on the margin of those which his secretaries were to answer, and then returning into the inner cabinet carried with him such as he meant to write or dictate an answer to himself. Here he employed himself until nine o'clock. At ten the generals who were about his person attended. At eleven he mounted his horse and rode to the parade, when he reviewed and exercised his guards; and at the same hour, says Voltaire, all the colonels did the same throughout the provinces. He afterwards walked for some time in the garden with his generals. At one o'clock he sat down to dinner. He had no carver, but did the honors of the table like a private gentleman. His dinner-time did not much exceed an hour. He then retired into his private apartment, making low bows to his company. He remained in private till five o'clock, when his reader waited on him. His reading lasted about two hours, and this was succeeded by a concert upon the flute which lasted till nine. He supped at half-past nine with his favorite _literati_, and at twelve the king went to bed.--_Communication from David Vedder, in the Glasgow Citizen._ THE OLD MAN'S DEATH. A CHILD'S FIRST SIGHT OF SORROW. From "Recollections of our Neighborhood in the West."[6] BY ALICE CAREY. Change is the order of nature; the old makes way for the new; over the perished growth of last year brighten the blossoms of this. What changes are to be counted, even in a little noiseless life like mine! How many graves have grown green; how many locks have grown gray; how many, lately young, and strong in hope and courage, are faltering and fainting; how many hands that reached eagerly for the roses are drawn back bleeding and full of thorns; and, saddest of all, how many hearts are broken! I remember when I had no sad memory, when I first made room in my bosom for the consciousness of death. We have gained the world's cold wisdom now, We have learned to pause and fear; But where are the living founts whose flow Was a joy of heart to hear! I remember the twilight, as though it were yesterday--grey, and dim, and cold, for it was late in October, when the shadow first came over my heart, that no subsequent sunshine has ever swept entirely away. From the window of our cottage home, streamed a column of light, in which I sat stringing the red berries of the brier rose. I had heard of death, but regarded it only with that vague apprehension which I felt for the demons and witches that gather poison herbs under the new moon, in fairy forests, or strangle harmless travelers with wands of the willow, or with vines of the wild grape or ivy. I did not much like to think about them, and yet I felt safe from their influence.