What the effect of such an agreeable meeting was, none could say decidedly; but as they were afterward seen riding together several times in a very _exclusive_ looking vehicle; and as the doctor has never before been known to ride out with a lady alone, since he settled in the village, of course there were _rumors_ of a wedding to take place before the next gathering, and much commiseration wasted on the doctor in anticipation of his “extravagant wife.” But as the next New Year’s day found him still a bachelor, it yet affords matter for gossip and conjecture among the villagers whether the Dr. and Mrs. Citybred’s daughter will ever be married or not. Liberty, Pa. April, 1841. * * * * * TO AN OLD ROCK. BY G. G. FOSTER. Well! hands of friends have all been pressed— My mother’s kiss is on my cheek— My father’s hands and eyes have blessed His first-born—though he could not speak! And now I break the ties that bind Me to the last of my own kind. But yet, to thee, my old grey rock, I hasten as in days of yore; And memories sweet and pleasant flock In throngs around me, as I pour My last heart-gushes over thee, Friend of my wayward infancy! For oft ere yet my tongue expressed The wild emotions of my soul, And strange, proud feelings heaved my breast, Like tides beneath the moon’s control, I’ve wandered to this cool retreat, The Spirit of the place to meet. And often in the solemn night, While kissing winds slept on the lake Which murmurs at thy base, and light And starry music kept awake The thronging fires of thought within, I’ve stolen to thee an hour to win From all the carking care which rushed Over my untamed spirit’s mood, And leaned on thee, like infant hushed, And felt, as thus secure I stood, The god whose shrine was in my brain, Return to his old haunts again! And when the friends of youth grew cold, And loving eyes were turned away, And even Hope was growing old, And all my heart-flowers withered—aye, I turned to thee, my firm old rock, And learned, like thee, to bear the shock. But now, I go—Old Rock, farewell! And thou my tiny lake, adieu! Proud Hope my wandering steps impel O’er yonder mountain calm and blue. When fame is won and withered too, Old friends! I will return to you. * * * * * TO THE “BLUE-EYED LASSIE.” BY THE LATE J. G. BROOKS.[2] They tell me thine eyes are blue, lassie, They tell me thy cheek is fair. May grief never spoil its hue, lassie, Nor give its bloom to the air.