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shade of gloom will be thrown over the heart, and in vain will we seek to disguise it under the appearance of gayety. The day—the fatal minute—has arrived His hand is within our own, and “adieu’’ trembles upon his lips. We essay, but in vain, to reply, and tears gush into our eyes. The hurried but thrilling pressure of his hand—it is over, and he turns hastily away. He is gone—he has left us; but we have caught the last faltering accents of his tongue, and they are treasured up in our hearts for “an eternity of love.” We have gazed (perhaps for the last time) upon his countenance, but its cherished lineaments are engraven too deep on the memory ever to be eradicated; and, even now, we bend eagerly forward to catch the last echo of his retreating footsteps; this soon dies away, and then, indeed, we feel all the bitterness of separation. In vain do we attempt to imagine happiness without him ; the future lowers “dark and drear” before us, while the agony of passing grief makes us feel truly “lone and desolate.” This flood of uncontrollable sorrow will undoubtedly exhaust itself; but still the heart will love to revert with delight to the recollection of his many good qualities, and often, in imagination, will we fondly picture him standing before us, as good and as kind as ever. There is nothing more valuable than a true friend, and nothing more deserving of every sacrifice. Never should we suffer a quick word, a hasty glance, or a passionate action, to part us from him even foran instant. For O ! it
is hard to be forced to frown haughtily and contemptuously on those who were once the enshrined idols of our hearts. It is similar to the sacrifice of Abraham in its affliction and tormenting agony of spirit. I will not stop here to characterize those who basely strive to sunder friends. If you have a friend, cling to him as you would to an invaluable treasure. Nor gold, nor silver, nor all the diamonds of Golconda, are equivalent to his worth. In after days, when the pilgrimage of life draws to its close, the memory of your youthful friendships will gild your age with images of soft and peaceful happiness, and hover around you as bright and angelic spirits of consolation, “ministering a joy to every wo.” Then will the tired soul rejoice to turn to them, as the traveller, after a weary day's march over the desert, turns with renovated strength and gladness to the sparkling fount of the green oasis, which, glittering in the rays of the departing sun, and “murmuring sweet music as it goes,” flows on in refreshing beauty and harmony.
WASHINGTON CR 0SSING THE DE LAWARE,
[On the night of the 25th of December, 1776, Washington recrossed the Delaware, and surprised and routed the British forces, taking one thousand prisoners.]
WINTER had stretched his hand
And stopped with his icy wand
Of the murmuring brook and rippling stream,
That erst did dance in the sun's bright beam
The invader had sought his lair,
Then up with our banners high,
New York, August. 1846. J. D. H.
I ASKED a matron once, of restless mind,
To pace its dismal path around her urn.”
'T was a strange choice, with which I can't agree.
There is a lovely place I twice have seen;
A mountain's brow it is, whose scalp of green
Myriads there have made their dusty bed,
The place I speak of now is “PARNELL's KNOB ;”—
All-glorious is the sight! The dizzy hill