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 OCCASIONAL AND OTHEK 
 
 POEMS, AND ESSAYS, 
 
 BY T. C. S. 
 
 Entered according to act of Congress, in the 
 year 1876, by T. C. Stewart, in the office of the 
 Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 
 
 T. H. and C. F. STEWART. 
 
 PASSAIC, N. J. 
 
 1876. 
 
 
/as-* 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 1 believe it was Lord Bacon, who said, "three 
 things are requisite to the making of a man," and 
 whether that noble philosopher was right or not, 
 niv readers are as competent to judge, as I am, but 
 while two of these, were with me, accomplished 
 facts, the third, namely, "to write a book," had nev- 
 er entered into my plans. Most of my writings, the 
 inspirations or offshoots of idle hours, have been 
 sent out as waifs upon the literary common, and I 
 have neither retained the originals, nor preserved 
 copies, but probably the best, if there is any choice, 
 are spread along these pages. 
 
 I am aware that a good preface, — usually written 
 by a friend, — helps to give currency; to a book, and 
 my first thought was to make it all preface, but I 
 have no such friend to call upon, and besides, have 
 a fancy for pet names. In digging the cellar for my 
 lion-e, as the workmen struck into the shale rock, a 
 stream of water gushed forth, at which I exclaimed 
 
cheshmeh, * imagining we had indeed pierced a 
 fountain. It proved to be one having only an occa- 
 sional flow, but in my delight I gave that name to 
 my residence, which in many happy respects, bears 
 fruit to the credit of its christening, and in sending 
 out this edition, I have not been confident of con- 
 tinuing to write, nevertheless, to provide for such a 
 possibility, I have resolved to send it forth, bearing 
 the same baptismal sobriquet. 
 
 * Persian word for Fountain. 
 Note. — An apology is due for typographical, and 
 other errors. 
 
Some of my older readers will remember the time 
 when it was no extraordinary thing to see on the 
 front of a store, in conspicuous letters, W. I (roods, 
 and they will also recall that these consisted mainly 
 of rum from St. Croix and Jamaica, and molasse- 
 from Porto Rico, and many eminently pious trades- 
 men furnished their customers with these liquids. 
 Sam Scranton had spent a cold December afternoon 
 at the village store and had imbibed freely of these 
 goods, and on his way home had collided with a 
 thorn bush, which well n'gh ruined his only pair of 
 pantaloons, and Betty, good natured hard-working 
 wife that she was, had rolled out her work table, 
 an inverted flour barrel, lighted the tallow candle. 
 threaded her needle, and giving Sam the warmest 
 corner by the fire to snooze in under bare poles had 
 
10 
 
 begun the work of renovation, when a tap at the 
 door aroused them. Who on earth can be coming 
 now? Betty opened the door. "Good evening El- 
 der Kneeland, walk right in." Sam was in a dilem- 
 ma, no time to be wasted and no retreat but at the 
 side do >r that opened on the icy margin of Tuckers 
 mill pond, and oat he bolted. Betty was in a flut- 
 ter, but the kind-hearted Elder naturally attributed 
 it to the fact of Ids visit, which was at least unusual 
 at such an hour, and after enquiring about the gen- 
 eral health of the family he sat at ease. I am not 
 aware if either Sam or Betty had ever been submer- 
 ged but their residence was on the brink of deep 
 watery and they attended on the Elder's ministra- 
 tions and therefore they might properly be said to 
 be nominal Baptists, and he had kindly spread over 
 them the mantle of his parochial regard. In that 
 early day those never-to-be-forgotten works of Hen- 
 ry Fielding Tobias Smollett and Laurence Sterne 
 I ad not pierced the pine forests of Voluntown, but 
 by some chance there had come, one copy each of 
 those fascinating tales, Dunallen and the Vicar of 
 Wakeield, and these had been loaned through the 
 town and passed from hand to hand among the fac- 
 tory girls until a considerable share of the grease of 
 the mills had been transferred to the leaves, and 
 
11 
 
 the charms of the narrations were on every tongue. 
 We were on the verge of a "revival," and that great 
 work could Dot be pushed on until these WOKKS OF 
 fiction were suppressed. Tint faithful preacher 
 always timed himself, whether at prayer or dis- 
 course, and taking outh's silver cased bull's eye he 
 laid it on his palm and begun to oscila'e.lris thumb 
 across the crystal, and having put on a demure look 
 he began : My dear Mrs. Scranfcon, I regret that 
 your husband is not present with us to night, as I 
 wish to call attention to an undermining influence 
 that is making rapid strides in our midst to the 
 great hindrance of our labors. I allude of c mrse 
 to these WOKKS OF FICTION. They divert the mind 
 from holier thoughts, encroach on the understand- 
 ing, and tend greatly to the breaking down of our 
 aims at higher aspirations. Will not you. Mrs- 
 Scranton, lend your influence in our endeavors to 
 check this great moral and social evil? Betty, now 
 listening to the learned preacher, and now thinking 
 of shivering Sam outside, was in that mental state 
 that lacks clear perception, and is as likely to bear 
 thought to the wrong, as the right goal, yet, noth- 
 ing daunted, the cauldron of her brain was boiling 
 to steam forth as soon as the elder should pause: 
 and that devout man by a sort of instinct, saw that- 
 
12 
 
 she was on the wrong tack, and seeing also that it 
 would be perilous to check her, lie settled back in 
 his seat with a wondering stare that so much elo- 
 quence could be evoked while the thread of dis- 
 course had gone through the eye of the wrong nee- 
 dle. All you say Elder Kneeland, is good and I a- 
 gree with every word of it: and oh how often I've 
 wished Ws3 had some of those good people of old 
 who went into the fields and sowed tares, but what 
 can I dew? All my life long and my mother be- 
 fore me, we've been obliged to tend to this work of 
 fixing, and it has just been fixing, fixing, fixing, till 
 T sometimes feel like saying with the old Scotch- 
 man's wife, u let old do gang to the de'il, and them 
 that won't work and get new ones may e'en go 
 bare." Sam wont work and the girls mus'nt go 
 ragged, and here I be. Would you believe it Elder 
 Kneeland, this very night, when I thought we was 
 all right for Christmas, home comes Sam, drunk ..s 
 usual, and right up here 1/ the Indian's oven he 
 blunders into the thorns, and now just look, and she 
 held the breeches up before him. "Why where is 
 your husband?'' eagerly asked the Elder. Betty 
 slightly winked, and by a twist of her hand made 
 her thumb to indicate the door, "with nothing but 
 his shirt and coat' 1 "In the cold, 11 exclaimed the 
 
13 
 
 parson: "I'll go directly, give him his trousers and 
 let him in at once." Sam, who had an ear at the 
 latch hole, shunted back , "You're right, Elder, give 
 me my britches; I don't care a d — n whether they're 
 fixed or not, I'm freezing." 
 
 They are gone, and their descendants are scatter- 
 ed, but wherever they are they have my best wish- 
 es for success in life and a happy immortality. The 
 good kind Elder embarked for the better land many 
 years ago: Betty struggled through many vicissi- 
 tudes, but her end was peaceful, every burden was 
 lifted at her sunset, and she was laid to rest in the 
 soil of the hillside where laurels grew. Sam survi- 
 ved her, but not long enough to loose his partial it y 
 for West India goods, nor his indifference to works 
 
 OF FICTION. 
 
14 
 
 MY PHOTOGRAPH. 
 
 To gratify a few fond friends, 
 For so my fancy sometimes tends, 
 
 I sat me down; 
 The skies were clear, no fault was there, 
 But streaks of gray were in my hair, 
 
 And such a frown, 
 Without a tint of modest grace, 
 Let loose its wrinkles o'er my face 
 
 And thus it drew, 
 1 have no wish to work disguise, 
 And so, a copy of the prize 
 
 I send to you. 
 Haply from sources paraphernal 
 We draw some features not external, 
 
 Somewhat t' atone, 
 But time is ever on the wing, 
 And even these to which we cling, 
 
 Are not our own. 
 The bird that spreads the gayest wings, 
 Is not the bird that sweetest sings, 
 
 Nor yet that soars 
 
15 
 
 To regions adding azznre hue, 
 But far beneath the ether blue 
 
 We meet by scores. 
 Enough for me, I'll ne'er complain 
 That I've no links in beauty's chain, 
 
 It is not deep; 
 The merest scratch below the skin, 
 Will show how very, very thin 
 
 Its currents sweep. 
 
16 
 
 LOOKING BACK. 
 
 How precious the garlands that cluster and shine, 
 
 How charming the vista appears, 
 When memory opens her bountiful mine, 
 
 Undimn'd by the twilight of year?. 
 
 Some lights and some shadows in mingled rosette, 
 
 Long faded but cherished as dear, 
 Some few that alas we would gladly forget, 
 
 And some perhaps costing a tear. 
 
 Some friendships that served as a lamp to our way 
 Whose smiles like the morning's bright beam, 
 
 Seemed e'en our night shadows to melt into day, 
 The sorrows of life to a dream. 
 
 Sweet memories, fadeless, but melowed by time, 
 
 W T ith rays like the iris of dawn. 
 Still dear to my heart as in moments of prime, 
 
 Bright treasures of years that arc gone. 
 
 come to me oft when my harp is in tune, 
 Your chrrms shall its murmurs prolong, 
 
 Nor frosts of December nor sunshine of June 
 Shall hinder the notes of my song. 
 
17 
 
 CHANGINB HUES, 
 
 The autumn tints are far and wide, 
 O'er shrub and bloom and leaves, 
 
 And fields that smiled in summers prid< 
 Now weep in golden sheaves. 
 
 Soon over vale and slope and steep, 
 
 Tn wild and angry roar, 
 The frozen drops and gales will sweep 
 
 Along the wintry shore. 
 
 E'en so life's autumn comes apace, 
 
 To spread o'er all we prize, 
 Its chill and wan and withering trace. 
 
 And thus our season flies. 
 
 Gently from out the beck ning sky, 
 
 In robes of beauty dress'd, 
 An angel spirit hovers nigh. 
 
 And bids us seek its rest. 
 
 they who walk by faith below, 
 Groping through darkness drear, 
 
 Sh 11 find fair Canaan greener grow, 
 Soon as its shores appear. 
 
18 
 
 TO A BAPTIST CLERGYMAN, 
 Who invited me to his Society's Tea Party. 
 
 I may not bathe in billows deep, 
 
 Yet prize the ocean's roar ; 
 My casket holds no rarer gems 
 
 Than sparkle near the shore. 
 
 I love the rock-bound mountain gush, 
 
 The pebbly brook through Kedron t s vales, 
 
 Where gentle maidens dip their feet, 
 And weary age regales. 
 
 Abana, Pharpar, Naaman's pride, 
 
 Euphrates, Job's grand watering pool, 
 
 And Jordan, lovely, sacred stream, 
 And Enon's springs so cool. 
 
 No wonder that great preacher, John, 
 
 Held his camp-meetings there, 
 By Jordan's banks and Enon's springs, 
 
 In fresh fanned mountain air. 
 
 And O the well, the dear old well, 
 
 Samaria's daughters show ; 
 Good father Jacob dug that well, 
 
 Four thousand years ago. 
 
19 
 
 If streams on earth are healing streams, 
 
 What must the fountain be, 
 From which that stream, that crystal stream, 
 
 Forever flows so free. 
 
 STRIKING OUT, 
 
 With hats just cok'd at tip-poise, 
 They heard their comrade say, 
 
 I'm off for England now boys, 
 My ship is in the bay. 
 
 So young, so gay, so true to, 
 His mother's darling pride, 
 
 I wondered if she knew to, 
 What dangers might betide. 
 
 But that's the order now days, 
 The rough highway to fame ; 
 
 Our boys must carve their own ways, 
 For glory or for shame. 
 
 And that's the way their paths lie, 
 
 At every turn a snare, 
 But He who hears the birds cry. 
 
 W T ill list a mother's prayer. 
 
20 
 
 when, Thou great Father, O when shall it be, 
 Life's sorrows behind and the jasper in view : 
 
 If not in Thy written word where may we see, 
 A guide for the journey we fain would pursue ? 
 
 We know there's a fountain, exhanstless and pure, 
 Around which the angels unceasingly sing; 
 
 And gladly would reach thro' the pathless obscure, 
 That home for the soul when the spirit takes wing. 
 
 We care not for mystical shadows and types, 
 Those faint revelations for ages gone by, 
 
 We ask not the martyrs who yielded to stripes, 
 To purchase their rest in the mansion on high. 
 
 We ask not the learned m ethical lore, 
 
 The wise and the simple alike may be blind ; 
 
 And nature, that opens a bountiful store, 
 Ts dim in its teachings to erring mankind. 
 
 But give us the volume that tells us so plain, 
 Of hope and salvation through grace that is free, 
 
 The life and the death of the Lamb that was slain, 
 His cross and the crown are sufficient for me. 
 
21 
 
 Unaided by creeds and unfettered by elans, 
 
 That chart for our faith, the free gift of His love. 
 
 Unerringly guides to the fountain that spans, 
 The measureless dome of the azznre above. 
 
 TO AN UNFORGOTTEN SHADE. 
 
 Yon hillock covered o'er with vines, 
 
 By far off Yantic streams, 
 Holds something that forever shines, 
 
 And comes to me in dreams. 
 
 I wonder if the old elm trees, 
 And larch and spruce are there, 
 
 As when upon the summer breeze, 
 They cast their perfumes rare. 
 
 I wonder if the crimson rose, 
 That blossomed all the year, 
 
 Still watches o'er the gem's repose 
 Or if 'tis in the sere. 
 
 Sweet spirit, pure in beauty's beams, 
 Once blithe and bright and cannie. 
 
 Still come to me in pleasant dreams. 
 My peerless darling, Annie. 
 
22 
 
 For Charlie to recite at School. 
 
 it was but a dream, and yet it would seem, 
 
 My heart was awake while my thoughts were in 
 dream. 
 
 1 dreamed that our Principal, not very old, 
 
 Turned gray, when he found he was left in the 
 cold. 
 
 i dreamed that a column of scholars and teachers, 
 Marched in like a troop of itinerant preachers, 
 
 Kach stoutly disclaiming intentional sin, 
 
 And wondering why there were none to chip in. 
 
 Now every one knows, or at least so they say, 
 ( )ld Santa retires at the breaking of day, 
 
 We saw him go by with his basket of stores, 
 
 From which he had poured them by dozens and 
 scores. 
 
 That mytliy old Saint is capricious we know, 
 And oft where he ought he refuses to go, 
 
 S >m3times lie will hit and sometimes he may miss, 
 1> it ho v could he make such a blunder as this ? 
 
23 
 
 How often the best of us fail though we try ? 
 
 How vain to lament when our chance has gone by. 
 How many are favored, yet how many more, 
 
 Go empty away from a bountiful store ? 
 
 O it was but a dream, not a sylable spoke ; 
 
 My heart was all right, for the moment I woke. 
 Away went my wish with the speed of a hound, 
 
 For teachers, and scholars, a Christmas all round. 
 
24 
 
 j|ttfftfisif..> 
 
 There is but one spot on the face of the earth, 
 Where sunrise is cloudless all seasons of year : 
 The home of our childhood, the place of our birth : 
 We bid that adieu and the gray clouds appear. 
 
 () sweet to look backward unfettered by gloom, 
 Vrtd wander, in fancy, oe'r scenes that we knew. 
 And catch from the hillsides the fragrance of bloom 
 As there it came freshly oozed out through the dew. 
 
 A charm beyond telling, so sweetly inclines. 
 Unheeding the years that have since intervened, 
 To link every garland that memory twines, 
 The bright ones unfolding, the darker all screened. 
 
 But tell me tell me, if ever was sheen, 
 All pure in its glow, like a maiden's first vow. 
 From skies of my childhood to manhood between, 
 As that which comes in at my casement just now. 
 
 The Palisade woo Hauls are panoplied over, 
 With silver and crimson and golden and bine. 
 An 1 there comes the day-orb as gay as a rover, 
 Refreshed by his slumbers, just wallowing through. 
 
23 
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 Surrounded by Gray Head3. 
 
 I would not, I could not presume to offend, 
 The joy and the pride of a long valued friend : 
 And so, if my minstrel refused to be still, 
 You'll surely forgive me. I know that you will. 
 
 A daisy in freshness amid autumn leaves, 
 A bud of the spring among ripening sheaves. 
 Right gladly lnv muse, on the morning's gay wing. 
 Flies off to thy easement one moment to sing. 
 
 Life laden with treasures from fountains and mines. 
 In beckoning sweetness unceasingly shines. 
 Yet what would life be, e'en its sunniest day. 
 If daisies were not sometimes twined with the gray 
 
 I looked at thy peach blossom faee in the throng. 
 And off went my heart to the fountain of song. 
 If haply to cull just a couplet or line, 
 A wreath to lay down at the foot of thy shrine. 
 
 God send thee his smile, every ill to atone, 
 With light streaming down from the radiant zone. 
 To guide thee and cheer thee aloof from all fears. 
 And crown thee with blessings in ripening years. 
 
Zo 
 
 
 Love stretched its wings to Albion's shore, 
 And saw tliee down the current glide ; 
 
 Love saw thee bend the taffrail o'er, 
 And drop a tear in Mersey's tide : 
 
 Then outward through the dancing foam, 
 On trusty keel and breezes fair, 
 
 One oniv thought, that distant home, 
 With all the sweets that cluster there. 
 
 Lo-.-e gently watched thee all the while, 
 Following close along thy track. 
 
 List list love's cheer and smile, 
 Welcome wanderer, welcome hack. 
 
 The journey o'er, the harbor won, 
 Thanks to the Master and the crew, 
 
 when this voyage of life is done, 
 So mav we lind our home in view. 
 
27 
 
 a dinar. 
 
 Fountain, pond, or running brook, and even the 
 puddle in the road. There is a fascination about 
 water, that greets pleasantly at every twirl of life's 
 stage. To me it was always a charm : not when 
 spread out to an ocean, for in that pool I have east 
 much that 1 have no wish to recall but in its small- 
 er reservoirs of joy. Near by our old homestead 
 was one of the loveliest of ponds, and its outlet was 
 an enchanting stream that swept along a deflection 
 of beautiful pebbles, through a cluster (if alders and 
 down the meadow, where it was lost in the parent 
 river. That current was the playfellow of my boy- 
 hood, and I have waded it until 1 verily believe my 
 feet have pressed every pebble in its bed. The 
 pond was an oblong basin which received the back 
 water from a mill-pond when the mill was not run- 
 ning, and consequently it rose and fell with the tide 
 of industry, and in these transitions dwelt mainly 
 its ever varying charms. On the rocks Tdv its mar- 
 
28 
 
 gin, lovers sat and wooed through summer evening 
 hours, it was a wading place for the boys, and we 
 claimed it as our swimming school. Was it to be 
 wondered at that the sound of merry voices there, 
 should ar>use an urchin like me? 
 
 It was a bright sunny afternoon as I sat on the 
 door yard fence waiting for something to turn up, 
 listening I heard a rasping sound from the mill, 
 Uncle Thaddy was filing his saw, and of course the 
 gates were do.vn and the water would so >n be Mow- 
 ing into the little bay ; a mxnent more, an 1 sounds 
 of merry mirth came over the alders, and shouts of 
 glea told plainly that fun was in its glory. I slid, 
 or rather tumbled from the fence and ran : louder 
 an 1 1 mder came the shouts, as faster and faster I 
 ran, but I did not understand them, and became 
 conscious only as, emerging from the alders [ stood 
 on the very brink of the pond. A dozen voices 
 were screeching, "I'll tell your mother of you as 
 s ire as I live, yo i awful wretch." I was innocent, 
 but dared not stop to prove it ; would gladly have 
 apologized, but it would not do to delay : and my 
 retre t ae eel e rated by appa i'ions of palm and birch 
 that haunted me. was as precipitate as my advance. 
 A single glance dispelled my illusion, and told the 
 story. 
 
29 
 
 The young ladies of the village had watched r.s 
 in our sports there, and no longer able to resist the 
 temptation to try again their own childhood's joy, 
 counting on immunity because of numbers, had 
 gone down, and leaving their shoes on the rocks 
 had waded in, accommodating their calico to the 
 rising of the waters, and were having a glorious 
 time, and the deeper they waded the louder they 
 yelled. 
 
 Whether the young ladies made good their threat 
 on me, I never knew, but think, perhaps they con- 
 cluded that the mishap had better not be to much 
 ventilated. 
 
30 
 
 IN THE OLDEN TIME. 
 
 They were straight forward happy people, those 
 early New Englanders, simple in their manners, in 
 their habits frugal, they opened their furrows with 
 prayer and east their seed with faith, their harvests 
 were gathered with cheer, and love was the eliptic 
 that lifted them lightly along their rocky roadways. 
 
 When 'Squire Boardman's son Hezekiah went o- 
 ver to make his first call on Mary Elizabeth, Deacon 
 Lester met him at the door and invited him in with- 
 out a suspicion of what his errand might be, but a 
 gentle nudge by Mrs. Lester, aroused him at once 
 to the dignity of the occasion. Mary had caught a 
 glimpse of Hezekiah as he crossed the meadow, 
 and had slipped a clean cloth on the table in the 
 cast room, had set back the trenchers and got out 
 their nice blue edged crockery, laid added a dish of 
 quince preserves to the apple sar.ee already ladled. 
 the butter was of her own churning, and the deacon 
 always provided the best of bohea. The smoking 
 shortcake and gingerbread were brought in and Mrs 
 Lester bad only to say, { 'bur tea is ready wont yon 
 walk out villi us."' Mary had on her new speckled 
 
81 
 
 calico frock and dimity vandyke, and Hezekiah his 
 bleached cotton shirt witli a cambric collar, (linen 
 was not then in general use,) and his hair was com- 
 bed faultlessly. "Bose" may have observed it, for 
 dogs have acute perceptions, but no human eye saw 
 those two pairs of knees weaken as they were gath- 
 ered under the damask. A blessing was invoked, 
 the repast went off pleasantly and the deacon went 
 to his "chores," while Mrs. Lester "cleared off the 
 tea things." Mary led her lover to the south parlor 
 where a. cheerful fire blazed on the recently scoured 
 brass andirons. It would not be fair to follow the 
 young couple there, nor even conjecture the pleas- 
 ant scene illumined by the glowing embers, those 
 who have passed through the ordeal, are perfectly 
 well aware that few occasions if any, are more try- 
 ing, (for both are trying.) than when a youthful pair 
 are inaugurating their courting career ; a little far- 
 ther on in the comedy, when they get face to face, 
 the scenes change wonderfully. 
 
 If I remember rightly, it was the custom in the 
 olden ti u\ to furnish for such interviews, a candle 
 of not more than a finger's length to indicate the 
 time for closing the conference, and if they went 
 over they must needs feel their way in the dark but 
 my belief is that in nine cases out of everv ten, in- 
 
82 
 
 stead of missing, they ultimately ream el the desir- 
 ed goal. 
 
 Every omen was favorable and it was proper they 
 should have a definite understanding and Hezekiah 
 "proposed." Mary Elizabeth blushed, brushed a 
 tear and hesitate 1, it was but for a moment, aril 
 only to devise a suitable manner for naming a stip- 
 ulation which she had determinjl to have ratified 
 in advance, and how she managed it I have never 
 been told, but true to her religious training and 
 vows, she ful HI led her promise and secured it, sim- 
 ply this ; in the event of offspring they should, like 
 themselves, bear scriptural names. 
 
 It was the happiest family I ever knew. They 
 were blest alternately, Moses and Naomi and Samu- 
 el and Ruth, and I have no doubt it was their pur- 
 pose to honor Boaz, and possibly the mother of 
 Zebedee's children, but these, like many other in- 
 teresting periodicals, were discontinued. 
 
33 
 
 This very same date, fifty 
 
 I think I was strangely benighted ; 
 
 Nor can I tell now though others may know, 
 What moment the candle was lighted. 
 
 A vague recollection of hurry and hustle, 
 And driving pell mell down the road, 
 
 And old mother Hutchinson's calico rustle. 
 As into the chamber she strode. 
 
 My vision was dim then not yet quite developed, 
 
 Or haply I more could recall, 
 But orders were issued and I was enveloped. 
 
 A parcel, remarkably small. 
 
 In looking back now I am somewhat dismayed. 
 
 To think how I hurried along, 
 For truly I wish the affair had delayed. 
 
 At least twenty years good and strong. 
 
 But so it came round, and I never enquired. 
 
 If others were suited or noY, 
 Just simply obeyed as the summons required. 
 
 And forthwith appeared on the spot 
 
34 
 
 Let time tell the story for good or for ill, 
 I court neither favor nor frown, 
 
 Unaided I've climbed to the top of the hill, 
 And may as well toddle on down. 
 
 TO A LADY ON HER WEDDING DAY. 
 
 They tell of a valley with beautiful streams, 
 Whose margins are covered with flowers, 
 
 Where true lovers wander by moonlight in dreams, 
 And feast on the fruits of its bowers. 
 
 The road to that valley is shaded from view, 
 With its windings no path can compare, 
 
 And the name of that valley no mortal e'er knew, 
 But longed for the gems which are there. 
 
 They say there are pleasures in endless supply, 
 
 And grottos and fountains and springs, 
 ( 'ould angels but know they would drop from the 
 
 sk y< 
 
 Forgetting they ever had wings. 
 
35 
 
 All this is ideal, Utopian, not true, 
 
 And often the picture the longing heart cloys. 
 And yet there's a valley delightful all through. 
 
 The nearer you view it the brighter its joys. 
 
 Its current flows on in a widening stream, 
 
 Its blossoms are fragrant in sunshine and shower, 
 
 Its treasures are sweet as the wildest day-dream. 
 Irs trellis is love and the heart is its bower. 
 
 In the bliss of the tie that unites to my friend. 
 
 God send thee purest that fancy allures, 
 And the prayer of my heart shall devoutly ascend, 
 
 That the sweets of both valleys may always be 
 yours. 
 
 Otttlf |ff»t[ff* 
 
 Dear wonder of my childhood, haunt of my 
 youth : there it stands, with its turtle form, its bleak 
 white granite summit and its shrub -oak chevaux-de 
 frise. It was in the shadow of its eastern sloi e, in 
 
36 
 
 the tangles of the wintergreen that raj first love 
 budded and the bios om has been perennial. The 
 cranberry bog and the meadows, the cedar swamp 
 and the trout brook, they are all there yet, and 
 hard by is the gargling spring, on the margin of 
 which stood the thatch, and beside it the scalene 
 garden of Simeon Stevens. Alas, the thatch is de- 
 cayed, the garden overgrown, and Simeon sleeps. 
 li was at the obsequies of his first-born I made my 
 debut a a funeia 1 Plow vividly do I remember 
 his words o' solace to the sharer o!.' his sorrows : 
 li Dont mourn, Chloe you'll have another." Grief 
 was not ostentatious, impudent, presuming, in those 
 days ; it was earnest but quiet. No tassels flaunt- 
 ed their hideous black plumes from the hearse top, 
 and no scarfs were paraded to decorate imaginary 
 mourners. The village carpenter was the sexton, 
 an 1 down the seam of his trousers, where the boys 
 now carry their revolvers, he stowed his two foot 
 r de, and he coidd measure for a casket with apre- 
 ciseness that wasted no lumber. 
 
 Near by, was the farm where we grew. The 
 smell of the pines and the fragrance of clover fields 
 ( ome to me vet, and the robin and blue bird are 
 singing there still. It is partly illusion, it is not 
 the same, it is changed. When I gazed it was with 
 
37 
 
 infancy's eves. The landscape is narrower than ray 
 remembrance and the rock crest scarce half so high 
 The spring gurgles on and the wintergreen berry is 
 scarlet as then, but the girl that dipped water and 
 picked at my side has passed to the skies. 
 
 O Youth, what a lexicon dazzling and bright. 
 AY hat visions enchanting envelop our sight ! 
 What dreams of the future, what bliss of to day, 
 How fondly alluring they glow on our way. 
 
 Age, what a chasm unmeasured and wide. 
 Save only by lapse, must forever divide, 
 'Twixt hopes that have dawned unfetter 1 d by fears, 
 And joys that have faded through ripening years. 
 
 Life, what a treasure if guided aright ! 
 How many still wander to darkness and blight ! 
 How much of our actual tends to decay ! 
 How distant fruition when false hopes betray ! 
 
 Time, what changes thy sickle reveals ! 
 
 How oft obtrude scars where thine influence heals ! 
 
 Away with this real, give me in its stead. 
 
 My dreams by that Mount with the white granite 
 
 head. 
 
38 
 
 isfimfhtf 
 
 On wings elate to win and mate, 
 This winter morning's May, 
 
 From out the brake the birds awake, 
 And sing; their wedding lay. 
 
 This day most dear of all the year, 
 In love's bright spring time sky, 
 
 Still brings me back in wonted track, 
 To breathe another sigh. 
 
 But yesternight the song-bird's flight, 
 Was poised on drooping wing, 
 
 Now with the morn he laughs to scorn, 
 The north wind's piercing sting. 
 
 So even I would outward fly, 
 
 Nor heed the idle throng, 
 To bask an hour beneath thy bower, 
 
 And sing my whilome song. 
 
39 
 
 O that my breast were song-bird's nest. 
 
 Wanton and wild with glee, 
 I'd give its prime of joyous chime, 
 
 My sweet sweet girl to thee. 
 
 The gentlest strain of love's refrain. 
 
 My lutes mid-summer tone, 
 Through shade and sheen my Fancy's Queen, 
 
 Should trill for thee alone. 
 
 And now dear sweet in kindness greet. 
 
 If so thy heart incline, 
 With gentle cheers lull all my fears. 
 And be my Valentine. 
 
 BdOTu 
 
 O yes ! It was lovely till blotch'd by the fall ; 
 Its perfume was sweet over valley and hill ; 
 And e'en in its shadow hung fragrance o'er all. 
 For Eve and the Cherubs were beautiful still 
 
40 
 
 Sweet hour of rest, sweet evening hour, 
 
 The family group sits by ; 
 In vain the storm clouds darkly lower, 
 
 His sheltering hand is nigh. 
 
 Impatience yields when mild replies, 
 
 Emit their he aling ray, 
 As clouds that darken youthful skies, 
 
 In lovelight melt away. 
 
 Gay smiles and cheer the blasts assail, 
 
 Brightly our ingle burns, 
 And laughs to scorn the wheezing gale, 
 
 The frosted casement spurns. 
 
 Thus o'er the arid sands of life, 
 Some fresh green spots appear, 
 
 And spread mid scenes of jar and strife, 
 Their bright oasis there. 
 
 'O 
 
 cheering thought ! when o'er the stream, 
 
 A clear meridian ray, 
 Will burst to melt lifers night of dream, 
 
 In blissful, endless day. 
 
41 
 
 Give me to live that inner life, 
 
 The worldling never knows 
 Secure from envv hate and strife, 
 
 And purest at its close. 
 
 Give me to feel that all I am, 
 
 Or e'er may hope to be, 
 I owe to that dear precious name, 
 
 Inscribed on Calvary. 
 
 Give me to die the death of those 
 Whose hopes are fixed in Thee, 
 
 Then shall I meet that last of foes, 
 From every murmur free. 
 
 This conscious trust shall be my stay, 
 Shall smoothe my couch of pam, 
 
 That Jesus's blood hath wash'd away, 
 My every guilty stain. 
 
 O that soul animating beam, 
 
 Shall cheer my journey o'er, 
 And make the waves of death's cold stream. 
 
 Radiant from shore to shore. 
 
42 
 
 The skies are of azzure, the woodlands are green, 
 The landscape is lovely and all is serene, 
 Vet often I find myself heaving a sigh, 
 While something in whispers is asking me why 
 Do I miss you ? 
 
 Alike amid hurry and bustle and toil, 
 
 ( )r watching the blades as they break through the 
 
 soil, 
 List'ning to voices whose tumult is high, 
 ( )r gazing at crowds as they dance along by, 
 
 Still I miss you. 
 
 If gay ones or merry are far off or near, 
 ( )r music delights as it melts on the ear, 
 The carol of birds, and I love their refrain, 
 Still, mystery lurks which I cannot explain, 
 And I miss you. 
 
43 
 
 Gay blossoms may cheer with their fragrance 
 
 awhile, 
 And sunbeams of morning salute with a smile, 
 But when the night shadows lock hillside and glen, 
 And dew-drops are falling, my darling 'tis then, 
 
 I most miss you. 
 
 Absent or present each throb of my heart, 
 Beats outward and onward wherever thou art, 
 Not distance nor time, with their mellowing ray, 
 Can stifle one throb I am winging away, 
 For I miss you. 
 
44 
 
 MY" FADED FLOWER 
 
 I love to sit beside that mound. 
 And call her sainted spirit near ; 
 
 To me it is enchanted ground, 
 No spot on earth I hold so dear. 
 
 I love to think of precious days, 
 
 Of he ilth and Woom in graceful twine, 
 
 I love to think her peaceful ways, 
 In brighter worlds will ever shine, 
 
 My faith anticipates the glow, 
 
 To one sweet hope my thoughts incline, 
 That what I loved but lost below, 
 
 In purer realms will yet be mine. 
 
 I know that years must swell the tide, 
 
 That covers o'er the ages gone, 
 E'er yet aurora's chariot ride, 
 
 The mists that shroud the looked for dawn. 
 
 But o'er the buried loves that sleep, 
 There is a glow of deathless reign, 
 
 An eye unseen will vigil keep, 
 A voice will bid them live again. 
 
4.3 
 
 And that sweet form will yet resume, 
 Each feature in new beauty made, 
 
 And rays of heavenly light illume, 
 The sleeping dust in greenwood shade. 
 
 UNFALTERING TRUST. 
 
 I know there is laid up for me, 
 A crown of matchless sheen ; 
 
 That fadeless gem I soon shall see, 
 Though death must intervene. 
 
 I know that my Redeemer waits, 
 
 My coming, in the skies ; 
 I soon shall see the Pearly Gates, 
 
 He soon will bid me rise. 
 
 I soon shall join the shining fold, 
 Thither my thoughts take wing, 
 
 [ hear them strike their harps of gold, 
 I know the songs they sing. 
 
 Dear Saviour on thy precious grace, 
 
 My hopes securely rest ; 
 My faith beholds thy smiling face, 
 
 And all my aims are blest. 
 
46 
 
 TO 
 
 Fair Lady, on this festal day, 
 
 This wedding day of thine, 
 My muse would fain awhile be gay, 
 
 And seek thy gentle shrine. 
 
 Not to disdain what others bring, 
 
 Of gems and garlands rare, 
 Content to say some pleasing thing, 
 
 And gain a welcome there. 
 
 O could I fly, and pierce the sky, 
 Would bring bright trophies down, 
 
 Would seize a flower from Eden's bower, 
 Thy nuptial feast to crown. 
 
 May health and wealth and every grace, 
 
 In overflowing stream, 
 Through rosy meads a pathway trace, 
 
 Thy wildest fancy's dream. 
 
 May he whose pride makes thee his bride, 
 Each day new charms discover, 
 
 Ne'er turn aside nor ever chide, 
 Through years remain the lover. 
 
 / 
 
47 
 
 To glad the heart may grace impart, 
 
 That boon above all praise, 
 Which ne'er beguiles with idle wiles, 
 
 But leads in wisdom's ways. 
 
 may this day, thy wedding day, 
 
 The morning iris prove, 
 The dawning ray that lights the way, 
 
 To a long feast of love. 
 
 All these, and more for thee and thine, 
 
 And smiling skies attend, 
 Along thy journey ever shine, 
 
 And cheer the journey's end. 
 
 God grant thee when the goal is past, 
 And all these ties are riven, 
 
 To reach the pearly gates at last, 
 With every fault forgiven. 
 
48 
 
 TO THREE LADIES 
 
 IN RETURN FOR A VISIT. 
 
 It is said there are angels that hover so near, 
 We almost reach upward and touch them ; 
 I am sure if there were, whatever their sphere, 
 With these three around, they would clutch them. 
 
 With features so winning, with love beaming eyes, 
 
 Without any pinions for soaring, 
 
 Each one of the trio would bear off a prize, 
 
 ( Contented all fetters ignoring. 
 
 Now widows have charms that will always appear, 
 While many lament that they lack them ; 
 The reason is ample, and perfectly clear, — 
 They know our weak points and attack them. 
 
 There are ladies whose faces so sunny and bright, 
 By so many graces attended, 
 
 We know we shall meet them in regions of light, 
 As soon as their journey is ended. 
 
 1 would not presume by prolonging the strain, 
 Am happy such pleasure elates you, 
 Am charmed when you say you are coming again, 
 An 1 the heartiest greeting awaits you. 
 
49 
 TO THE SHADE OF 
 
 We may not, we cannot regard them as naught, 
 
 And blot out and banish all trace from the mind. 
 The scenes which have served as our lighthouse to 
 
 thought, 
 Where destiny's furrow was ploughed for mankind. 
 
 Not e'en when the light of life's candle grows dim. 
 And everything round us is shrouded in gloom, 
 And such was the death-rocked emotion in him. 
 As waking he turned from the beckoning tomb. 
 
 O lift up my head, was the senator's prayer ; 
 Once more would I look on that beautiful dome : 
 Pride of my country ! farewell to thv glare, 
 Till viewed from the mount of my heavenly home. 
 
 He looked, and his eyelids were drooped by the 
 
 blaze, 
 And friends who were watching drew near him to 
 
 weep, 
 His twilight went down in the mists of its haze. 
 While lyrics of angels were lulling to sleep. 
 
50 
 
 HOW DID HE KNOW ? 
 
 They say that a watch dog ? s career, 
 Winds up when he ceases to wag ; 
 
 A wheel-barrow serves for a bier, 
 His coffin, just simply a bag. ' 
 
 He's done, when his watching is o'er, 
 No kennel is built in the sky ; 
 
 His soul is a myth, nothing more, 
 And thus the poor fellow goes by. 
 
 And yet, there are two legged beasts, 
 
 Without any graces to spare, 
 Who speak of the heavenly feasts, 
 
 As if they were already there ! 
 
 Aroused from my slumbers just now, 
 
 I ran to the casement to see, 
 What started my Todo's bow-wow, 
 
 And thought, what the deuce can it be ? 
 
 A bird in the old willow tree, 
 That shelters my library door, 
 
 Was chirping in merriest glee, 
 
 Of something approaching three score. 
 
51 
 
 Is't fair an old lion should be, 
 Disturbed- in his slumbers just when. 
 
 In dreams he reposes so free, 
 
 And bearded in front of his den ? 
 
 If longitude figures out square, 
 And surely I think mine in shape, 
 
 There remain at least three seasons fair, 
 E'er vet I shall double that cape. 
 
 O Time, when thy scythe's at a stand. 
 That crooks to my destiny's day, 
 
 Pray strike with unfaltering hand, 
 And beckon me gently away. 
 
 \ 
 
52 
 
 There's not a tree, or shrub, or flower, 
 
 Or tuft or grassy blade, 
 Thai blossoms in the springtide hour, 
 
 In sunshine or in shade, 
 That sheds a perfume half so sweet, 
 As when two souls in concord meet 
 
 Too Oft a cloud so very thin, 
 
 As scarce to be disce-ned, 
 Will grow, and well a torrent in ; 
 
 Sad lesson to he learned ; 
 And so, life's currents all be changed, 
 Till hearts that loved become estranged. 
 
 I think of two, 'twas sweet to see. 
 
 In the same cradle rock, 
 They grew upon the selfsame tree, 
 
 The tree of family stock ; 
 Were swaddled in the same old sheets, 
 Yet knew not each along the streets. 
 
 At length their ramparts 1 gray oblique, 
 Were hung in white array, 
 
 
 
53 
 
 
 And now they journey "jowl by cheek," 
 
 And happy On their way : 
 May the same wrappings serve their day, 
 And fold them when they're rocked away. 
 
 THE MAIDEN'S LAMENT. 
 
 [ know that he loves me, for oft at the shrine 
 Where our mutual longings repair, 
 
 I know that his spirit is answering mine, 
 For I oft hear it whispering there. 
 
 I know he is noble and manly and true, 
 An 1 down in the depths of his heart, 
 
 A chamber encloses what no one may view, 
 A secret he will not impart. 
 
 I know there's a mystery cannot be solved, 
 Till he opens that chamber to me ; 
 
 And more to his peace in that impulse involve 
 Than he dreams of or ever may see. 
 
 And yet he permits me in sadness to pine, 
 
 And to ponder in sorrow alone, 
 When a word or a look could forever entwine. 
 
 Every pulse of my soul with his own. 
 
 
TO 
 
 Beautiful Bride, O come to the shrine, 
 Come, and thy treasure bestow, 
 
 Streams are gashing for thee and for thine, 
 Come while the fount is aglow. 
 
 Welcome the peal of the wedding chime, 
 
 And the altar's lamps ablaze, 
 Omen of sweets from the treasure clime, 
 
 AVhen a cheerful heart obeys. 
 
 Beautiful Bride, 'tis the rosy time, 
 
 Of love in its morning beam, 
 < )f life and bloom in their blushing prime, 
 
 And hope in its bright day dream. 
 
 Mystic shadows are hovering now, 
 Voices strange, but soft and sweet, 
 
 Telling the wealth of a maiden's vow, 
 That none but the chaste should greet. 
 
 Beautiful Bride, our prayer shall be, 
 
 For halcyon skies and fair, 
 For gentle gales and an easy sea, 
 
 And all that is fresh and rare. 
 
00 
 
 Thy wedded life have an Eden ray. 
 
 That glows as the seasons roll, 
 And cloudless wear, like a summer's day, 
 
 And win at the Eden goal. 
 
 TO FANNIE. 
 
 The twilight is o'er and the laborer rests, 
 Merry and weary are slumbering now ; 
 
 The flocks in their fold and the birds in their nest, 
 Bud of my fancy, whither art thou ? 
 
 Thought seizes pinions aud hastens in flight. 
 
 Winging o'er hilltops where visions allure. 
 Finds thee enveloped in shadows of night, 
 
 Cosily dreaming in corner secure. 
 
 Ah, but they tell me our sunniest day, 
 Often has shadows that lurk in the glare, 
 
 And many wiles for the heart that is gay, 
 Murkily wait in the mesh of the snare. 
 
 Bud of my fancy, and yet not my own, 
 Link'd by a tie that forever endears, 
 
 Long may the light of a radiant zone, 
 
 Bin shingly glow on thy blossoming years. 
 
TO Mr. and Mrs. H. 
 
 ON HEARING OF THEIR "MAMIE'S" DEATH. 
 
 Where shade and sheen in concert meet, 
 
 The bow of hope is born ; 
 And death is but the shadow's greet, 
 
 To hail the radiant morn. 
 
 One golden beam, one cheering thought, 
 
 Dear precious bird of love, 
 Are in this web of sorrow wrought, 
 Thy trust was fixed above. 
 
 A bud so sweet and yet so frail, 
 
 Was never meant to be, 
 Drifting along through calm and gale, 
 
 O'er life's uneven sea. 
 
 Thus while we mourn thy early doom, 
 Ho] >e's cheering wings are given, 
 
 And faith looks out beyond tn£ gloom, 
 And finds thee safe in heaven. 
 
57 
 
 itfgf itnil East 
 
 'iliose twin adjectives, of kindred emotions but 
 opposite tempers, hold singular charms in their oc- 
 casional embrace. The wealth of a mother's love 
 is si lowered on her first-born, and the last baby in a 
 family, like the "titman" among quadrupeds, gives 
 occasion for more squealing than all its predecessors 
 so much so, that I have sometimes thought it might 
 have been a good arrangement in nature, to average 
 families at a half dozen, and let them all start their 
 career together, but perhaps the present method is 
 the l>e<r. An incident of my first ocean voyage 
 comes drifting back on the tide of memory. One 
 of our passengers was a spinster who had weathered 
 some forty winters, and of course had reached what 
 is called the crochety meridian. .V lunch was set 
 as we passed down the bay, of which all partook 
 freely, and none more so than the aforesaid spinster. 
 Half an hour later, we had crossed the bar, and 
 were pi tehing and tossing on a chopping sea, and 
 while the writer of this essay Mas enacting a jetson, 
 it was no small relief to see that maiden, equally 
 liveh in getting cargo overboard. Poor thing, she 
 
58 
 
 soon caved in and retreated to her stateroom. The 
 Highlands were rapidly receding from view, and a 
 few of the not yet nauseated, came running back, 
 "dear Miss Fletcher, do come out and take one last 
 look at the green shore we are leaving.' 1 Dont talk 
 to me of green things, said she, "just look in that 
 basin : and as to last looks, the only one I want is a 
 look at the last of those biscuits and prunes, for I 
 feel as the shoemaker did when he pitched the woo- 
 den eliptic aside after pegging on it all day." 
 
 It was an old town, once thrifty, and the large 
 gambrel roofed mansions with huge brass knockers 
 on the front doors, are standing there yet, to attest 
 its primitive grandeur, but that great leveller, the 
 s earn hoi S3 has o l n a d a roadway behind it, and its 
 commerce is gone. Mr. Bigelow was the last of the 
 opulent merchants who kept their shingles to the 
 weather, and even his trade had narrowed to some 
 "few choice liquors for medicinal and communion 
 purposes, 1 ' and that hardly any longer remunerative 
 he gave it up and joined the church, but that other 
 and greater leveller at length overtook him and he 
 succombed, leaving Mrs. Bigelow with a comforta- 
 ble income and live children, one of which was like 
 that early christian martyr's, at the breast, and the 
 eldest, a lovely girl of eighteen summers. 
 
59 
 
 So many o: the young men of that old town had 
 gone west or elsewhere, and so many beautiful girls 
 were blossoming out, that it required some degree 
 of management on the part of the maternal leaders 
 to dispose of their daughters genteelly, for every 
 matron was on the alert, so that Mrs. Bigelow was 
 disinclined to make a protracted display of weeds, 
 to the detriment of Lucy's chances, and in just one 
 year, to a day, her crape and tabs were laid aside, 
 although it had been wdiispered that the violence of 
 grief had subsided at a considerably earlier period 
 of her widowhood. Gossip, always nimble, had it 
 that the services of Miss Ketchum. the dress-maker 
 had been secured sometime in advance and she had 
 ahead}- been three weeks under the widows roof 
 when the habillements of sorrow were withdrawn. 
 
 It was an event, and a big one to Lucy ; a week 
 had hot quite elapsed since Miss K. had rolled up 
 her bundle and left the house, Lucy's frocks had all 
 been ''let down" and she had bade adieu to short 
 dresses and pantalettes forevor and forever. The 
 parlor lamp was now lighted every evening, and cu- 
 rious eyes watched the w T idow T 's wundow T s, nor w T as 
 the outlook less mindful, for by some strange in. 
 stinct both she and Lucy knew every swallow-tail 
 and every pair of cassimeres in the town, and if the 
 
60 
 
 truth must be told, George Newton's seemed to 
 have more loadstone about them than any others. 
 Six days in long dresses, sighed Lucy, and not one 
 call ; be patient darling, said Mrs. B. the world was 
 not made in a day ; [ know it said Lucy but it only 
 took about a week; true darling, said Mrs. B. and 
 who knows but you may have a visit this vrvy eve- 
 ning '! Whew! what a (Inter! hardly were the 
 words uttered, when • 'Teddy' ' who was pen king at 
 the window, exclaimed "tUmbody tummin," and 
 the next instant that old brass knocker thumped. 
 Mrs. B. started Ted for his trundle and hurried to 
 the door, as L icy began to smo >ih o ihe folds of her 
 lJe Lain. Therj wa^ a hi; ch in t ie latch, and may 
 be there was'nt some inside swearing : at \a<\ it turn- 
 ed. • Wlioy Mr. Newton! walk in.' : Poor George, 
 that last twist bad taken all the tuck out <A' him, 
 and he could barely articulate, "ith Mitli Luthy at 
 home?" Poor Lucy ! she had heard his question, 
 and may be she was'nt in a flutter as she, met him 
 and handed him the babyjumper instead of a chair. 
 Ye lie he, giggled Mrs. B. "probably M \ Newton 
 would prefer the sofa." Everybody knows, that 
 blunders will occur even in well regulated families, 
 and everybo ly also knows that the first key-note 
 struck in social calls, (usually the weather;) that is 
 
61 
 
 the theme for the occasion, and now it was the baby 
 jumper. After helping Lucy out of her dilemma, 
 and seeing that the younger fry were stowed away, 
 Mrs. B. remembered she had to run down t< > Mr. 
 Longstreets for a few moments. She was gone one 
 hour by the clock, and when she returned there sat 
 Lucy, with the sofa pillow in her arms rocking, the 
 dew streaming from her eyes and nose. What is 
 the matter darling ? eagerly asked Mrs. B. "gor gor 
 George is gone." Well what has he done ? ' noth- 
 ing, he was very gentlemanly.' 1 Well what are you 
 holding that pillow for ? "Cause George was lean- 
 ing on it." He was, was he ? I hope you hav'nt 
 been acting silly exclaimed the widow ! "Indeed 
 indeed Ma we hav'nt." Well then wdiat on earth 
 are you crying about ? And she sobbed it out. why 
 Ma you know I never was in love before, and I 
 thought everv girl cried the first time. 
 
62 
 
 There are probably very few, if any, whose lives 
 have not been influenced in some degree, at least, 
 by incidents that occurred in the morning years of 
 their career. For my own part, I am free to confess 
 thafsuch has been my experience, and to this day 
 I am haunted occasionally by the recollections of 
 ghost stories with which an elderly maiden used to 
 regale us youngsters through winter evenings, years 
 and years ago. Many of the apparitions on which 
 she dwelt most tonchingly, were those of desperate 
 young men assailing her in her evening walks, along 
 the denies of what were known as "short cuts." I 
 hardly need remind my reader, that this term is ap- 
 plied to other things beside pathways : for example, 
 there is a narcotic plant which boasts three patrons, 
 namely, the tobacco worm, the rock goat of Scot- 
 land and man, which is manufactured to this ap- 
 pellation, and there is a sanitary institution in our 
 penitentiaries that is thus denominated, and there is 
 al v;ivs a short cut to school, (a little longer than the 
 turnpika) as well as one to an apple orchard, and 
 
63 
 
 this brings me to the one I am writing about. 
 
 We were in the cornfield on the western margin 
 of Branch's pond, and across the Pachoag stood a 
 tree loaded with "golden sweetings," which fairly 
 beckoned us. How to reach it was the question, as 
 the bridge was quite a distance down the stream. 
 That pond was a natural basin above a rocky chasm 
 of thirty or forty feet depth, a horror to look into 
 with its assortment of snakes, and to hold back the 
 water for mill use, a rude damliad been constructed 
 probably in the days of the puritans, (and a rough 
 one it was,) with a single log for its cap, on which a 
 green slime had accumulated as well as on the n cks 
 on either side the fall, slippery as ice. In dry times 
 I had crossed on that log a hundred times. The 
 flash boards were above water and I suggest< that 
 we try the log : done, said the man, and we started. 
 I was barefoot and by working my toes through 
 the slime, secured my footing step by step and had 
 crossed. Turning to watch Kenyon in his a1i< mpt, 
 what a shudder seized me ! Poor fellow ! he bad ta- 
 ken but three steps, good gracious ! he slipp d and 
 down he went, on the still more slippery roc; ■ * six 
 feet below, and was sliding on the very verge of the 
 chasm, his limbs hanging over it, his hands eh ach- 
 ing the grassy slime while looking for a poinl ipon 
 
64 
 
 which to land in the yawning abyss ! As luck, of 
 good fortune would have it, he held for an instant, 
 ni id inch by inch, crawled to a hemlock bough and 
 climbed to the bank. He did not stop to look into 
 the chasm or the orchard, but struck a bee line for 
 the cornfield, while I, with what little tuck was left 
 iu me, steared for the bridge. It was the last time 
 I ever attempted to walk that log, and such was the 
 impression made upon me, if I was "going to the 
 devil" tomorrow, instead of looking round for short 
 cuts, I am sure I should take the old roundabout 
 road. 
 
65 
 
 LIFE'S CHEEK AND CLOUD. 
 
 O beautiful Nature, how lovely and fair, 
 How ordered to bless and to please ; 
 
 In every appointment tliat mortals may share, 
 How perfect are all thy decrees. 
 
 How charming the omens of springtime appear, 
 To greet us and gladden once more ; 
 
 The brindle wing'd larks and the robins are here, 
 The blue birds are e'en at our door. 
 
 How sweetly the blossoms burst out from the sere, 
 As snow drifts and tempests go by ; 
 
 So time marks its transit through year after year, 
 And change stamps the ages that fly. 
 
 The grass of the meadow, the rose and the fearn, 
 
 The leaves of the forest decay, 
 To give us new buds for the summer return, 
 
 Fresh bloom for the verdure of May. 
 
 The reaper reminds of a harvest that's near, 
 To which we look forth with a sigh ! 
 
 The garlands may wither, the bloom disappear, 
 But we, alas we to must die. 
 
60 
 
 Alike as the leaves and the blossoms, e'en so, 
 
 Our season of bloom is soon o'er, 
 But not like the blossoms we mortals must go, 
 
 We, go to return, nevermore. 
 
 NOT ALWAYS MAY. 
 
 It is not May the whole year round, 
 With grasses green and blossoms fair, 
 
 Else might the soul though heavenward bound, 
 Forget the road that brings it there. 
 
 To those who strive and those who sigh, 
 To they who list the murmuring sound, 
 
 Of toils and longings always nigh, 
 It is not May the whole year round. 
 
 The heart by heavy griefs oppressed, 
 
 And thoughts that haunt the silent mound, 
 
 By wearing cares and want depressed, 
 Finds not a May the whole year round. 
 
 O then how blest, how surely wise, 
 
 Are they who pierce the deep profound, 
 
 And seize the everlasting prize, 
 Of heavenly May's eternal round. 
 
67 
 
 Well do [ remember the occasion when I invest- 
 ed my first and only shilling at a show. Three 
 monkeys, a six legged cow and an elephant were 
 the cynosure. Inconsiderable as such a collection 
 would now appear, it was then, large to me, and I 
 recall no subsequent exhibition, of equal influence 
 on my amazement and delight ; African lions and 
 Bengal tigers, the rinoceros and "guyascutas" had 
 not yet begun their pilgrimages on wheels through 
 the rural districts, and the laws of our state did not 
 permit the "Knights of Palestine'' to perform their 
 evolutions on horseback, and the clown, that wond- 
 erful epitome of stale wit and obscenity, and white 
 negro minstrels had not yet utilized their genius to 
 the popular taste. But I have outlived the fascina- 
 tions of caged beasts and the gorgeous trappings of 
 the arena, though I rarely drive by one of those 
 canvas octagons without halting to inspect the out- 
 side paraphernalia, for I still retain my weakness for 
 the "side shows." I like these because they are 
 cheap, and you come nearer getting your money's 
 worth in them ; and they are generally plastered on 
 
m 
 
 the outside, with attractive pictures, to give an idea 
 o[' the greater treat that awaits you inside the cloth. 
 It is, however, not alone with traveling panoramas 
 that these are found, life is full of side shows ; the 
 church has them in variety, in pic-nics, fairs, and 
 festivals, in spelling matches and "musicales," and 
 in almost every species of displays that will tempt 
 Peter to disgorge his pence, in floral decorations on 
 the pulpit, to show oif the preacher as he oscilates 
 to his logic and dangles his "gold fob-chain'' while 
 soliciting contributions from those whose only time 
 piece is the town bell, or the steam whistle. Keep 
 your eyes open and your wits clear, and you shall 
 witness these scenic displays when you least expect 
 to, and on occasions that will surprise you. 
 
 I was recently solicited as pall-beraer at a funeral 
 which I declined, because my sympathetic nature 
 lets down too easily. Ordinarily I follow the great 
 command and "let the dead bury their dead," but 
 there are cases when one is prompted by emotions 
 akin to those of the village ehorister, whose duty it 
 was to "pitch the tune and line the hymn," at the 
 obsequies of a wealthy distiller, and he raised his 
 voice as they lifted the remains ; 
 
 "Believing, we rejoice to see the cus removed." 
 This however, was not such a case. I will not stop 
 
69 
 
 to detail the ot't repeated "dust to dust, and ashes to 
 ashes," (how absurd, when there was nothing dry 
 but the side-board. !) They were friends, and I was 
 taken directly to the family room, to see the side 
 show. A cluster of aunts and cousins had gathered 
 around Aurelia Jane, who by this dispensation had 
 become presiding mistress, to serve out the morning 
 chocolate and evening yopon, and generally to use 
 the spelling book on the flexible parts of the youn- 
 ger members of the household. What comments 
 on this central figure — "Does 'nt she look sweet in 
 black !" "I do admire mourning." "Aurelia Jane's 
 complexion is just the hue for crape, dont you say 
 so major?" The maternal head had bowed, and 
 mourning was plenty but tears scarce ; no mention 
 of earth lost or 'heaven gained, dress was the theme, 
 and the beauty of blackness, that relic of barbarous 
 times, in its ostentatious flaunt, the sole object of 
 admiration. A gallows dirge to the cemetery and 
 a "quick-step" home, and all was over. 
 
 In the side shows of life, give me the tunes that 
 harmonize joy and toil ; at the sunrise of the soul, 
 I want the songs that link sorrow and smiles in fair 
 embrace. 
 
70 
 
 I 
 
 fttnttftfnni »P' 
 
 No man has a greater respect for men of genius 
 than I have ; I lift my hat as they pass, and where 
 they sleep, my motto is, "tread lightly on the grave 
 for they were akin to ye," but when inventive, is 
 tacked on, they become horses of another color to 
 me. Solomon said "there is nothing new under the 
 sun," and he may have been right at that time, my 
 memory does not reach back to his day, but the 
 aphorism is obsolete now, or ought to be. When I 
 built my house on this hill-top it took the best half 
 of my fortune, and in hitching on inventions, I have 
 nearly exhausted the balance and have no burglar 
 alarm yet, — the most useful of all, — but fortunately 
 those industrious workers know my circumstances, 
 and play the Levite on me. Having no well, and 
 yet anxious to present an indicative signal, I put an 
 old fashioned sweep to my ten foot cistern and was 
 happy. Samaritans seem to have always had a re- 
 gard for me, and one came along who insisted upon 
 putting a pump of an entirely new invention to my 
 cistern. I looked at his pump, and then at the 
 sweep, but his eloquence turned the scale, and the 
 sweep, that old reminder of boyhood and farm life 
 
came down. Somehow it struck me that the fellow 
 pocketed the cash and drove o'f at a lively pace, 
 but the pump was working. It was a sort of self 
 acting machine, incomprehensible to me at first, but 
 the next morning my cistern was dry. On examin 
 ation I found he had punched a hole in the bottom 
 for the working power of his machine, and like one 
 of those hydraulic rams, as seven gallons of water 
 went down, one quart came up, until the fountain 
 caved in. Get out with your modern inventions, I 
 like the old styles, the time honored ways. Our 
 shoes used to wear a year ; I hate these boots from 
 the skin of a calf whose carcase is yet on the sham- 
 bles ; this clothing that rips before you are out of 
 sight of the tailor. How well do I remember my 
 first frock tailed coat ! None of your flimsy collars 
 like those modern ones ! The soap was "goosed"' in 
 until it was as stiff as a hay stack ; in the darkest of 
 closets I could find that coat by its odor, and that 
 soap never lost its fragrance until web and woof of 
 the garment went into shoddy for this generation. 
 
 I have hoisted a guide board that points onward 
 to "inventive genius." 
 
TO 
 
 IN KECOGNITIO.M. 
 
 A matchless charm lurks in a pleasant smile, 
 A sweet salute before the hand's ungloved ; 
 A look benignant serves the moment's while, 
 A cordial greeting, e'er the lips have moved. 
 
 But when to all the rest we superadd, 
 The merry shout of gay and joyous cheer, 
 Before our feet have scraped the snowy pad, 
 We know full well, we have a welcome here. 
 
 T.vas morn, and fairies gathered round their queen, 
 And floral wreaths were spread in nature's hue, 
 And I thought, how bright must be the scene, 
 At evening, prism'd through the green-house dew. 
 
 I would not write a tale for each fair face, 
 Nor tell how dressed the matron nor the maid, 
 For all appeared in faultless style and grace, 
 And loveliness was tastefully arrayed. 
 
 Seldom I write of scenes I meet in town, 
 
 And hardly dare these thoughts, but half express'd 
 
 And here I lay my faulty crayon down ; 
 
 Now "Lyd," dear girl, pray try and guess the rest. 
 
73 
 
 TO ANNA. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, ray sister dear ; 
 May skies be bright and breezes free, 
 And trusty tars the good ship stear, 
 As you go sailing o'er the sea. 
 
 Of sunny hours and pleasures rare, 
 Of golden mirth and joyous glee, 
 And sweet delights we've had our share, 
 O think of these when o'er the sea. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, my sister dear, 
 What more remains, O well we know, 
 A fond embrace, a sigh, a tear 
 Perhaps, ah yes, it must be so. 
 
 Ye gales that oft the ocean sweep, 
 And wake the mermaid's plaintive song, 
 O spare the keel that plows the deep, 
 While that loved sister sails along. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, my sister dear, 
 a Bon voyage" o'er to Franco's main, 
 And wheresoever else you stear, 
 Till home awakes to smiles asfain. 
 
74 
 
 LINES, 
 
 ON HEARING OF HALLECK'S MOCK BIRDS HOME. 
 
 I never saw Loch Katrine's wave, 
 
 The bowers, isles or shore, 
 Nor caught the smile the lassie gave, 
 
 To cheer a rustic oar. 
 
 And yet from out the tangled mass, 
 
 That dots my home career, 
 By stream and plain and mountain pass, 
 • I cull some fragments dear. 
 
 O is it there alone he takes, 
 
 His airy sylvan flights, 
 Are other shores and other lakes, 
 
 The winged-boy's delight? 
 
 Are not our own wide spreading p^ins, 
 
 Savannas green and fair, 
 Our inland seas and mountain chains, 
 
 Alike, his native air ? 
 
 Where beauty lurks in tempting wile, 
 
 By mound or vale or stream, 
 And fragrance weaves a web the while, 
 
 liere 
 
 to I: 
 
75 
 
 Not far from ,£ Albi Cottage' 1 grew, 
 
 Ans#ier trellised vine, 
 Whose bud and leaflet well I knew, 
 
 And dearly loved to twine. 
 
 A fragrant link in mem'rys chain, 
 
 A ray of spotless hne, 
 That school -maid's chant of wild refrain, 
 
 That bower's moon-lit dew. 
 
 And now to know his Mock Bird's trill, 
 
 Warbled that slope along, 
 Makes dear Mount Pleasant dearer still, 
 
 That perfumed home of song. 
 
76 
 
 ODE TO THE FLAG. 
 
 WRITTEN FOR THE VOLUNTEERS IN 1862. 
 
 O who will not cheer with a patriot's pride. 
 
 Our brave volunteers, through the gore crimsoned 
 
 tide, 
 While onward they hasten though traitors defy, 
 To hold up that banner aloft in the sky ? 
 God bless our old flag, with its blue field of stars, 
 Its arms and its trophies, its eagle and bars. 
 
 Shall freedom so cherished, the birthright we claim, 
 The cluster of garlands so sacred to fame, 
 The land of our Washington, hallowed in song, 
 Yield again to the power that has ruled it so long ? 
 God bless our old flag, may it nevermore wave, 
 Over one inch of soil that is trod by a slave. 
 
 Unheeding the havoc of war's dreadful strife, 
 March on, gallant heroes, for national life ! 
 While treason is gasping amidst the wild roar, 
 Your children will bless you a thousand times o'er. 
 
 God bless that old flag, it shall not be disgraced, 
 Nor a star ever dim'd, nor a stripe be erased. 
 
77 
 
 When the tear has been wiped for our brave heroes 
 
 slain, 
 And the battle-field yields to the plowshare again, 
 What object so winning will gladden the eye, 
 As the folds of that banner spread out on the sky ? 
 God bless that old flag, may it float ever free. 
 O'er our homes on the land, and our ships on the 
 
 sea. 
 
 When our voyage is ended, its perils are o'er, 
 And our bark rounded to on eternity's shore. 
 As nearing the scene where mortality ends, 
 We turn a last look on our country and friends, 
 God bless our old flag, may we still see its gleam. 
 Reflected untattered on life's ebbing stream. 
 
78 
 
 SONG OF REJOICING, . 
 
 ON THE FALL OF KICHMOND. 
 
 O loud be the anthems of heartfelt devotion, 
 Poured forth to Jehovah, the God we adore, 
 Over land lake and river, from ocean to ocean, 
 One People, one Nation, are we evermore. 
 
 Exultingly joyous from valley an 1 mountain, 
 One chorus alike from the peaceful and brave, 
 Baptised in a tide from the heart's pierced fountain, 
 Too sacred our soil to be trod by a slave. 
 
 Oblivion extinguish the fires of dissention, 
 Remembrance recall not the errors of yore, 
 United and happy we wait that declension, 
 Alone shall o'ertake us when time is no more. 
 
 A tear for the brave who in conflict have perished. 
 Our sorrow is pure for the erring and true, 
 Since both were led forward by visions too cherish'd 
 And strangely unlike from the stand-point of view. 
 
 This gore crimson'd heritage fettered in union, 
 No tyrant dare threaten, no edict shall sever, 
 Our hearts throb in joyous harmonious communion, 
 One People, one Nation, one Banner forever. 
 
79 
 
 TOO TRUE. 
 
 Ah no ! I cannot always sing, 
 
 Nor do I weep to know, 
 
 That Time e'er long will clip the string, 
 
 That trembles on my bow. 
 
 The long ago, a pleasing dream, 
 With many radiant hues, 
 Sheds but an evanescent gleam, 
 Along the path it strews. 
 
 Where once I caught the brightest ray, 
 A fading glow appears, 
 My auburn wears a tint of gray, 
 Sad mark of fading years. 
 
 C J 
 
 I know not what may yet unfold, 
 Alas, this click of time, 
 The well worn muse now growing old, 
 Reluctant wakes to rhyme. 
 
 O give me back where memory floats, 
 When first my lute was strung, 
 And I could make my autumn notes, 
 Sweeter than all I've sung. 
 
80 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 Till now I've longed but never sought, 
 In ways that thou could'st see, 
 
 To trespass on one moment's thought, 
 And win a smile from thee. 
 
 But something haunts me in my dreams, 
 
 I cannot chase away, 
 And something clad in beauty's beams, 
 
 Turns even night to day ; 
 
 And tells me in the sweetest song, 
 
 Which mortal ever heard, 
 That hearts to kindred hearts belong, 
 
 As mates to beast and bird. 
 
 I list its song, I list its cheer, 
 
 I list each welcome claim, 
 As bending o'er my ravished ear, 
 
 It whispers Laura's name. 
 
 O listen thou, say when and how, 
 
 The heart already thine, 
 And bid me now repeat the vow, 
 
 Your proffered Valentine. 
 
81 
 
 NO FAULT OF MINE. 
 
 What tumult was there, u to be sure, 1 ' 
 What hustling and jostling and stew ; 
 As much as a saint could endure, 
 When once it was known I was due ! 
 
 Had a Prince been coming "en train," 
 Mid racket and rockets and roar, 
 The\' all would have stared, but 'twas plain, 
 A greater was then at our door. 
 
 Of course in such cases we know, 
 No pretext will serve for delay. 
 No latitude given for show, 
 Just simply to hear and obey. 
 
 Now if, as our Theologs say, 
 Born again, 'tis essential to be, 
 Pray hint at some easier way ; 
 That process will not do for ma 
 
 Could mortal perform such a task ? 
 O tell me, in pity's great name ; 
 Wonder not at the question I ask, 
 Nicodemus propounded the same. 
 
82 
 
 Iii closing this uneven year, 
 I'm glad I remember so well, 
 ? Twas thus I began my career, 
 Saluting all hands with a yell. 
 
 NEW YEAR'S CALLS. 
 
 There is nt a doubt that I could, 
 If only the ladies would let me, 
 
 Remodel some things, and I would, 
 In ways they should never forget me. 
 
 For instance, this spreading a trail, 
 A yard and three quarters and better, 
 
 A head like a masculine quail, 
 
 When flushed to the wing by a setter. 
 
 That hanging a fan on the arm, 
 Thermo meters ranging at zero, 
 
 A musical clock and alarm, 
 Enough for the pluck of a hero. 
 
 If furnished with joke, or a story, 
 No matter how funny or rare, 
 
 A romance of love or of glory, 
 We never can squeeze it in there. 
 
83 
 
 I'm not over partial to wine, 
 
 Am suited with coifce or broma. 
 
 Contented with tea if it's fine, 
 And sends forth the lrysen aroma. 
 
 I like the old fashioned style, 
 
 A good hearty shake of the hand, 
 
 And still sweeter kiss ; for the while, 
 Just there I am willing to stand. 
 
 There's an odor remarkably sweet, 
 Exhaled from an unpowdered cheek, 
 
 I've rarely been favored to meet, 
 
 But followed me all through the week. 
 
 And now to the ladies, God bless you, 
 A word I would say in conclusion ; 
 
 No one could more kindly address you. 
 Dont put on such gorgeous profusion ! 
 
84 
 
 A REMINISCENCE. 
 
 'Twas a cold March day, and the snow on the hills, 
 
 Was eddying wildly away, 
 To lodge in the mosses and wait for the rills, 
 
 That usher the blossoms of May. 
 
 I stood on the cliff overhung by a crag, 
 
 With icicles wreathed like a toy, 
 As homeward from school, with his books and his 
 bag, 
 
 Came gaily, a barefooted boy. 
 
 And pray, I exclaimed, are you wading through 
 snow, 
 
 Without any stockings or shoes ? 
 "My parents are poor sir, and so as you know, 
 
 We cannot have all that we cho )se." 
 
 I drew the dear rosy-cheek close to my breast, 
 And smoothed back his ringlets of jet, 
 
 And took out my purse which I slip'd in his vest. 
 With feelings I ne'er shall forget. 
 
 A tear trickled down as he looked up and smiled, 
 And sob'd out a half uttered 'thank ye." 
 
85 
 
 And down the long slope where the gale whistled 
 wild, 
 A way went the barefooted yankee. 
 
 He's a clergyman now, with a style that is chaste, 
 And language that few can employ. 
 
 The lad that I met on the snow covered waste 
 The same little barefooted boy, 
 
 Years have gone by, and a dearly loved name, 
 I watched for through many a day, 
 
 Is carried aloft on the wreathings of fame, 
 And there I am sure it will stay. 
 
 And oft in my dreams I am borne to the spot, 
 And cheered by that impulse of joy, 
 
 Which shone through a tear as it dawn'd on the lot, 
 Of the rosy cheek barefooted boy. 
 
86 
 
 THE SEVERED LINK. 
 
 In humble cot, by lonely stream, 
 There dwelt a nameless shrew, 
 Where oft we heard a piteous scream, 
 And well the voice we knew. 
 
 A ruddy, dimpled chin brunette, 
 Of summers barely nine, 
 Despite the old one's flail and fret, 
 1 dreamed, would some day shine. 
 
 Through distant scenes my pathway led. 
 And years had rolled away, 
 And oft I wondered who had fed, 
 And clothed the little stray. 
 
 A western town, a morning call, 
 The Belle, their village pet, 
 •Ah well do I remember all ! 
 'Twas there, by chance, we met. 
 
 A cheerful home, a lovely place, 
 Each early trait o'ercame, 
 And won for charms and winning face. 
 A fairly glowing fame. 
 
87 
 
 Lips tinged to 1)1 ess, a tempting mark, 
 A smile without a cloud, 
 Too brilliant prize for village spark, 
 And even L bad bowed- 
 Time wore, and yet no answer came ; 
 Could post have gone awry ? 
 At length a note, nor date nor name, 
 Too plainly told me why. 
 
 "An aching heart responds, in vain ! 
 The hand my young tress curled, 
 Should not re-link that severed chain. 
 For all this wide, wide world. 77 
 
 How oft an early blight will tinge, 
 Life's current's onward flow, 
 And spread its ray of jetty fringe, 
 On every path we go ! 
 
 DAY-DREAMS. 
 
 I've lived my life long upon dreams, 
 Of castles and mansions and bowers, 
 
 And sometimes the sunniest beams, 
 Have burnished mv dreariest hours. 
 
88 
 
 It is true that one grows not so fat, 
 
 On a purely ideal repast, 
 As mutton and beef, and all that, 
 
 But we all come to shadows at last. 
 
 My locks sightly whitened by time, 
 Remind me of- seasons gone by, 
 
 And much that I once thought sublime, 
 I now only view with a sigh. 
 
 I've sometimes desired better things, 
 
 Than phantoms that fade with the dawn, 
 
 But the best that earth yields is on wings, 
 And flashes, and fades, and is gone. 
 
 Yet why should I murmur and pine, 
 When haply mid longings I'm tossed ? 
 
 I've dreams of the future that shine, 
 As bright as the brightest I've lost. 
 
 Even now, from that region of dreams, 
 Sweet murmurs come floating along, 
 
 That point to Utopian streams, 
 
 Which cannot be measured in song. 
 
89 
 HOW IS IT? 
 
 They tell me that love, like the rose, is replete, 
 With fragrance and. beauty combined ; 
 
 That once having drank at a fountain so sweet, 
 You'll always be that way inclined. 
 
 They tell me it never intends any harm. 
 You're conscious the moment you near it, 
 
 Its winks and its blinks have a wonderful charm, 
 And e'en when it whispers you hear it 
 
 They tell me sometimes, with apparent delight. 
 There is such a pleasure in winning ; 
 
 They say there are some who bewitch you at sight, 
 Now girls, clont you think that is sinning ? 
 
 They tell me so much, I can hardly believe, 
 
 And sometimes resolve to defy it, 
 Yet sometimes have longings I ought to relieve, 
 
 And sometimes I think I will try it 
 
 Of one thing I'm certain, have thought it all o'er 
 When lately I found myself kneeling, 
 
 I never was half so uxconscious before, 
 And never had any such feeling. 
 
<>l) 
 
 At first I was charmed, and then I was vexed, 
 
 I knew she expected the visit, 
 By something she told me, that so much perplex'd, 
 
 Now girls, wont you tell me, how is it ? 
 
 LOVE-NAMES. 
 
 ( )f course you have heard of the Browns, 
 In numbers, at least, they are strong , 
 
 However it be in your towns, 
 The list in our cities is long. 
 
 The Johnsons, the Smiths and the Moors, 
 Are all very nice in their way, 
 
 But these are all mentioned in scores ; 
 Of such I have nothing to say. 
 
 I'm writing for those who are learned, 
 
 In the genealogical chain, 
 Of two, that distinction have earned, 
 
 Beginning and ending my strain. 
 
 A season or two have gone by, 
 
 Since one of the former came round ; 
 
 At first it was all in my eye, 
 But afterward deeper, I found. 
 
Jit 
 
 I was strong in the faith for awhile, 
 And many a charming sweet hour, 
 
 I sat by and worshiped her smile, 
 And bowed to its magical power. 
 
 Mutations oft bring in their train, 
 A solace our sorrows to drown, 
 
 And this, e'en to me, since again, 
 I'm suddenly thrown on the town. 
 
 Now, the family nest is alive, 
 
 A buzzing 'mongst even the drones, 
 
 And the loveliest Bee of the hive, 
 Has the singular sobriquet, — Jones. 
 
 TO A FLY, 
 
 THAT TRAILED MY IXK. 
 
 The world is wide, the air is free, 
 There's room enough for you and me, 
 Then let us not disturb each other ; 
 I am your friend, an elder brother, 
 Go, trudge along. 
 
 Had I like you, a pair of wings, 
 Could lift me from this nest of strings, 
 That bind me down to trifling things, 
 
92 
 
 I'd slake my thirst at purer springs, 
 And join your song. 
 
 How many creatures God has blest, 
 With ample scope for toil and rest, 
 Who ne'er employ their nobler powers, 
 But waste their precious, golden hours, 
 Devoid of shame I 
 
 Or led by chance, too often stray, 
 Where others strive from day to day, 
 The higher impulse to obey, 
 Along some bright and shining way, 
 To carve their name. 
 
 Poor fly, although thy lot is cast, 
 Only a scavenger to be, 
 Thy working day will soon be past, 
 Alas how soon, and thou art free, 
 Thy race is run. 
 
 when my day grows chill and dark, 
 And I must yield this vital spark, 
 Great God direct my fragile bark, 
 So [ attain that shining mark, 
 Through grace, well done ! 
 
93 
 
 MEDITATION. 
 
 The column is thinning, how many are gone, 
 Whose morning gave cheer to our own at its dawn, 
 And friendships congenial, how few do we meet, 
 Of those it was once so delightful to greet. 
 
 Yes, constantly thinning, why should we delay, 
 When so many fetters are wearing away ; 
 Each day brings us nearer, still nearer the goal, 
 Where shackels must melt into wings for the soul. 
 
 Now timid and faint, with a glimmering ray, 
 Hope hangs out its lamp on our eddying way. 
 Anon, through the mists faith distinctly discerns, 
 Where incense celestial unceasingly burns. 
 
 O who would live on. still allured by the dream, 
 That sometimes enlivens the flow of life's stream. 
 But waves intervene, and the valley seems wid 
 The billows are dark, and we shrink from the tid 
 
 V 
 
 Ah yes, it is thinning ; on }'Onder green shore, 
 So many of loved ones already crossed o'er, 
 So peaceful that haven, so sw T eet is their song. 
 We almost regret that we tarry so long. 
 
94 
 
 Beyond the bright stars and the ether so blue. 
 The Saviour our pilot to guide us on through, 
 There all that's congenial will sweetly appear, 
 And those we have loved will forever be near. 
 
 AN EPISODE, 
 
 OF ADAMS AND CLAY. 
 
 The story is told of that gallant old pair, 
 Alas, they have gone to their rest ; 
 
 One breathed in New England his own native air, 
 The other belonged to the west. 
 
 'Twas over the sea, in the country of Tell, 
 
 Where roses are fresh in their bloom, 
 Alike on the cheek of the maid and the belle, 
 . Emitting a tempting perfume. 
 
 The lids of the one held a miniature lake, 
 
 Eeposing unceasingly there ; 
 How strange for a Switzerland maid to mistake, 
 
 That queer little lake for a tear. 
 
 This gallant retired with a flea in his ear, 
 
 The other still lingered behind, 
 Intent on the prize he regarded so dear ; 
 
 Oh vanity, why wert thou blind ? 
 
In taking his leave of the maid at the Inn, 
 
 He bowed, but alas for his fate, 
 She stoutly declared it a positive sin. 
 
 Forbid by the church and the stite. 
 
 Now maids of all lands, have a delicate sense, 
 Of propriety, sometimes constrained, 
 
 And frown a rebuke on a flimsy pretense. 
 Yet boast of the victor}^ gained. 
 
 One moment he looked in that innocent face, 
 How could he the blunder amend ? 
 
 And only enquired with his usual grace, 
 Had such been the fate of his friend ? 
 
 The beautiful Swiss tried in vain to repress, 
 The blush that had tinged her surprise, 
 
 "Indeed sir he'll tell you, although I confess, 
 He beg'd me, with tears in his eyes." 
 
 I'ST TRUE ? 
 
 They tell me I am growing old, 
 And point what marks betray ; 
 
 I scarce believe, though often told, 
 And yet my locks are gray. 
 
96 
 
 Spring, with its gems so bright and fair. 
 
 And summer breezes free, 
 And e'en the snow flakes in the air, 
 
 Have still their charms for me. 
 
 I may not sing as once I sung, 
 Nor light my bow be drawn, 
 
 The harp cannot be counted young, 
 With sixty summers gone. 
 
 And yet I list the merry sound, 
 
 Of youthful voices near, 
 And hail the seasons in their round. 
 
 With all my former cheer. 
 
 Yet soon, ah soon the lengthening scroll, 
 
 Must tell on me and mine, 
 These merry seasons cease to roll, 
 
 My sun refuse to shine. 
 
 Alas, e'en so ; the fairest sky, 
 
 At length is overcast, 
 Our evening shadows hover nigh, 
 
 And life's bright dream is past. 
 
97 
 
 SPECIALITIE 
 
 As a general rule. [ have an antipathy to these, 
 but there are exceptions. When a tradesman says 
 such and such articles are specialities with him I go 
 by, satisfied that he knows more about them than I 
 do. His bacon, two cents below the market, was 
 soured before it reached the smoke house, his cheap 
 oolong, has been kept too long, his American Java is 
 Canada peas. An intelligence office, next door to a 
 milk depot, has a sign, "wet nurses a speciality," — 
 T never go there, — A Sunday school superintendent 
 handed me a private business card, "pure bourbon 
 a speciality," — I like liquor for some uses, but his 
 was too much rectified, and I like sundav schools, 
 but prefer them "straight,' 1 that is, without whiskey. 
 My preacher has a penchant for special discourses, 
 and one of his late themes was "unleavened bread." 
 which he kneaded and kneaded until I was seized 
 with shortening on the brain, which was nearly fatal 
 in its results to my pig, indeed so great was the 
 jeopardy that but for a timely suggestion, that it 
 was the only curl he had, he would have lost his 
 narative. This idea of "specialities," is not as many 
 
98 
 
 imagine, a modern one, more than fifty years ago, 
 when the whipping post in Connecticut, stood in 
 front of the church where it ought to stand, so that 
 penitence and atonement might be under the drop- 
 pings of the sanctuary, and they marched deserving 
 men up to the tune of the cat-o-nine, Cain Bromley 
 had for the third time submitted to the ordeal, and 
 when the officer proposed to bathe his stripes with 
 brandy, replied, '-hardly worth while, but I make it 
 a speciality to take a little inwardly after exercises 
 of this sort. 
 
 Exceptions. — I have a hen that is useful in her 
 way, though she lays no eggs, a kind of dry nurse 
 to orphan chickens, and so affluent is her flow of 
 affection for them, we count her a speciality. — An 
 old clergyman whose salary had run behind hand, 
 being complained of by his parishioners for wander- 
 nig from his themes, announced a special discourse 
 from Matthew 7th and 12th. In his exordium he 
 declared his purpose to have a practical bearing on 
 his hearers, which they recognized, as he rounded 
 off with an eloquent peroration, "pay up." And 
 they sami; with unusual unction, 
 
 "We are on our journey home." 
 
99 
 
 SCHOOL GIELS. 
 
 Jolly, good naturecl, winsome creatures, fond of 
 fun, without guile, and always in for a good time. 
 
 I had no juvenile years, like others, Avas always 
 young, and am now, but my boyhood only dawned 
 after I had turned my thirtieth year, and I cannot 
 say I regret it, though I sometimes fear, lest I may 
 like others, become childish in age. And now for 
 the girls, — -I liked them all, but my especial fancy 
 was for those of the "graduate class," and it was a 
 little singular that many of them claimed to belong 
 to the class for a half dozen years after they received 
 their diplomas, insisting that tne practical pari- of 
 education were yet to be learned. I had no reason 
 to dispute them, inasmuch as they were not young 
 enough to be shy. pert, ready to "tell ma" and all 
 that sort of thing, nor old enough to be hesitating, 
 suspicious, fall of angularities, in short, they were 
 at just the right age to trust implicitly, and they 
 knew I would never betray them. Plow often they 
 made me their confidant, always prefacing "now I 
 would nt tell any body else in the round world ;" 
 and ma v be they would not , how many y 011112 fel- 
 
100 
 
 lows would have given their best beavers to know 
 what I know without asking, and especially their 
 o.vn status in the girls' esteem. I never was too bu- 
 sv to listen to their tales of trouble or delight, and 
 always pledged fealty to their proposals, and never 
 permitted any press of business or engagements to 
 interfere with my custom of giving two days of the 
 ; ear exclusively to the girls. — -in spring to Maying, 
 and in autumn, for games on the lawn free range of 
 the premises, and a general good time How grapes 
 would disappear and pears melt away ! what splen- 
 did eaters they were and what capacities they had ! 
 1 knew when to expect them and could hear their 
 merry laugh down the cedar path before they came 
 in sight, always met them at the big chestnut, to 
 bid them welcome, and say. to their infinite delight 
 "now us girls will have a good time,' 1 to which the 
 hearty response was. "that's just what us girls are in 
 for.' 1 Those were merry days, and gay scenes, not 
 easily forgotten, but the crowning triumph was at 
 the supper table. Our Bill of Fare suited for both 
 seasons, and was unvarying. What elegant appe- 
 tites, and how much they could stow away without 
 even winking ! We were not wholly unobserved, 
 two or three old maids peaked through the blinds, 
 and a few curious mothers usually came in for the 
 
101 
 
 feast, and if Maggie or Jeannie or Kate were noisy, 
 would frown, but woe to the matron that opened 
 her lips to chide. There was one, I would gladly 
 have had with us, but the girls were unwilling, and 
 outvoted me. She was the raggedest, j oiliest, and 
 prettiest girl I ever knew, the soul of wit, a charm 
 in conversation, with a heart full of kindness. I 
 always filled a tra} r and sent round to her after the 
 others were gone ; she understood me. She is wife 
 to a millionaire now, as beautiful as ever, and our 
 friendship is unbroken. 
 
 Those days are gone by, the girls have grown to 
 womanhood, some of them are now mothers, in the 
 round of life we meet, always cordially, but I can 
 sometimes detect a twinkle of the eye that seems to 
 say, "your days of fun, old fellow, are over as well 
 as ours. v 
 
 Yes, they are partly over. Spring comes with its 
 blossoms and autumn with its fruits, but the merry 
 shout of the girls has died away in an echo, and a 
 pair of young eyes now glare on all my walks, and 
 an active brain runs its fibres along my ways, and 
 perhaps it is well, though I shall never cease to re- 
 gret that blunder in nature, which has allotted near 
 sightedness to so few, and limited it to the retina of 
 vision. 
 
102 
 
 LIFE'S EN-EQUALITIES. 
 
 It is one tiling to live in the country, with open 
 landscapes and free air, and quite a different one to 
 be wedged into a brown stone oven in the city, and 
 only gaze at your neighbor's curtained windows, or 
 the heedless croud that goes by. I need hardly to 
 speak of the former, for to know its beauties an 1 
 enjoy its charms, one must as the showmen say, go 
 there. What the city has not, the country has, and 
 fortunately for "us rurals" the reverse is very true 
 in regard to much that breeds sorrow, and in many 
 ways that make life's inequalities plainly apparent 
 There is however, a midway style which serves as a 
 sort of "mild cathartic" to the mental taste, at once 
 healthful and instructive ; it is to live near a station 
 ten miles out, make daily trips on your commuting 
 ticket, be punched down, punched through the city 
 and then punched home again. There is variety in 
 this, and opportunity to study character, the most 
 interesting of all studies to me. On the train and 
 the ferry boat you may inspect the last fashion and 
 the last year's, in brow beating flaunt, while modes- 
 ty sits by with staring longing eyes, wondering why 
 
lo; 
 
 the rays of a lucky star could not ..swell have illu- 
 mined their own paths, as well as those of others 
 perhaps not half as competent to appreciate 
 
 It was one of the charming mornings of spring as 
 I entered the well filled car, every seat but one was 
 occupied and from that a bright morning glory face 
 was turned toward me, as much as to say, here is a 
 seat for you, to which I started with promptness. 
 I had hardly 7 taken the seat before I discovered an 
 odor that conld be endured, but was not agreeable 
 and as retreat was not easy, I resolved to endure it 
 We readily scraped acquaintance, and T found her 
 exceedingly agreeable in all respects save the one 
 of fragrance. We talked of the city and its charms 
 of fashion and its votaries, of the country and its 
 fascinations, of cornfields and water melons, bloom- 
 ing heather and forget-me-nots, of perfumes tropical 
 and polar, I am familiar with many of these, but 
 the one around me was an odd one and I resorted 
 to strategy to ascertain its compound. I spoke of 
 my horse, my cow, my chickens and dog, and final- 
 ly of our favorite maltese ! The color rose to her 
 cheek, the secret was out ; that magical word cat, 
 had solved the mystery, and I thought of life and 
 its a»l vantages so strangely 7 allotted. Many of our 
 city belles, puttied and painted, would give almost 
 
104 
 
 their eye teeth for such a face as this, '.hough they 
 are loaded with silks and satins and jewels to adorn 
 them are furnished with closets and bureaus and 
 Saratoga trunks, to hold their used and unused re- 
 galia, while here was rustic health and primrose 
 beauty, rare and charming, with probably but one 
 brocade to serve alike at the country church and 
 the village ball, and now brushed for a Broadway 
 promenade, and at home, no wardrobe but a peg in 
 the attic, where the homestead mousers enact their 
 nocturnal carousals. 
 
 ye whose haunts are along the affluent streams 
 <>f life, whose joys are amid its merry dance, envy 
 not the modest country maiden, her features sweet 
 and cheeks of bloom, but rather turn with cheering 
 and kindly smiles, on the beautiful but poor. 
 
105 
 
 A NIGHT ON THE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 She bad read Ovid, and I had not, — She was a 
 widow, and I did not know it. It is one of the pe- 
 culiarities of that mountain atmosphere along the 
 old National Turnpike, that where grief does not 
 strike in, its traces are easily obliterated by healthy 
 airs that sweep that American Switzerland. 
 
 I knew Mr. James Keeside in mail coach times, 
 when Uncle Sam counted him king coachman, but 
 his star was waning, and one of his last efforts was 
 an opposition line against the more nourishing com- 
 petitors in the transporting of mails and passengers 
 between Baltimore and Wheeling. Meeting me at 
 Barnum's, he proposed to ride with me to Frederic 
 and see that I was well seated in one of his coaches 
 for a ride over the mountains. Those who remem- 
 ber the old strap rail road, with granite ties, where 
 the ''Baltimore and Ohio" now winds its way, will 
 also remember the comfortless cars without springs, 
 and their thundering rattle as they drove along, at 
 twelve miles an hour, but Eeeside was rich in anec- 
 dote, and our six hours ride was a charming one to 
 me. notwithstanding one or two bruises and warts 
 
106 
 
 \\ Inch I have retained as talismen of my ride, with 
 trifit genial friend who has now erossed to a country 
 where sages are not needed, and competition is not 
 known. 
 
 As coach after coach started off with a full load, 
 "through passengers 1 ' having preference, I began to 
 be a little anxious about my chance, but my friend 
 understood the case, and as the last one came round 
 for its freight, a gentlemanly "broad brim"' handed 
 into the coach, one of those mild, sweet faces, rarely 
 met, with large lustrous eyes, as soft as a Gazelles. 
 Lidding me good by, Mr. R turned to the quaker, 
 ••if my friend proves as agreeable to your niece as 
 he has been to me, [ doubt not they will find the 
 road only too short,'" and we were off. 
 
 Talk of railway rides as pleasant, where every 
 passenger is absorbed in his or her own thoughts, 
 an 1 yon are whizzed by objects, too rapidly for no- 
 tice or comment, and ten to one your best stories 
 wake only a monosyllable in response ; in staging it 
 is different . your team trots the level, canters down 
 hill, and walks up : the landscapes around, are your 
 eye-feasts, an 1 their treasures your delight, which 
 seen through two pairs of eyes instead of one. grow 
 doubly enchanting. After so pleasant an introduc- 
 tion, my charming "companion du voyage' 1 and I 
 
107 
 
 had little trouble in making acquaintance. 
 
 The sun was going down the western sky, night 
 was coming on, and if we would read each others 
 thoughts by optical aid, it was important to adhere 
 to the adage, l 'make hay while the sun shines,"' and 
 enjoy it in the shadows. How beautiful were the 
 hills, as we gazed together ; how lovely the valleys 
 as we looked through the same window ; how clear 
 the mountain streams as we saw them with our twin 
 eyes ; how light was the jolting when we braced 
 each other ; how soft the cushions as we sat at ease. 
 Twilight was gone, and the birds were in dreams. 
 How cloudless was the night when neither looked 
 out. Was ever sky so needlessly starry, when both 
 vere stone blind ? We improvised romance, and 
 became romantic. We talked of flowers and their 
 fragrance came on the night air. We hinted at love 
 and Eden blossomed in the coach, and the perfume 
 of paradise enveloped us. How guilelessly did she 
 speak of the erring of Eve, counting it a blunder of 
 her honey-moon. The stage halted, but we kept 
 on, the horses were changed, but we knew it not, — 
 We reckoned neither the receding miles nor flight 
 of the hours, until the curtains were drawn and the 
 morning sunbeams were illuminating the crest of 
 Laurel Hill. Looking from the summit, there lav 
 
108 
 
 Uniontown, seven miles down the valley, where we 
 were to part, to meet again, perhaps never ! time 
 what a truant thou art, when we would gladly have 
 thee linger ! It seemed but a span, and we were in 
 the outskirts of the village. Leaning to the window 
 she pointed to a mound and to one particular ridge, 
 over which a willow wept ; "it is a year to dav ; he 
 was mine but five months, but they were beautiful 
 months." 
 
 I was speechless, — a dim and watery haze came 
 over my vision, — a single star on memory's disc,— 
 one only glimmering ray of consciousness remained, 
 — but yesterday, I was a pupil to Calvin. — to day, 
 a Hicksite Quaker. 
 

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