She spoke to me of girlhood’s days, When we had hopes unmixed with fears, Ere we had learned the world’s cold ways, And smiles were ours undimmed by tears; When life seemed like a long, bright dream, Our spirits buoyant as the air, And looking o’er life’s gentle stream, Thought not that rocks lay hidden there; While onward, onward lightly sped Our little barks adown the river, Trusting the sunbeams overhead Would keep the waters bright forever. She talked with me of riper years, When time less lightly speeded by, And, seen through nature’s flowing tears, The rainbow spanned a clouded sky; Some of our brightest dreams had flown, And that strange lyre, the human heart, Awoke a deeper, sadder tone, That things so lovely should depart; And while we could not stay the tear, To think those cloudless days were o’er, A sad voice whispered in our ear, They’ll come no more—they’ll come no more! They’ll come no more, oh, sister mine, Those sunny hours that we have known, But shall we murmur, or repine, So many blessings still our own? True, clouds have gathered on our way, Deep shadows round about us lie, But waiting for a brighter day, Upward we’ll look with steadfast eye; And as we linger round the tomb Of one whom our warm hearts held dear, Sweet voices will dispel the gloom— She is not here—she is not here! * * * * * THE LIFE INSURANCE. BY HENRY G. LEE. “You look sober this morning,” said I to my neighbor Lincoln one day. “What’s the matter? Any thing wrong?” “No; I can’t exactly say that,” he replied, with unusual gravity. “You look as if you were under a mountain of trouble.” “Do I?” And he made an attempt to laugh; but it was not entirely successful. “I’m only a little worried just now; but it will pass off,” he added. “I get into these states sometimes—periodically, I might say.” “Ah, I understand. Imaginary troubles.” “Oh no,” he quickly replied. “Not just that. There is something like real flesh and blood about the matter. The fact is, to come out plain, Mrs. Lincoln, in her over-kindness, has presented me with another baby.” “And you are so unreasonable as to grumble about it! You don’t deserve to have blessings.” “There is such a thing as being blessed to death, you know,” said Mr. Lincoln, smiling; but the smile was still, as they say, on the wrong side of his mouth. “Five babies were enough, in all conscience, without adding a sixth. It was as much as I could do to get bread for what I had.” “He who sends the mouths will send the bread. Never fear for that.”