BY ROBERT JOHNSON.
I know a cot, beneath whose eave
There is a hawthorn tree,
Where playmates young were wont to weave
Spring's earliest flowers for me:
That old familiar cot and tree,
The oaken bench and shade,
Are ever present now with me
As when we met and played.
Beneath that ancient tree and cot
We lisped our earliest prayer,
And ours was then the happiest lot,
Blest by a mother's care;
Those gentle looks and tones still live—
Though time that group has riven—
As when we said "Father forgive,"
As we would be forgiven.
Home is a spot where memory clings,
As by a spell, through life;
For there's a voice whose tone still brings
Joy mid the world's dark strife:
We launch youth's bark and trim the sail,
Life's ocean o'er to roam,
But that same voice, throughout the gale,
Is whispering still of home.
Ask him, with sickness sore oppressed,
Who cheered his hope when dim,
He'll tell you she, in whose loved breast
Glowed sympathy for him:
The soothing voice, the gentle tread,
And ever silent prayer,
The pillow smoothed to ease the head—
All tell a mother's care.
Ask him who, on the ocean dark,
In unknown seas did roam,
When first he spied the nearing bark,
If he thought not of home?
He'll tell of thoughts that thrilled his heart
While bounding o'er the wave;
The joys that none but home impart
Lent courage to the brave.
He thought of her, his early choice,
The parting hour, the sigh,
The hand that pressed, the trembling voice,
Sad face, and tearful eye;
And while he walks the deck at night,
He ever sees that star
Whose beam reflects where joys more bright
Still win him from afar.
COUNTRY CHARACTERS.
THE LAST OF THE TIE-WIGS.
BY JARED AUSTIN.
One of my earliest village reminiscences is a vision of old Captain Garrow, in his old-fashioned, square-skirted coat, plush shorts, silk stockings, shoe buckles, and, to crown the whole, his venerable tie-wig. He was a character, the captain. He was a relic of a past age, an antique in perfect preservation, a study for a novelist or historian. Born in Massachusetts before the rebel times, he had taken an active part in the Revolution; served as commissary, for which his education as a trader had qualified him; and the rank of captain which was attached to the office had given him the title he bore in his old age. When the war was over, his savings (very moderate, indeed, they were, for the captain was as honest as daylight) were invested in a stock of what used to be called English goods, but what are now, through the increase of manufactures in our own country, denominated dry goods; I think it rather fortunate for our village that the worthy captain pitched upon it for his residence, and for the sale of his well-selected English goods. His strict old-fashioned notions of commercial honor and punctuality gave a tone to the whole trade of the place, which lasted for a long time. His modest shop was a pattern of neatness and economy. His punctual attendance at all hours, his old bachelor gallantry to the lady customers, and his perfect urbanity to all, furnished an example to younger traders; while his stiff adherence to the "one price" system, while it saved the labor and vexation of chaffering, gave a stability to his establishment which made it respectable in the view of all sensible people.
Worthy Captain Garrow! well do I remember you at the meridian of your glory, the head "merchant" of our village, the acknowledged arbiter elegantiarum in all matters of chintz and linen, and lace and ribbons, and all the et ceteras of ladies' goods. Your opinion was law; for you were known to be the soul of honor, and your word in all engagements was reckoned as good as another man's bond.