Beneath the shelter of an aged tree;
Th’ expectant wee things, toddlin’, stacher thro’
To meet their dad, wi’ flichterin noise an’ glee.
His wee bit ingle, blinkin’ bonnily,
His clean hearth-stane, his thriftie wifie’s smile,
The lisping infant prattling on his knee,
Does a’ his weary carking cares beguile,
An’ makes him quite forget his labor an’ his toil.”
Philadelphia, July, 1850.
W. C.