Let thy whole strength go to each,
Let no future dreams elate thee,
Learn thou first what these can teach.
One by one, bright gifts from Heaven,
Joys are sent thee here below;
Take them readily when given,
Ready, too, to let them go.—A. A. Proctor.
It was nearly ten o’clock when the train steamed into the station. Elfie got out on the platform. As she had no luggage to look after nor even a parasol nor a hand-bag to encumber her, she quickly made her way to the street, where omnibus-drivers and cab-men were cracking their whips, and vociferating their routes; and where porters were quarreling over their loads, and policemen adding much to the general noise and confusion.
Elfie had not been robbed by the guerrillas; and she had still in her pocket the little portemonnaie, well filled with “greenbacks” and “fractional currency,” that her father had given her some weeks before, when he had gone to join his regiment. So she called a carriage, taking care to pass by all those with yelling drivers, and to select one in charge of a well-conducted coachman.
“Where to, Miss?” inquired the latter, touching his hat, after he had assisted Miss Fielding into her seat.