Cincinnati daily press. [volume] (Cincinnati [Ohio]) 1860-1862, 1861-11-02
OUR JEANETTRs.

OUR JEANETTES.
f'You are going far away, far away from poor |
And there's no one left to love me now, and you,
But my heart viii be with you wherever you may
Can You look me in the face and say the same.
Jeanotf"
She stands at the gate-the gate she used
TO swing on when in pantalettes and short
hair--gazing down the long sunset. lighted.
street. The wel-known form, boldly out
lined against the western sky, coming with
expectant feet to claim the loving look and
the tender clasp-where is it2 Shivering in
blanket below Government standard, and
while numb fingers grip scratchy pen used
by half the regiment? Or on the weary march
through rain and dsrkness2 For however
bright at home, there is always rain with
'the boys."] Or, far worse, one of rude
crowd, hilarious with ribaldry, breathing
moral poison from an atmosphere of sensu-
ousness2
"Ob, Father save my Jeanet from this
worst of deaths-the death of the soul
Better camp fever, and hospital neglect, and
shattered limbs, and soldiers grave
The light is dying out of the West, and
the shadows are setting in her eyes,
"Undried because there's none to ask
The reason they grew moist"
Will the strong, fine figure ever hasten up
the sunset street again2 And her pulses
cease as she sees him-oh no, one can't see
clearly with tears in ones eyes and the sun
shine level to ones gaze.
Only staid family men, hurrying home to
tea, and untrammeled, cowardly fellows
'sweet little men"-of a skin deep patriot
ism, hieiDg along to selfish Aramintas, and
young, ardent lads on their way to the drill,
fill up the dsrkening street. And even they
are gone, and the darkness gathers about her.
Absenty she watches the lamp-ighter
coming up the street; marks his progress by
the rev dots of light, and wonders, will
Jeanot ever come back to love-light and gas
lsmpsW
What need to care for the long minutes
Slipping by? What need to work and sew
nowP There is no one to sit with her by the
freside; no one to read the new reviews to
her; no one to listen to her fsvorite sonnets;
10 one to admire the new gowns, and to fall
in love with her over again every time she
appears radiant in the late styles.
So she comes in, drearily, shading her
eyes from the cheerful light of the home
hearth.
OH jeanette, is it well to stay out so long
in the shadows that one can't bear the bright
ness of the home bappiness2
But there is something to do after all
She takes up the knitting--a heavy wooden
sock-and knots up her weary thoughts in
the coarse gray yarn. And the shadows lift
themselves off her soul, and happy images
flash into the glancing needles and troop in
and out to the music of their clicking.
Woven ones?
Pshaw not half so good for frozen-footed
soldiers with neither darning needles nor
skill to use them. Besides, that wouldn't be
working for ones country, would it?
So the bright needles click on, and nit
tens-the only kind our soldiers shall ever
receive. from their Jeanettes-shall follow
the socks, and tippets come hard after. How
fast time flies, too, measured off by the rat
ting melody-not checked off YEARLY by
heavy heart-throbs.
And the white fingers fly faster and per-
form indefinite trils in the air, and the curl
Gus, live nee dies dart in and out, happy in
their mission of usefulness, and the gray
yarns iasten themselves about her heart like
guys that hold it 10 great steadfast pur-
pose-s purpose all woven into beautiful net
works of love.
Three years! and then-ah, well Jeanot
will tell you what then, if he lives to come
home.
And the happiness in her heart bubbles up
in her eyes, and flashes over in liquid drops
of light.
What queer things women are, to be surel
Cry when they're miserable, and cry when
they're happy.
Another jeanette sits by the kitchen stove,
with stained fingers tightly grasping drip
ping pen. Or the kitchen table, beside her,
a long bottle of ink and an old copy book,
for, though often told to mind then, she
never can remember those p's and as. As
for capital DIS and Us, does she not need
them at once and often TO write "Deer Jeno"
It's hard work for Jeanette-a solid days
good scrubbing were nothing to it; and the
perspiration beads her forehead, and the
rows of blots stand thick on the sheet. She
snlidges them of with her tongue-poor blot.
ting paper, coed Jeanette land begins again
OIL the damp paper; and the pen will go
wrong-if it were only a broom now land
the rough band will tremble. But then he'll
be sure 10 make it out, with her name at the
bottom, ami "YOurs, till death" No other
would have half the patience with the
blotted, smeared page but he'll not mind.
No other could possibly know what the
awkward squad Of letters meant, but he'll
read it 'upon instinct" nor
A letter in the spelling of her mind"
He knows the true heart that prompts and
the kind hand that writes, and the dear
thought that tolls 80 to write itself out. And
be will remember her, busily cheerful in the
dull kitchen, hushipg her song and lifting
the corner of her apron TO her eye as she
thinks OF him, ber Jeanet. But she has faith
in him, and the $l3 per month and the
bounty land, and when the war is over an.
other Jeanette and Jeanot will be happy.
When the war is over How every thought
leaps forward TO the glad era How our
hopes all settle there, like white. winged birds
around our warm open Polar Sea of promise,
the open sea we are seeking through this
stormy North.we passage.
But our good Janet knows nothing of the
cause of the great rebellion; knows nothing
of the peril and trial of republican govern
ments; never heard of the National Hymn,
nor of, the five hundred dollar prize offer,
nor Of the miserable failure of the Commit,
tee. She only knows that Jeapot has gone
for soldier" that she must keep her heart
and lips true to him, and wait and hope; and
she sings out softly, poor loyal, vet unpa
triotic heart. A worthy member of the only
true Peace Party.
soh, if were Queen, Or still better Pope of Rome
maids at home"