times, whilst children amused ourselves
making rabbits on the wall with the shadow of
our fingers; or listen to the tales told by our
motherly old house-keeper. Ah ne How many
changes have taken place in the old homestead
since then. Should you visit there now and
stand on the steps of the back porch and look to-
wards the little grave yard, you can see white
tablet glimmering through the foliage and it
marks the spot where rest the remains of Uncle
Johns loved wife. Many of them that used to
gather around the family altar scattered and !
gone and as I sit and think of those old old
scenes of my boy hood, l sometimes wish that l
could live them again but know two we'll
they can never be reacted, only in Imagination,
and l know


have walked from that early dream,


And far away is the rolling stream,


And the dewy turf where oft lay,


And the woodland flowers they are far away,


And the skies that q. to were blue,


Now bend above with darken hue.


And yet / may wander IN fancy back


At nemory's call to my chlldhoOd's track,


And the fount of thought hath been deeply stir d |


By the passing note ef summer bird.


And see the haunts of my early days,


The old green wood where the sunshine plays,


And the flashing stream in its course of light


And the hill tops high and the skies blue,


And the silent depths of the shaded dell,


And the mighty charm which has conquered |


these.


Is naught save rustic of the passing breeze. |


WANITA


Death of Rev. Henry Green.