Year: 1863

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builded her nest in the branches OF
the old elm that waved in cool maj
esty beside our attic window. But OF
all the unwritten music that ever
charmed the senses of the worn and
sorrowful, the patter of the rain upon
tho roof Of shelter and protection is
the most enhancing. Thalberg, Lstz,
nor the incarnate genius of written
music, with all their cunning combi-
nations Of sweet sounds, ever wrought
out such witchery as comes with


"The rain the pattor of the rain"


Farther off through the fading
shadows Of the past are seen the spec
tres Of our first fears. But in these
days of "grim visaged war" the pride
of oourugc obscures them and shows
more distinctly the majestic marshal
ling of school-boy soldiers, the pitched
battles in open fields of snow, and the
fierce charge of shrieking, red-faced
boys upon the frozen walls of mimic
forts. The wounded and prisoners
were not numerous, and were regular
ly exchanged when the bell rang for
school. There was no ambition for
promotions, because there was no OBJ
ject to be sought for but victory and
the commanders in those barbarous
days, instead of being safe were the
leaders, and always Gin the deadly
breach" Civilization is wiping out
such follies, and battles are now fought
by the soldiers for the glory of the
commander. The school house and
its infantile warriors are the sole prop
erty of memory. The rough wooden
walls of the former have given place
to an edifce of beauty and magnitude,
while the latter have gone wide into
the world, lost in the vortex of bust
ness, or sleeping beneath the green
grass Of their native valley. Some
who promised much, realized utterly
nothing while from the humblest and
most unpromising, men of renown and
public worth have struggled into no.
ticc. The landscape is still beautiful,
and now as age creeps on we love to
sit down upon the velvet moss of its
ancient forest and note the changes
that have crept over the scene. The
birds have forsaken their summer
haunts and gone to the wild rice fields
of SUMMER cline. The rich green
verdure of middle life is dropping in
to the oscar and yellow leaf" of age.
The maple has donned its coat of red
and green and gold, the oak has sha-
ken off its russet foliage, and now the
wind sighs sad and sorrowful among
its naked branches. The merry song
has given place to the sorrowfully
signing wind, the immaculate green
of Summer to the frosts of Winter,
and youth has advanced TO the edge
of the open grave. The old pine
where the eagle build his eyry, and
around which from year to year he
sailed like huge air ship, still rears
its green crest above the forest, and
bravely defies the law of change.


1t is a pleasant and profitable pic
turc TO look upon, and if it teaches us
its true lesson, we shall from its con-
temptation become wiser if not better
men. The same hand that sweeps
the freshness and vigor from the for
est will also garner our youth. The
power that exchanges the melody of
autumn for the rough winds of win
ter will also change the bright dreams
Of youth into the stern realities of
active life, which will grow saddcr and
sadder until the grave closes over our
head, unless some strong hope shall
paint our future more beautiful than
the past.