and design of the people of New England, but religion. And if any man among us make religion as twelve and the world as thirteen, let such a man know he hath neither the spirit of a true New-England man, nor yet of a sincere Christian." * * * * * THOREAU'S FLUTE. We, sighing, said, "Our Pan is dead; His pipe hands mute beside the river;-- Around it wistful sunbeams quiver, But Music's airy voice is fled. Spring mourns as for untimely frost; The bluebird chants a requiem; The willow-blossom waits for him;-- The Genius of the wood is lost." Then from the flute, untouched by hands, There came a low, harmonious breath: "For such as he there is no death;-- His life the eternal life commands; Above man's aims his nature rose: The wisdom of a just content Made one small spot a continent, And tuned to poetry Life's prose. "Haunting the hills, the stream, the wild, Swallow and aster, lake and pine, To him grew human or divine,-- Fit mates for this large-hearted child. Such homage Nature ne'er forgets, And yearly on the coverlid 'Neath which her darling lieth hid Will write his name in violets. "To him no vain regrets belong, Whose soul, that finer instrument, Gave to the world no poor lament, But wood-notes ever sweet and strong. O lonely friend! he still will be A potent presence, though unseen,-- Steadfast, sagacious, and serene: Seek not for him,--he is with thee." * * * * * MR. MARTIN'S DISAPPOINTMENTS. The circumstances of a first meeting so color long years of acquaintanceship, that, should these circumstances be comic in their nature, the intercourse which follows partakes much of the grotesque. Thus, perhaps, it is, that the misfortunes of Edward Martin, apart from the whimsical demeanor of the man himself, provoke in my memory a smile rather than a sigh. Some years ago, journeying on foot through Northern Connecticut, it became necessary for me to stop overnight at the quiet inn of Deacon S----. Sharon I had visited, fair as Berkshire, but less an old story; I had lingered about the twin lakes of Salisbury; I had carried away many sweet memories of Warramaug and its mountain; and I now found myself in the neighborhood of Gramley Bridge, eager for fresh water, clean towels, and the plenty of a country tea-table,--not averse to strawberry short-cake, or the snowy delights of cottage-cheese. It was rapidly growing dark, when, as I hurried on toward my cheerful welcome, a bend in the road brought me in sight of a figure that filled me with curiosity and amazement. "Was it a man? A devil infernal? An angel supernal?" Was it were-wolf spectral, or bear aboriginal? It lived and moved, and, as I cautiously neared the spot, I seemed to recognize a human being in the singular form,--stooping, squatting, and groping before me.