XI.
WHAT I CARRIED TO COLLEGE.
A REMINISCENCE AT FORTY--PICTURES OF RURAL LIFE.
Nobody has brought me a kiss to-day,
As forty comes marching along life's way;
At least, only such as came in a letter,--
And two hundred leagues from home, the debtor!
So out of my life I will dig a treasure,
And feast on a reminiscent pleasure.
Our old New England folks, you know,
Little favor to kissing were wont to show.
It smacked, they thought, too much of Satan,
Whose hook often has a pleasant bate on.
And even as token of purity's passion,
Sometimes, I think, it was out of fashion.
So at least in the home my boyhood knew,
And of other homes, no doubt, it was true.
My grandsire and grandma, of the olden school,
Were strict observers of the proper rule.
And from New-Year on to the end of December,
A kiss is something I do not remember.
It seemed, I suppose, an abomination,
Somewhat like a Christmas celebration,
Or a twelfth-day pudding in English style,
Whose plums are sweet as a maiden's smile.
Hush! fountains New England fathers quaffed at
Were surely something not to be laughed at.
They drank, the heavens above and under,
Eternity's abiding wonder.
And here, I confess, in the joy of the present,
The thought of those days is sacredly pleasant.
Grandma, with the cares of the household on her,
In the morning smoked in the chimney corner.
She hung the tea-kettle filled with water
While still asleep was her youngest daughter.
Ah! there were reasons, good and plenty,
Why she should indulge that baby of twenty.
The rest were all courted and married and flown,
And that little birdie was left alone.
Grandmother, when she had finished her smoking,
Bustled about--she never went poking--
And fried the pork, and made the tea,
And pricked the potatoes, if done to see;
While grandsire finished his chapter of snores,
And uncle and I were doing the chores.
When breakfast was over, the Bible was read,
And a prayer I still remember said.
The old folks in reverence bowed them down,
As those who are mindful of cross and crown.
My uncle and aunt, who were unconverted,
Their right to sit or stand asserted.
And I, I fear, to example true,
The part of a heathen acted too.
But there was always for me a glory,
Morning and night, in that Bible story.
The heroes and saints of the olden time
In beautiful vision moved sublime.
I wondered much at the valor they had,
And in wondering my soul was glad.
My wonderment, I can hardly tell,
At the boldness Jacob showed at the well
In kissing Rachel, when meeting her first;
I wondered not into tears he burst.
Had I been constrained to choose between
That deed at the well and that after-scene
When David and Goliath met,
My heart on the fight would have certainly set.
And yet there was much for a bashful boy
To gather up and remember with joy.
God bless my grandsire's simple heart,
Which made up in faith what it lacked in art,
And led me on to the best of the knowledge
Which years thereafter I carried to college.
Tending the cattle stalled in the "linter,"
Going to school eight weeks in the Winter;
Planting and hoeing potatoes and corn,
Milking the cows at night and morn;
Spreading and raking the new-mown hay,
Stowing it in the mow away;
Gathering apples, and thinking of all
The joys of Thanksgiving late in the Fall--
So passed I the years in such like scenes
Until I had grown well into my teens.
And then, with many a dream in my heart,
I struck for myself and a nobler part;
I hardly knew what, yet some higher good,
Earning and spending as fast as I could;
Earning and spending in teaching and going
To school, what time I to manhood was growing.
My maiden aunt--and Providence
Is approved in its blessed consequence--
That baby of twenty, to thirty had grown,
And from the nest had not yet flown.
And a childless aunt, my uncle's wife,
Had come to gladden that quiet life.
God bless them both, for they were ever
The foremost to second my life's endeavor.
Our aunts sometimes are almost mothers,
Toiling and planning and spending for others.
Aunt Hannah, the maiden; Aunt Emily, wife,--
How they labored to gird me for the strife,
Cheering me on with words befitting,
Doing my sewing and doing my knitting,
And pressing upon me many a token
Whose meaning was more than ever was spoken!
At length the time for parting came--
They both in heaven will have true fame!
They did not bid me good-bye at the stile;
They with me went through the woods a mile.
Caught me in their arms, a great baby of twenty, And smothered me with kisses, not too plenty.
It was the still September time,
When the Autumn fruits were in their prime.
Here and there a patch of crimson was seen
Where the breath of the early frost had been.
The songs of the birds were tender and sad,
Yet I could not say they were not glad.
Nature's soft and mellow undertone
To a note-like trust in the Father had grown.
And that trust, I ween, in our hearts had sway,
As on through the woods we wended our way.
Meeting and parting fringe life below;
We parted--twenty years ago.
My aunts turned back, and on went I,
Striving my burning tears to dry.
Almost a thousand miles away
Was the Alma Mater I sought that day.
To a voice I turned me on my track,
And saw them both come running back.
"Is something forgotten?" soon stammered I;
And they, without a word in reply,
Caught me in their arms, a great baby of twenty,
And smothered me with kisses not too plenty.
Some joys I had known before that day,
And many since have thronged my way;
But in all my seeking through forty years,
In which rainbow hopes have dried all tears,
I have nothing found in the paths of knowledge,
Surpassing those kisses I carried to college.
