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The pannelled monument with plinths, which we now come to, will suggest many reflections similar to those awakened by one already noticed. The Observer calls the object of it truly a young man of talents and great promise. The inscription reads thus: Edwin Buckingham. Boston Mechanics placed this Cenotaph here. Born, 1810; died, 1833. The sea his body, Heaven his spirit holds. The following lines, occasioned by the decease of Buckingham, and the authorship of which is ascribed to Mr. Sprague, appeared, not long after that event, in the New England Magazine, of which highly respectable publication he was a proprietor, as well as the editor of it, in connection with his father, for several years:--Spare him one little week, Almighty Power! Yield to his Father's house his dying hour; Once more, once more let them, who held him dear, But see his face, his faltering voice but hear; We know, alas! that he is marked for death, But let his Mother watch his parting breath: Oh! let h
ad that he has gone to his reward; Nor deem that kindly nature did him wrong, Softly to disengage the vital cord. When his weak hand grew palsied, and his eye Dark with the mists of age, it was his time to die.” On the death of a sister. Charles Sprague. I knew that we must part! day after day I saw the dread destroyer win his way. That hollow cough first rang the fatal knell, As on my ear its prophet-warning fell; Feeble and slow thy once light footstep grew, Thy wasting cheek put on deatn dying. Better teachers than I had instructed him in the way to meet his mother; and young as the little sufferer was, he had learned that all labors and hopes of happiness, short of Heaven, were profitless and vain. I see thee still. Charles Sprague. I see thee still! Remembrance, faithful to her trust, Calls thee in beauty from the dust; Thou comest in the morning light- Thou'rt with me through the gloomy night; In dreams I meet thee as of old; Then thy soft arms my neck enfold, And th