If by my childhood's humble home I chance to wander now, Or through the grove with brambles grown, Where cedars used to bow, In search of something that I loved-- Some little trifling thing To mind me of my early days, When life was in its spring,-- I find on every thing I see A something new and strange; Time's iron hand on them and me Hath plainly written--_Change_. My pulse beats slower than it did When childhood's glow was on My cheek, and colder, calmer now Doth life's red current run. The stars I gaz'd with rapture on, When youthful hopes were high, With sterner years have seem'd to change Their places in the sky. And moonlit nights are plenty now-- How few they used to be! When, with my little urchin crew, I shouted o'er the lea. I've sought the places where we play'd Our boyish "_hide and call_;" Alas! the tyrant Change has made A common stock of all-- And bartered for a place of graves That lea and all its bloom: O, how upon the walls I wept, To think of Change and Doom! The lovely lawn where roses grew, Is strewn with gravestones o'er; And half my little playmate crew Have slept to wake no more Till Change itself shall cease to be, And one successive scene Of stedfastness immutable Remain where Change hath been. It may sometimes make old men glad To see the young at play; But always doth my soul grow sad When thoughts of their decay Come rushing with the memories Of what my own hopes were-- When Hudson's waters and my youth Did mutual friendship share. MANUAL LABOR SCHOOLS. [Their importance as connected with Literary Institutions.(1)] [Footnote 1: This Address was delivered by the Rev. E. F. Stanton, before the "Literary Institute" of Hampden Sidney College, at its annual commencement in September last, and is now published, for the first time, at the request of the Institute.]