In Memoriam. - Mr. John A. Taintor,

Died at Hartford, on Saturday Evening, November 15th, 1862, aged 62 years.     A sense of loss is on us. One hath gone         Whose all-pervading energy doth leave     A void and silence 'mid the haunts of men         And desolation for the hearts that grieve     In his fair mansion, so bereft and lone,     Whence the inspiring smile, and cheering voice have flown.     Those too there are who eloquently speak         Of his firm friendship, not without a tear,     Of its strong power to undergird the weak         And hold the faltering feet in duty's sphere,     While in the cells of want, a broken trust     In bitterness laments, that he is of the dust.     In foreign climes, with patriotic eye         He sought what might his Country's welfare aid,     And the rich flocks of Spain, at his behest         Spread their proud fleeces o'er our verdant glade,     And Scotia's herds, as on their native shore     Our never-failing streams, and pastures rich explore.     Intent was he to adorn his own domain         With all the radiant charms that Flora brings,     There still, the green-house flowers pronounce his name,         The favor'd rose its grateful fragrance flings,     And in their faithful ranks to guard the scene     Like changeless memories rise, the unfading evergreen.     On friendly deeds intent, while on his way         A widow'd heart to cheer,--One grasp'd his hand     Whose icy touch the beating heart can stay,         And in a moment, at that stern command     Unwarn'd, yet not unready, he doth show     The great transition made, that waits on all below.     Yet, ah! the contrast,--when the form that pass'd         Forth from its gates, in full vitality,     Is homeward, as a lifeless burden borne,         No more to breathe kind word, or fond reply,     Each nameless care assume with earnest skill,     Nor the unspoken wish of those he loved fulfill.     But hallow'd lips within the sacred dome         Where he so long his sabbath-worship paid     Have given his soul to God from whence it came         And laid his head beneath the cypress shade,     While "be ye also ready," from his tomb,     In a Redeemer's voice, doth neutralize the gloom.