Lines, Written on the Death of Frank.

  For their darling boy they weep,—­
    For their beautiful and bright,
  Who sweetly fell asleep,
    One mild, autumnal night,
  And the wind his requiem sang,
    As his spirit passed away,
  From this world of toil and pain,
    To the realms of endless day.

  They bore him to the grave,—­
    To his long and silent home,
  Where the trees in summer wave. 
    And the birds and blossoms come;—­
  Where the sunlight faintly creeps,
    And the autumn breezes moan,
  There the loved one softly sleeps,
    In his chamber dark and lone.

  Now vacant is the chair,
    At the table and the hearth,—­
  They miss him everywhere,
    With the voice of joy and mirth. 
  They seek for him in vain,
    In the chamber where he lay,
  Through weary months of pain,
    Wasting slowly, day by day.

  He sweetly fell asleep,
    As an infant sinks to rest,
  When sunlight shadows creep. 
    Along the rosy west. 
  Gently as falls the rose,
    Fanned by the zephyr’s breath,
  So his eyelids softly closed,
    In the quiet sleep of death.

  He has gone to his rest;
    Oh! weep not for the dead,—­
  For the loved and the lost
    Let no bitter tears be shed. 
  We trust that he has gone. 
    With the glorified to dwell,
  And say, “God’s will be done—­
    He doeth all things well.”

The Pleasures of Memory.

Memory is a choice gift bestowed on man.  It is a boundless source of pleasure to most all persons, unless their lives have been fraught with crimes of so daring a nature, that it makes the the heart revolt at the very thought of them.  It is pleasant at times to revert to the scenes of by-gone days, and recall one beloved companion and another, that have passed away, and to think of the many happy interviews we have held with them.

It is necessary for the scholar to improve his memory, that he may retain what he learns; that it may be of use to him at some future time; that he may receive the reward he has anxiously sought for.  It is pleasant to the aged to recall the scenes that have long since slumbered in oblivion, and awaken from the hallowed precincts of the dead, thoughts of friends with whom they were wont to associate in their early days, and retrace the sports of their childhood, when health and activity nerved their limbs, and happiness filled their bosoms.

It is pleasant to look back upon past pleasures, to recall the beautiful scenes we have once witnessed, the smile of friendship, the tear of sympathy, the glance of affection, the tone of love, or to listen again to the thrilling sounds of soul-enrapturing music, that has once delighted us.  But so varied is our pathway of life, that a thorough retrospection must ever be fraught with sad as well as pleasing