4o6 THE GRANITE MONTHLY.
And then our eyes went slowly o'er the objects in the room : The pile of heniloek. by the door, all ready for a broom ; The oak-leaf festoons on the wall; the long seats, row by row^: The water-pall, on the front bench, with dusty pools below ;
The battered old tin dipper, with its rusty base and brim ; — And here we made a pilgrimage in sudden thirst}- whim. Then o'er the teacher's desk we looked, with eager, searching face, Hoping, amid the knots and stains, a new scene we might trace.
The rusty old box-stove was gay with fragrant tufts of fern, And all the rambling funnel, in its every crook and turn, Was mist\" with asparagus, where flies in buzzy glee Swung up and down, so free and glad, it made us wild to see.
Oh, how the time dragged I Are these mouths so long as first school daj's'?
They are the darkest points I see. way back there in the haze.
Ah, now. when ever}' passing hour Is full to overflow.
The thinking on those taskless times is the best rest we know I
Xo freed. Avild creature from the wood e'er sped to its abode More gladl}' than we bounded liome through that long, winding road,. With dinner-pails that swung and flashed at everyjoyous turn, And gleaning lessons all the way that were not hard to learn.
Our father's fifty-acre farm ! How full of nooks 't was stored !
Oh! it seemed larger than this town, with regions unexplored.
We never saw such bees and birds as joined us at our play,
Xor flelds so full of sweet wild flowers. Vou call them weeds to-day.
No modern mower e'er was seen through those fair flelds to pass. Scaring the merry bobolinks from iiomes deep in the grass; Nor one of all the clanking things that these new farms infest Went clattering across those vales, like demons of unrest.
A slender pathway, like a thread, now hidden, and now seen. Ran t'nrough the lines of rustling corn and ott" across the green. With mazy cui'ves and wayside eliarms our young feet to beguile, Till, at the wall, another path met it beyond the stile.
What ])leasant people came and went through those reinembei-ed ways ! There was no dearth of uncles, aunts, or cousins, in those days. And Oh, the dear old grand-parents, with hearts so warm and truel So mindful of each childish want in all our noisy crew!
In that old town all tilings were bright within its ample lines. No bugs were on the roses then, no Idight upon the vines. And did n't berries ripen sweet throngli nine months of the j'car V Tlien, Oh, the jolly harvest time, with all its added cheer!
'J'here were no empty houses then, beside the roads to rise, Mocking us with tbc giiostliness of tlieii- dull, vacant eyes; Noi' were there strange new faces glancing fi-om familiar nooks. Without a hint of love for us in their cold, curious looks.
There were no grave-yards in that town of which we were aware. Only a few old. mossy gra'>'es that always Inul been there, With ((uaint, dark stones telling us when the sleepers went away. Not one of these cold marble slabs that chill our hearts to-day.
��, t
�� �
