The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1872-10-26
Seeking Ones Vocation.


ga rolling stone never gathers moss. NV bow !:
better stick to the farm, said nv old father. as
he clambered into his creaking gig, and shook
out the rains over Dobbin's neck.
Tom threw up his handsome head.
I'm quite convinced that the farm isn't my
vocation, Mr.. Somerville, he replied, loAily
q must go somewhere-to the city-where nv
talents can be appreciated.'
well, we'll, responded the old man, have il
your own way. You and Jennie knew best
It's maxim of mine never 10 NEEDLE with
young married folks. Paddle your own canoe !;
If you run aground, you have no one but pour
self to blame. Good-bys-gsod-byel What.
ever you do, take good care Of the little one'
DoboIn started off on a trot, and the tears
filled my eyes, and aching sensation halfchok-
ing me.
'Tom,' ventured, turning toward my hand
some husband maybe fathers right and
this is snug little home after all !!
Tom turned upon me with angry reproach.
4 didn't think it Of you, Jennie Would you
have me bury myself here, and hoe corn for
living? Have you no ambition at all : and
you the mother of a son ? Unjust &C, tell you,
and seek my vocation--Ive talents, and can't
afford to bury them
Tom and had been married twelve months
or more, and the pretty rural farm on which
we lived, Walnut Hill, by name was my old
fathers wedding present.
We had everything we needed-a tasteful
cottage, flowers, birds, fruits and berries, and
a well-tilled, finely stocked farm. But Tom
was disconnected. Tom was a scholar in his
way. He had been to college little, read law
little, read medicine little, and I'm not sure
he had not dabbled in divinity. Of course such
manifold requirements must not be suffered to
run to waste. Tom must seek his vocation.
The first step would be to sell Walnut Hill,
for find vw;fb
money.
Wewrote to papa about it, and he made us
a visit.
why, Tom, the farm is looking up, he said,
glancing round 1.-THE we'll titled fields. Idon't
think your plans wise one'
But Tom thought otherwise, and the result
was that Walnut Hill was sold with its golden
harvest ungarnerej, and sold at rather a low
figure.
All our pretty household treasures went too,
and late in the spring we went to the city.
Tom rented large house in an aristocratic
square, and brought in the furniture. We were
very elegant. Spacious drawing rooms and
velvet carpets and silken drapery. cook in
the kitchen and nursery up stairs. Tom
bought buggy TOO, and stylish horse 1t
would never do, he argued, to make poor ap-
pearanee in the outset.
Then the search for vocation began but
somehow the vocation did not turn up. Strange
enough, too, Tom thought. He tried medicine,
but it wouldn't do, and the city was run over
with lawyers. He drove to and fro daily, but
unlike Eoah's dove, he returned without the
olive leaf.
We gave grand dinners and made friends
with the city magnates, and they in turn made
us wonderous promises, which remained promi-
ses to the end.
Midsummer came The heavens were like
brass, the streets like fiery plowshares and a
pitiless sun seething overhead. Baby fell i'll
as the hot weather set in, and our expenses were
swallowing up all our means.
How longed ior the cool, green shades OF
Walnut Hill ! And so did poor Tom, but he
would not confess it. He was sure of his voca-
ton still-he would find it in good time.
Baby grew worse, and the doctors recon-
mended the seaside or the bracing country air,
but such Injuries were out Of the question.
Lets go to fathers, Tom,' l entreated, but
Tom would not hear to it.
He had sold the farm against the old mans
will, and he would not go to him for help. The
summer days that followed were very bitter,
hot, pitiless days, with that searching, glaring
sun, and never waving tree for shelter.
The flowers wilted, and so did baby and poor
Tom. He had sold his horse and buggy to re-
plenish our purse, and wandered about with a
haggard, hopeless face.
Troubles never come single file :
In the midst Of all this, one morning, when
baby lay painting on his pillows, the house was
filled with bailiffs. There was a mortgage or
something of the kind en- the furniture he
bought, and they sold US out.
"Everything went-all the splendors of the
drawing-rooms, even the bed on which we
slept, the dishes from which we ate. They left
us poor and desolate and on the little pallet in
the back bedroom our boy lay dying. l sat
down, wrote to father and did not let Tom
know. Poor Tom, it made my heart ache to
look at him |
Baby died The little painting bosom grew
still, the flushed cheek cold and white.
l took my bridal jewels and leaving Tom to
watch by our blighted blossom, went out and
sold them for mere pittance-enough, how
ever, to pay the embalmers, and to purchase
tiny rosewood coffin.
The day after, at daylight, just as the brazen
dawn was breaking over the stifed city, my
old father arrived. Tom and were sitting be-
side the little coffin, and we heard his footsteps
. echoing through the empty, desolate house.
My poor husband covered his face as he enter
ed, but in the old mans eyes, as they took in
all our woe and desolation there was no hadow
of reproach.
He approached the tiny coffin and bent over
the waxen face it contained.
Poor little fellow, he murmured, feared it
would be so but it can't be helped now
Come Tom come Jennie-let's GO home now
children
We obeyed without a word. And with the
little coffin, we journeyed back to Walnut HILL
I've bought the cid farm back for you Tom,
said my father, as he drove under the blessed
shade, of the old trees, "And think you bet
ter stick to it this time
And Tom did. We are an old couple to day,
Tom and l, toiling hand in hand down the de-
clining steps of life. For that little grave be-
meath the walnut shadows, we have living,
blooming children, growing up like olive plants
around our hearthstone. And l am sure that
Tom, hale and hearty old farmer, is fully con-
WINGED that he follows his true vocation.