Rests the old church; ’tis gone; its tunnel roof,
Its reverend porches, and its shining spire
All gone; and only memory’s fond dream
Is shadowing forth its antique lineaments.”
After retiring for the night, “Well,” said Mary, “what has become of our sad forebodings for the winter?” “Do not say our forebodings, dear sister, they were mine, and I am heartily ashamed of my discontented repinings. I never worked or studied with so much interest, and since the letter arrived informing us of the great improvement in our father’s health, I have been perfectly happy.” “I never knew,” said Mary, “the full meaning of our old theme before:
“Home is the resort
Of peace and plenty, where, supporting and supported,
Polished friends and dear relations mingle into bliss.”
Chapter V
Listening thro’ the winter eve