Hers tells, that laugh which rung so loud,
Of withered hopes within their shroud.
UNEQUALLY YOKED.
———
BY REV. J. KENNADAY.
———
“Why don’t you hurry, woman? Sure it is no wonder that the child sleeps in your arms. And yourself will be asleep next, if you walk at this creeping rate.”
“Be patient, William. You know that the mountain is steep; the child is heavy; and it’s but little strength I have, any way.”
This was part of a dialogue I chanced to hear, while passing the parties, who were clambering up one of the most rugged roads in the Catskill mountains; a road so steep indeed, that my horse puffed at every step, and the saddle creaked beneath me as I grasped the pummel.