That sweet poet, J. G. Percival, who, not many years ago, lived and died at Hazel Green, Wisconsin, wrote:

Roses bloom, and then they wither.

Cheeks are bright, then fade and die,
Shapes of light are wafted hither,
Then, like visions, hurry by;
Quick as clouds at evening driven,
O'er the many-colored west,
Years are bearing us to Heaven,
Home of happiness and rest.

R. C.

ESTHERVILLE, IOWA, March 17, 1891.

My Dear Friend, Mr. Hildreth: Enclosed please find a little poem to the White Flower which I have written about to you. You would be surprised if you were to see it, it has been so well preserved ever since the summer of 1862. Just think! what a very long time ago, I regret that we do not know the name of the flower, it was so very large and beautiful. I believe that you purchased the bulb in Chicago for dear Mrs. Hildreth-she was so fond of flowers-and that no flower like it, before or since, has been known in Charles City. I thank you for writing that I had better retain the flower" myself, for there is a very sweet charm connected with it. Mrs. Hildreth brought it to me with her own angelic hand. It was a lovely circumstance, and that is why I have so carefully preserved it. When I was at your happy home many years ago I told Mrs. Hildreth that I had the flower and would bring it for her to see if I ever came again. We had a nice social visit then. but that next time" did not come! May we not yet meet in the realms of endless bliss?

Some writer has said "happy is the man who has that in his soul which acts upon the sorrowing and dejected as April acts upon the roots of violets. Gifts from the hand are silver and gold, but the heart gives that which neither silver nor gold

can buy. To be full of goodness, full of cheerfulness, full of sympathy, full of healthful hope, causes a man to carry blessings of which he is himself as unconscious as a lamp is of its own shining. Such a one moves in human life as stars move on dark seas to bewildered mariners." I hope. Mr. Hildreth, that you will enjoy reading my little poem, for it states just what occurred on that lovely sunny morning in 1862, and is both simple and truthful. MRS. G. G. R.

THE WHITE FLOWER.

A Memory of Mrs. A. B. F. Hildreth, of Charles City, Iowa.

BY MRS. G. G. REINIGER.

There are some points in social life
That never leave me, never will;
One bright occurrence with a friend,

That e'er will make sweet feelings thrill;
'Twas when we lived quite near, in view,
Plainly in sight,-kind neighbors true.

One busy morning I looked up,—

Saw a lady's hand within my door,
Handing to me a flower, like snow,

With a sweet smile, and nothing more,-
Then left me, with the blossom white,
A morning gift,-my sweet delight.

The circumstance was beautiful!
From a dear friend that morn;
I keep the faded blossom still,
Even in these years-forlorn,
It leads me back to happy days
When all was filled with love and praise.

A blessed type for later years,

When sorrowing shadows thickly rise,

To have a gentle, faithful friend,

Drop in, and sweetly sympathize;

I never can forget the hour,

Nor the kind hand that brought the flower.

Estherville, Iowa, Feb. 20, 1891.

PART FOURTH.

LITERARY SELECTIONS.

From the Lowell Literary Repository.

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW.
"Oh, not in heaven, but upon earth,
Are signs of change imprest;
The coming year will leave its mark
On human brow and breast."

The year eighteen hundred and forty has, by the tide of time, been swept into the ocean of oblivion. The new year, eighteen hundred and forty-one, has already commenced its progress down the same channel, following the course of its predecessor. How lately did we hear the salutation of "I wish you a happy new year;" and yet, since then, have passed Spring, Summer, Autumn; all are gone; and now another year has begun. The old year is gone- gone forever! To those who have improved it aright it will be a theme for congratulation and calm reflection; but they who have wasted it in prodigality and wickedness must reflect upon it with woe and deep regret.

Nor has time alone passed away. Our dearest relations and friends have also departed. The loved ones have gone down to the tomb, and our fondest hopes have been blasted.

"Affections, friendships, confidence, -
There's not a year hath died

But all these treasures of the heart
Lie with it side by side."

Yet, the beginning of a new year is usually hailed with joy, especially by the young, and we are disposed to pardon the hilarity and mirthfulness that we cannot but hope gladden every countenance of those between whom and ourself this publication forms a pleasant tie, provided they will now and then, in the midst of all, pause and reflect, scan the past, ask themselves what of the future, and form strong and enduring resolves in the present. With this we wish them, one and all, a very Happy New Year.

From the Lowell Literary Souvenir.

THE HUSBAND'S FAREWELL.

BY A. B. F. HILDRETH.

Oh, sad is the hour when companions must part,-
When husband and wife drop the affectionate tear,-
And fancy alone must recall in the heart

The whispers of friendship so oft on the ear;
When lips cannot utter the anguish they'd tell,
The heart feels so keenly the husband's farewell.

Though trials and troubles in absence arise,

And sink their keen shafts in the breast e'er so deep;
Though clouds of deep sorrow o'ershadow the eyes,
Now lovely and gentle as infancy's sleep;

Yet rays of bright hope each dark cloud shall dispel
And wake the kind thoughts of the husband's farewell.

Far, far be the day ere the throb of that heart
Will cease its emotion for friendship so true;
And ere a kind wish from that soul shall depart,
She bid to this life and its changes adieu;
Oh, long may the joy in that bosom still dwell,
As friendship revives the fond husband's farewell.

January 1841.

From the Lowell Literary Souvenir.

INCONSTANCY PUNISHED.

A SKETCH OF REAL LIFE, BY A. B. F. HILDRETH.

It was on a beautiful Sabbath morning in the month of May, 18, that Eliza Stanwood and David Montague set out for a ramble across the meadows and pastures, and through the groves, to inhale the sweetly perfumed morning air, and view and admire the beauty and glory of the surrounding landscape scenery. Lovely indeed was the face of nature on that holy and happy morning. The fruit trees were in full blossom-every wild plant and shrub unfolded its fresh petals to the life-giving rays of the morning sun, and the whole atmosphere was perfumed with the odoriferousness of the vegetable kingdom. The forests were resounding with the merry notes of the feathered songsters, apparently poured forth in adoration and praise of Him who had so recently caused the sun to send forth his cheering rays upon the dewy earth, animating and invigorating the whole face of nature.

Oh! how will communion with the fields, the air, the sky, expand the intellect and ennoble the sentiments of the heart of that individual who has a soul alive to the sublimity, and grandeur, and beauty of nature's proud scenery. To look upon the boundless sky; to breathe the pure air-and to see the gems of loveliness and beauty starting from the embryo of nature, and not feel our breast expand with gratitude toward that Power who is all goodness, purity and love, bespeaks a heart callous to the nobler attributes of man's nature; base, groveling, and scarcely above the beast that hails spring with joy only because it brings him greener and fresher herbage. To bow with the spirit's adoration to the Deity, and not to feel the kindling emotions of love and kindness toward the creatures that He has constituted like ourselves,