Thou lookest forward on the coming days, Shuddering to feel their shadow o’er thee creep; A path, thick-set with changes and decays, Slopes downward to the place of common sleep; And they who walked with thee in life’s first stage, Leave one by one thy side, and, waiting near, Thou seest the sad companions of thy age— Dull love of rest, and weariness and fear. Yet grieve thou not, nor think thy youth is gone, Nor deem that glorious season e’er could die. Thy pleasant youth, a little while withdrawn, Waits on the horizon of a brighter sky; Waits, like the morn, that folds her wing and hides, Till the slow stars bring back her dawning hour; Waits, like the vanished spring, that slumbering bides Her own sweet time to waken bud and flower. There shall he welcome thee, when thou shalt stand On his bright morning hills, with smiles more sweet Than when at first he took thee by the hand, Through the fair earth to lead thy tender feet. He shall bring back, but brighter, broader still, Life’s early glory to thine eyes again, Shall clothe thy spirit with new strength, and fill Thy leaping heart with warmer love than then. Hast thou not glimpses, in the twilight here, Of mountains where immortal morn prevails? Comes there not, through the silence, to thine ear A gentle murmur of the morning gales, That sweep the ambrosial groves of that bright shore, And thence the fragrance of its blossoms bear, And voices of the loved ones gone before, More musical in that celestial air? * * * * * SKETCH OF A CASE, OR A PHYSICIAN EXTRAORDINARY. BY THE AUTHOR OF “A NEW HOME,” ETC. Doctor R—— sat alone in his study when a lady was announced. “Mrs. Waldorf, sir,” and the doctor laid down his pen and received his visiter very cordially. She was the wife of a rich German merchant, and a distant cousin of his own; a handsome woman of about five and thirty, with sufficient repose of manner, but too spirited an eye to pass for a mere fashionable machine. “I have come to you, doctor, instead of sending for you,” began the lady, “because I do not wish Mr. Waldorf to know I have thought it necessary to consult you. He is so easily alarmed, that if he knew you had prescribed for me he would watch me so closely and insist so much upon my observance of your directions to the very letter, that I should have no peace.” The doctor smiled, as if he thought Mr. Waldorf would not be so far wrong as his lady might suppose. “But what is it, my dear madam?” he said, taking Mrs. Waldorf’s hand and giving a look of professional scrutiny to her face. “You look well, though there is a slight flaccidity about the eyes, and not quite so ruddy a nether lip as one might wish to see. What is it?”