Kenosha tribune & telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1856-1859, 1857-05-28
From Graham's Illustrated Magazine
My Old Wife and I.
BY PUTNAM.

She is sitting close beside me in the old arm
chair, mate to my own-the earnest true heart
ed friend of life time-my own meek-eyed
Ruta. Years ago, so very long ago that memo
ry sees those years as far off pictures, indstinct
and dreamy-years ago, my Ruth of midsum-
mer evening said Whittier thou goest, l will
go, and trustfully has the promise been kept.
Sometimes, when the winter fire burns low,
and Goals grow blood-red in the broad, open
chimney, take her withered hand in mine. and
we talk with hushed voices of those buried days,
and of the buried dead, who danced with us in
the hey-day of youth. Voices silent, hearts
pulseiess and eyes close veiled-Ruth and are
gladly looking forward TO the hour when we
sha.@N see this band of dear depo-s~ysas.rs, be-
yoTBzSa golden gates of the city Beautiful"
I'VE SHALL go soon, very soon, Jack, says
the tranquil voice. and | answer hopefullv,
very soon Then she strikes the sweet old
melody of Summer and the tones of our old
trembling voices ring through the quiet rooms,
like the echoes of a far away song, sung by a
group of forms known and loved in the past
In the warm summer nights we sit each by
the other, on the verandah that commands a
view of the heaving sea, and the white sailing
ships that glide hither and thither with their
great wings.
Life is like the billowy ocean, l say to the
mild face and dim eyes, covered with countless
banks, some filled with everything rich and glo-
rous, ladened with the wealth and beauty of
other lands; others idle and bare with gaping
seams and tatterd sails. They floated serenely
on the blue depths, tossed, unframed, by the
tickle winds, while the molly laden Ones freight
ed with the hopes of loving friends, go down
even in the soft sunlight and in the lightest
breezes. Yonder go two fairy sails, side by side,
like two companions, happy, if the wind does
not drive them asunder. SO we, rocked by the
billows waited by the prosperous breezes have
kept closely together till our banks have grown
almost unseaworthy.'
The pilot will come to US, Jack, ere many
moons says the old wife. cheerfully, 'and
thank God that he has suffered us to wear out
so nearly in the service Of what is good and
true
Il thank him, also, deep in my heart of hearts,
that he gave ME the unappropriated loneliness
of Ruth Seymour when the golden clouds of
manhood's dawn hung over me-that we togeth
er began the revels of life, and have kept INDY
ing and immortal, amid mortality, the pure love
of husband and wife
Now, though age has sown silvery harvest
among the brown girl-locks, and made wrinkles
where once smile played bo-peep to smile among
dimples, she is still dear as in the first year of
married lfe-stil beautiful, still my Ninon D.
Enclos. | love her for the memory of what she
has been to me through devious pathway of cir
cling days--for the freely given trust, the
perfect confidence, the unasked obedience of
rove ana laltn. Dear Ola VIE!
We can now talk tearlessly Of the poverty
days Days, days when we ate sparingly, that
the noble children God gave us, might climb
over the rugged heights more easily.
we shall yet reap beautifully, Jack said
Rutland believe her. Have we not reaped
plentiful harvest Robert blesses his gray
haired parents every day, for the education he
won by their self denial-our Robert, the orator
and statesman Mother! Il always call her
IMctbpr &c barc oh
boy has made another speech-shall i read it
for you.
Then the proud smile creeps over the wrinkled
cheek and lights up the fading eye, as read
slowly and carefully, the burning words of the
young politician Ruth comes closely to my
side and steals her shrunken fingers between my
own, her foot tapping the floor nervously, as
speak OF applauding crowds and eagerly excited
mulutudes Sometimes a tear slides down the
thin cheek tear of gratitude, know and she
knows; gratitude, that all our efforts were no.:
in vain.
There is Paul, too, the artist, the poet-beloved
by the noble and and great. He came, last sum-
mer, with the laurels about him, here TO the old
homestead, with its gables and queer roof; its
gnared oaks and wide-spreading orchards: came
to blend, in unfading colors upon the canvass,
the bent forms and whitened hair of Ruth and /,
God bless the bow How the old wife cazed on
the pictured couple with their weight Of years.
their wrinkled and faded eyes. Perhaps she
saw backward over the purple hills, the twain
who danced merrily in many a reel, when youth
cred their hearts with happy dreams, and al
the band of boys and girls, that have for years,
been broken; saw them gather again in festal
miIth, rosy train, with smiling lips and laugh
ing voices. Perhaps, too, she looked forward
over the white see, TO that crowd Of forms wait
ing among the brightness and glory for us, their
comrades OF old
We shall renew a youth which viii be eternal,
said softly, as she turned away from the canvas.
BY andby we shall quaff from that fountain for
which Ponce de Leon sought, and sought in vain
thankful ought we to be rather, that our grow
ing old has made our children what they are
A soft smile hoated over the pale worn face, and
saw for moment how she would look hereat-
ter.
For our son in the city, the ever-hurrying
Oity Of New York, l think Ruth has warmer
place IN her heart, than for the rest not even
our daaghter-dark haired Sarah-whose home
IS with us, and whose children shout and sing
about our door every hour in the day, has the
deep sympathy that Graham shares in that moth
er's heart. Ills strange to me, but know she
knows best the wants of her children, and try
not to wonder.