How profitable and how pleasant were those evenings!  As I look back upon them, through the long lapse of years that have passed away, and recall each familiar’ face and tone, I feel that those hours were among the happiest of my life.  Many of those dear forms have passed away from earth forever.  The dear mother, who presided over us with so much affection, mingling in our pleasures and soothing our pains, has finished her course upon earth and gone to her reward; but may the good seed sown in the hearts of her children spring up and bear fruit to eternal life.  Although her lips are now silent in death, she still speaks to us, she still lives embalmed in the hearts of her children.  Two dear brothers that enlivened those cheerful evenings, by acting their part in the drama of life, have passed away, to

  “That bourne from which no traveller e’er returns,”

and their voices are heard no more upon earth.

But, usually, ere the family clock that ticked in the corner of the room struck nine, all had retired to rest and all was silent, save the ticking of the clock or the howling of the wintry storm.

Deaths in our neighborhood were not of very common occurrence, and used to fill our young hearts with dismay; and for many long weeks I used to count the number of nights the new occupant of a grave had slept in it, and shudder as I thought of all the gloom, the darkness and the silence of the narrow house; and felt sad when I reflected that all men must die.  Faith then had not lifted her trusting eye beyond the portals of the tomb, or illuminated its confines by the glorious light of the gospel.  And when in the winter of 1816 a fatal fever raged, and the angel of death flapped his broad wings over our little village, and one after another was cut suddenly down by his stealthy darts, we could hardly realize that it was directed by the hand of a merciful God, and, collected together in a little group, wondered, in our childish innocence, “who would go next?”

Here, upon this door-step, have we sat for hours, in all suitable seasons of the year, looking out upon the prospect, and contemplating the changing seasons, or the alternate sun and shade that rested upon the face of nature.  Often have we wandered forth, while the dew was yet upon the grass, to gather a basket of the large red cheeked peaches that had fallen from the trees during the night.  Near by stood a noble pear tree, laden with rich orange pears, covering the ground beneath with its golden treasures, while a contiguous apple tree mingled its store of bright red apples in rich profusion.  O, it was a delicious blending of autumn’s garnered store, showered upon the lap of Mother Nature, spread out temptingly to the eyes of her weary children.  But the trees have departed with the “dark brown years,” that have flung their dim shadows over them—­nor root, nor branch remains.