And all thy pains are quickly past.
Thou fliest and bear’st away our woes,
And, as thy shadowy train depart,
The memory of sorrow grows
A lighter burden on the heart.
W. C. Bryant.
OLD AUNTY.
The following is a true story. I well remember the worthy old woman, who sat in Washington Park, behind a table covered with apples and nuts. I also know the family of the little Joanna, who used to carry her a cup of hot tea and warm rolls from one of the big houses in the adjoining Square, and who got up a petition to the Mayor in her behalf. It is a humble picture; but a soft, warm light falls on it from poor Old Aunty’s self-sacrificing devotion to her orphans, and from the mutual love between her and the children of the neighborhood.
L. M. C.