« 이전계속 »
Huge sacks are barrowed from floor to floor;
The wheels redouble their din:
And the flour o'erflows the bin.
But with the morning's pearly sheen,
This ghastly hubbub wanes,
Through the meal-dulled window-panes'
In tones of unearthly power—
Come hither and take your flour!"
Thereon strange hazy lights appear,
A-flitting all through the pile,
Ascends through the roof the while;
And wonder and wait in vain;
And all is hushed again.
It stands in the desolate Winterthal,
At the base of Ilsberg hill;
The long deserted mill.
Bide silent all the day;
Are crumbling fast away.
SOME MOTHER'S Child.—francis L. Kesxs*
At home or away, in the alley or street,
And when I see those o'er whom long years have rolled.
No matter how far from the right she hath strayed;
No matter how wayward his footsteps have been;
That head hath been pillowed on some tender breast;
Let others write of battles fought,
Of bloody, ghastly fields,
Against himself, and wins.
He is a hero staunch and brave
Who fights an unseen foe,
His passions base and low;
In foray, or in raid.
It calls for something more than brawn
Or muscle to o'ercome
With banner, plume, and drum—
With silent, stealthy tread;
All honor, then, to that brave heart I
Though poor or rich he be,
Who conquers and is free.
Or fill a hero's grave,
The bravest of the brave.
But I will write of him who fights
THE BABY'S FIRST TOOTH—Danrury News Man.
Mr. and Mrs. Jones had just finished their breakfast. Mr. Jones had pushed back his chair and was looking under the lounge for his boots. Mrs. Jones sat at the table, holding the infant Jones and mechanically working her forefinger in its mouth. Suddenly she paused in the motion, threw the astonished child on its back, turned as white as a sheet, pried open its mouth, and immediately gasped " Ephraim!" Mr. Jones, who was yet on his knees with his head under the lounge, at once came forth, rapping his head sharply on the side of the lounge as he did so, and getting on his feet, inquired what was the matter. "O Ephraim," said she, the tears rolling down her checks and the smiles coursing up. "Why,what is it, Aramathea?" said the astonished Mr. Jones, smartly rubbing his head where it had come in contact with the lounge. "Baby!" she gasi ed. Mr. Jones turned pale and commenced to sweat. "Baby! O—O—O Ephraim! Baby has—baby has got—a little toothey, oh! oh!" "No !" screamed Mr. Jones, spreading his legs apart, dropping his chin and staring at the struggling heir with all his might. "I tell you it is," persisted Mrs. Jones, with a slight evidence of hysteria. "Oh, it can't be!" protested Mr. Jones, preparing to swear if it wasn't. "Come here and see for yourself," said Mrs. Jones. "Open its 'ittle mousywousy for its own muzzer; that's a toody-woody; that's a blessed 'ittle 'ump o' sugar." Thus conjured, the heir opened its mouth sufficiently for the father to thrust in his finger, and that gentleman having convinced himself by the most unmistakable evidence that a tooth was there, immediately kicked his hat across the room, buried his fist in the lounge, and declared with much feeling that he could lick the individual who would dare to intimate that he was not the happiest man on the face of the earth. Then he gave Mrs. Jones a hearty smack on the mouth and snatched up the heir, while that lady rushed tremblingly fort h after Mrs. Simmons, who lived next door. In a moment Mrs. Simmons came tearing in as if she had been shot out of a gun, and right behind her came Miss Simmons at a speed that indicated that she had been ejected from two guns. Mrs. Simmons at once snatcn* ed the heir from the arms of Mr. Jones and hurried it to the window, where she made a careful and critical examination of its mouth, while Mrs. Jones held its head and Mr. Jones danced up and down the room, and snapped his fingers to show how calm he was. It having been ascertained by Mrs. Simmons that the tooth was a sound one, and also that the strongest hopes for its future could be entertained on account of its coming in the new of the moon, Mrs. Jones got out the necessary material and Mr. Jones at once pro" ceeded to write seven different letters to as many persons, unfolding to them the event of the morning and inviting them to come on as soon as possible.