Dear wife, the fight will soon be fought—the victory soon be won;
The shinin' goal is just ahead; the race is nearly run;
O'er the river we are nearin', they are throngin' to the shore,
To shout our safe arrival where the weary weep no more.
John H. Yates.
* * * * *
THE YOUNG GRAY HEAD.
I'm thinking that to-night, if not before,
There'll be wild work. Dost hear old Chewton roar.
It's brewing up, down westward; and look there!
One of those sea-gulls! ay, there goes a pair;
And such a sudden thaw! If rain comes on
As threats, the water will be out anon.
That path by the ford is a nasty bit of way,
Best let the young ones bide from school to-day.
The children join in this request; but the mother
resolves that they shall set out—the two girls, Lizzie and
Jenny, the one five, the other seven. As the dame's will
was law, so—
One last fond kiss—
"God bless my little maids," the father said,
And cheerily went his way to win their bread.
Prepared for their journey they depart, with the
mother's admonition to the elder—
"Now mind and bring
Jenny safe home," the mother said. "Don't stay
To pull a bough or berry by the way;
And when you come to cross the ford hold fast
Your little sister's hand till you're quite past,
That plank is so crazy, and so slippery
If not overflowed the stepping stones will be;
But you're good children—steady as old folk,
I'd trust ye anywhere." Then Lizzie's cloak
(A good gray duffle) lovingly she tied,
And amply little Jenny's lack supplied
With her own warmest shawl. "Be sure," said she,
"To wrap it round, and knot it carefully,
(Like this) when you come home—just leaving free
One hand to hold by. Now, make haste away—
Good will to school, and then good right to play."
The mother watches them with foreboding, though she knows not why. In a little while the threatened storm sets in. Night comes, and with it comes the father from his daily toil—There's a treasure hidden in his hat—