Sykes, regardless of my admonitions, resolved on following my steps, and was actually peeping over my shoulder at the moment the Deacon's hand came in contact with the widow Dobble's. It was truly fortunate for all concerned that a distinguished member of the faculty was near at this dreadful crisis. In ordinary hands nothing could have prevented a quietus. Their spirits were taking wing, and it was only by extraordinary skill that I effected what lawyer Snoodles said was a complete 'stoppage _in transitu_.' I regret to state that this was my last visit to Deacon Sykes's. Unmindful of my services in resuscitating Mrs. Sykes, he remarked that my neglect to prepare him for the exceeding joy that was in store, had so far shattered his nervous system that his usefulness was over; and in fine, had built up between us a wall of separation not to be broken down. I always opined, however, and of this opinion was Mrs. Tonic, that the Deacon's coldness arose in part from an incipient warmth for Mrs. Dobble, which was thus checked in its first stages. It was even hinted that on her departure, which took place immediately, he manifested less of resignation than at the burial of Mrs. Sykes. The coldness of the widow Dobble towards me, certainly unmerited, was also no less apparent, till I brought about what I had much at heart, viz: a match between her and Major Popkin. He was a discreet, forehanded man, a Representative to our General Court, and kept the Variety Store in that part of our town that was named in honor of him, 'Popkins's Corner.'[3] FOOTNOTE: [3] From the papers of Dr. Tonic, recently brought to light. OLD AND YOUNG. By James Furbish. Give me ripe fruit with the green-- Fresh leaves mingling with the sear; As in tropic climes are seen Blending through the deathless year. I am alarmed at the changes which are taking place in society. While many are lauding the _spirit of the age_ and holding up to my gaze the picture of forth-coming improvements--opening broad and charming vistas into the almost _present future_ of mental and moral perfection, I cannot help casting a lingering look upon the past. Time was when old age and infancy, manhood and youth, walked the path of life together; when the strength of young limbs aided the feebleness of the old, and the joyousness of youth enlivened the gravity of age. But the son has now left the father to totter on alone, and the daughter has outstripped the mother in the race. Beauty and strength have separated from decrepitude and weakness. The vine has uncoiled from its natural support, and the ivy has ceased to entwine the oak.