YEARS PASS.-Childhood has strengthened into boyhood and gambolled along into manhood. Old connexions are broken-parents are sleeping in their graves -new intimacies are formed-a new home is about him, new cares distract. He is abroad, struggling amid the business of life, or resting from it with those me a vist just before Christmas. Brother Tom has no doctors to fee, and that certainly is a great comfort. Bless my soul, how the time slips away! Past nine o'clock and no breakfast yet-wife messing with Dick, and getting the two girls and their three brothers ready for school. Nobody thinks of me, starving here all this time. What the plague has become of my news-whom he has chosen from his own generation. Time paper, I wonder? that young rascal Tom has carried it off, I dare say to read in the school when he ought to be poring over his books. He's a great torment, that boy. But no matter; there's a great deal of pleasure in married life, and if some vexations and troubles do come with its delights, grumbling won't take them away; nevertheless, brother Tom, I'm not very certain but that you have done quite as wisely as I, af ter all. HUMAN LIFE. OR, THE FIRST AND LAST MINUTE The following graphic and thought-inspiring picture of human life was published about a dozen years ago in the New England Galaxy. We know not the author. MINUTES PASS.-The anxious husband paces slowly across his study. He is a father a man-child is born unto him. Minutes pass-the child has been blessed by a parent, whom I cannot recognize, and pressed to that bosom, to which instinct alone guides for sustenance-the young wife too has faintly answered to a husband's questions, and felt his warm kiss on her forehead. HOURS PASS.-The low moanings from the closely covered cradle, tell of the first wants of its infant occupant. The quiet tread of the nurse speaks of suffering around her; while her glad countenance says that the very suffering which she is trying to alleviate, is a source of joy; and the nameless articles, which from time to time she arranges on the hearth, tell of a new claimant for the courtesies and attentions of those who have progressed further on the pathway of existence. DAYS PASS.-Visitors are thronging the chamber, and the mother, pale and interesting after her recent sickness, is receiving their congratulations, and listening proudly to their praises of the little treasure, which lies asleep in its rocking bed at her feet. The scene shifts, and the father is there with her alone, as the twilight deepens about them, while they are planning the future destiny of their child. WEEKS PASS.-The eyes of the young mother are sparkling with health, and the rose blooms again on her cheek, and the cares of pleasure and home engage her attention, and the father is once more mingling with the world; yet they find many opportunities each day to visit the young inheritor of life; to watch over his dreamless slumber-to trace each other's looks in his countenance, and to ponder upon the felicity, of which he is the bearer to them. MONTHS PASS.-The cradle is deserted. But the chamber floor is strewed with play things, and there is a little one loitering among them whose half lisped words, and hearty laugh, and sunny countenance tell you, that the entrance into life is over a pathway of flowers. The cradle is empty, but the last prayer of the parent is uttered over the small crib, which stands by their own bedside, and their latest attention is given to the peaceful breathings of its occupant. is beginning to wrinkle his forehead, and thought has robbed his looks of their gaiety, and study has dimmed his eyes. Those who began life, after he had grown up, are fast crowding him out of it, and there are many claimants upon his industry and love for protection and support. YEARS PASS.-His own children have become men, and are quitting him, as he also quitted the home of his fathers. His steps have lost their elasticity-his hand has become familiar with the cane, to which he is obliged to trust in his walks. He has left the bustle which fatigued him. He looks anxiously in each day's paper among the deaths-and then ponders over the names of an old friend, and tries to persuade himself, that he is younger, and stronger, and has a better hold upon life than any of his contemporaries. MONTHS PASS.-He gradually diminishes the circle of his activity. He dislikes to go abroad where he finds so many new faces: and he grieves to meet his former companions, after a short absence, they seem to have grown so old and infirm. Quiet enjoyments only are relished, a little conversation about old times-a sober form for him the sum total of his pleasures. game at whist-a religious treaties, and his early bed, WEEKS PASS.-Infirmity keeps him in his chamber. His walks are limited to the small space between his easy chair and his bed. His swollen limbs are wrapped in flannels. His sight is failing-his ears refuse their duty, and his cup is but half filled, since otherwise, his shaking hand cannot carry it to his shrunk His powers are lips without spilling its contents. weakened-his faculties blunted-his strength is lost. DAYS PASS.-The old man does not leave his bedhis memory is failing-he talks but cannot be understood-he asks questions, but they relate to the transactions of a former generation-he speaks of occurrences, but the recollection of no one around him can go back to their scenes-he seems to commune with comrades, but when he names them, it is found that the waters of time and oblivion have long covered their tombs. HOURS PASS.-The taper grows dimmer and dimmer the machinery moves yet more and more slowly-the sands are fewer as they measure the allotted span. The motion of those about him is unheeded, or becomes a vexation. Each fresh inquiry after his health is a knell. The springs of life can no longer force on its wheels-the "silver chord" is fast untwisting—the pitcher is broken at the fountain-and time, "is a burden." His children are about him, but he heeds them not-his friends are near, but he does not recognize them. The circle is completed. The course is runand utter weakness brings the damp, which ushers in the night of death. MINUTES PASS.-His breathing grows softer and lower-his pulse beats fainter and feebler. Those around him are listening, but cannot tell when they cease. The embers are burnt out-and the blaze flashes not before it expires. His "three-score years and ten" are numbered. Human life "is finished." JOSIAH. We know not the author of the following exceedingly clever Yankee sketch, or we should be happy to give him due credit. JOSIAH, HIS TURKEYS AND HIS SWEETHEART. HAVE you ever been in Windsor, Vermont? If so, you have heard of Josiah Baker. Indeed you may have heard of him even though you have not been in the state of Vermont; for he is well known in Boston as the greatest dealer in poultry in all New England. About thanksgiving time, you may see in all parts of Boston, Josiah Baker's wagons, literally crammed with turkey's, geese, chickens and ducks, together with pumpkins and squashes, and all manner of thanksgiving sauce. 'Twas thought by some, if Josiah should die without an heir to inherit his virtues and perpetuate the stock of poultry, that thanksgiving would have to be abolished altogether in that region; for, as to being thankful upon an empty stomach, it could not in the nature of things be expected. In fact, they tried it on one occasion. Josiah did'nt die, to be sure, but 'twas just as bad for the time being, as you shall see. Contrary to all usages, and probably for the sake of doing something wherewith to distinguish himself, the Governor of Massachusetts appointed thanksgiving on the same day which had been set apart for that purpose in Vermont, Now no real Yankee will ever absent himself from his kindred on thanksgiving day, not even for gain; and Josiah, though a bachelor was in the habit of having all his blood relations to make merry with him on that occasion: and you know that the habits of an old bachelor are not easily broken in upon. Besides, his worthy sister Hester, would have felt herself scandalized indeed, if she were denied the privilege of bustling and scolding, and storming about as usual, in the hurry of preparation for this joyous festival. Not that she was ill-natured, or given to scolding under ordinary circumstances-far from it; but there is a time for every thing. Then Josiah's numerous relatives, (and you've no idea, unless you've been there, how humerous one's relatives are in that part of the country,) who were always expected to partake of the luxuries of his farm yard, and to devour with an appetite which fortunately returns but once a year. Miss Hester's puddings, pies, tarts, &c. would have felt any thing but thankful if Josiah had gone to Boston, instead of keeping thanksgiving at home. But he had no idea of such a thing. He could as well afford to keep his turkeys as the Boston folks could do without 'em, aud he'd teach Governor Lincoln to appoint the same day as the Governor of Vermont. So Josiah kept thanksgiving, as in time past, though his heart was not as light as usual, for he pitied the Boston folks, and could not help saying now and then, as he cut a splice of turkey; "Governor Lincoln ought to have known better." But there was this drawback upon his happiness, it was a trifle compared wtih the consternation of the Boston people. His old customers who had for fifteen or twenty years relied upon him for supplies, and had never once been disappointed, could not believe he would fail to appear now, and even the day preceeding thanksgiving, refused to purchase of others under the full conviction that he would come, though it was at the eleventh hour. But, alas he came not; and for the first time in their lives, and I hope the last, many of 31 the good citizens were obliged to forego the luxury of a roast turkey, and dine upon roast beef; and, instead of being thankful, they did nothing but eat and drink, and grumble. But there is no calamity, however great, from which good may not be extracted. This unhappy event led the good people to reflect upon what might be the consequence if Josiah should be removed by death, leaving no issue to keep up the stock of turkeys; and as life is uncertain, even in Vermont, they sat about devising means of averting so serious an evil. Accordingly, Josiah began to receive letters advising him to marry; disinterestedly pointing out to him the cheerlessness of his present mode of life; and hinting also that if he should die childless, thanksgiving would be broken up. Now the subject of matrimony had never entered Josiah's head. His maiden sister attended to his house-darned his stockings for Sunday-washed his neck and ears for him of a Saturday night-and combed his hair in more ways than one. In short he could'nt see what more a woman could do, However, the subject had got into his mind, and it was not easy to get it out again. It was con. stantly before him. He could not even sleep in meeting, but was constantly looking about, and observing how nice and chirk the young women looked. Finally he concluded to open his mind to his sister and ask her advice. After weighing the matter, thoroughly and mourning over the prospect of laying down the sceptre, she advised him (with magnanimity which none but a sister could exhibit) to comply with the suggestions of his friends-and Mary stated that she was willing to resign her authority to another for the sake of promoting his happiness, but in order to secure the latter, she must make the match herself, at least so far as to point out a proper person for him to court. This was a great relief to him, but he would have been better pleased if she could have settled the whole matter. For he had a great horror of encountering one of the sex face to face, having never been in company with any one but his own relations. However, his sister who was in the habit of gossipping in the intermission with all the women that came to meeting, soon made choice of a wife for her brother, in the person of Sally Jepson, who lived but a couple of miles from his farm yard. She was (as she told Josiah) of a rugged make, thick set, wholesome looking and as smart as a steel trap. So it was agreed upon that on Sunday night, Josiah should commence his courtship. Accordingly, after supper he mounted his horse, and started with much fear and trembling for Squire Jepson's. He rode very slow, that he might con over what he should say to Sally; but after thinking over many forms of speech, he arrived at the house quite at a loss how to open his heart. Having tied his horse to a fence, he thought he would reconnoitre the premises before going in; but although there was a light in the sitting room, the paper curtains were drawn, and nothing could be discovered. After walking round the house two or three times, and going as often to the fence to see if his horse was tied securely, he finally made a desperate effort, went to the well and took a drink from the bucket, and then gave a rap on the door. "Walk in," bawled the Squire. After fumbling some time, he finally raised the latch, and entered. "Why, Josiah Baker!" exclaimed the Squire. Why, Mr. Baker!" echoed his wife-" is that you? Set to the fire." Sally said nothing, but smoothed down her vandyke, laid her hands in her lap, and look "( ed in the fire. The three youngest children who were sitting on the hearth commenced whispering together respecting the object of the visit, for being Sunday night they suspected he had come a sparking. Silence continued for some minutes, till the children could contain themselves no longer, but snickered out a laughing. "Now pick up your legs and go to bed for your manners," said the Squire, the dame at the same time giving them a slap that helped them on their way considerably. After the confusion arising from this sudden movement had subsided the dame asked, "how is Miss Hester, Mr. Baker?" Now, though the sudden departure of the old folks had relieved Josiah from one dilemma, it left him in a worse one; for he was alone with Sally without a single idea in his head, and his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth, which was as dry as a powder horn. "I believe my horse is a little uneasy," said he, after a silence of several minutes; and he jumped up and went out to the fence, and walked round a little, took another drink from the well, and then rushed into the house, determined to make a bold push, and broach the subject at once. So he drew is chair up near Sally and addressed her. "Miss Sally!--darnation!" "What do you say, Mr. Baker?" "Darnation!" "Oh! I thought you spoke to me." "What do you think of getting married, Miss Sally ?" "Did you speak to me, Mr. Baker?" "Sartingly I did-there's nobody else to speak to as I see," said Josiah, looking round the room. Sally now began to color up, her throat swelled, and she reminded Josiah of one of his turkeys, and thus furnished him with a tonic for conversation. "Miss Sally do you love Turkey ?" "Yes." "So do I," said Josiah. "Which do you like the best on it, apple sauce or cramberry?" "Cramberry!" "So do I," said Josiah. "Which do you think the sweetest, Sally, honey or maple sugar?" "Honey." "Thunder!-we're are near a like as two pumpkins. Now Sally, I'll tell you what's the sweetest thing in natur-it's you." "Now be still Mr. Baker; for mother says praise to the face is open disgrace." He now drew his chair close to her's, for as he told his sister afterward, he began to get his pluck up. "Sally," says he, what's the sign when any body treads on your toe?" "It's a sign they love you. Oh! Mr. Baker you've smashed my foot to pieces!" Upon this he threw his arm round her neck, and gave her such a smack as Sally Jones got when old Mrs. Jones thought her bottle of emptins had burst. "What's the matter my dear?" said the Squire, who was awakened out of a sound sleep by his wife jumping in bed. "Nothing," said she, "only I heard a great crackling just now, I thought at first 'twas your shootin' gun goin' off; but I guess it's only the frost comin' out of the ground." At the mention of his gun the Squire got out of bed, and opened the door into the sitting room, "Sally are you up? what noise was that?" "'Twas 'twas: I just shut the front door! that's all the noise I heerd." "Well, you'd better put the nail over the latch and go to bed." The next morning the old lady gave Sally a severe scolding for slamming the door so hard, when people were asleep. That interesting interview, and above all that parting kiss, was more than Sally Jepson could stand, unmoved-and on the next Sunday when she went to church and got a sly wink and a nod from Josiah, for her life she could'nt tell whether she had a heart left among her goods and chattles, although she tried all meeting time to decide the doubt. Josiah repeated the kiss on that very evening, and performed more, for he popped the alternative, and had the satisfaction to see Sally blush-an infallable symptom that his question had gone straightway to her heart, and caused it to flood her cheeks. The parson soon blessed the happy twain, and they became one flesh-very much to the delight of all lovers of thanksgiving dainties-who in that union foresaw a perpetuation of Josiah's incomparable breed of turkeys, as well as some other things. FASHION-A POEM! What's fashionable, I'll maintain, |