Through the quivering foliage Falls a sudden fear! Leaves are rustling, trembling-- Feel _change_ drawing near! Brighter then they robe them, Call on every hue, Color every fibre-- Love to win anew. Summon gold and crimson, Bright as dyed in blood; Hectic fever flushes Pour in anguished flood! Gone the healthful quiet Of the summer green; Hope-birds turn to ravens, Sighs the leafy screen. Love looks down in anger On the wildering show; Freezing follows change-frost-- Love heaps ice and snow! Then the fevered radiance Fades from life's doomed tree; Wilted, withered, drifting, Bud, bloom, leaves we see. Love looks down upon them, Wonders how it came-- Thinks through all his changing They should bloom the same: Did not know his change-frost Had the power to kill; Did not deem his frowning Life's quick pulse could still! Gone the fickle sunshine! Gone the rosy hours! Gone love's early wooing! Gone the healthful powers! Come and cool the hectic, Chill the fevered glow, Pale the crimson flushing, Death, beneath thy snow! ACROSS MAINE IN MID-WINTER. A journey by stage coach in these days, when railroads are fast penetrating to the remotest corners of our country, has already become a somewhat novel experience. In the course of comparatively few years, even the 'air line' will have given place to an international railway, connecting us immediately with New Brunswick, and the stage coaches of this region will be among the reminiscences of the past. The circumstances under which this journey of mine was performed were most painful. Still, through that remarkable power of the human mind, which seems to act independently of volition, that mysterious duality of being which observes, discriminates, and remembers, while at the same time preoccupied by an overwhelming grief, I was enabled to note each little incident with more than usual intensity. Was it that they stood out in bolder, more sharply cut relief, because of the dark background of emotion behind? There had been little, if any, snow on the island all the winter, and the morning of the 26th of January was bright and mild as April. Indeed, it was difficult to imagine it winter. 'Come, Fred,' said I to my second little boy, 'We must take a walk to the batteries this fine morning.'