The interior journal. [volume] (Stanford, Ky.) 1872-1881, 1876-03-17
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ne GAsrms er Hsvrses LtSs.

In that chair yondcr the one
your feet lie upon. but the one bcsidc
you, clover was seated = sweet iacci
girl, with pretty little foot lying out
upon the hearth, Bit Of lace running
around the swelling throat, the hair
parted to n charm over a forehead fair
~ any of her drcaws; and II you could
reach an arm around that chair back.
without fear Of giving ofFsuse. and
suffer your fingers to play lilly with
those curls that escape down the neck;
and IL you could clasp with your hand
those little white taper fingers Of her..
which lie 50 temp,ingly within reach.
and 50. talk softly and low in the PREF
ence of the blaze, while the hours clip
away without your knowledge. and
the winter winds whistle uncarei for;
ii in short, you were no bachelor, but
the husband Of that sweet image, ,woull
it not be far more pleasant than u
cold, single night sitting counting the
sticks, reckoning the length Of the
blaze, and the height of the falling
snow.
Surely Imagination would be strong.
er and purer IL il could have the play
ful fancics Of dawning womanhood To
delight it. All toll would bc torn
from mind.labor IL but another heart
grew into the present soul, quickening
il. charming it, cheering it. bidding
it ever God speed. Her face would
make halo rich rs rainbow--a stop
Of all such noisome things "a we lone
ly soul, call trouble. Her smiles would
remove the blankcst ofcrowded cares.
and darkness that now seats you de-
sr,ndent in your eolitary chair fsr
days together, weaving bitter fauci~.
dreaming hitter dreams. would guw
light and thin and spread and nsat
away-chssed by the beloved smile.
Your friend. poor fellow, dies-wev.
er mind; that gentle clasp Of her nn.
gers, as she steals behind you--telling
you not to wssp-i worth ten friend'.
Your sister, sweet one, il dead-bu.
ricd. How il makes you think earth
is nothing but 'pot to dig graves up
on. It is more-she says she will be
sister, and the waving curls rs she leans
upon your shoulder. touches your
neck. and your wet eyes rn to meet
those other eyes-Gul has cent his an
gel. Surely!-Your mother. slas. she
i gone! Is there any bitterness to
youth alota and homeless. like thry
But you Are not homeless, you are nos
alone. she is there. her tears sofieuiax
YOUR and you live again to sssusgs
that find sorrow others.
Then the children-rosy. fair.halr.
ed-no they do not disturb you with
their prattle now; they are youn. Toes
away there, on the green sward; new
er mind the hyacinth. the snow drop.
the violets, il so be any are there; the
perfume Of those healthfdl lips is worth
all the flowers in the world. No nee,i
to gather wild boqueh to love and cher
ish; flower, tree. gum. oil are dead
things; things livelier hold your soul.
As she. the mother, sweetest AMI fair
est of all. watching. tender, caressins
and loving, till your heart grows pain
ed with tenderest jealousy. and cures
itself with loving.
You have no need Of a cold lecture
to teach you thankfalness; your heart
!. full oft. No need, deas once. Of
bursting blossoms, Of trees taking leaf
and greenness, turniag thought kindly
and thankfullys. forever beside you
there is bloom, and ever beside you
there is fruit. for which eye. heart ssi
soul are full Of unknown, unsIoksn--
hecuuse unspenk able-tbank ofIerinV~