In afïectionate remembrance of '7-i, who departed this lite Jan. lst, 1874. BY LIDBIE ELAM. Tliey have folded away in the robe of her birth, The year that gladdoned this beautiful earth, Aud'have tossed the dcad leaves in a wreath o'er the head Of the nged and pallid, Imt beautiful dead. The sky lamps are hung on the gathoring gloom, To light the cold path to the century's toinb, And the breezes that wafted its suramer-time cloud, Are laying the folds of its winter-weaved shroud. I saw a deep flush on its autumnal face, And I kuew that 't was dying like all of its race ; That its grape-blood was yieldeü, and grain garnered store, For the strength, and the pleasure of 74. Think not in thy past we're forgetful of thee, For dear is the page of '73, And oft will we turn, as the new years unfold, To the years that are past and the joys that are t'old.