And nodding heads of columbine!

And let the ruddock build his nest
Just above my true love's breast!--
The ruddock he shall build his nest
Just above thy true love's breast!

And warble his sweet wintry song
O'er our dwelling all day long!
And he shall warble his sweet song
O'er your dwelling all day long.

Now, tender friends, my garments take,
And lay me out for Jesus' sake!
And we will now thy garments take,
And lay thee out for Jesus' sake!

And lay me by my true love's side,
That I may be a faithful bride!--
We'll lay thee by thy true love's side,
That thou may'st be a faithful bride!"

Ay--ay--thou too art gone, WILLIAM STANLEY ROSCOE! What years have flown
since we walked among the "alleys green" of Allerton with thee and thy
illustrious father! and who ever conversed with him for a few hours in
and about his own home--where the stream of life flowed on so full and
clear--without carrying away impressions that never seemed to be
remembrances--so vivid have they remained amidst the obscurations and
obliterations of Time, that sweeps with his wings all that lies on the
surface, but has no power to disturb, much less destroy, the record
printed on the heart.

We are all of us getting old--or older; nor would we, for our own
part--if we could--renew our youth. Methinks the river of life is nobler
as it nears the sea. The young are dancing in their skiffs on the
pellucid shallows near the source on the Sacred Mountains of the Golden
East. They whose lot it is to be in their prime, are dropping down the
longer and wider reaches, that seem wheeling by with their sylvan
amphitheatres, as if the beauty were moving morn-wards, while the
voyagers are stationary among the shadows, or slowly descending the
stream to meet the meridian day. Many forget

"The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below,"

and are lost in the roaring whirlpool. Under Providence, we see
ourselves on the river expanded into a sea-like lake, or arm of the sea;
and for all our soul has escaped and suffered, we look up to the stars
in gratitude--and down to the stars--for the water too is full of stars
as well as the sky--faint and dim indeed--but blended by the pervading
spirit of beauty, with the brighter and bolder luminaries reposing on
infinitude.

OUR WINTER QUARTERS.

BUCHANAN LODGE--for a few months--farewell! 'Tis the Twelfth of
Nov