66 A SCORE OF YEARS HAVE PASSED.
and that old shawl that my mother, who died ten years ago, gave me after she had worn it twenty, and away I speed over to the rich Miss Slade's—a good half mile from my own house.
Find Miss Slade in her lxurious chamber, delighted to see me; (would not kaow me on the street tomorrow.) Offers me some cologne— very kind in her—-shows me what she calla two or three trifting alterations, that will take me probably two or three hours. I beg piteously, assuring her that I did it just as she told me— but she begins to got in passion, and I sit down humbly. Rip, rip—clip, clip, my hands trembling, and great tears gathering that I will not let fall, Ob! but fortune seems unjust.
At last it is done. Miss Slade may give me at least fifty cents for my time, when she knows the fault is her own—but no—though I linger, she only professes to be admiring my work. I hint at my time—she tells me she finds Miss Hill would have made the whole dress much more; cheaply.
Return home—my lip under my tooth the whole way—my hand clenched, I hardly know why, beneath my shawl. Find the house in disorder — the children weary and crying . Put things to rights with as much patience as I can command - get a hurried supper , and throw the children into bed . No time to kiss their dear lips , to hold back the silken locks and hear their little prayers . Mary , the eldest daughter , must do all that . Trimming night lamps and sit down to work , literally “ almost dead!" & c . , worried tired , and out of heart I am . Sew , sew , sew . The clock strikes ten , eleven , one , two , three there ! the last stitch is taken .
Dare not move - am so stiff and dizzy - wait for some reaction — then fling the dress some where and stagger to bed . Even then blessed sleep comes not , I am too tired ! The brain reels- thinks and reels . I see the home of my childhood , remember its petting , its ease , its love ! I live over the bridal hour - agonize through a few succeeding years — stopping with a groan at an open grave .
Oh ! my husband ! oh ! my husband ! But cheaply . hush , yearning heart , go from the grave from the cold dust to heaven . I wipe the blistering tears and pray ; and then - thank God ! He giveth me sleep .
A SCORE OF YEARS HAVE PASSED.
BY ¥. R. STAUFFER.
A score of years have pass'd since we
Beside the altar stood;
The light of life you’ve been to me,
And all that’s trae and good.
As for myself-it may be told
‘What heart ef thine would say;
‘You've felt that love of mine could hotd
‘Tuo very world at bay!
Now threads of allver gleam amid
‘Four step ia not ma lithe ay yors,
‘Your voice hath fost ite tone,
‘And yet your eye gives back the more
‘The glory of my own.
A holy love fs onrs, my light
A.love supremely blest;
‘Aud in our souls there Is to-night
No yearning nor unrest.
Come, let mx kueet upon the door
‘The raven of your halr, ‘Where soft the moonbsams He,
And on my brow in lines balf hid And pray that God forevermore
Lie veatiges of care, a May thus bless you and I!
«DE PROFUNDIS?”
BY LIBBIZ D-
‘Waaxt nod ead T muse upon my fate,
And ponder o'er my life’s alt chequered pegs.
‘Yot cannot reed the Past for bitter tears
That dim the eyes, but never grief aseuage.
The Present, full of toil and vague regret,
Te woighIng all its burden on my soul;
‘The Fature, bare snd blank, before me lies,
And T too footaore seem to reueh my goal.
Laink beneath the tide of earging il,
Hope's star has vanished from my dimoing sight,
My courage diew—my ardent zeal Ls ehilt,
‘And waves of Grief engulf me from the light:
Helplessly drownlog! Jaana! save Thou met
For “from the deep," oh! Lord! I ory to Thee!
�
