Caxton's Book: A Collection of Essays, Poems, Tales, and Sketches Part 22

II.

Though many cares have come, dear Sue, To checker life's career, As down its pathway we have trod, In trembling and in fear.

Still in the darkest storm, dear Sue, That lowered o'er the way, We clung the closer, while it blew, And laughed the clouds away.

III.

'Tis true, our home is humble, Sue, And riches we have not, But children gambol round our door, And consecrate the spot.

Our sons are strong and brave, dear Sue, Our daughters fair and gay, But none so beautiful as you, Upon our wedding-day.

IV.

No grief has crossed our threshold, Sue, No c.r.a.pe festooned the door, But health has waved its halcyon wings, And plenty filled our store.

Then let's be joyful, darling Sue, And chase dull cares away, And kindle rosy hope anew, As on our wedding-day.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XVII.

_THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW._

One more flutter of time's restless wing, One more furrow in the forehead of spring; One more step in the journey of fate, One more ember gone out in life's grate; One more gray hair in the head of the sage, One more round in the ladder of age; One leaf more in the volume of doom, And one span less in the march to the tomb, Since brothers, we gathered around bowl and tree, And Santa Claus welcomed with frolic and glee.

How has thy life been speeding Since Aurora, at the dawn, Peeped within thy portals, leading The babe year, newly born?

Has thy soul been scorched by sorrow, Has some spectre nestled there?

And with every new to-morrow, Sowed the seeds of fresh despair?

Rise from thy grief, my brothers!

Burst its chain with strength sublime, For behold! I bring another, And a fairer child of time.

Has the year brought health and riches?

Have thy barns been br.i.m.m.i.n.g o'er?

Will thy stature fit the niches Hewn for Hercules of yore?

Are thy muscles firm as granite?

Are thy thousands safe and sound?

Behold! the rolling planet Starts on a n.o.bler round.

But perhaps across thy vision Death had cast its shadow there, And thy home, once all elysian, Now c.r.a.pes an empty chair; Or happier, thy dominions, Spreading broad and deep and strong, Re-echo 'neath love's pinions To a pretty cradle song!

Whate'er thy fortunes, brother!

G.o.d's blessing on your head; Joy for the living mother, Peace with the loving dead.

[Decoration]

[Decoration]

XVIII.

_A PAIR OF MYTHS:_

BEING A CHAPTER FROM AN UNPUBLISHED WORK.

Eight days pa.s.sed away unreckoned, and still I remained unconscious of everything occurring around me. The morning of the ninth dawned, dragged heavily along, and noon approached, whilst I lay in the same comatose state. No alteration had taken place, except that a deeper and sounder sleep seemed to have seized upon me; a symptom hailed by my physician with joy, but regarded by my mother with increased alarm.

Suddenly, the incautious closing of my chamber door, as my sister, Miss Lucy Stanly, then in her fifteenth year, entered the apartment, aroused me from slumber and oblivion.

Abed at noonday! What did it betoken? I endeavored to recall something of the past, but memory for a long time refused its aid, and I appeared as fatally and irremediably unconscious as ever. Gradually, however, my shattered mind recovered its faculties, and in less than an hour after my awakening, I felt perfectly restored. No pain tormented me, and no torpor benumbed my faculties. I rapidly reviewed, mentally, the occurrences of the day before, when, as I imagined, the disaster had happened, and resolved at once to rise from my bed and prosecute my intended journey.

At this moment my father entered the apartment, and observing that I was awake, ventured to speak to me kindly and in a very low tone. I smiled at his uneasiness, and immediately relieved him from all apprehension, by conversing freely and intelligibly of the late catastrophe. His delight knew no bounds. He seized my hand a thousand times, and pressed it again and again to his lips. At length, remembering that my mother was ignorant of my complete restoration, he rushed from the room, in order to be the first to convey the welcome intelligence.

My bed was soon surrounded by the whole family, chattering away, wild with joy, and imprinting scores of kisses on my lips, cheeks and forehead. The excitement proved too severe for me in my weak condition, and had not the timely arrival of the physician intervened to clear my chamber of every intruder, except Mamma Betty, as we all called the nurse, these pages in all probability would never have arrested the reader's eye. As it was, I suddenly grew very sick and faint; everything around me a.s.sumed a deep green tinge, and I fell into a deathlike swoon.

Another morning's sun was s.h.i.+ning cheerily in at my window, when consciousness again returned. The doctor was soon at my side, and instead of prescribing physic as a remedy, requested my sister to sit at my bedside, and read in a low tone any interesting little story she might select. He cautioned her not to mention, even in the most casual manner, _Mormonism_, _St. Louis_, or the _Moselle_, which order she most implicitly obeyed; nor could all my ingenuity extract a solitary remark in relation to either.

My sister was not very long in making a selection; for, supposing what delighted herself would not fail to amuse me, she brought in a ma.n.u.script, carefully folded, and proceeded at once to narrate its history. It was written by my father, as a sort of model or sampler for my brothers and sisters, which they were to imitate when composition-day came round, instead of "hammering away," as he called it, on moral essays and metaphysical commonplaces. It was styled

THE KING OF THE NINE-PINS: A MYTH.

Heinrich Schwarz, or Black Hal, as he was wont to be called, was an old toper, but he was possessed of infinite good humor, and related a great many very queer stories, the truth of which no one, that I ever heard of, had the hardihood to doubt; for Black Hal had an uncommon share of "Teutonic pluck" about him, and was at times very unceremonious in the display of it. But Hal had a weakness--it was not liquor, for that was his strength--which he never denied; _Hal was too fond of nine-pins_. He had told me, in confidence, that "many a time and oft" he had rolled incessantly for weeks together. I think I heard him say that he once rolled for a month, day and night, without stopping a single moment to eat or to drink, or even to catch his breath.

I did not question his veracity at the time; but since, on reflection, the fact seems almost incredible; and were it not that this sketch might accidentally fall in his way, I might be tempted to show philosophically that such a thing could not possibly be. And yet I have read of very long fasts in my day--that, for instance, of Captain Riley in the Great Sahara, and others, which will readily occur to the reader. But I must not episodize, or I shall not reach my story.

Black Hal was sitting late one afternoon in a Nine-Pin Alley, in the little town of Kaatskill, in the State of New York--it is true, for he said so--when a tremendous thunder-storm invested his retreat. His companions, one by one, had left him, until, rising from his seat and gazing around, he discovered that he was alone. The alley-keeper, too, could nowhere be found, and the boys who were employed to set up the pins had disappeared with the rest. It was growing very late, and Hal had a long walk, and he thought it most prudent to get ready to start home. The lightning glared in at the door and windows most vividly, and the heavy thunder crashed and rumbled and roared louder than he had ever heard it before. The rain, too, now commenced to batter down tremendously, and just as night set in, Hal had just got ready to set out. Hal first felt uneasy, next unhappy, and finally miserable. If he had but a boy to talk to! I'm afraid Hal began to grow scared. A verse that he learned in his boyhood, across the wide sea, came unasked into his mind. It always came there precisely at the time he did not desire its company. It ran thus:

"Oh! for the might of dread Odin The powers upon him shed, For a sail in the good s.h.i.+p Skidbladnir,[A-236]

And a talk with Mimir's head!"[B-236]

[Footnote A-236: The s.h.i.+p Skidbladnir was the property of Odin. He could sail in it on the most dangerous seas, and yet could fold it up and carry it in his pocket.]

[Footnote B-236: Mimir's head was always the companion of Odin. When he desired to know what was transpiring in distant countries, he inquired of Mimir, and always received a correct reply.]