Weekly Chillicothe crisis., 1880-01-22

SELLING THE FARM,

Well, why don't you say it, husband? know
what YOU want to say;
You want to talk about selling the farm, for
the mortgage we cannot pay.
kHo,C that we cannot pay it, have thought
of it DER and DER;
For tho wheat has failed on the corner lot,
where wheat never failed before.
And everything here's gone backward since
Willie went off to sea,
To pay the mortgage and save the farm, the
homestead for you and me.
| kHDiD 1t was best to give it; it was right
that the debts were paid
The debts that our thoughtless Willie, in the
hours of his weakness, made;
And win would have paid it fairly, you know
it as well rs |,
If the ship had not gone down that night
when no other ship was nigh.
But, somehow, didn't quit hoping, aud ever
I've tried to pray
but know if our VIII wa, alive on earth,
he'd surely been here to-day.
thought that the merciful Father, would
somehow care for the lad
Because he was trying to better the past, and
because he was all we had.
But now am we'd nigh hopeless, since hope
for my boy has fled,
For selling the farm means giving him up,
and knowing for sure he's dead.
Oh! Thomas how can we leave it, the home we
have always known?
We won il away from the forest, and made it
so much our own.
First day we kept house together was the day
that you brought me here;
And no other place in the WIDE wide wor Id
would ever be half so dear.
Of course, YOU remember it ThOmas-I need
not ask you | know.
For this is the month, aad this is the day-it
was twCnty-siX years ago.
And don't yoU remember, Thomas, the winter
the bGrl was made?
How we were so proud and happy, for AL our
debts were paid
The crops were good that summer, and every
thing worked like a charm,
And we felt so rich and contcnted to think We
had paid for the farm.
Aud now to think we must leave it, when here
was hopiug to die,
1t Beoms rs if it was breaking my heart, but
the fOunL Of my tears is dry.
Thcrc'R man up there in the village that's
wanting to buy, you say.
We'll, Thomas ho'll have to have it, but why
docs he come to-day?
But there, it is wrong to gricve you, for you
have enough 20 bear,
And in oil our petty troubles you always
have borne yOur share;
am butn sorry helpmeet since | have &c
childish grown.
There, there, 90 ON to the village, let me have
i, ont alone.
Poor Thomas, hos growing feeble, he steps st
weary and slow,
| There is not much in his looks to-day like
twcnty-siX years ago.
| But know that his heart is youthful, as il
was when we first were wed,
| AMI his love Is rs Ctrpng as ever for NE, and
for Willie, our boy that is dead.
Oh, Willie lay baby Willie, | never shall sc;
him more;
never shall bear his footsteps, Us he come
through the open door.
| How ure you. Gcnr little Inuther?" were al
wly- dc words he'd say;
Il sooma az II would give the world to bca
it again to day.
| knew whcl my boy was coming, be it eve
50 early Ut late,
He was always whstliag Home, Sweet Home
as he opened the garden gate.
| And mGny and many moment, since thu
| night that the ship went down,
| | have started up at a whistle like his, ou
| there on the road from town;
Ard in many night of sorrow, in thc silence
early and late,
Have | held my breath at footstep, that
seemed to pause u. the gate.
| hope that he cannot sec us, wherever Iii
soul may be;
1t wuuld gieve him to know the trouble
| that's come to father ana me,
Out there is the tree he planted, the day h
WAS twelve years old;
Tho sunlight is glinting through it, and turn
ing its leaves to gOld
And often when l was lonely, aud no one nca
at hand,
! have talked to It, hours tugothcr-aS il
could undo,stREd.
And sometimes l used TO fancy, whenever
spoke of my boy,
1t was waving its leaves together, like c'qp
ping its hands for joy.
1t may be the man that will own it, that
coming TO buy to-day,
viii be chopping it down, or digging itup an
burning it out of the way.
And there are the pansies yondcr, and the rose
he hGledp to tend
Why, every bush on the dear old place is a
dear as tried old friend.
And now we must go and leave thom-hu
there they have come from town;
haven't had time to smooth my hair or eve
to change my gown.
can soc them both quite plainly, although
is getting late.
And Tie strangers whistling Home, SweC
Homc, ns he comes up from the gate
I'll go out into the kitcehn now, for don
want tn look on his face.
What right has he to be whistling that uulc'
he hos bought tho place.
Why, can that BE- Thomas coming? he usual
steps so slow;
There's something como into his footstcp lib
twenty-six years ago.
There's something that sounds like glGdne3
aud the man that he used to be,
Before our Willie went ont from home to d
ON the stormy Fea.
What, Thomas! Why arc you smiling. an
holding my hands Bn tight?
And why don't you tell me quiokly-must y
90 from the farm tonight?
; What's that? You bring me tiiings, m
tidings of wonderful joY;'
II cannot be very joyous, unless it is news
, my boy.
[ Oh, Th1mas You cannot mean it? Here,
me look in your face.
Now, tell me again it is Willie that's wantiI
, to buy the place.
d Bch Day. in Chicdgo Inter OCEAN.