"Here's a kiss for brother Charley-- The little roguish elf, I hope he'll not forget me,-- And another for yourself.

"How much I want to see you I will not try to tell; I never knew I loved my home And all my friends so well!

"My lamp is burning dimly, So, sister dear, good-night; Think often of your brother, And don't forget to write."

The sister read the letter With a look of pride and joy; And the father and the mother said, "G.o.d bless the darling boy!"

THE PLEDGE.

[Whether the following is a real or a supposed case we know that in this fallen world of ours there have been many sadder scenes than the one depicted; for "who hath woe? who hath sorrow? who hath contentions? who hath babbling? Who hath wounds without cause? who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek mixed wine.... At the last it biteth like a serpent, and stingeth like an adder."--Prov. 23: 29-35.]

PART I.

All day the snow came silently to earth, Until the branches of the apple trees Bent lower than in autumn 'neath their weight Of glossy fruit: the youthful pines that stood, With leafless beech and maple interspersed, To speak of summer when all else that laughed In balmy air with summer should depart, Were robed in white, save where some little twig Of deepest verdure timidly looked forth, Like gentle Spring reclining in the arms Of stern old Winter. Silence reigned abroad; There was no sun, no sky, but over all A dense dark mist which hid the blue beyond.

The cottager had tarried long that day Within the village inn, and night drew near And found him at his gla.s.s; then rose the wind And hurled the snow against the window pane.

"Come, father, come;" a little hand was laid Upon the father's arm, and into his A pair of pleading eyes looked gently up.

"Come, father, come; the wind begins to blow, And mother waits and watches all alone."

He heeded not the warning; to the bar He gaily turned, and cried, "Another gla.s.s!"

The gla.s.s was drained, and yet another filled,-- And still the pleader cried, "Come, father, come."

"The night is cold," one thoughtless comrade said "And you have far to walk; here, drink, my boy."

The child pushed back the tempter's hand, a glow Of indignation mantling cheek and brow,-- "My mother says there's poison in the cup, And I will never drink," he firmly said.

The father gave him an approving smile, Patted his rounded cheek, and stroked his curls, Then heaved a sigh--while o'er his manly face, Which had been handsome ere the fatal wine Disfigured it, a mournful shadow crept And darkened all his soul. "Come, father, come:"

This time he listened, clasped the little hand, And they went forth together in the storm.

The wind blew fiercely from the north and east, And called its forces from the neighboring hills; They heard the summons, eager to obey, And swept along in one continuous roar.

They caught the snow new-fallen from the earth And wove a sheet with which to blind the eyes Of those two wanderers on the frozen waste.

Then night came on; dark night came suddenly, And hid within its bosom bush and tree, And all that stood as waymarks to their home.

The little winding path they trod that morn Was now a path no more; yet had his brain Been clear as on the morn, his step as firm, The father might have found his homeward way.

But oft the earth seemed reeling 'neath his feet, And once he fell, then nerved himself anew To struggle with the storm.

"How long the way!

Dear father, are we almost home at last?"

Through teeth that chattered came the words half-formed, And drops of dew stole from his anxious eyes And turned to pearly ice-drops where they fell.

And then the father took the patient boy Within his arms; he hugged him to his breast And tried with steady gaze to pierce the gloom If he might catch a glimpse of friendly lights, Or haply of the lamp that burned for him In his own cottage, fed by one who watched, And wept, and prayed, and turned the cottage door Upon its frosty hinges, till her fair cheek Grew purple with the cold; he thought of this, And anguish and remorse smote heavily.

But deeper grew the night; and hours that seemed Like years to that distracted father pa.s.sed.

Nearer and nearer to his aching breast He held the child--for hope grew faint within; Yet with that precious burden at his heart He could not quite despair. "If I have sinned, If I am seen in Heaven's all-searching light Black and polluted, yet my child is pure, And for the father's sin he should not die.

Guard him, ye angels! Save him, O my G.o.d!"

Thus in the depths of his own soul he prayed, And chafed again the little trembling hands, And kissed the cheek so cold it spoke of death.

"Let me kneel down, dear father; let me pray, For I am weary--I will sleep awhile; But ere I sleep, dear father, let me pray."

And round his father's neck he twined his arms, And faintly whispered half his evening prayer.

O wretched father! O polluted man!

Is it the wind that makes thee s.h.i.+ver thus?

PART II.

All day the snow came silently to earth, Until the path before the cottage door Was even with the drift on either side.

No foot disturbed the ma.s.s of crystals white, But when the wind began to roar and shriek, And Night descended, with her sable wing Darkening the scene around, a pallid face Which had been pressed against the window pane For half an hour, came forth into the gloom.

As looks the moon upon some stormy night When every star is quenched, and she alone Through rifted clouds peers forth and keeps her watch: So looked that wife and mother as she stood Upon the threshold gazing down the road With chattering teeth, and limbs that quaked with cold, Imagining she heard in every gust The voice and footfall of the man she loved.

The hearth was piled with blazing logs that shed A cheerful glow upon the cottage walls; The table spread for three before it stood, And yet the bread was all unbroken there,-- And from the cottage to the garden gate A s.h.i.+vering form went flitting to and fro.

Despair was on her cheek--and in her eye A mother's anguish: "But they might have seen How fierce a storm was gathering--might have stayed."

And while the hope was fresh within her heart She hurried in, but only to return And take her station at the door again.

The moments slowly lengthened into hours, The air grew chilly--for upon the hearth A few decaying embers smoked alone; And pale with midnight vigils and with grief The watcher knelt to find relief in prayer.

Then hark! a sound--a footstep--and she starts!

Her heart leaps to her throat, and with a bound She gains the cottage door--it opens wide.

A cry of joy is trembling on her lips, For there the husband and the father stood.

She stretched her eager arms to take the boy, But in the movement caught the father's eye Where horror sat, and told the dreadful tale He dared not trust his quivering lips to speak.

_"My boy is dead,"_ she cried; "my boy, my boy!"

And caught him wildly to her bursting heart.

Cold on her bosom fell the little head Which had been pillowed there so oft in sleep,-- And as she raised the frosty lid which veiled The violet eye beneath that lately laughed, So deep a groan escaped her pallid lips The guilty husband shuddered as he heard.

"Too late," he muttered in a husky tone, And like an image of despair he stood, Until she called him weeping to her side, And murmured in a voice half choked with sobs: "Nay, not too late, my husband, not too late: G.o.d takes the child in mercy and in love, To save the father. Shall it not be so?

Say by the love we bore this precious child, Our own no longer--shall it not be so?"

The answer came, so low she scarcely heard, But 'twas enough, and she looked up and smiled!

SIGHS ON MORTALITY.

WHAT IS YOUR LIFE?

Why do we mourn? why do we sigh?

We who may to-morrow lie With folded hands and death-sealed eye?

A brave and gallant heart I knew: Like some young st.u.r.dy oak he grew Nursed by the sun, refreshed by dew.

His hopes were bright and high their aim: Above reproach or fear of shame None ever lightly spoke his name.

He left our cottage blithe and gay, And as he left we heard him say, "I will return at close of day."

We watched him as he pa.s.sed along, He was so manly, brave and strong, Oh, was the pride we cherished wrong?

We thought of him as one designed To bless and elevate mankind,-- And it was well that we were blind!