Year: 1867

And yet TO night tho years lie heavy on my
soul, aud like the burden Of age come up to the
scenes of my youth.


Nothing looks changed here. The harvest
moon gathers the old house into its silver folds
just as it did then-the tall cherry trees rustic
over my head-the currant bushes make their
dark green line where the fence has gone to de-
cay, and the ounce shrubs futter in the soft
wind.


And another wind blows up from the coast Of
my youth. Oh for the old boySheart that stood
here and dreamed its dreams and made its plans
twenty-fve We years agoi


az was to be a rich man I" l said, standing
here, in the strong confidence of youth. The
world says am that now. | would tell you,
too, that have an honorable name--thanks to
the prayers of the old mother who sleeps under a
little pillow of green grasses by the willows
yonder. .


l wonder ifshe can look down and see her boy
standing here, leaning on the old gate tonight 2


She has gone to another house, fairer one
than was to make her, and which still come
back to me in visions of the night sometimes,
with Amy's sweet face shining by the window





and snowy cap.


am not man much given to sentiment or
romance of any Sort


Years of hard graphing with fortune have
overgrown all that, and they call me stern, and
keen, and practical in the world where have to
deal with facts and men, and the dew of my
youth has vanished long ago, still the old mem
ories seem to melt my heart into the heart of a
little child as stand kere and look down the
long highway of the years up which have trav-
ellcd again to this night


Little Amy with the chubby figure and the
merry face far away from here tonight, stalwart
boys and flir-haired girls call the faded matron
mother, as others call me 'Father ~


And little Lucy Amcs? Searching among the
graves out youder, l came upon small granite
monument, and in the gray stone was craven


"Lucy, aged t,csnty."


Is that all? Lucy, with, the golden hair, and
the eyes like fresh yielets?


Standing here tonight, amid the lost visions
and hopes of my youth, could almost smile
derisively on what men say Of me-that l had
been "success in lifs.' 1t is true have crap.
plea DFaVely Will ! j HdNe ueWu
out with my own right arm path to fortune
But it looks small to night, coming back here
and standing by the old gate with the rusty
hinges, and looking at the old house, beneath
whose low roof fother little children sleep tonight
and on whose doorstep other children play--oh
the fortune looks small to me now, and il seems
as though would almost give it all to feel as
used to when | went barefoot through the COO
mcdow grass and up into the hill pastures to driv,
the COWS home.


You have not changed, old house that lef
thirty years ago standing in the moonlight, bu
you canSot give back to me the strong heart tht
bounding pulses of my youth.
The birds sing, the grasses shiver, the tree.
move in joy about you, but in place Of the strong
restless, eager youth that went out from You, q
man, worn, burdcnea, wearied with the strug
gle, comes back as pilgrims go TO worship at old
shrines, and down theFdeep places of his sou
the words that, long ago, his mother taught him.
Vanity Of vanities, sai'h the preacher; all i.
vanity ~