His most popular works are "The Reveries of a
Bachelor," 1850, and "Dream Life," 1851. Besides these, he has written "My
Farm of Edgewood," "Wet Days at Edgewood," "Doctor Johns," a novel "Rural
Studies," and other works. He is a charming writer. In 1853 he was
appointed United States consul at Venice. In 1855 he settled on a farm
near New Haven, Conn., where he now resides. The following selection is
from "Dream Life."

1. Little does the boy know, as the tide of years drifts by, floating him
out insensibly from the harbor of his home, upon the great sea of
life,--what joys, what opportunities, what affections, are slipping from
him into the shades of that inexorable Past, where no man can go, save on
the wings of his dreams.

2. Little does he think, as he leans upon the lap of his mother, with his
eye turned to her, in some earnest pleading for a fancied pleasure of the
hour, or in some important story of his griefs, that such sharing of his
sorrows, and such sympathy with his wishes, he will find nowhere again.

3. Little does he imagine that the fond sister Nelly, ever thoughtful of
his pleasures, ever smiling away his griefs, will soon be beyond the reach
of either; and that the waves of the years which come rocking so gently
under him will soon toss her far away, upon the great swell of life.

4. But now, you are there. The fire light glimmers upon the walls of your
cherished home. The big chair of your father is drawn to its wonted corner
by the chimney side; his head, just touched with gray, lies back upon its
oaken top. Opposite sits your mother: her figure is thin, her look
cheerful, yet subdued;--her arm perhaps resting on your shoulder, as she
talks to you in tones of tender admonition, of the days that are to come.

5. The cat is purring on the hearth; the clock that ticked so plainly when
Charlie died is ticking on the mantel still. The great table in the middle
of the room, with its books and work, waits only for the lighting of the
evening lamp, to see a return to its stores of embroidery and of story.

6. Upon a little stand under the mirror, which catches now and then a
flicker of the fire light, and makes it play, as if in wanton, upon the
ceiling, lies that big book, reverenced of your New England parents--the
Family Bible. It is a ponderous, square volume, with heavy silver clasps,
that you have often pressed open for a look at its quaint, old pictures,
for a study of those prettily bordered pa