Part 36 (1/2)

I weep for the loss of a leader in thought, Whose lessons of truth, with simplicity taught, Have bless'd and encouraged the humble and poor, Who always were welcomed with joy at his door.

How happy the hours when we gathered around, To hear his solutions of problems profound; And bright through my mem'ry what pleasure returns When I think of his rendering of Byron and Burns.

The ”Sat.u.r.day Night,” and ”To Mary in Heaven,”

With true Scottish accent were touchingly given, And reckless ”Don Juan's” most comical plight,-- And pathos of ”Harold” he gave with delight.

The pages of Hebraic sages divine, Made vocal by him with new beauties did s.h.i.+ne; His choice conversation with children and men, Was often enriched with a song from his pen.

In public debate, whosoever arose, His well-grounded argument firm to oppose, Though sharp the contention, was forced to declare, That he was an honorable champion there.

And, those he offended, as everyone must, Whose thoughts are progressive, whose actions are just, With kindness he reasoned all errors to show, And made a staunch friend of a bickering foe.

He owned like a hero the penalty dread-- ”By the sweat of thy brow shalt thou earn thy bread,”

And his toil through summer, and mid-winter snows, Has made the wild wilderness bloom as the rose.

The choicest of fruits in profusion appeared, On trees that he planted, and vines that he reared; And few things delighted him more than to send, A rare little treat to an invalid friend.

He scorned false pretences and arrogant pride, The follies of fas.h.i.+on he loved to deride; But acknowledged true merit wherever 'twas shown, By a serf in his hut, or a king on his throne.

His faults be forgotten, we've all gone astray, Lord, show us in mercy, the straight, narrow way, Peace, peace to his ashes, and sweet be his rest, With angels of light, in the home of the blest.

SPRING.

Rosy morn is brightly breaking, Cheerful birds melodious sing, Earth with thankful songs awaking Hails with joy the merry Spring, Silver clouds in sunlight glowing Slowly float the azure dome, Tender flowers are sweetly blowing Round each cozy cottage home.

Dreary winter's icy fingers Have released the bending tree, Genial life reviving, lingers O'er the cold and sterile lea.

From the rocky, snow-clad mountains, Where the breath of sunny Spring Has unfettered m.u.f.fled fountains, Hear the songs of gladness ring.

In the morn of playful childhood, With dear friends 'mid sylvan bowers, O'er the fields and through the wildwood, Culling all the choicest flow'rs; Twining wreaths, each other crowning, Dew-drops bright for royal gems, Ne'er a thought of worldly frowning On the precious diadems.

Marched we on with true devotion, While the scenes of after years, Stirr'd the spirits deep emotion, With alternate hopes and fears.

While before us lay life's prizes, Dazzling in the sunlight gleam,-- How we gazed with sad surprises, When they vanished like a dream.

Many happy hearts grew weary, Rosy cheeks grew pale and white, Pleasant paths grew dark and dreary, Swept by storms of withering blight; How the changing years have fleeted, Strewing wrecks on either side, Cherished schemes have been defeated, And the cares of age abide.

But when cheery Spring advances, Crowned with gems of beauty rare, Pleasure like a fairy, dances O'er the landscape everywhere, And the tide of life flows higher, Gloom's dark curtains are withdrawn, And again youth's hidden fire, Thrills me as in life's fresh dawn.

JAMES McCAULEY.

James McCauley was born August 23, 1809, near Mechanics Valley, in Cecil county, and received his education in the log schoolhouse in that neighborhood known as Maffit's schoolhouse. He learned the trade of a cooper with his father John McCauley. After coming of age he taught school for a few years, and then commenced making thres.h.i.+ng machines and horse powers, doing the wood and iron work himself. In 1836 he removed to New Leeds, where he has since resided.