See how the purple hue of youth and health Glows in each cheek; how the sharp wind brings pearls From every eye, brightening those dimmed with study, And waste of midnight oil, o'er cla.s.sic page Long poring. Boreas in merry mood Plays with each unkempt lock, and vainly strives To make a football of the Freshman's beaver, Or the sage Soph.o.m.ore's indented felt.

Behold the foremost, with deliberate stride And slow, approach the chapel, tree-embowered, Entering composedly its gaping portal; Then, as the iron tongue goes on to rouse The mocking echoes with its call, arrive Others, with hastier step and heaving chest.

Anon, some bound along divergent paths Which scar the gra.s.sy plain, and, with no pause For breath, press up the rocky stair. Straightway, A desperate few, with headlong, frantic speed, Swifter than arrow-flight or Medford whirlwind, Sparks flying from iron-shod heels at every footfall, Over stone causeway and tessellated pavement,-- They come--they come--they leap--they scamper in, Ere, grating on its hinges, slams the door Inexorable. . . . . .

Pauses the sluggard, at Wood and Hall's just crossing, The chime melodious dying on his ear.

Embroidered sandals scarce maintain their hold Upon his feet, shuffling, with heel exposed, And 'neath his upper garment just appears A many-colored robe; about his throat No comfortable scarf, but crumpled _gills_ Shrink from the scanning eye of pa.s.senger The omnibus o'erhauling. List! 't was the last, Last stroke! it dies away, like murmuring wave.

Bootless he came,--and bootless wends he back, Gnawing his gloveless thumb, and pacing slow.

Bright eyes might gaze on him, compa.s.sionate, But that yon rosy maiden, early afoot, Is o'er her shoulder watching, with wild fear, A horned host that rushes by amain, Bellowing ba.s.soon-like music. Angry shouts Of drovers, horrid menace, and dire curse, Shrill scream of imitative boy, and crack Of cruel whip, the tread of clumsy feet Are hurrying on:--but now, with instinct sure, Madly those doomed ones bolt from the dread road That leads to Brighton and to death. They charge Up Brattle Street. Screaming the maiden flies, Nor heeds the loss of fluttering veil, upborne On sportive breeze, and sailing far away.

And now a flock of sheep, bleating, bewildered, With tiny footprints fret the dusty square, And huddling strive to elude relentless fate.

And hark! with snuffling grunt, and now and then A squeak, a squad of long-nosed gentry run The gutters to explore, with comic jerk Of the investigating snout, and wink At pa.s.ser-by, and saucy, lounging gait, And independent, lash-defying course.

And now the baker, with his steaming load, Hums like the humble-bee from door to door, And thoughts of breakfast rise; and harmonies Domestic, song of kettle, and hissing urn, Glad voices, and the sound of hurrying feet, Clatter of chairs, and din of knife and fork, Bring to a close the Melodies of Morn.

THE SOUNDS OF EVENING IN CAMBRIDGE.

The Melodies of Morning late I sang.

Recall we now those Melodies of Even Which charmed our ear, the summer-day o'erpast; Full of the theme, O Phoebus, hear me sing.

What time thy golden car draws near its goal,-- Mount Auburn's pillared summit,--chorus loud Of mud-born songsters fills the dewy air.

Hark! in yon shallow pool, what melody Is poured from swelling throats, liquid and bubbling, As if the plaintive notes thrilled struggling through The stagnant waters and the waving reeds.

Monotonous the melancholy strain, Save when the bull-frog, from some slimy depth Profound, sends up his deep "Poo-toob!" "Poo-toob!"

Like a staccato note of double ba.s.s Marking the cadence. The unwearied crickets Fill up the harmony; and the whippoorwill His mournful solo sings among the willows.

The tree-toad's pleasant trilling croak proclaims A coming rain; a welcome evil, sure, When streets are one long ash-heap, and the flowers Fainting or crisp in sun-baked borders stand.

Mount Auburn's gate is closed. The latest 'bus Down Brattle Street goes rumbling. Laborers Hie home, by twos and threes; homeliest phizzes, Voices high-pitched, and tongues with telltale burr-r-r-r, The short-stemmed pipe, diffusing odors vile, Garments of comic and misfitting make, And steps which tend to Curran's door, (a man Ign.o.ble, yet quite worthy of the name Of Fill-pot Curran,) all proclaim the race Adopted by Columbia, grumblingly, When their step-mother country casts them off.

Here with a creaking barrow, piled with tools Keen as the wit that wields them, hurries by A man of different stamp. His well-trained limbs Move with a certain grace and readiness, Skilful intelligence every muscle swaying.

Rapid his tread, yet firm; his scheming brain Teems with broad plans, and hopes of future wealth, And time and life move all too slow for him.

Will he industrious gains and home renounce To grow more quickly rich in lands unblest?

Hear'st thou that gleeful shout? Who opes the gate, The neatly painted gate, and runs before With noisy joy? Now from the trellised door Toddles another bright-haired boy. And now Captive they lead the father; strong their grasp; He cannot break away.

Dreamily quiet The dewy twilight of a summer eve.

Tired mortals lounge at cas.e.m.e.nt or at door, While deepening shadows gather round. No lamp Save in yon shop, whose sable minister His evening customers attends. Anon, With squeaking bucket on his arm, emerges The errand-boy, slow marching to the tune Of "Uncle Ned" or "Norma," whistled shrill.

Hark! heard you not against the window-pane The dash of h.o.r.n.y skull in mad career, And a loud buzz of terror? He'll be in, This horrid beetle; yes,--and in my hair!

Close all the blinds; 't is dismal, but 't is safe.

Listen! Methought I heard delicious music, Faint and afar. Pray, is the Boat-Club out?

Do the Pierian minstrels meet to-night?

Or chime the bells of Boston, or the Port?

Nearer now, nearer--Ah! bloodthirsty villain, Is 't you? Too late I closed the blind! Alas!

List! there's another trump!--There, _two_ of 'em!-- Two? A quintette at least. Mosquito chorus!

A--ah! my cheek! And oh! again, my eyelid!

I gave myself a stunning cuff on the ear And all in vain. Flap we our handkerchief; Flap, flap! (A smash.) Quick, quick, bring in a lamp!

I've switched a flower-vase from the shelf. Ah me!

Splash on my head, and then upon my feet, The water poured;--I'm drowned! my slipper's full!

My d.i.c.key--ah! 't is cruel! Flowers are nonsense!

I'd have them amaranths all, or made of paper.

Here, wring my neckcloth, and rub down my hair!

Now Mr. Brackett, punctual man, is ringing The curfew bell; 't is nine o'clock already.

'T is early bedtime, yet methinks 't were joy On mattress cool to stretch supine. At midnight, Were it winter, I were less fatigued, less sleepy.

Sleep! I invoke thee, "comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled waves of life, And hushest them to peace." All hail the man Who first invented bed! O, wondrous soft This pillow to my weary head! right soon My dizzy thoughts shall o'er the brink of sleep Fall into chaos and be lost. I dream.

Now comes mine enemy, not silently, But with insulting and defiant warning; Come, banquet, if thou wilt; I offer thee My cheek, my arm. Tease me not, hovering high With that continuous hum; I fain would rest.

Come, do thy worst at once. Bite, scoundrel, bite!

Thou insect vulture, seize thy helpless prey!

No ceremony! (I'd have none with thee, Could I but find thee.) Fainter now and farther The tiny war-whoop; now I hear it not.

A cowardly a.s.sa.s.sin he; he waits, Full well aware that I am on the alert, With murderous intent. Perchance he's gone, Hawk-eye and nose of hound not serving him To find me in the dark. With a long sigh, I beat my pillow, close my useless eyes, And soon again my thoughts whirl giddily, Verging towards dreams. Starting, I shake my bed;-- Loud thumps my heart,--rises on end my hair!

A murder-screech, and yells of frantic fury, Under my very window,--a duet Of fiendish hatred, battle to the death,-- 'T is enough to enrage a man! Missile I seize, Not caring what, and with a savage "Scat!"

That sc.r.a.pes my throat, let drive. I would it were A millstone! Swiftly through the garden beds And o'er the fence on either side they fly; I to my couch return, but not to sleep.

Weary I toss, and think 't is almost dawn, So still the streets; but now the latest train, Whistling melodiously, comes in; the tramp Of feet, and hum of voices, echo far In the still night air. Now with joy I feel My eyelids droop once more. To sleep and dream Is bliss unspeakable;--I'm going off;-- What was I thinking last?--slowly I rise On downy pinions; dreaming, I fly, I soar;-- Through the clouds my way I'm winging, Angels to their harps are singing, Strains of unearthly sweetness lull me, And thrilling harmonies----"Yelp! Bow-wow-wow!"

"Get out!"--"The dog has got me by the leg!"

"Stave him off! Will you? See, he's rent my pants, My newest plaid!--Kick him!"--"Yow, yow!"--"This house I'll never serenade again!--A dog Should know musicians from suspicious chaps, And gentlemen from rowdies, even at night!"

"Beat him again!" "No, no! Perhaps 't is HERS!

A _lady's pet!_ Methinks the curtain moves!

She's looking out! Let's sing once more! Just once!"

"Not I.--I'll sing no more to-night!" and steps Limping unequally, and grumbling voice, Pa.s.s round the corner, and are heard no more.

TO THE NEAR-SIGHTED.

Purblind and short-sighted friends! You will listen to me,--_you_ will sympathize with me; for you know by painful experience what I mean when I say that we near-sighted people do not receive from our hawk-eyed neighbors that sympathy and consideration to which we are justly ent.i.tled. If we were blind, we should be abundantly pitied, but as we are only half-blind, such comments as these are all the consolation we get. "Oh! _near-sighted_, is she? Yes, it is very fashionable now-a-days for young ladies to carry eye-gla.s.ses, and call themselves near-sighted!" Or, "Pooh! It's all affectation. She can see as well as any body, if she chooses. She thinks it is pretty to half shut her eyes, and cut her acquaintances." I meet my friend A----, some morning, who returns my salutation with cold politeness, and says, "How cleverly you managed to cut me at the concert last night!"

"At the concert! I did not see you." "O no! You could see well enough to bow to pretty Miss B----, and her handsome cousin; but as for seeing your old schoolmate, two seats behind her,--of course you are too near-sighted!" In vain I protest that I could not see her,--that three yards is a great distance to my eyes. She leaves me with an incredulous smile, and that most provoking phrase, "O yes! I _suppose_ so!" and distrusts me ever afterwards. Alas! we see just enough to seal our own condemnation.

Who is free from this malady? As I look around in society, I see staring gla.s.sy ellipses on every side "in the place where eyes ought to grow,"--and perhaps most of the unfortunate owls get along very comfortably with their artificial eyes. But imagine a bashful youth, awkward and near-sighted, whose friends dissuade him from wearing gla.s.ses. Is there in the universe an individual more unlucky, more blundering, more sincerely to be pitied?

See that little boy, who, having put on his father's spectacles, is enjoying for the first time a clear and distinct view of the evening sky. "Oh! is that pretty little yellow dot a star?" exclaims the delighted child. Poor innocent! a star had always been to him a dim, cloudy spot, a little nebula, which the magic gla.s.s has now resolved; and he can hardly believe that this brilliant point is not an optical illusion. But when his mother a.s.sures him that the stars always appear so to her, and he turns to look in her face, he says, "Why, mother!

how beautiful you look! Please to give me some little spectacles, _all my own!_" She could not resist this entreaty,--(who could?)--and little "Squire Specs" does not mind the shouts of his companions or the high-sounding nicknames they give him, he so rejoices in what seems to him a new sense, a _second sight_.

I was summoned, the other day, to welcome a family of cousins from a distant State, whom I had not seen for a very long time. They were accompanied, I was told, by a Boston lady, a stranger to us. I entered the room with considerable _empress.e.m.e.nt_, but when my eye detected the dim outline of a circle of bonneted figures, I stopped in despair in the middle of the room, not knowing which was which, or whom I ought to speak to first, and at last made an embarra.s.sed half-bow, half-courtesy, to the company in general. A confused murmur of greetings and introductions followed, and, throwing aside my air of stiff, ceremonious politeness, I rushed, with a smiling face, to the nearest lady, shook hands with her in the most cordial manner, and then, in pa.s.sing, bowed formally to the next, who I concluded was the stranger. What then was my surprise and utter confusion when she caught me by the hand, and, drawing me towards her, kissed me emphatically several times. "How _do_ you do, dear? Have you quite forgotten me? Ah! You don't remember the times when you used to ride a c.o.c.k-horse, on my knee, to Banbury Cross, to see the old lady get on her white horse!" What could I say? I was petrified. I could not smile, I could not speak. My only feeling was mortification at my most awkward mistake. Yet I ought to have become accustomed to such embarra.s.sments, for they are of very frequent occurrence.

"Why, Julia! what is the matter? How strangely your eyes look!" My sister at this exclamation turns round, and I discover that from the other end of the room I have been gazing at the unexpressive features of her "back hair," which is twisted in a "pug," or "bob,"--which is the correct term?--and surmounted by a tortoise-sh.e.l.l comb.

But in the whole course of my numerous mistakes and blunders, whether ludicrous, serious, or embarra.s.sing, I believe I have never mistaken a cow for a human being, as was done by old Dr. E----. It was many years ago, when Boston Common was still used as a pasture, and cows were daily to be met in the crooked streets of the city, that this gentleman, distinguished for the courtesy and old-school politeness of his manner, no less than for his extreme near-sightedness, was walking at a brisk pace, one winter's day, and saw, just before him, a lady, as he thought, richly dressed in furs. As he was pa.s.sing her, he thought he perceived that her fur boa or tippet had escaped from her neck, and, carefully lifting the end of it with one hand, he made a low bow, raising his hat with the other, and said in his blandest tone, "Madam, you are losing your tippet!" And what thanks did the worthy Doctor receive, do you think, for this truly kind and polite deed? Why, the lady merely turned her head, gave him a wondering stare with her large eyes, and said, "Moo-o-o-o!"

As an offset to this instance of courtesy and good-breeding lavished on a cow, let me give you, as a parting _bon-bouche_, another cow anecdote, where, as you will see, there was no gentle politeness wasted.

The Rev. Dr. H---- was an eccentric old man, near-sighted of course,--all eccentric people are,--who lived in a small country town in this neighborhood. Numerous are the traditionary accounts of his peculiarities,--of his odd manners and customs,--which I have heard; but it is only of one little incident that I am now going to speak. A favorite employment of this good man was the care of his garden, and he might be seen any pleasant afternoon in summer, rigged out in a hideous yellow calico robe, or blouse, with a dusty old black straw hat stuck on the back of his head, hoeing and digging in that beloved patch of ground. One day as he was thus occupied, his wife emerged from the house, dressed in a dark brown gingham, and bearing in her hand some "muslins," which she began to spread upon the gooseberry-bushes to whiten. She was very busily engaged, so that she was not aware that her husband was approaching her with a large stick, until she felt a smart blow across her shoulders, and heard his peculiar, sharp voice shouting in her ears, "Go 'long! old cow! Go 'long! old cow!"

FLOWERS FROM A STUDENT'S WALKS.

As the animal dies of inanition if fed on but one kind of food, however congenial, yet lives if he has all in succession, so is it with complex man.

Learn retrenchment from the starving oyster, who spends his last energies in a new pearly layer suited to his shrunken form.

As animals which have no organs of special sense know not light or sound as we do, yet shrink from a hand or candle because their whole bodies are dimly conscious, thus we have a glimmering perception of infinite truths and existences which we cannot grasp or fully know because our minds have no special organs for them.

The p.r.i.c.k in the b.u.t.terfly's wing will be in the full-grown insect a great blemish. The speck in thy child's nature, if fondly overlooked now, will become a wide rent traversing all his virtues.