Christmas.–Grandfather and Grandmother do not care much about making Christmas presents. They say, when they were young no one observed Christmas or New Years, but they always kept Thanksgiving day. Our cousins, the Fields and Carrs, gave us several presents and Uncle Edward sent us a basket full from New York by express. Aunt Ann gave me one of the Lucy books and a Franconia story book and to Anna, “The Child’s Book on Repentance.” When Anna saw the title, she whispered to me and said if she had done anything she was sorry for she was willing to be forgiven. I am afraid she will never read hers but I will lend her mine. Miss Lucy Ellen Guernsey, of Rochester, gave me “Christmas Earnings” and wrote in it, “Carrie C. Richards with the love of the author.” I think that is very nice. Anna and I were chattering like two magpies to-day, and a man came in to talk to Grandfather on business. He told us in an undertone that children should be seen and not heard. After he had gone I saw Anna watching him a long time till he was only a speck in the distance and I asked her what she was doing. She said she was doing it because it was a sign if you watched persons out of sight you would never see them again. She does not seem to have a very forgiving spirit, but you can’t always tell.
Mr William Wood, the venerable philanthropist of whom Canandaigua has been justly proud for many years, is dead. I have preserved this poem, written by Mrs George Willson in his honour:
“Mr EDITOR–The following lines were written by a lady of this village, and have been heretofore published, but on reading in your last paper the interesting extract relating to the late William Wood, Esq., it was suggested that they be again published, not only for their merit, but also to keep alive the memory of one who has done so much to ornament our village.–H.”
When first on this stage of existence we come
Blind, deaf, puny, helpless, but not, alas, dumb,
What can please us, and soothe us, and make us sleep good?
To be rocked in a cradle;–and cradles are wood.
When older we grow, and we enter the schools
Where masters break rulers o’er boys who break rules,
What can curb and restrain and make laws understood
But the birch-twig and ferule?–and both are of wood.
When old age–second childhood, takes vigor away,
And we totter along toward our home in the clay,
What can aid us to stand as in manhood we stood
But our tried, trusty staff?–and the staff is of wood.
And when from this stage of existence we go,
And death drops the curtain on all scenes below,
In our coff1ns we rest, while for worms we are food,
And our last sleeping place, like our first, is of wood.
Then honor to wood ! fresh and strong may it grow,
‘Though winter has silvered its summit with snow;
Embowered in its shade long our village has stood;
She’d scarce be Canandaigua if stripped of her Wood.
Stanza added after the death of Mr Wood
The sad time is come; she is stript of her Wood,
‘Though the trees that he planted still stand where they stood,
Still with storms they can wrestle with arms stout and brave;
Still they wave o’er our dwellings–they droop o’er his grave!
Alas ! that the life of the cherished and good
Is more frail and more brief than the trees of the wood!