Such is time with its changes, and yet the thoughtless race of man pass on, unheeding the destiny that awaits them, slow to learn the lessons these solemn places are calculated to teach.

The birds as they sang in the branches, seemed breathing a dirge-like melody over the departed, and even their thrilling notes sounded solemn in this sacred place, so strong is the power of association over the human mind.

After spending some hours in this shady place, and drinking in its beauties and its solemnities, ’till the mind became softened and subdued by surrounding influences, we left it, bearing in the memory all the rich variety of landscape, we had been gazing on.

We visited Fresh Pond, where so many go for amusement.  Thus it is ever, the living sport upon the very graves of the departed.  The scenery here, though beautiful and picturesque, has not the touching influences of the Cemetery, and so we lingered not there, but returned again to the busy city to contrast its bustle, and its stir, with the deep quiet and silent shades of Mount Auburn.

Lines, From Mary to Her Father in California, with Her Daguerreotype.

  Papa, I have hither come,
  To cheer you in your lonely home;
  No wealth of mind to you I bring,
  But I would touch the secret spring
  That can your best affections move,
  The fountain of a father’s love. 
  My perfect likeness here you see,
  In infantile sobriety;
  But then I jump, and laugh, and play,
  And call on mamma all the day;
  And though you distant are so far,
  I’m calling ever on papa. 
  If I a hoe or spade could hold,
  I’d dig for California gold: 
  Or wash your clothes—­prepare your bread,
  Or sweep your room, or make your bed. 
  But many a year must pass away
  Ere I one kindness can repay;
  For I can only have control
  O’er the deep currents of the soul;
  I feel I have a kindly part
  Within many a human heart. 
  Should life be spared as years pass by,
  To win approval I must try. 
  Perchance in passing o’er life’s stage,
  That I may soothe your weary age;
  And then in part the debt repay,
  That now increases day by day. 
  But papa, dig your heap of gold,
  That we may soon your face behold;
  But to be patient we will try,
  One kiss, papa, and now good by.

A Reminiscence.

Early in the evening of a beautiful summer’s day, I stood, with thousands of my fellow creatures, on the dock of one of our northern cities, to witness the departure of a noble steamer, which sat upon the blue waters like a sea bird at rest, freighted with the wealth and beauty of the land.  The golden sun had sunk behind the curtains of the west, bathing the earth with a flood of crimson glory; and the noisy hum of busy life was hushed, as the quiet shades of twilight fell upon the tired citizens of the great metropolis.