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 BY 
 
 ROBERT REXDALE. 
 
 PORTLAND, ME.: 
 WILLIAM H. STEVENS & COMPANY. 
 
 (SUCCESSORS TO HOYT, FOGG AND DONHAM.) 
 
f^y 
 ^ 
 
 Copyrighted, 1886, 
 By the Author. 
 
 9, 
 
 I 
 
 From the Press of Ford & Rich. 
 
" It is one thing to write what may please our 
 friends; who, because they are such, are apt to 
 be a little biased in our favor; and another to 
 write what may please everybody." — Cowper. 
 
DRIFTING. 
 
 
 fairest maid of rarest days, 
 
 Pomona's child with golden tresses ! 
 I loiter in thy sylvan ways, 
 
 My heart is warm with thy caresses. 
 And o'er again, as in a dream, 
 
 I voice the words the spell is wreathing, 
 As in the reeds beside the stream 
 
 Pandean pipes are lowly breathing. 
 
 I think of one whose starry eyes, 
 
 And laughter through the woodland ringing, 
 And shy caress, and tender sighs, 
 
 Attuned the poet's heart to singing. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And like Ausonian king of old, 
 
 I listen to the wood nymph's pleading, 
 
 While this poor form of human mould 
 Plods sadly after fancy's leading. 
 
 river rippling to the sea, 
 
 Thy silver waters, softly stealing 
 In shadowed beauty o'er the lea, 
 
 Awake the slumbrous chords of feeling. 
 And on thy waves of rosy light, 
 
 Seen in my boyhood's happy vision, 
 I'm drifting from the shores of night, 
 
 To isles of rest in realms Elysian. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 TRANSIT OF VENUS. 
 
 Ma ull oft, Venus ! heaven's dearest star, 
 My eye hath sought thee through the silent night ! 
 In fancy traced thy far empyreal flight 
 From Paphos' isle of silvery-crested light, 
 Borne in thy golden car ! 
 
 A brooding calm seemed on the western seas, 
 As if to list thy swans' soft rustling wings ! 
 A hush as when some love-lorn naiad sings 
 To dreamful sleep beside their crystal springs 
 The nymphs Hesperides. 
 
 Across the wave no cry of frightened bird, 
 No tempest's voice, no sound of laboring oar, 
 Came on the Night's soft whispers to deplore 
 Thy gracious presence over sea and shore, 
 No fluttering pinion stirred. 
 
 tranquil hour ! — sweet olive branch of peace, 
 Plucked where life's stormy deluge billows roll ! 
 Come thou again to cheer the weary soul, 
 And bid it quaff from joy's o'er-brimming bowl, 
 Till its vain longings cease. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And thou, Sun ! be kind to her I love, 
 As now she glides into thy waiting arms ! 
 For ere the dawning she forsakes thy charms, 
 To seek again the whispering Isle of Palms, 
 And home of cooing dove. 
 
 Then not again, until the circling nodes 
 Have run the course omniscient Jove decreed, 
 Shall she to thee her rolling cycles lead, 
 And at thy feet with beauty's minions plead 
 For rest in thy abodes. 
 
 But he who sings a mortal's trembling tones, 
 With senses wrapped in life's great mystery, 
 Will nevermore, wayward Venus ! see 
 Thy kneeling form at great Apollo's knee, 
 Above earth's changing zones. 
 
 And yet I cry, Oh ! for thy kindly beam, 
 As my poor shade drifts toward the deathless strand ! 
 Lest it should miss old Charon's beckoning hand, 
 And wander lonely in the silent land, 
 
 Where flows dark Lethe's stream ! 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 AT HYMEN'S SHRINE. 
 
 fi3 
 
 jJ8ah ! for the Thracian minstrel's song, 
 Whose magic lyre charmed earth and sea, 
 And called his lost Eurydice 
 
 Erom out the dark and phantom throng ! 
 
 Eor two whose virtues ever shone 
 Besplendent, set hy hand divine, 
 Have bowed before the chancel shrine, 
 
 And Love has come to claim his own. 
 
 Oh ! wondrous change of fleeting years. 
 Time bears us in his ruthless hand, 
 And as we near each fairy strand 
 
 Some newer phase of life appears. 
 
 To-day the tender floweret blows, 
 To-morrow's sun the leaves unfold, 
 And then its simple tale is told — 
 
 The bud has blossomed to the rose ! 
 
10 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 But not alone in mystic rhyme, 
 Nor fancies of a poet's brain, 
 Shall unto other hours remain 
 
 The memory of this joyous time. 
 
 In after days, whate'er betide, 
 The cycles of the changing year 
 Will bring a morn still ever dear, 
 
 To thrill the hearts of groom and bride. 
 
 For those who walk the flowery way, 
 When life is in its golden prime, 
 Must list again the merry chime 
 
 That ushered in their marriage day. 
 
 Till, borne upon the silent stream, 
 Fond memory sets her silken sails, 
 And, wafted by the evening gales, 
 
 Is lost amid the Isles of Dream. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 11 
 
 WHITTIER. 
 
 l wakEj lyre ! thy tender rhythmic throng, 
 And bid them pause attendant to my theme ! 
 For lo ! to-night, above the heights of dream, 
 I watch a barque upon the deathless stream, 
 And list the boatman's song. 
 
 gentle Bard ! rest on thy weary oars, 
 Nor longing turn thee toward the silent land ! 
 Too soon the tide lifts to its golden strand, 
 Where wait for thee the vanished poet band, 
 Upon immortal shores. 
 
 Of all whose song has thrilled our western isle, 
 Thou art the last and dearest to remain ! 
 Thy voice still rings with Freedom's grand refrain, 
 And we respond to each quick-pulsing strain, 
 Devoid of earthly guile. 
 
 starry gems that deck the brow of Night, 
 Veil not thine orbs in yonder azure spheres ! 
 A life as pure as chaste Diana's tears 
 Drifts softly down the ripples of the years, 
 Beneath thy tender light ! 
 
12 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 DROPPED DEAD. 
 
 (Stranger he was to the pitiless throng, 
 Viewing his corse as they bore him along, 
 Heedless for aye of their laughter and song- 
 Dropped dead ! 
 
 Low was the message that called him away, 
 Swift as the thought of a child in its play, 
 And in the grandeur of silence he lay — 
 Dropped dead ! 
 
 Only a heart whose pulsations are o'er, 
 Only a form that will journey no more, 
 Only a shade for the Stygian shore — 
 Dropped dead ! 
 
 Ah ! but the gaze of his wondering eyes, 
 Piercing the blue of the midsummer skies, 
 Looked where the Island of Mystery lies — 
 Dropped dead ! 
 
 What did he whisper, poet, to thee ? 
 Joys of an infinite glory to be, 
 Dreams of a soul by the shadowless sea — 
 Dropped dead ! 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 13 
 
 AMONG THE SHADOWS. 
 
 V ithin the city's throbbing heart, 
 Where life is bright and gay, 
 There nestles from the world apart 
 A graveyard old and gra}\ 
 
 O'er mossy walls the ivy falls 
 
 In slender sprays of green, 
 And silently the lichen crawls 
 
 The narrow mounds between. 
 
 Here oft, in childhood's joyous hours, 
 My errant steps have strayed 
 
 From pleasure's warm, sunshiny bowers, 
 Into the realms of shade. 
 
 And pensively my fancy roamed 
 
 Adown the years to be, 
 Where fairy castles, jewel-domed, 
 
 Gleamed through the mists for me. 
 
U SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The victor's sword was mine to wield 
 
 In battle with the foe, 
 And love of truth and right the shield 
 
 That met the tyrant's blow. 
 
 Ah ! had our feet ne'er left the slope 
 That seemed so bright of yore, 
 
 We would not need to blindly grope 
 Along a darkened shore ! 
 
 But now the twilight shadow creeps 
 
 Across the harbor bar, 
 And o'er the tranquil azure deeps 
 
 Climbs up a lonely star. 
 
 angel Night ! thy dewy wing 
 Enfolds the spirit's dream, 
 
 And to the fevered heart you bring 
 A balm from Kedron's stream ! 
 
 The subtle web that fancy weaves 
 Lies broken on the tomb, 
 
 While in the path of rustling leaves 
 I wander through the gloom. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 15 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 (Seventy-five bright, golden years, 
 Journeying toward an all-wise Giver. 
 
 Seventy-five ! And yet he hears 
 
 The rippling sob of Time's great river. 
 
 Still for us is his music heard, 
 
 Strong and clear are its notes of warning ; 
 Still are the lute-strings sweetly stirred, 
 
 Warm is his heart as in life's morning. 
 
 Turn, muse ! to that wondrous page, 
 Grlowing for aye with song and story ; 
 
 Brush with thy wing the mists of age, 
 Sing of the minstrel's youthful glory. 
 
 Here the scenes of his boyhood hours, 
 
 Where i far-surrounding seas' are gleaming; 
 
 And here the woodland's breezy bowers, 
 Now sacred to his hours of dreaming. 
 
16 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 His was a triumph brave and grand, 
 Worthy the laurel's proud caressing; 
 
 His the touch of a master hand, 
 
 Ever the notes of wrong suppressing. 
 
 Only the gleam of silver sails, 
 
 Under the even's purple glowing ; 
 
 Only a glimpse of distant vales, 
 
 "Where the fountains of Fame are flowing. 
 
 For softly down the western wave, 
 
 Toward shadowed isles his barque is drifting ; 
 While still his song so pure and brave 
 
 Our burdens from the heart is lifting. 
 
 Seventy -five bright, golden years, 
 
 Journeying toward an all-wise Giver. 
 
 Seventy-five ! No more he hears 
 
 The rippling sob of Time's great river. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 17 
 
 THE CRICKET. 
 
 (SBlraluen, vexed and weary 
 
 With the dreamy summer day, 
 Said the cricket's song was dreary, 
 
 Thought the shadows cold and gray. 
 "Little maiden, little maiden," 
 
 Seemed the cricket's chant to be, 
 "Life to day with love is laden, 
 
 God is good to you and me." 
 Sang the cricket in the thicket, 
 
 By the swiftly-flowing stream ; 
 Softly ope'd the golden wicket, 
 
 To the fairy land of Dream ! 
 
 Stars of Elnand ! faintly stealing 
 
 Through the mists that fold the night, 
 
 I a child again am kneeling 
 In the splendor of thy light. 
 
 ye tinkling, foam-white fountains, 
 Bathe me in your silver spray ! 
 
18 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 On yon heights of sunset mountains, 
 ye elfin harpists! play. 
 
 Bid me enter at the portal, — 
 Life is dreary, filled with pain, 
 
 For the youth that seemed immortal 
 Thrills no more the pulse and brain. 
 
 Araluen ! child of laughter, 
 
 Would that life were young to me ; 
 Filled with dreams of some hereafter, 
 
 Bright, and beautiful, and free ! 
 Evermore with thee to ponder, 
 
 By the river's ceaseless flow ; 
 Evermore with thee to wander, 
 
 Where the tangled roses grow. 
 While the cricket in the thicket, 
 
 By the swiftly-flowing stream, 
 G-uards for aye the golden wicket 
 
 To the fairy land of Dream! 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 19 
 
 EUTERPE. 
 
 tJLhis hour so beautiful with bloom 
 
 Is sacred to the muse of song ! 
 Its glowing sunset heights illume 
 The hopes o'ershadowed by the tomb, 
 And bid the fainting soul be strong. 
 
 And now Euterpe's harp is crowned 
 
 With gems that flash like morning rays. 
 
 She gives us music for each wound, 
 
 And bids the spirit lift its gaze 
 
 To skies blue-arched above the mound. 
 
 If olden memories of tears, 
 
 The ghosts of unforgotten pain, 
 
 Eise through the mournful mists of years ! 
 
 She sings of undiscovered spheres, 
 And solace brings the weary brain. 
 
20 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 sentient Lyre ! breathing Shell ! 
 
 Thy mission to the world we own ; 
 Since in the light of thy sweet spell, 
 That star like o'er the desert shone, 
 
 New scenes of beauty rise and dwell. 
 
 So heavenward, on triumphant wings, 
 
 Take flight, tired heart ! and end thy quest. 
 Where Music's wand hath touched the springs, 
 And love is in the song she sings, 
 
 There flow the crystal streams of Rest. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 21 
 
 MARGUERITA. 
 
 (Star that shineth through the gloaming, 
 
 Fairest gem on even's brow ! 
 Far away my heart is roaming, 
 
 As at Memory's shrine I bow. 
 And my song to-night entwineth 
 
 With affection's tender flower, 
 For thy light, star ! enshrineth 
 
 Memories of the twilight hour. 
 Marguerita, Marguerita, 
 
 Pure as yonder beauteous star ! 
 Thou art nearer, thou art dearer, 
 
 Than all earthly maidens are. 
 
 Once again this bosom pillows, 
 In the blissful vales of dream, 
 
 Her who sleeps beneath the willows, 
 By Mahahlah's lonely stream ! 
 
 On my brow she softly presses 
 Seals of love devoid of guile, 
 
22 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 As our fond good-night caresses 
 Mingle at the parting stile. 
 
 Marguerita, Marguerita, 
 
 Pure as yonder beauteous star ! 
 
 Thou art nearer, thou art dearer, 
 Than all earthly maidens are. 
 
 Long ago we met and parted, 
 
 'Neath Italia's golden skies ; 
 And I wander, weary hearted, 
 
 Where young Marguerita lies. 
 Fate's decree our lives did sever, 
 
 Death hath chilled the lovely flower, 
 But her name will wake for ever 
 
 Memories of the twilight hour. 
 Marguerita, Marguerita, 
 
 Pure as yonder beauteous star ! 
 Thou art nearer, thou art dearer, 
 
 Than all earthly maidens are. 
 
 * Music by J. L. Gilbert, Boston. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 23 
 
 TO A LILY. 
 
 W begal Lily on thy slender spear, 
 To-day thou reignest on a golden throne ! 
 Thy emerald robes are round thee lightly blown ; 
 And I, a mortal of this rolling sphere, 
 Have dared to look within thy sacred shrine, 
 Pandora-like to seek that mystic power 
 Which bids thee bloom as Hope's immortal flower. 
 
 But vain, ah ! vain, this hapless quest of mine ! 
 Yet, folded in thy voiceless petals, seem 
 
 Sad whispers breathing from the realms of Care : 
 i( wayward one on Time's unfriendly stream, 
 
 Though now thy barque in stormy courses bear, 
 There is a vale where fadeless blossoms blow, 
 
 And through the years Hope's peaceful rivers flow !" 
 
24 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 EURYLEE. 
 
 m'er the desert sands of duty, 
 Hope allures to isles of beauty, 
 
 Eurylee ! 
 Where yon starry heights are glowing, 
 And the streams of Song are flowing, 
 There is bliss beyond our knowing, 
 
 Eurylee ! 
 
 Oh, thine eyes are on me beaming, 
 As the raptured soul is dreaming, 
 
 Eurylee ! 
 And my heart is blithely singing, 
 While to thee its flight is winging, 
 Rarest treasures homeward bringing, 
 
 Eurylee ! 
 
 And from realms of love eternal, 
 
 Sweet, seraphic strains supernal, 
 
 Eurylee ! 
 
SONGS AJSD SKETCHES. 25 
 
 O'er the wearied spirit breaking, 
 Bear a balm to soothe its aching, 
 Thoughts of hours with thee awaking, 
 Eurylee ! 
 
 Thou art lost to me forever, 
 For the seas of Fate dissever, 
 
 Eurylee ! 
 But thy memory o'er me stealing, 
 Harps upon the strings of feeling, 
 Joy's elusive isles revealing, 
 
 Eurylee ! 
 
26 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 STRIKE YOUR LYRES.* 
 
 /Strike your lyres and raise the song, 
 
 Ye hosts of jubilee ! 
 Joyful anthems now belong, 
 
 Machigonne ! to thee. 
 For thy loving children kneel, 
 
 At the altars of their sires. 
 Then awake the welcome-peal, 
 
 Strike ! strike your lyres. 
 
 O'er the ocean of the years, 
 
 Shines out Jehovah's smile ! 
 And his hand the shallop steers, 
 
 Where lifts the Hundredth Isle. 
 Hosts advancing ! see the land, 
 
 Lighted by its signal fires ; 
 All is joy upon the strand, 
 
 Strike ! strike your lyres. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 27 
 
 Grladly, on this natal day, 
 
 Proud city of our love ! 
 Tribute at thy feet we lay, 
 
 With offerings above. 
 Peace be thine foreverinore, 
 
 land of pure desires ! 
 Minstrels of the golden shore, 
 
 Strike ! strike your lyres. 
 
 Page 114, History Portland Centennial. 
 
28 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 TENNYSON. 
 
 jjb o thee, bard of our dear motherland, 
 Belongs the tribute of my humble strain ! 
 
 And though the lyre, in Youth's impulsive hand, 
 Parnassus' song-swept heights may fail to gain, 
 
 It wafts to thee, o'er England's distant seas, 
 The fountain whispers of Castalides. 
 
 Led by the magic of thy poet charm, 
 
 I sought the wondrous quarry fields of rhyme. 
 
 Saw where great Shakspeare wrought with mighty arm, 
 And Milton groped upon the verge of time, 
 
 Essaying with his sightless eyes to scan 
 The guilty face of earth's primeval man. 
 
 With thee I climbed the cloud aspiring tower, 
 
 A patient seeker for the sacred grail ; 
 Or touched the lute in Guinevere's fair bower, 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 29 
 
 While love-lit eyes kept watch adown the vale; 
 Or shared in peace the hermit's mystic grot, 
 When slumbrous wings poised over Camelot. 
 
 And though the heart that writhed beneath its sting, 
 
 Hath wandered alien on a far off strand, 
 Still will it seek for Hope's o'er-bubbling spring, 
 
 And restful shadows in a weary land ! 
 Where Genius, toiling by the whispering rill, 
 
 May weave the web with all Arachne's skill. 
 
30 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 IN THE GLOAMING. 
 
 ike the far away gleam 
 Of a mist-hidden stream, 
 
 The joys of the morning are showing ! 
 But their light, as it nears, 
 Shall illumine the years 
 
 Where waters of Lethe are flowing. 
 
 Though we mingle no more 
 
 On that magical shore, 
 Where brightly the sunlight is shining ! 
 
 There are raptures that blend 
 
 When the shadows descend, 
 And life to its close is declining. 
 
 For the stars will arise 
 
 In our evening skies, 
 The blossoms will bloom in the heather ! 
 
 While so trustful and true, 
 
 We will look to the blue, 
 And wait in the gloaming together. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 31 
 
 COLD IS THE HEART. 
 
 jaSkold is the heart, sailor boy, 
 
 That beat so warm and true for thee ! 
 And o'er her grave the willows wave, 
 
 By Machigona's moaning sea. 
 Yet on her lips thy lingering name 
 
 Was breathed with each expiring tone, 
 As through the deepening shadows came, 
 
 "Where art thou ? my love, my own." 
 
 She whispered to the stormy main, 
 
 lad who wooed, lad who won ! 
 The faith that's thine while stars shall shine, 
 
 Or roses bloom, or streamlets run. 
 And oft, as under peaceful skies 
 
 Our songs awoke the moonlit bay, 
 A tear hath dimmed her tender eyes 
 
 For thee so far — so far away. 
 
82 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 When Night shall fold its dewy wings, 
 
 And silence broods upon the deep ! 
 Her spirit dear will guard thee near, 
 
 And o'er thy rest its vigils keep. 
 In dreams will she draw close to thee, 
 
 Until the shadows shall have flown! 
 But yet thy waking thought must be, 
 
 "Where art thou ? my love, my own." 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 33 
 
 TO-MORR W. 
 
 Mi ok hopes that were wrecked on the drear isle of sorrow, 
 
 We crave not your pity, nor ask for your tears. 
 Leave us here with our thoughts of the golden To-morrow, 
 
 In the halcyon hush of the dawning that nears ! 
 Where cares cease to trouble, 
 And Life's mystic bubble 
 
 Drifts peacefully out on the tide of the years. 
 Oh, days that are dead ! you were ghosts of the fancy, 
 
 And tortured the heart to its deep-thrilling core ! 
 But freed from the thrall of your dark necromancy, 
 
 We drift with the bubble and sing to the shore. 
 
34= SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 THE SHIELD OF a OLD. 
 
 "A bow-shot from her bower eaves, 
 He rode between the barley sheaves." — Tennyson. 
 
 JUull-orbed and bright the harvest moon 
 Rose o'er the hills of Camelot ! 
 And in the lonely hermit's grot 
 
 The cheerful cricket harped in tune. 
 And stately o'er the dewy wold 
 There rode a knight with shield of gold 
 From fairy-isled Shallot ! 
 
 The splendor glorified the height, 
 And filled the barren barley field ! 
 
 And on the knight a starry light 
 Flashed ever from the golden shield, 
 
 As on he rode, serene and proud, 
 
 With mien unmoved, with head unbowed, 
 To where the lowlv hermit kneeled. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 35 
 
 " father Merlin ! hoary sage, 
 
 Nought knowest thou of loves or wars ! 
 
 But peering in thy wizard page, 
 Thou learnest of divinest laws. 
 
 And at this hour, when to the skies 
 
 Thy thoughts on peaceful pinions rise, 
 My life's great secret read — nor pause." 
 
 Though scornful was the hermit's air, 
 
 It pity more that hate expressed. 
 He marvelled than gay Waldemare 
 
 Had ridden on so strange a quest ; 
 For he was lord of lute and lance, 
 A wielder of the tender glance, 
 
 And beauty's glowing cheek had pressed. 
 
 "And wouldst thou know, fickle one, 
 
 The tale the book reveals to me ? 
 Then seek yon grave ere yet the sun 
 
 Hath sparkled on Tintagil's sea ! 
 Oh, soothe the wound ! oh, right the wrong, 
 And wake the silent heart with song 
 
 That broke and died for love of thee." 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And ever, where the mournful wave 
 In solemn requiem hath rolled, 
 A phantom knight with shield of gold 
 
 Is watching o'er a moonlit grave ! 
 And oft the listening hermit hears, 
 When winds blow fair across the meres, 
 A soul for mercy crave ! 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 37 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Ml or thee, fair maid of Erudition's bowers, 
 
 In Life's bright vales rare buds of friendship blow, 
 And tender, slender, fragrant blossoms grow, 
 
 As joy entwines the pleasure-laden hours ! 
 
 While upward borne on flight of airy wing, 
 
 The minstrel kneels in Song's melodious fanes, 
 To list the music of transcendent strains, 
 
 And in some lightly-flowing measure sing: 
 
 " Thou, Erato ! sweet muse of blissful spheres, 
 
 On this dear maid bestow thy smile benign ; 
 That as the soul its lofty temple rears, 
 
 And trusting footsteps near thy mystic shrine, 
 
 Love's joyous light may on her pathway shine, 
 And beam refulgent through the distant years !" 
 
38 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 YOUTH. 
 
 as 
 
 jJPatjr Youth is but a fairy page, 
 Whereon is traced with mystic art, 
 
 Ere yet the eye is dimmed by age, 
 Each happy secret of the heart. 
 
 Be brave to read, Youth ! and heed 
 The lessons that it bids thee learn ! 
 
 There comes to all a crowning meed, 
 Though we no silver clouds discern. 
 
 Have little hands no work to do, 
 
 In Life's far-gleaming harvest field ? 
 
 Have little hearts no loves to woo, 
 Shall tiny seeds no fruitage yield ? 
 
 No rose that blows in leafy June, 
 But from a baby bud has grown ; 
 
 The dewdrop sparkled in the moon, 
 And to the petal's cup was blown. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 89 
 
 The mighty oak, whose branches throw 
 
 A shadow on the placid stream, 
 Ere God had bid it wake and grow, 
 
 Lay in the acorn's heart a-dream ! 
 
 So thus may we, who helpless lean 
 
 Upon the Master's guiding arm, 
 If we in Youth's fair vineyard glean, 
 
 Be shielded from the shafts of harm. 
 
 And when at last our earthly sun 
 
 Goes down on Life's great harvest day, 
 
 His hand will bind the sheaves undone, 
 And guide us on our homeward way ! 
 
 \ 
 
40 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 EASTER. 
 
 aEIail, sweet morn of resurrection ! 
 
 Here we humbly bend the knee, 
 And the tendrils of affection 
 
 Twine now lovingly for thee. 
 Decked with garlands of the springtime, 
 
 Seemest thou a child of May, 
 But a pensive light is dwelling 
 
 In thy thoughtful eyes of gray. 
 Sad art thou, Easter day ! 
 
 Star of hope ! we need thy guidance, 
 
 And our songs to thee must flow. 
 Hearts are weary, lives are dreary, 
 
 Waiting till the roses blow ! 
 Oh ! the hopes, the joys, the sorrows, 
 Fond good-byes and bright to-morrows, 
 That have perished, 
 Loved and cherished, 
 Since the days of long ago. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 41 
 
 Though the shadows steal around thee, 
 
 They are April's smile and tear, 
 While our loyal hearts have crowned thee 
 
 Queen of all the joyous year. 
 For thou comest when earth's beauties 
 
 Burst from out their wintry tomb, 
 And our spirits, like the blossoms, 
 
 Spring to sunlight from the gloom. 
 Welcome then, day of bloom ! 
 
42 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 WHEN CURFEW RINGS. 
 
 ( jEi,RE breaks the morn, loved Helavieve, 
 
 My barque shall woo the favoring gales, 
 As far from thee, star of eve ! 
 
 They waft me from sweet Mona's vales. 
 But destiny will watch between 
 
 The lives that seas must soon divide ; 
 Thou art my country and my queen, 
 
 And I'll be true whate'er betide. 
 Then mark the hour when curfew rings, 
 
 O'er yonder elfin haunted lea ! 
 And on the Night's soft-rustling wings, 
 
 My heart will wander back to thee. 
 
 maiden fair, maiden rare, 
 Thou art so near and dear to me, 
 
 Thy memory is an olden air 
 
 That pulses o'er the twilight sea. 
 
 No voice but thine this bosom thrills, 
 Since hope is in its lightest tone, 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 43 
 
 And e'en thy songs by moonlit rills 
 
 Breathed of the love you dared not own. 
 
 Then mark the hour when curfew rings, 
 O'er yonder elfin haunted lea ! 
 
 And on the Night's soft-rustling wings, 
 My heart will wander back to thee. 
 
 Thy tender eyes their meshes weave, 
 
 And hold the parting soul in thrall, 
 As to my heart, Helavieve, 
 
 I fold thee while the shadows fall. 
 The hour has come ! — one long farewell, 
 
 For lo ! my sight grows dim with tears. 
 Thou tellest me, old curfew bell, 
 
 We may not meet again for years. 
 Then mark the hour when curfew rings, 
 
 O'er yonder elfin haunted lea ! 
 And on the Night's^ soft-rustling wings, 
 
 My heart will wander back to thee. 
 
M SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ARQADEE. 
 
 aeguerite is young and fair, 
 Marguerite has golden hair ! 
 Marguerite is kind and true, 
 And has eyes of rarest blue. 
 
 If in Arcadee you meet, 
 
 You will know her — Marguerite ! 
 
 So a message lowly breathe, 
 
 Where the hours their garlands wreathe. 
 
 Say that when the years have flown, 
 I will claim her as my own ! 
 Nevermore to cross the tide, 
 Nor to leave my darling's side. 
 
 Marguerite will pace the strand, 
 Marguerite will wave her hand ! 
 Marguerite will welcome me, 
 On the shores of Arcadee. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 45 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 sacred hour that steals into the soul, 
 When yon bright orb for me no more doth burn ! 
 
 Though shattered be to-night the golden bowl, 
 And all Life's weary wheels should cease to turn, 
 
 Thy gentle voice shall calm my utmost fears, 
 Thy mystic grace shall plead for me with tears. 
 
 Vexed by the passions of the fleeting day, 
 Assailed by doubts, beset by subtle snares, 
 
 I come a pilgrim in the shadows gray ; 
 
 As one who, wearied by the load he bears, 
 
 Leans on his staff to hail the evening star, 
 That rising gilds the distant harbor-bar. 
 
 Is there no balm in all fair Gilead's plain, 
 
 To soothe the anguish of the tempter's sting ? 
 
 Siloam's waters ! gush they not again, 
 Nor cool Bethesda lave the angel's wing? 
 
 Death ! pale warder of the garnered grain, 
 Must thy cold hand alone assuage the pain ? 
 
46 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Yet were it not for moments such as these 
 
 To peer within the future's misty vail, 
 Our lives would be as ships on trackless seas, 
 
 Devoid of hope, bereft of oar and sail ! 
 And man, poor wreck of passion and decay, 
 
 Would drift where faith ne'er sheds a cheering ray. 
 
 So take, Lord ! this one brief hour of mine, 
 In recompense for years of fruitless yield. 
 
 Draw near to me, loving Heart divine ! 
 
 And from the tempest and its dangers shield. 
 
 Though dark the mists and strong the adverse]"tide, 
 No fear is mine if Thou be at my side. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 47 
 
 TO THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 MIld Year ! we will laugh, as the goblet we quaff, 
 And sorrow forget in the wine's bright flowing ! 
 
 On its mystical tide together we glide, 
 
 To islets of song in the ocean so wide, 
 
 Where rarest of fancies and pleasures abide, 
 And clustering hopes of the years are growing. 
 
 Oh, oft in the strife and the folly of life, 
 
 Song bursts from out of a heart that is breaking ! 
 Till up from the calm there has stolen a charm, 
 Alluring away to the realms of the palm, 
 Where nymphs of the isle have distilled us a balm, 
 To soften the pain of the spirit's aching. 
 
 The song with a tear now is blended, Old Year ! 
 
 A new light is seen through mists of the morning. 
 The heart once so bold is now silent and cold, 
 As thy form to my bosom I tenderly fold, 
 And lay thee away with the years that have rolled 
 
 In their ebb and their flow from the dawning. 
 
48 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 DREAMING 
 
 aiden of the dark blue eye, 
 
 Id whose trustful depths are dwelling 
 Golden dreams of by-and-by, 
 
 Blissful years to thee foretelling ! 
 Oft the minstrel's lute would wake 
 
 Strains that lure to realms of gladness, 
 Did not pensive thought partake 
 
 Of the twilight gloom of sadness. 
 
 Though the skies are bright to-day, 
 
 Canst thou tell me of the morrow ? 
 If the heart will still be gay, 
 
 Or shall weep alone in sorrow. 
 For in youth we long to know 
 
 Where our human hopes are tending, 
 Ere the sunset colors glow 
 
 In the blue above us bending. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 49 
 
 And I cannot help but dream, 
 
 In this sweet September weather, 
 As beside the sunlit stream 
 
 We are loitering together, 
 Of the silent years to be, 
 
 Where the sluggish waves are flowing, 
 And I cry, tm Time ! — for me, 
 
 All too swift thy sands are going." 
 
 Maiden of the dark blue eye, 
 
 May there nought our friendship sever, 
 Should we part and say good-bye, 
 
 Ne'er to meet on earth forever ! 
 Other friends may prove as true 
 
 , To thy glance so pure and tender ; 
 Ah ! but tell me, eyes of blue, 
 
 Will our dreams retain their splendor ? 
 
50 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 CREEDS. 
 
 ow barren seem these human creeds, 
 When Life's resistless tide recedes 
 
 Out to the shoreless sea ! 
 Our voyage with the boatman pale, 
 That mystic walk within the vale, 
 
 Without their light must be. 
 
 The worm that grovels at our feet, 
 Looks up its Maker's smile to greet, 
 
 And owns His love divine. 
 And man — poor worm of greater mould ! 
 Shall not his clearer sight behold 
 
 The Father's grand design ? 
 
 Then cease the tumult of your strife, 
 creeds that seek each other's life, 
 
 Ye bear an empty name ! 
 The narrow pathway up to God, 
 In which angelic hosts have trod, 
 
 Is lit by purer flame. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 51 
 
 TRUE HAPPINESS. 
 
 rib is not the blue of summer skies, 
 Nor beauty born to perish, 
 Wherein the happy secret lies — 
 But friends we love and cherish. 
 
 A kindly word, a sunny smile, 
 Like waters brightly flowing, 
 
 May lead the heart from paths of guile, 
 And set the bloom a-growingj 
 
52 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 EIGHTEEN. 
 
 bonnie lass wi' eye sae blue, 
 
 Ye dinna ken the years to be; 
 And c ami a tell who, false or true, 
 
 May o'er tbe seas come wooing thee. 
 But dinna leave dear Scotia's hills, 
 
 Her heather bloom and laughing rills, 
 To wander, oh ! sae far away, 
 
 Frae those who bless thy natal day. 
 bonnie lass wi' eye sae blue, 
 
 Our ain true-hearted Annieu ! 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 53 
 
 THE TYPO'S RAVINa.* 
 
 jNCE upon a midnight dreary, 
 All in vain I sought the cheery, 
 Soft, somnolent god of slumber, 
 
 Tired nature to restore. 
 All in vain my thoughts of napping, 
 Vainer still my puny tapping 
 At the door of sleep — now wrapping 
 
 In its folds the silent shore. 
 "Tis the tautog," said Ulychis, 
 "For thy blood it much too rich is," — 
 
 Only this, and nothing more. 
 
 And the silken, sad, uncertain 
 Banging of the window curtain, 
 Thrilled me — filled me with splenetic 
 
 Fancies never known before ; 
 For my eyelids now were closing, 
 And anon I should be dozing, 
 
54 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 Land of Nod in dreams disclosing, 
 
 And perchance I may have swore, 
 "That confounded window curtain 
 Woke me up, I now am certain," — 
 Only this, and nothing more. 
 
 Presently my soul grew stronger; 
 Night could last but little longer : 
 At the morning's early dawning 
 
 I would pace beside the shore, 
 Pour libations to Aurora, 
 (Weary Typos all adore her,) 
 Watch the sea-gull — early soarer, 
 
 Listen to the ocean's roar; 
 Listen to the mighty ocean, 
 Home of turmoil, force and motion, 
 
 Rolling on forevermore. 
 
 Once again in dreams I wandered, 
 O'er a book I deeply pondered ; 
 And from out its musty pages, 
 
 Dog-eared, dingy, tost and tore, 
 Crept the ghosts of other ages, 
 Knights and ladies, squires and pages, 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 55 
 
 And the tilt or tourney wages 
 
 As it did in days of yore. 
 Ah ! my soul is prone to sadness, 
 For those days of mirth and gladness 
 
 Now are lost forevermore. 
 
 Then methought the scene had shifted, 
 And a "fat take" I had "lifted" 
 From a stone of pure Carrara 
 
 Standing near the sanctum door ; 
 And the sharp, incessant clicking 
 Of the type that I was "sticking," 
 Sounded like the measured ticking 
 
 Of the clock — now pointing four : 
 In the east the day was dawning, 
 And the harbingers of morning 
 
 Sang their matins o'er and o'er. 
 
 But my dreamful sleep was broken 
 By a soft word, lowly spoken, 
 And Ulychis' fairy footfalls 
 
 Tinkled on my chamber floor ! 
 "Rise, sluggard ! from thy dreaming, 
 For the eye of day is beaming, 
 
56 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And the hungry gull is screaming 
 
 From his perch beside the shore ; 
 Rise, and quaff the kind nepenthe 
 Angels from below have sent thee, 
 Who thy presence now implore." 
 
 M. Jfc. «U» «M» «tf» 
 
 -7f ^T -7T *7T Tr 
 
 And to-night the pale October 
 Moon is gleaming, soft and sober, 
 O'er the darksome woods that border 
 
 All along the farther shore ; 
 But distinctly I remember 
 That drear time in mild September, 
 When from fancy's burning ember, 
 
 As they never had before, 
 Blinked the foes to peaceful slumber, 
 And the cares that day encumber 
 
 Perched above my chamber door ! 
 
 * Note. — This and the following effusions, in themselves un- 
 worthy of preservation, are included in this volume solely because 
 of their associations. So the author, while admitting the force 
 of any criticisms that may be made, has no further apologies to 
 offer for his apparent lack of good judgment. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 57 
 
 A MOSAIC. 
 
 i|pAH ! the good old days of Moses, 
 
 When the decalogue was young ! 
 How our patriarchal noses 
 
 Lift to hear their praises sung ! 
 Then no wicked Sunday papers 
 
 Came to drive away the blues, 
 And the milkman's merry capers 
 
 Ne'er disturbed our morning snooze ! 
 But around old Nebo's mountain 
 
 Silence, " like a poultice," lay, 
 And no druggist's soda fountain 
 
 Led the inner man astray ! 
 
 Oh ! the good old days of Moses, 
 They are waiting at the gate ! 
 
 So the multitude supposes 
 
 By the sermons heard of late ! 
 
 But the^ gentle voice of Reason 
 Whispers in her children's ear, 
 
58 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " Common sense is never treason 
 To the prophet, bard, or seer ! " 
 
 So we'll think the matter over, 
 And let Moses have his due, 
 
 But these good old days of Grover 
 Are the best we ever knew ! 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 59 
 
 COLLAR! 
 
 ■JSan the bust of the maid with a B in her name, 
 
 collar, fur collar, collar, 
 I spied you one eve in a crocodile frame, 
 
 collar, fur collar, collar! 
 Ah ! my thoughts thickly new like the bees in a swarm, 
 For the heart you enshrined beat so noble and warm, 
 And the Fates seemed to whisper, " Superb is her form ! w 
 
 collar, fur collar, collar. 
 
 And now, in the words of our friend Mickey Doo, 
 
 collar, fur collar, collar, 
 May the punishment fit the great crime that I do, 
 
 collar, fur collar, collar ! 
 In tuning my lyre on nonsensical string, 
 But I'm earnest and true when I say or I sing, 
 You're as welcome as flowers that bloom in the spring ! 
 
 collar, fur collar, collar. 
 
60 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 THREE MAIDENS. 
 
 pb hree maidens went sailing away to White Head, 
 With sandwiches, doughnuts, and pickles galore ! 
 
 Intent upon having a nice little spread, 
 
 In some shady nook on that picturesque shore. 
 
 Each thought of the " sub." that then worked at her stand, 
 
 And next of the foreman with whiskers so bland, 
 
 But most of the beach and its sunshiny sand. 
 
 " girls ! " cried a rather impulsive young maid, 
 
 Who carried the bottle of red lemonade, 
 
 " Let's take off our shoes and our stockings, and wade ! w 
 
 Three maidens went wading out into the sea, 
 As happy as clams when the water is high ! 
 
 Oh ! they were as merry as maidens could be, 
 Secure from the glance of a masculine eye ! 
 
 But what to them happened, or how it befel, 
 
 Is not in the province of poet to tell, 
 
 For silence is golden where beauty doth dwell. 
 Three maidens exclaim as they sit at their stand, 
 
 And smile on the foreman with whiskers so bland, 
 
 " Oh ! bother the beach and its sunshiny sand ! " 
 
5Ketel7e5. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. G3 
 
 THE ROMAN FATHERS. 
 
 TOhHRiSTMAS Day, with its customary good cheer, was 
 again drawing nigh, and many a young heart — aye, and 
 many a heart from which the buoyancy of youth had de- 
 parted — beat a livelier time in anticipating the pleasures of 
 this time-honored festival. 
 
 What a host of tender memories start into life at the 
 very mention of the name — Christmas ! By many this day 
 is doubly revered, as being the last time they have ever 
 seen many of the dear ones who wished them a tearful 
 God-speed. And can we forget the happy faces assembled 
 around the festal board one brief year ago ? Alas ! many 
 of the numbers will never again greet us in this life, for 
 they have journeyed to that mysterious bourne whence no 
 traveller returns ; yet we are conscious of a nameless pres- 
 ence at our side, and familiar forms are conjured by fancy, 
 till we forget for a season the sad array of vacant places. 
 
 At Brownlow farm the preparations for Christmas were 
 conducted on a scale unprecedented in any former year, for 
 it was to be the occasion of a grand gathering of the clans, 
 embracing the Alpha and Omega of the present house of 
 Brownlow. 
 
64 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The family was a large one and well settled in life, and 
 consequently a great number would be present. As a mat- 
 ter of course, it required a vast expenditure of time and 
 labor to cater to the wants of a whole generation, and for 
 days before the old-fashioned kitchen was the scene of 
 immense culinary operations ; and many a member of the 
 feathery tribe strutted for the last time about its native 
 barn-yard, ere entering a less ornamental but decidedly 
 more useful state — for what would Christmas be without a 
 goodly supply of poultry ? 
 
 Dame Brownlow and her numerous help were indefati- 
 gable in their efforts to fill the larder, and a sightly array 
 of choice edibles was the result of their industry in this 
 direction. The capacious buttery was filled with all the 
 
 4 
 
 good things appertaining to a New England feast, not 
 omitting the indispensable pumpkin pie ; and if a due re- 
 gard for the wants of the inner man is the chief feature of 
 these festive occasions — according to Epicurean reasoning 
 — then this promised to be a most enjoyable season indeed. 
 
 Brownlow farm, from its situation on one of the main 
 roads leading to the city, had a reputation for generosity 
 among travellers, and the comfortable proportions of the 
 quaint, square-built dwelling seemed to invite the weary 
 and belated to rest beneath its roof. 
 
 Squire Brownlow, as he was called, was well liked by 
 his neighbors for his hearty manner and strict integrity, 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 65 
 
 though he was unrelenting toward those who did him an 
 injury, and it was of little use to appeal from his final de- 
 cision. Although far advanced in years he was still active 
 and rugged, though of late his vigorous constitution had 
 undergone a marked change, and the rigorous lines of 
 character were being softened by the insidious approach of 
 old age. That something more than usual disturbed his 
 peace of mind this bright December morning was apparent 
 from the far-off look in his eyes, as if watching for one who 
 never came. Yet it was his own unyielding nature that 
 caused him to be unhappy. 
 
 Adjoining Brownlow farm was the estate of farmer Fair- 
 leigh, and between the two families there had existed for 
 years a bitter feud, growing out of some legal dispute con- 
 cerning deeds and titles, and augmented by various evi- 
 dences of ill-will on both sides. With the Brownlows, to 
 be a Fairleigh was to be all that was deceitful or dishonest 
 — and, of course, the opposite views prevailed with the 
 Fairleighs. But Cupid shot his golden darts regardless of 
 family feuds, which it will be seen eventually brought 
 about a reconciliation. 
 
 A warm attachment had early been formed between the 
 Squire's youngest daughter and Philip Fairleigh, which 
 time served only to strengthen. As a union between these 
 modern Montagues and Capulets was "a consummation de- 
 voutly not to be wished," of course this tender passion was 
 
66 S01VGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 nipped in the bud ; and when Philip left the farm to en- 
 gage in mercantile pursuits in the city, it was regarded as 
 certain that he would soon forget his old love amid the 
 more exciting scenes of the new life. But they mis- 
 judged their son, for Annie's pretty face followed him 
 even through the perplexing accounts of debit and credit, 
 and he could as soon forget his very existence as the dear 
 one he had left in tears ; and when at length he returned 
 and announced his purpose to wed this will-o'-the-wisp that 
 allured his mind from his books, he was met by an em- 
 phatic denial from his prospective father-in-law, and by 
 equally marked disapproval from his own family. But in 
 spite of all opposition the young people effected a union, 
 which aroused the parental anger to its highest pitch, and 
 they were informed that all natural ties were henceforth 
 severed — in short, that the door was forever closed to them. 
 It was the memory of the absent one that caused the 
 troubled look to rest upon the usually smiling countenance 
 of the Squire, for the busy preparations going on about 
 him had laid a train of tender, far-reaching thought. His 
 heart was far away in the home of the daughter he had 
 wished never again to see. He missed her lively presence 
 from these preparations, in which she had delighted to par- 
 ticipate in other years. He wondered if she would not 
 come — if she thought of the united family at home this 
 Christmas day. His heart seemed to reproach him for his 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 67 
 
 hasty action, but the old nature was yet too strong for this 
 tender feeling, and his bitter hatred of the name she had 
 taken gained the ascendancy. Yet the desire to see his 
 child was ever present, and the serious look and stifled sigh 
 did not escape the keen eye of his wife, who readily guessed 
 the reason of this secret despondency. 
 
 "You don't seem like yourself to-night," she said, as he 
 stood looking away over the moonlit fields. " Has any- 
 thing gone wrong with the farm ? I'm afraid you worry 
 too much about that mortgage on the south meadow. Or 
 are we going to lose Brindle, after all ? " 
 
 This piece of quizzing had the desired effect. The 
 Squire had thought his troubled manner unobserved, and 
 this notice of his perturbation caused him to forget the 
 sternness of manner he invariably assumed when speaking 
 of the daughter who had defied his authority and obeyed 
 the dictates of her own heart. 
 
 "No, there's nothing wrong with the farm," he said pet- 
 ulantly. "That mortgage has been paid off this three 
 months, and Brindle is as lively as a two-year-old. But, 
 oh ! wife" — and he hesitated as if about to check himself — 
 "there's something wrong with my heart ! I've been 
 thinking all day about Annie ; and the more I think, the 
 more I long to have her home again. I was thinking that 
 maybe I was too hasty in doing as I did, and that I 
 ought to forgive her. But" — the old spirit coming again — 
 
68 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "she married a Fairleigh, and that deserves no forgiveness ! " 
 "Yes, husband," returned his wife, "you were too severe 
 in your punishment. It will break her young heart if she 
 cannot come again to the old home. And it is all wrong 
 to cherish this hard feeling against a neighbor. Does not 
 the commandment tell us to love our neighbor ? Besides, 
 Philip Fairleigh never did you any harm, and why should 
 you seek to make him and ours unhappy ? We are grow- 
 ing old now, and it's time to end this foolish quarrel ere it 
 is transmitted to another generation." 
 
 Dame Brownlow had never spoken so forcibly before, 
 and her earnest tone added increased lustre to the forgiving 
 flame that burned on his heart's altar. True the son had 
 done him no harm, and was it right to bear an implacable 
 hatred against one who never sought his injury ? And he 
 was growing old : he had not thought much of that. His 
 heart still retained the buoyancy of vigorous manhood, and 
 the approach of time had been so imperceptible as to leave 
 no impression on his mind j even though the keen sickle 
 was ready to snap asunder the silver cord, he had never 
 before realized how frail was his hold on life. Perhaps he 
 might never again see the dear one he had banished from 
 home — and would she greet him as of old in the life ever- 
 lasting ? * 
 
 Once again his gaze wandered far away over the snow- 
 clad hills, as if watching for her coming, and once more 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 69 
 
 his thoughts reverted to the long journey to the city. Yet 
 he would not yield to his heart's promptings, and the still, 
 small voice was again hushed in silence by the louder 
 murmurs of the old passion ; but at times he would feel 
 this new power returning, filling his heart with a strange 
 spirit of forgiveness he had seldom known before. 
 
 Meanwhile, at the Fairleigh farm there were also busy 
 preparations for Christmas, and here, too, they longed for 
 the return of the prodigal ; and a message had been sent 
 into the "far country," bidding him return again to the 
 paternal roof. The united entreaties of the family had 
 been brought to bear, and the rough old farmer had yielded 
 to the assaults of the fair enemy ; and so the fatted calf 
 had been killed, and all made merry to welcome the prod- 
 igal's return from the husks of the commercial field. 
 
 ■AL, .At. *ii- .At- .«, 
 
 •7T TV* -TV* TV" "Tr 
 
 Christmas eve at Brownlow farm — one of those early- 
 darkening nights in which the day seems to steal silently 
 away through the gathering shadows. A gentle snow fall 
 had commenced and all nature was fast donning the ermine 
 robes of winter, shrouding the gaunt-limbed elms in "a 
 silence deep and white." There had been numerous ar- 
 rivals daring the day, and to-night the old house resounded 
 with the merry laughter of its guests, as they engaged in 
 the games and pastimes peculiar to rural life, while the 
 little ones looked forward with childish expectancy to the 
 good things the morrow held in store. 
 
70 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 It was indeed a season to be long remembered, for many 
 of this united race might never again meet at the home- 
 stead so dear to memory ; while some, undoubtedly, would 
 take their final farewell. The paths of life diverge from 
 one common centre, but those who trace the lines do not 
 always find their way back to the oft-remembered starting 
 point; and thus many a traveller sets out upon the high- 
 road to fame and fortune, only to become lost amid the 
 winding labyrinths of the world, and nevermore return to 
 home and kindred. Truly, these occasions that serve to 
 unite the long severed should not be suffered to become 
 obsolete calendar days. 
 
 But all this hilarity and good feeling could not dispel the 
 gloomy look that lingered yet on Squire Brownlow's face: 
 his heart was far away from this scene of mirth and gaiety. 
 Even when roguish Will or Tom had clambered on his 
 knee for a ride to Banbury Cross, or some flaxen-haired 
 little fairy had twined around Grandpa's neck, the smile 
 that appeared was only a momentary one. He was think- 
 ing more of the child of a few short years ago, whom 
 perhaps he would never see again. 
 
 He had eagerly watched each arrival during the day; 
 but, though he warmly greeted the many welcome ones, 
 he failed to see among them the looked-for face. 
 
 As the twilight deepened into long, dark shadows, he 
 quietly found his way to the deserted kitchen, where he 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 71 
 
 could be alone with his thoughts ; and, seated by the bright 
 old hearth, he gave himself up to a seeming endless reverie, 
 the flickering shadows assuming fantastical shapes in his 
 troubled brain. 
 
 Soon he fell into a gentle slumber, and in dreamland was 
 again united with his darling. He heard once more the 
 musical ring of childish laughter in the blossoming clover, 
 and saw the little arms outstretched to meet him. 
 
 Now she had grown to beautiful girlhood, and was the 
 joy of his declining years. And then he dreamed she had 
 come back to him, as he waited for her sad and lonely — 
 and he felt a kiss imprinted on his cheek. 
 
 The spell was broken; — but was he dreaming? No! it 
 could not be ; the warm, moist touch of loving lips still 
 thrilled his senses, and he was now fully awake and no 
 longer in the land of shadows. Was it possible for an in- 
 habitant of the spirit world to revisit this earth ? Then she 
 was dead, and had returned to kiss her cruel old father. 
 But he would meet her again in the other life, and — 
 
 "Father!" # # # "Annie !— child." 
 
 No, it was no idle fancy of the brain. Close to his heart 
 he held the dear form he had seen in the shadow land, and 
 experienced the keen enjoyment of hope that ends in 
 fruition. 
 
 "Forgive me, father," she said, '-for this intrusion. But 
 Philip's folks have invited us to spend Christmas, and I 
 
72 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 have come to see the dear old home once more. I did not 
 mean to be seen, — but when I found you here, as if wait- 
 ing for me to return, I knew you had not forgotten your 
 wayward little girl." 
 
 Forgotten her! Had he not watched and waited for her 
 coming these many weary months ? No, he had never for- 
 gotten her. 
 
 "It is I that should be forgiven," he returned, "for my 
 foolish pride and self-willed obstinacy. But I will make 
 amends by ending this old feud that has made us all un- 
 happy. Yes, I'll have the Fairleighs down here to-morrow 
 if they will come, and we'll hear no more about separating 
 young hearts because of family quarrels." 
 
 And he was as good as his word. Farmer Fairleigh 
 very sensibly embraced this opportunity for a mutual 
 reconciliation, and accepted the cordial invitation to be 
 present. 
 
 What a change this Christmas day had wrought ! All 
 former animosities were forgotten amid the interchange of 
 kindly greetings, and a happier company never met around 
 the festal board. And it had been the connecting link 
 between these disunited lives, drawing them into closer 
 union with each other. Squire Brownlow was the jovial 
 old soul of former days, and seemed never so happy as when 
 with his newly-found children. The temporary separation 
 had only endeared his child to him, and now he was pleased 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 73 
 
 to find she possessed the true Brownlow spirit, and had 
 the courage to perform what she conceived to be her duty. 
 Ah ! how short-lived was the determination of these old 
 Romans to go on forgetting to the end of the chapter; it 
 had yielded to that mysterious power which exerts such an 
 influence upon mankind, and keeps our human passions 
 within due bounds. For were our natures callous to this 
 finer sentiment pervading the soul, the petty jars of life 
 would open an ever-widening breach between those con- 
 nected by even the most sacred ties. 
 
 "And blessings on the falling out 
 That all the more endears, 
 When we fall out with those we love, 
 And kiss again with tears." 
 
74 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 LITTLE ANNETTE. 
 
 jstnette Barclay stood watching her father's schooner 
 from the long Breakwater, till it became a mere speck out 
 on the ocean, and was no longer to be distinguished from 
 the other sails low down on the horizon. 
 
 The freshening gales blowing over the harbor played at 
 will among the long tresses blown in wild confusion around 
 her slender form, and manj were the kindly glances from 
 rough-bearded men in their uncouth fishing boats that 
 turned to the lithe figure on the quay. 
 
 Twilight came so imperceptibly as to be hardly noticed, 
 till the lights of red and green gleaming from vessels in 
 the harbor admonished her that it was time to return. 
 
 The great, blinking eye of the lighthouse on the head- 
 land now opened and closed with its usual regularity, and 
 to Annette it seemed like some giant winking out over the 
 dark waters; while across the harbor the city seemed a 
 mass of twinkling light, dancing and flickering above the 
 tall, dark masts huddled together in the docks. 
 
 Young as she was, Annette was not insensible to the 
 mystic influence of the time, and did not soon forget her 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 75 
 
 walk home through the gloom and darkness of this June 
 evening. 
 
 Poor Annette ! She wondered if life were so lonely to 
 every one at thirteen as it seemed to her, — and if it would 
 always be the same. In her childish way she had conjured 
 up bright scenes far different from this dreary existence in 
 which she had been placed, till day by day a desire for 
 something better — she did not know what — unfolded itself 
 to her young mind. 
 
 To be sure, Jasper Barclay was as kind and good to her 
 as his rough nature would admit, and she loved him dearly ; 
 but since her mother died, she had often been left alone 
 days and nights together in the cottage by the shore, till 
 the hoarse cry of the gulls and the sighing and sobbing of 
 the sea, as she lay awake at night, had grown to be weird 
 and mournful. It seemed at times as if her young heart 
 would break with this strange passion, were it not that 
 nature came to her relief with silent, kindly tears. 
 
 "Bide thy time, little lass, bide thy time," her father 
 would say, when childish questions could no longer be 
 evaded, "and mayhap my Annette will be a grand lady 
 some o' these days," and in his rough but kindly way he 
 would draw her closer to him, and seek to read in the clear 
 depths of blue the thoughts of her busy little brain. 
 
 "But I don't want to be a grand lady!" Annette would 
 say on such occasions. "I only want to know something 
 
76 SONVS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 beside these sandy shores, and the big blue waves curling 
 and dashing against the rocks. Often, when asleep, I 
 dream I'm in — oh ! such a nice place, way, way off from the 
 sea, where they don't have shipwrecks nor storms. But 
 when somebody sings to me, and the air is full of music, I 
 wake up to find myself all alone, and I hear the wind and 
 storm. And sometimes, father, it seems to me then as if I 
 could hear voices crying for help down in the surf !" 
 
 "It be the fairies, lass — that's all. Many a time they 
 have fetched my Annette to me, when the sea was breakin' 
 over us and the rocks was near. But I could see thee 
 beckon us awaj- from the storm, till we sailed into a great 
 still river, where there was flowers, and trees, and birds, 
 and little brooks singin' over mossy stones. It be the 
 fairies, lass, it be the fairies." 
 
 Thus he would, in his own simple way, attribute the 
 phantasies of sleep to the subtle influence of Queen Mab, 
 and strive to break the monotony of the storm without by 
 singing some rollicking sea song about "a lass that loved 
 a sailor," or draw a succession of jigs and hornpipes from 
 his fiddle, till Annette forgot her loneliness, and danced 
 and sang like the fairies about which he was so fond of 
 telling her. 
 
 A month had now elapsed since Annette's visit to the 
 Breakwater, but she well remembered that long, lonely 
 walk home to the cottage, under the twinkling stars, and 
 amid the chirping of the crickets in the meadow grass. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 77 
 
 She was glad that June with its roses had come again, 
 for it seemed to her that she was happier when the flowers 
 were in bloom. Her bush was full of lovely, double roses, 
 and she saw with childish delight that the honeysuckles 
 were climbing down from their perch over the window, and 
 slowly gaining a foothold among the rosebuds, for she loved 
 to see their dewy petals peeping through the green leaves. 
 
 She often thought of her father, and wondered if he had 
 forgotten her, while she stood watching the white sails till 
 they seemed lost in the dark clouds resting on the sea. 
 How lonely it seemed for him to be going away, and no 
 one to say good-bye but little Annette. 
 
 Annette, during Barclay's trip to the Banks, passed 
 much of her time at the cottage of Duncan Carrick, the 
 light-keeper. Duncan's cottage had no roses growing near 
 it, and in stormy weather, when the sea broke at the base 
 of the ledge and sent the spray flying against the windows, 
 she thought it a dismal place to stay. But the keeper's 
 wife was very kind to her, and she loved their baby with a 
 child's idolatry, so that she was very happy at the light- 
 house ; and on nights when it looked like a storm she 
 would stay with Mrs. Carrick and the baby for company, 
 as at these times Duncan was absent from his family at- 
 tending to the lanterns in the tower. 
 
 On the day of the great storm of June 19, 18 — , which 
 brought desolation to many a fisherman's dwelling, Annette 
 
78 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 went over to the cottage early in the afternoon. The sky 
 was dark and threatening, as when a thunder storm is 
 brewing, and the sea beat itself wildly against the cliffs, 
 rolling in waves of prodigious size crowned with their om- 
 inous white caps. 
 
 Towards evening the storm so long impending broke 
 over them. At intervals the dull, heavy sound of the 
 thunder would come booming over the water, and soon the 
 storm burst with all its fury, while the lightnings followed 
 their zigzag course through the heavens. 
 
 Strange as it may seem in one so young, Annette loved 
 to see these battles of the elements, for there was some- 
 thing mysteriously grand in watching the bright flashes 
 dart from black clouds and fight their way through the 
 stormy skies, till at length they leaped with a hissing 
 noise into the troubled waters, and the thunder could be 
 heard chasing them away among the dark caverns of the 
 deep. 
 
 But the sea was ever whispering its great secrets in her 
 ear, and it was from this she longed to be freed. Wheth- 
 er in the night, when the waves were tossed and tumbled 
 by the wind, or when she was playing by the shore, and 
 they rolled peacefully in over the white sands, they told 
 the selfsame story of wrecks and deaths on some stormy 
 coast. Even the pink and white sea-shells echoed the sad 
 refrain, till in them she heard the breakers and the storm, 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. . 79 
 
 and voices from the sea that were calling "Annette! An- 
 nette ! " 
 
 "There's a wreck near the Junk o' Pork!" said the 
 young lightkeeper excitedly, " and I'm goin' down to the 
 shore. Maybe I can tell the life-boat crew where to steer." 
 
 After kissing his wife and child, Duncan hurriedly left 
 the cottage, leaving them alone with Annette. The baby, 
 frightened by the storm, began to cry lustily, and its 
 mother crooned him a little song as she rocked to and fro. 
 
 Annette ran to a window and peered intently out into 
 the darkness. Her keen young eyes, now rendered strange" 
 ly bright by a sudden fear, seemed piercing the blackness 
 that overshadowed the sea. She had caught a glimpse of 
 the wreck, as a flash of lightning illumined the water, but 
 it was instantly hidden from sight by the heavj T sea break- 
 ing over it. 
 
 The lighthouse threw its friendly beams far out on the 
 water, but as the wreck had not yet reached the circle of 
 light the life crew, aroused by Duncan's warning, could 
 not see the ship or render any help. The brave fellows 
 were struggling in the surf, though it was madness to pull 
 their boat into the breakers with the sea rolling to such 
 a height. 
 
 A wild cry startled Mrs. Carrick and echoed through 
 the cottage. It came from Annette, who had opened the 
 window and was leaning far out so she could look down 
 
80 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 into the yawning sea below the cliff, unmindful of the 
 storm that now raged so fiercely. 
 
 In the illumination of the scene that preceded a terrific 
 thunder clap, Annette had' recognized the wreck as her 
 father's schooner. This recognition was more intuitive 
 than otherwise — but it was true. Among the little group 
 of fishermen on the wreck the tall figure of Jasper Barclay, 
 standing bravely at his wheel, was strikingly prominent. 
 
 Annette, heedless of Mrs. Carrick's attempts to soothe 
 her, watched for the ship as it neared the lighthouse. It 
 was pitiful to see the agony depicted on her sweet young 
 face, as she reverentially knelt and prayed. If ever a 
 petition winged its way to heaven, it was the prayer of 
 little Annette. Suddenly the beacon shining out over the 
 rocky shore was extinguished in a flash, and intense dark- 
 ness enshrouded the scene. 
 
 "Oh, Annette! — the light!" cried the keeper's wife, 
 " the wind has broken the window in the tower ! " The 
 cottage stood near the lighthouse, and she could see from 
 there that all was dark. 
 
 Out into the storm darted Annette — across the inter- 
 vening space — till she reached the lighthouse. 
 
 No thought of fear, no dread of voices in the sea, harassed 
 her now. This child, whose love of a rough, kind father, 
 was the passion of her life, was to-night the soul of heroism. 
 
 One impulse alone led her on through the tempest — to 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 81 
 
 light the great lantern in the tower and save the wreck till 
 the life-boat reached it. She knew where Duncan kept his 
 matches, as she often played in the lighthouse, and had 
 seen him light the lantern at dusk. 
 
 So up the creaking ladder that led to the tower Annette 
 bravely climbed. She seemed insensible to fear, for once 
 the cold wing of a sea-gull, that had taken refuge in the 
 lighthouse from the storm, brushed against her face, but 
 she made no outcry as she continued upward. 
 
 At last she reached the top and fearlessly stepped upon 
 the narrow platform surrounding the lantern. The storm 
 shook the structure to the very foundations, and it seemed 
 as if the old lighthouse would topple into the sea. Annette 
 felt the salty wind that came through the broken window, 
 which had caused the light to go out. She knew that un- 
 less she could keep the wind out there would be little use in 
 trying to light the lantern. By the faint blaze of the 
 matches, which often were extinguished by the wind, she 
 groped her way to the window, and into the broken pane 
 fixed the shawl that Mrs. Carrick had thrown about her 
 shoulders when leaving the cottage. 
 
 And soon out over the dangerous shore burst a great 
 flood of light, shining through the storm and guiding the 
 life-boat toward the wreck. The lines were thrown, words 
 of encouragement from those on the beach reached the 
 drowning men, and one after another — till only the skipper 
 
82 SOJVGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 remained on the sinking wreck — they were pulled through 
 the surf in safety. Barclay, inured as he was to danger, 
 felt no fear as he plunged into the sea with a rope around 
 his waist. He was a powerful swimmer, and a few vig- 
 orous strokes would bring him to the boat. But a huge 
 wave breaking over him, he was borne with crushing force 
 against the crags, and when he, too, was taken into the 
 boat, there was a consciousness that Jasper Barclay had 
 been fatally injured. 
 
 When Duncan, the keeper, returned to the lighthouse, he 
 found a childish form lying white and still near the ladder 
 by which the lantern was reached, with a crimson stream 
 slowly oozing from under her tangled tresses; and the light 
 fell upon a pale, upturned face, now as motionless as 
 sculptured marble, yet wearing that same fragile beauty 
 which in life had moved all hearts to a love of little An- 
 nette. 
 
 ■rr ^r =7? ^F 
 
 The morning broke in all the unclouded beauty of June, 
 and it was hard to realize that the night had been so 
 terrible. The sea was now one great expanse of rippling 
 blue, with here and there a white sail to relieve this monot- 
 ony of color, save where the dense foliage of the islands in 
 the bay gave a greenish cast to the waves, on which the 
 sunlight wrought its various phenomena of light and shade. 
 But there lingered yet in the air a perceptible trace of the 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 83 
 
 commotion caused by the storm, noticeable even in the 
 tremulous notes of the birds, as if they were afraid their 
 noisy twitterings would awake the slumbering elements. 
 
 Yet not the beauty of the morning, nor the busy hum of 
 life that filled the air, brought happiness to the cottage 
 where Jasper Barclay lay suffering beneath a double sorrow. 
 
 His own Annette, the pride and joy of his lonely exist" 
 ence, the one idol of his thoughts in whom centered every 
 good resolve, had sacrificed her young life to appease the 
 fury of the deep. In the old lighthouse, with the waves 
 dashing against its trembling base, and amid the murmurs 
 of the storm, her spirit had gone forth to meet the voices 
 that were ever calling from the sea. 
 
 The news of her tragic death spread far and near, and 
 many visitors called during the day. Her father told, with 
 simple pride, the story of the light going out when the 
 storm was at its height, and how Annette had gone into 
 the darkness to return no more in life. The ordeal had 
 been too great for her delicate nature, and when she had suc- 
 ceeded in lighting the great lantern in the tower, the re- 
 action of the excitement which enabled her to brave the 
 storm caused her to fall from the ladder — and the cruel, 
 sharp stones in the wall had pierced her brain. 
 
 They buried Annette by the side of her mother, and 
 away from the sobbing murmur of the sea that had vexed 
 her in life ; for Barclay thought she would rather lie where 
 
84 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the flowers would grow upon her little grave, and where 
 the birds were happiest in their carolings through the long 
 summer days. 
 
 The death of Annette was a heavy blow to Barclay, and 
 day by day a change for the worst could be noticed. 
 
 "It will soon be over," he said one day to Duncan. 
 "My heart's in the grave with Annette, aud I don't want 
 to live no longer. She comes to me when I'm asleep, with 
 her little hands tilled with flowers; and I can feel her warm 
 kisses on my cheeks, like as when she was a pretty lass at 
 my knee." 
 
 To all questions concerning the future he made but one 
 reply. His was the simple faith that leads to immortality, 
 rejecting the conflicting creeds that make the path of life 
 so devious, and finding a never-failing grace in the love of 
 a wise Creator. And no argument to the contrary could 
 convince him that his angel Annette was not waiting to 
 welcome his coming. 
 
 A day or two later Barclay had another of his "bad 
 spells," as the doctor called them, and grew more delirious. 
 His eyes had already assumed that far off, longing express- 
 ion indicative of death, and remained fixed on the little 
 window where the roses were nodding in the sunshine, as 
 if watching for Annette to look in as she did in life. 
 
 The next night, as the village clock slowly, solemnly 
 tolled the hour, he counted the measured strokes, and said 
 to those who watched over him : 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 85 
 
 "'Leven o'clock, mates! One hour more, an' the tide 
 'ill be on its ebb." 
 
 They thought his mind was wandering back to the sea, 
 and gave no heed to this remark. But when midnight, 
 weird and lonely, echoed from the distant steeple over the 
 water, the soul of Jasper Barclay drifted out with the tide 
 — away to the havens of eternal peace. 
 
 In the old cemetery, amid the dark pines, three grassy 
 mounds lie side by side. No stones now mark the larger 
 ones; but, hidden by the long, tangled grass, a small white 
 tablet tells who sleeps beneath the tiny mound. It is the 
 grave of little Annette. 
 
86 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 HULDAH. 
 
 "Me rather all that bowery loneliness, 
 The brooks of Eden mazily murmuring. 
 And bloom profuse and cedar arches 
 Charm, as a wanderer out in ocean ; 
 Where some refulgent sunset of India 
 Streams o'er a rich ambrosial ocean isle, 
 And, crimson-hued, the stately palm woods 
 Whisper in odorous heights of even." 
 
 — Tennyson. 
 
 "ST 
 
 Wah, how you startled me, you naughty boy ! M And 
 a shrill, girlish scream, mingled with the sudden crashing 
 of the bushes, broke the silence that had brooded over the 
 "haunted dell" — a lonely yet picturesque spot on the 
 Mahahlah river; where the woods are sombre even at noon- 
 tide ; where the river becomes turbulent as it hurries on to 
 the sea, abounding in dangerous currents that form a 
 whirlpool below ; and where, upon a summer's day, I love 
 to watch the white clouds drifting heavenward and list 
 "the brooks of Eden mazily murmuring." 
 
 An August afternoon in the woods should partake of the 
 spirit of a dreamy, idyllic sort of existence — akin to that of 
 
SONGS AN I) SKETCHES. 87 
 
 the golden age, where man needed not to take thought of a 
 care laden to-morrow. Unless it can lay claim to this in a 
 greater or less degree, it is not a real, old fashioned after- 
 noon at all. But with the time in question no such fault 
 could, in all fairness, be found ; it was an August afternoon 
 of the most pronounced type, pervaded hj a quietude that 
 reigned in undisturbed serenity. 
 
 And seated by the swiftly flowing Mahahlah, within the 
 shade of a tangled growth of shrubbery that shut out the 
 sun — and which formed as fair a bower as any in fabled 
 Tintagil, where Queen Isolt solaced her weary heart with 
 hopes that crept up from a twilight sea — Huldah Stratton, 
 the village teacher, gave herself up to the pleasant phan- 
 tasy of a day dream, with half closed eyes that scarcely 
 saw the bright water beyond, as she reclined with one 
 cheek resting on her hand. But her brain was active, 
 though bodily sense was languid and tired. 
 
 If this girl had been offered a penny for her thoughts, 
 very likely she would have told you, with a roguish smile, 
 they were not worth even that trifling sum. Huldah had 
 a way of smiling that gave an appearance of roguishness 
 often when she was the least in a happy mood. There 
 were oh ! such serious moments in her life at times, and yet 
 one who did not know her well, or in some measure share her 
 confidence, would never think that Huldah Stratton cher- 
 ished aspirations for anything above a country school 
 
88 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 teacher, content to drudge through life as the servant of 
 every district in which her lot was cast. And as for getting 
 married — why, nobody ever, to my knowledge, thought 
 such a thing likely to happen. She cared nothing for the 
 village beaux, beyond yielding them an occasional walk or 
 drive; and then her keen insight into human nature, 
 coupled with a habit of lashing their many failings, as if 
 she were punishing a stubborn boy at school, soon chilled 
 any budding hopes of winning Huldah's affections, and left 
 her free to pursue her studies at the Parks farm, a pleasant 
 home two miles from Winhampton, where she had lived 
 since coming into the district. 
 
 Village gossips asserted, and not without truth, that 
 most girls who taught the little red school on the hill 
 turned out to be old maids. Why, then, should Huldah 
 Stratton be a notable exception ? they reasoned. 
 
 But Huldah was young and pretty, wasn't she ? Y-e-s, 
 she was both of these. So were the others young — possi- 
 bly surpassingly pretty — once. Yet those who said that 
 Huldah, although she had only reached her twenty-second 
 year, was destined to be a maiden all forlorn, did not fully 
 carry out the idea of the nursery rhyme, for they forgot 
 that a "man all tattered and torn" might turn up some 
 day and scatter their predictions to the four winds. 
 
 Ah ! they little knew the true feelings, the inner emo- 
 tions, the lofty aspirations, the grand hopes for the future, 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 89 
 
 that surged like a mighty tide through this girl's soul in 
 moments of awakened fancy — flowing in and out among 
 strange creations of the brain; receding from her again, 
 till only long reaches of gray sand remained ; and then the 
 ebb would come, bearing upon its bosom an argosy of 
 hopes, only to be wrecked and strewn along the shore. 
 
 So Huldah waited and watched by the sea. She built 
 castles that reached the blue empyrean, but they tumbled 
 down in ruins. Very sensibly, too, she kept her own 
 counsels, or whispered them only to the goddess of the 
 moon. But she knew the tides were ever flowing around 
 the earth. And while night followed day, and the hours 
 waxed and waned, and the stars and planets came with the 
 eventide, why should she not hope that some day her 
 ship would find its haven ? 
 
 "I beg your pardon, miss," a pleasant voice said, follow- 
 ing Huldah's startled exclamation in the opening of the 
 story. "This sudden intrusion, as you doubtless see for 
 yourself, comes of my falling over the hedge." 
 
 He was careful to conceal the fact that at the time of his 
 tumble he was trying to catch a glimpse of her face unob- 
 served, having seen her as he crossed a log over the river 
 some distance above. 
 
 "But of course I'm a l naughty boy,' as you have said," 
 he went on, " and old enough to know better ! " 
 
 Huldah was on her feet in an instant, while a deep crim- 
 
90 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 son blush mounting neck and face made her look charming- 
 ly pretty, and told of maidenly embarrassment. Hastily 
 smoothing back her auburn tresses, which during the rev- 
 erie by the river had fallen in unconfined luxuriance about 
 her shoulders, she turned to meet the speaker. 
 
 His voice was one of exquisite modulation, calm, undis- 
 turbed by the accident, and Huldah felt well disposed 
 toward him. He was a perfect stranger, but, while dex- 
 trously slipping a hairpin where it would do the greatest 
 service, she found time to place his age nearer thirty than 
 twenty, and thought him very handsome. 
 
 "Oh, I thought it was Linky," she replied, "and didn't 
 mean to be rude," noticing that he was smiling at her evi- 
 dent perplexity of manner. 
 
 A feeling of pity for him soon dispelled all curiosity as 
 to who he was, from whence he came, or whither he was 
 going. She saw he was in need of such aid as even a girl 
 can render. This gentleman, who had so suddenly been 
 literally hurled into her sphere of existence, was some 
 sportsman in quest of an afternoon's trouting along the 
 stream. Her natural Yankee instinct of guessing told her 
 this; but a bamboo rod, broken into three pieces, was con- 
 clusive evidence. In his fall an ankle was sprained, and 
 his face and clothes were torn by the bushes. Surely this 
 was the man all tattered and torn ! But had he come to 
 awaken new longings in Huldah's heart, and lead her into 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 91 
 
 the world where great possibilities wait but to elude am- 
 bition's grasp ? 
 
 " Who is Linky ? " he asked ; in such a droll way, too, 
 that Huldah gave vent to a little laugh, which had the 
 effect of putting her much at ease. 
 
 " I had forgotten you didn't know Linky," she replied. 
 "His name is Lincoln Parks, and he is one of my scholars, 
 but everybody here calls him Linky. He went up the 
 river to fish, and as he is always playing tricks, I thought 
 he was trying to frighten me." 
 
 "But you are suffering, sir," she continued, in a voice 
 full of sympathy. "Isn't there something I can do to 
 help you ? Your face is bleeding. I will get some water." 
 
 " Only a slight abrasion of the skin, I think. But — oh ! 
 — ah ! — yes, confound it ! Excuse me, but I've sprained 
 my left ankle rather severely." 
 
 " Then I will go for help at once. Oh, I wonder what's 
 keeping Linky. I'll run up to the meadow — perhaps he's 
 there. 
 
 In a moment she would have been off on this errand, but 
 he bade her stay with him. 
 
 "Now, don't be frightened. You will do just as well as 
 the boy — yes, better. And now lend me your hand, till I 
 get on my feet." 
 
 Huldah unhesitating!}^ put her shapely brown hands in 
 his, which were much whiter and evidently unused to heavy 
 work. 
 
92 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 The slender, girlish form seemed possessed of wonderful 
 strength, under the stimulus of excitement. She tugged 
 and pulled with a will, but the injured ankle needed tender 
 care, and at last, by putting both her plump arms around 
 his waist, she fairly lifted the gentleman to his feet, which 
 position he maintained by grasping a low bough above his 
 head. 
 
 " There ! " she cried, exultingly. " I knew I could lift 
 you up." 
 
 " Yes," he replied, with a smile, " when a woman will, 
 she will, you know. And I thank you very — " 
 
 Their period of self-congratulation was brief. Snap ! 
 went the rotten limb overhead, and with a sharp cry of 
 pain he fell in a dead faint on the ground, while Huldah 
 bent over him in great trepidation. 
 
 Only for a moment was she undecided how to act. Dur- 
 ing her career as teacher she had seen many of her scholars 
 taken with fainting spells, and with admirable coolness 
 had always applied the means at her command. Water, 
 she knew, was needed to bring back a glow of health to the 
 pale features now resting upon her lap. 
 
 The river was not far away, though the banks were pre- 
 cipitous and she could not easily clamber down to the 
 stream. But she remembered there was a cool well up in 
 the meadow, because Linky had that very afternoon fetched 
 her a refreshing draught from it in the tin cup that now 
 reposed within a small willow basket filled with berries. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 93 
 
 Huldah and Linky, with whose parents she lived, had 
 improved this half holiday to go berrying together. The 
 girl loved to roam through these grand old woods, or wander 
 across the meadow to where the river went rippling on to 
 the sea, and Linky seemed never so happy as when she 
 asked him to go with her. 
 
 In one way or another the boy was always anticipating 
 some new pleasure for his young teacher, and in return 
 Huldah took a warm interest in Linky's welfare, so that 
 between them there existed, in some measure, an inter- 
 change of ideas, of affections, and even a sense of depend- 
 ence upon one another. If a new sorrow appeared within 
 the narrow circle of Linky's boyhood, Huldah was the first 
 to whom he went for comfort, and he was always sure of 
 finding in her that sympathy and kindly help which to a 
 boy is more than worldly treasure. 
 
 So, too, with Huldah. Whatever favor she might desire 
 at Linky's hands was cheerfully granted ; and in more 
 ways than one, she found, could the boy be of help to her. 
 The intervals between school hours left but a small part of 
 the day she could call her own, but as these few crumbs 
 from the loaf of time were swept together by her careful 
 hand, she was possessed of a fund of leisure which a person 
 less prudent could never accumulate. 
 
 It was the old story of Dives and Lazarus, only distin- 
 guished by a different application of the parable. Lazarus 
 
94 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 hungered for the crumbs which fell from the rich man's 
 table; but Huldah longed — and oh, how wistfully — for 
 the days and weeks that others frittered away in idleness, 
 when she saw those around her who had such golden oppor- 
 tunities for success. 
 
 Should you ask why Huldah Stratton found the drudgery 
 of teaching a country school distasteful to her, my answer 
 must be that she no longer regarded this work as filling 
 the measure of her hopes ; there were higher branches on 
 the tree of knowledge which she aspired to reach. And 
 yet she was much too conscientious to think justice could 
 now be done her scholars, when the mind was disposed to 
 wander in more alluring fields. 
 
 .AJ- -it* Ji- -il- -SL. 
 
 "TV* -A* ■VT -7T -"TY- 
 
 " Jee-whiz ! Miss Huldy, what's happened ? " There stood 
 the much-wanted Linky, with a string of fish in one hand, 
 and in the other the blackest, sorriest looking crow that 
 ever pilfered a farmer's corn, which some sportsman had 
 shot through the wing and Linky had captured on a stone 
 wall. Had Huldah been placed in a less serious position, 
 she would have laughed outright at his comical appearance. 
 
 " Oh, never mind now," she said excitedly, " but take 
 the dipper from the basket and fetch me some water. And 
 be quick about it, Linky, won't you ? Now, don't stop to 
 ask any questions." 
 
 " Yes, but what'li I do with my crow ? " asked the boy, 
 not wishing to lose his prize. 
 
HONGS AND SKETCHES. 95 
 
 "Oh, Lincoln Parks ! " said Huldah impatiently, "you 
 are the most exasperating little sinner aliye. Bother your 
 old crow ! What good is it, anyway ? " 
 
 " Lots of good — sure," said Linky stoutly. " I'm goin' 
 to cut his tongue, and make a poll parrot out'n him." 
 
 "Then give me the dipper — and I'll get the water. But 
 remember, Linky, if I am drowned in the river, you're to 
 blame ! " 
 
 This speech had the desired effect upon the boy. Hasti- 
 ly clapping the wounded crow under his hat, and placing 
 thereon a stone, he at once started for the river and re- 
 turned a few minutes later with the dipper filled with water. 
 
 Gently did Huldah bathe the high, white forehead and 
 pale, tensely drawn features of the injured man. With 
 nature's restorative, cold and sparkling from the stream, 
 she felt confident of her ability to manage the case. 
 
 The minutes seemed like hours, as they dragged them- 
 selves along. She heard a bird singing in the big elm in 
 low, tremulous tones, when the accident happened ; but 
 now all was still — above, below, around — and the bird had 
 flown away. Save her whispered instructions to Linky, 
 who was vigorously chafing the gentleman's palms, she 
 heard no sound but the river gurgling over its pebbly bed. 
 Huldah grew fretful at her patient's delay in regaining 
 consciousness — but then we are, by nature, creatures of 
 impatience. 
 
96 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 If I were asked to give an instance of genuine patience, 
 there would arise a strong temptation to cite the history of 
 a literary friend, who, young vivacious, talented, and of 
 many lovable qualities of heart, is unhappily deprived of all 
 outward contact with life. The world is seen only in 
 shadowy outlines, dim and half remembered, as from the 
 mirror of memory is flashed for an instant some scene of 
 happier days. But no complaining tone is heard, no voice 
 of lamentation arises in the land, for in dark and trying 
 hours the great lesson of patience was learned. Like the 
 Lady of Shallott, this young poetess weaves into warp and 
 woof the shadows that flit across her brain ; and dull must 
 be the eye that cannot find therein the lowly flower, the 
 stately forest, the strong light of morning, the mellow 
 beauty of the sunset hour, the tender beam of ''softly 
 shining stars," blended in delicate textures of thought and 
 sentiment. 
 
 A low, long-drawn sigh from the stranger's lips told of 
 his return to a conscious state. Eagerly did the girl listen, 
 with her face close to his, for a repetition of the sound, for 
 she knew that when his breathing became strong and nat- 
 ural there was really no danger. He opened his eyes, and 
 smiled into the fair face so near his own ; he told her not 
 to be frightened, as he felt much better. 
 
 "Jee-whiz! mister," broke in Linky, "I thought you 
 was dead — sure. I'm glad you aint, all the same — coz it 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 97 
 
 might skeer Huldy. But I'll git Dad to come down with 
 the hoss. He's makin' a fence in the medder, and I won't 
 be gone a minute.'' 
 
 Farmer Parks was in the meadow when Linky, hatless 
 and breathless, arrived there, and he promptly went to the 
 scene of the accident. 
 
 " I trust you will pardon my question," said the stranger 
 while they waited for the team, "but tell me are you not 
 Huldah Stratton ? The boy — Linky — calls you Huldy. 
 And by the way, my name is Bramhall — Hilliard Bramhall, 
 your most devoted servant, for such kindness as yours 
 merits devotion." 
 
 "Pray do not speak of it, sir — Mr. Bramhall. Your 
 gratitude alone is sufficient ; and is it not our duty to help 
 one another ? Yes, I am Huldah Stratton. But how 
 you, a stranger in Winhampton, should know of me, I 
 do not understand." 
 
 "Beauty, my dear Miss Stratton, is its own bright 
 herald. Like some lovely flower beside the stream, it may 
 bloom unnoticed by the world — yet the very winds whisper 
 its dwelling place." 
 
 "Your failings lean toward flattery," answered Huldah 
 with much spirit. " And frankly, sir, I do not care for 
 adulation." 
 
 Hilliard Bramhall, clever man of the world as he was, 
 smarted beneath this stinging blow. Yet he would not 
 
98 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 let this country girl, who knew so little of the world and 
 its ways, see that her honest speech had disturbed his 
 temper. His experience with women had led him to think 
 them all alike in a fondness for flattery ; and here, he 
 thought, was one invulnerable to all assaults. And in one 
 brief moment Huldah, whom he had compared to a lowly 
 blossom, came nearer his ideal of womanhood than any he 
 had met before. 
 
 There was, after all, a touch of sentiment in what he 
 said that secretly pleased Huldah Stratton. Show me the 
 girl of twenty-two who does not like to be called pretty, 
 and these wondering eyes will look upon a rarity ! 
 
 "Your pardon, Miss Stratton, for I did not mean to 
 flatter. Sympathy- such as you have given me is deserv- 
 ing of more chivalrous regard. Unfortunately, I have the 
 habit of saying little pleasantries in an original way j and 
 you are not, I hope, offended because I have used a flowery 
 metaphor to express myself. But certainly truth and 
 justice will bear me out. Beautiful you are, and deserving 
 of the name. Why, I have been a guest at the Elms only 
 a day, and your name has been on the lips of cousin 
 Therese a dozen times." 
 
 The Elms being the residence of Judge Nathan Jerrie, 
 whose daughter Therese was Huldah's most intimate friend 
 among the girls of the village, she readily divined that this 
 was the cousin she had often heard of when visiting there. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 99 
 
 He had graduated with medical honors at Bowdoin, and 
 having means for travel, spent the following two years 
 abroad, preparing himself by close study to share his fath- 
 er's practice in the city. Upon his return home he con- 
 tracted a violent fever, from which he had recovered some 
 months ago, and was now passing a few weeks at his uncle's 
 country home. 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said Huldah, " then you are the cousin of 
 my dearest friend. So I readily forgive you " — placing her 
 hand in his outstretched palm. " And here comes the 
 wagon now. Mr. Parks will assist you to the Elms, where 
 your friends are." 
 
 " But I shall see you again, of course ? " he asked. 
 
 "Oh, I hope so — when your foot gets well. Then you 
 can come with Therese to see my scholars. Or perhaps 
 you would like, as you are from the city, to visit us at the 
 farm ? " 
 
 " A duty I shall gladly perform," was his earnest reply. 
 And, amid an exchange of good-byes, farmer Parks drove 
 off to the village. Huldah, who was strangely happy and 
 knew not why, soon took the homeward path, while Linky 
 patiently trudged on behind with his string of fish and the 
 wounded crow. 
 
 The days glided rapidly down the bright stream of time. 
 September had passed her sister months, and now kept 
 stately on toward autumnal glories. Winhampton, and 
 
100 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 neighboring villages up the Mahahlah, took on the garb of 
 loveliness, and a more typical New England scene, rich in 
 its variety of midsummer beauty, it would be difficult to 
 find. 
 
 Hilliard Bramhall, now that his ankle was strong again, 
 became a veritable Pantheist among the temples of nature, 
 and daily worshipped at their shrines. As a physician, he 
 took an interest in whatever might advance his profession, 
 and carefully noted the kind influence of this rugged 
 country life upon himself. He found here those priceless 
 boons, health and happiness — jewels fit for a king, were 
 every other gem lost from his crown; for of what avail are 
 kingly prerogatives when the heart is sad, and pain is 
 regnant over bodily sense, and contending forces within us 
 battle for supremacy ? 
 
 Huldah, too, found new pleasure in the time. These 
 early autumn days were so filled with pensive beauty, so 
 exquisitely colored with variegated hues, that she wished to 
 enjoy them in all their fullness. 
 
 Morning and evening, on her way to and from the school, 
 the walk through fragrant meadows, across the sparkling 
 stream, over breezy uplands affording a view of the sea 
 beyond, was indeed delightful. 
 
 Linky was always at her beck and call, but as she chose 
 to indulge in reveries she seldom conversed with him. The 
 boy often wondered what engrossed her thoughts, but 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 101 
 
 amused himself as only boyhood can — chasing the squirrels 
 from tree to tree, throwing stones at saucy wood-peckers 
 on the fence rails, or picking wild flowers to adorn Huldah's 
 desk at school. 
 
 Doctor Bramhall frequently joined her at the stile near 
 the village, and walked home with her to the farm. At 
 first these were apparently chance meetings, as he appeared 
 like Nimrod with a fowling gun under his arm, but finally 
 they took place as a matter of course. They sometimes 
 met at the Elms with Therese, and really became dear 
 friends, while as yet no flicker of the tender flame betrayed 
 any inward emotions. But as still waters run the deepest, 
 so the affections, in like manner, may ripple calmly on be- 
 cause of the depths in which they flow. 
 
 One quiet afternoon, however, as they walked by the 
 river, came that sudden confession which she trembled to 
 hear. Rather singularly, too, they were now in the haunted 
 dell, where their acquaintance was so romantically formed. 
 The sun was sinking behind the distant woods, flooding 
 stream, meadow and forest with its beautiful light, and 
 they stopped here to admire the sunset. 
 
 " Huldah," said he, taking his place by her side, " do 
 you remember the song we sang that moonlight night upon 
 the river ? " 
 
 "Yes, perfectly well. It is called 'Only in Dreams/ 
 and was written by a friend of Therese, who sent her the 
 
102 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 manuscript. I remember how you rowed the boat so as to 
 keep time with the music. Listen, and I will sing you the 
 first stanza." 
 
 Only in dreams must I dwell on thy beauty, 
 
 Lest from my heart gush its love-fevered streams ; 
 And though we part at the stern call of duty, 
 
 Still wilt thou linger the queen of my dreams. 
 O dear one ! though now from each other we sever, 
 
 The roses will bloom round thy pathway again; 
 But the bard that adores thee must wander forever, 
 
 In valleys of shadow, in silence and pain ! 
 
 " That is the song I liked so well ; thank you for singing 
 it." His voice was low and tender, she noticed. And he 
 had never called her Huldah before — not even when Therese 
 was with them. 
 
 " Well, can you guess of what I am thinking, Huldah ? " 
 
 " Oh, Doctor Bramhall, why should I ? I am not 
 versed in mind reading." The roguish light in her hazel 
 eyes told him she was in one of her merry moods again. 
 
 " Perhaps my trouble is more intimately connected with 
 the heart," he returned with well feigned gravity. 
 
 " And what can have happened to your heart, Doctor 
 Bramhall?" was her naive question. "Therese is always 
 joking you about having no heart." 
 
 "But seriously, though, I have. And since hearing that 
 song I have wondered if it is wise to longer check its ' love- 
 fevered streams.' Huldah, do you know I am going away 
 to-morrow — perhaps to see you no more, only in dreams ? " 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 103 
 
 "Why, no!" — in a startled way. "I thought you were 
 going with us next week to Jockey Cap. And Therese 
 tells me you have friends at Highland Park, too." 
 
 "Well — a letter received to-day has changed all that. 
 It is pleasing to make plans, but I realize now how earnest 
 is life." 
 
 " Yes, of course you know best. But I — we — Therese 
 and all of us, will miss you so much." A tear trembled in 
 her eye. 
 
 " Ah, but will you miss me ? " came the sudden question. 
 ".For you must know I love you, Huldah — love you with 
 all sincerity." 
 
 No, she had not known before ; yet had dared to hope, 
 in spite of herself, that he might some day love her as she 
 did him. But reason whispered, "He is rich — you are 
 poor ; away with such fancies — they are but air ! " And 
 as a brave resolve came to her, she realized, alas ! how true 
 it was. 
 
 Doctor Bramhall, now that his passion for this country 
 girl had plunged him into it, proved a finished love maker. 
 Huldah found herself within a close embrace, and felt his 
 ardent kisses upon her lips. She struggled for a moment 
 in his arms, but it was like the fluttering of a frightened 
 bird, that tries to escape from its gilded prison and then 
 bursts forth in song. He only held her all the closer, 
 while the melody of his voice seemed to her as the music 
 of a dream. 
 
104 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " We have been very happy together," he continued, for 
 the girl was silently crying, which he regarded as a good 
 omen. 
 
 "Yes, very happy, Hilliard — Mr. Bramhall," between 
 her broken sobs. "But you must let me go! I do not 
 love you well enough to be your wife. Oh ! I did not 
 think of this — for, if I must tell you, my destiny is already 
 decided upon." He chose to put a wrong construction 
 upon her answer, and, thinking she had been only playing 
 with him, he released her with sudden jealousy. 
 
 "You are cruel," he said bitterly. "I did not think 
 you so. But a coquette you have proved. Ah ! well, a 
 pretty face — " 
 
 "Oh, don't, don't say that?" she pleaded. "Call me 
 cruel — heartless — indiscreet, if you will — but not a coquette. 
 You do not know what anguish this is, or surely you would 
 spare me ! " 
 
 " Forgive me, Huldah ? " His voice was tender and 
 sympathetic. "It is I who am cruel. And yet it is hard 
 to give you up — my heart's first idol. Then there are 
 earlier hopes ? You have pledged yourself to the future ! " 
 
 " Yes, earlier hopes — and I must be true." She was 
 looking drearily over the meadows, as he stood with his 
 arms folded before her. 
 
 " And may happiness crown your choice," he said. " But 
 it is growing late, Miss Stratton ; so we will say good-bye. 
 I am going," 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 105 
 
 He took her hand a moment, then turned quickly home- 
 ward, leaving Huldah to wait for Linky. She thought he 
 had left her forever, and a sharp pain shot through her 
 heart as she recalled his coldness at parting. And when 
 he had disappeared, she gave herself up to a paroxysm of 
 grief. 
 
 " Oh, it is so cruel to let him go like this ! " she sobbed. 
 Her heart was filled to overflowing, and the tears would 
 come, for nature has wisely ordained that the torrent of 
 human suffering shall at times flow out from the overbur- 
 dened spirit. At length she became alarmed at Linky's 
 absence, and called his name without getting a reply. 
 Above in the meadow she heard the faint tinkling of a cow 
 bell, mingled with the lowing of the kine, and thinking he 
 had gone after his cows she hastened home alone. 
 
 " Jee-whiz ! what funny things girls is ! " exclaimed 
 Linky, emerging from his place of concealment. He had 
 hidden behind the bushes to frighten them, and, without 
 meaning to be a spy, was forced to see and hear all that 
 
 had taken place between his friends. 
 
 # * * # # 
 
 I shall always believe that the good genii led Doctor 
 Bramhall to visit the haunted dell that night ; he seemed 
 drawn there by some irresistible impulse, rather than of 
 his own volition. This spot upon the Mahahlah was known 
 by him as a famous trouting pool ; where, under the shad- 
 
106 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 ow of deep green foliage, he had passed many a quiet after- 
 noon ensnaring the silvery trout ; so it may be that the 
 associations of the place, as he expected to leave the village 
 in the morning, drew him once more to the dell. 
 
 And Huldah — what of her ? He could not so steel his 
 heart as to look upon these scenes again without one tender 
 thought of the woman he had loved. Often they had 
 loitered here by the river, and Huldah would nestle closer 
 to his side, as if danger could not reach her while he was 
 near, when the path grew hazardous and the dull roaring 
 of the Mahahlah falls was heard. He thought of her now, 
 or tried to think, as one dead to him. A few brief hours 
 ago, love had held the lines of destiny; to-night his old, 
 bitter pride was king. 
 
 He was, nevertheless, something of a philosopher. It 
 would have been strange, too, if life had not shown him 
 the value of clear thinking. The story of Socrates had 
 impressed him deeply when a student ; and more than once 
 in his own life the hemlock of bitter experience had touched 
 his lips. And so he sensibly decided to quaff the draught 
 of oblivion now, for if Huldah Stratton loved another, as 
 he believed she did, the better way was to tear her image 
 from his heart. 
 
 Though he is my friend, candor compels the admission 
 that he had run the gauntlet of many flirtations, and with- 
 out danger of being impaled upon the matrimonial lance. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 107 
 
 And the one thought that now vexed his spirit was the re- 
 flection that it had been reserved for this rustic beauty to 
 pierce the only vulnerable point in his armor. 
 
 A woman, though the weaker vessel, is not infrequently 
 the strongest when adverse currents beset love's devious 
 course ; so the feminine mind is quick to single out the 
 object of a man's affections, amoug a limited number of 
 friends. Doctor Bramhall realized this when alone with 
 Therese that evening. He was moody, abstracted in man- 
 ner, and so unlike himself that his cousin thought him ill. 
 
 Therese, being on terms of intimacy with Huldah, had 
 guessed his secret, he felt sure ; and yet, instead of availing 
 himself of her sympathy and help, he foolishly practiced 
 deception. But Therese, happy enough in her parents' 
 love, refrained from meddling with the affairs of others. 
 
 Bed-time came, and one by one the village lights disap- 
 peared, but he was not in the mood for sleeping, and after 
 leaving Therese with a cousinly kiss he went out for a late 
 walk. 
 
 " Good night, Hilliard," she called from her window, as 
 he passed through the garden. " And, oh ! look here, 
 chicken," she added, "you'd better not go down to the 
 haunted dell, for you might see the ghosts to-night." 
 
 " I'm afraid you are growing superstitious, Therese," he 
 laughingly replied. " And as for the place being haunted, 
 my dear girl — surely you are not so credulous ! " 
 
108 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 " Oh, of course I'm not, yon great goose ! How dull 
 you are not to understand me." 
 
 " Yes, cousin mine, I am a dull fellow to-night. The 
 fact is, I'm not feeling well. I have a — a headache, that's 
 all. But good-night and pleasant dreams. I'll not be very 
 late — probably." 
 
 He noiselessly shut the gate, picked a lovely rose from 
 her favorite bush, and, dropping into a brisk walk, was 
 soon upon the brow of the hill. 
 
 The night was beautiful, with clear, starry skies and a 
 crescent moon, while a faint breeze, laden with myriad 
 scents, blew from seaward. At another time his contem- 
 plative soul might have found its Elysium amidst all this 
 grandeur and loveliness. For he was of those who may 
 exclaim, sacred silence ! manifold are thy blessings. He 
 was alone it is true — and yet there is a proverb that "man 
 is never less alone than when alone." 
 
 Below in the valley he saw the moonlit waters of the 
 Mahahlah, looking so peaceful and bright that he descended 
 the hill, thinking he would walk homeward through the 
 meadow. It was darker in the valley, but the moon was 
 rising above the tree tops, and he kept on towards the dell, 
 leaving the slumbering village far behind. 
 
 "I am surely bewitched," he soliloquized, "or else 
 Therese's ghosts have me in their power. Dear little girl 
 — she, at least, wants to see me happy. But it does seem 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 109 
 
 ghostly down here, after all. I'll laugh, or do something 
 to break the enchantment. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Now I'll listen 
 for the echo." 
 
 The echo came with startling distinctness from a point 
 below on the river. A sepulchral voice echoed back " jee- 
 whiz ! " followed by a splash of some object falling into the 
 water. He had half determined to retrace his steps when 
 a crackling noise on the other side of the river was heard, 
 as though some one coming down the path had stepped on 
 a dry twig. 
 
 The Mahahlah at this point flows between two high 
 ledges, over which, and serving as a foot bridge, is a huge 
 knotted log. He listened closely and was certain he heard 
 a twig crack under the light tread of a woman, whose 
 garments he could hear trailing against the bushes. 
 
 As the moon, now rising high above the forest, disclosed 
 the willowy outlines of a woman within the haunted dell — 
 and that woman Huldah Stratton, whose face he had not 
 meant to look upon again — his feelings can be better 
 imagined than described. 
 
 He passed his hand rapidly across his eyes, as one some- 
 times does when a sudden blindness is experienced, and 
 found his vision had not deceived him. While condemning 
 her lack of maidenly discretion — for he thought the girl 
 was here by appointment — he could not help feeling some- 
 thing of the old tenderness for her. 
 
110 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 "A last good-bye, sweet spirit of the dell," he lightly- 
 remarked, turning to leave the spot. " I'm not so base as 
 to spy upon you. Be happy with your country lover — alone 
 with silence and the stars. Humph ! what fine phrases sug- 
 gest themselves to-night. Ah, she is coming, and may see 
 me in the moonlight." 
 
 The girl came close to the river, and, to his horror, started 
 to cross upon the log. He must warn her of the danger, 
 for the uncertain light of the moon rendered the situation 
 perilous. Picking up a few stones he meant to frighten 
 her by splashing them in the water. But in the meantime 
 he made a discovery — one of so startling a nature, that his 
 heart seemed to have ceased its beating. 
 
 Huldah was a sleep-walker ! She had on her white school 
 dress and wore her slippers, which indicated that she had 
 not retired for the night, but fell asleep during the evening. 
 He knew that people who go about in sleep seldom come to 
 harm unless awakened at the wrong time; and this made 
 him more hopeful, for when she had crossed he would 
 gently arouse her. The river mocked him with demonaic 
 laughter as it hurried onward, eager to dash its moonlit 
 waters into the white foam of the cataract below, while, 
 sure-footed as a fawn, the girl continued her journey. 
 
 " Tu-whit ! tu-whoo ! " He knew that cry ; it was the 
 shrill signal of the gray owl, and was answered from point 
 to point along the river. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. Ill 
 
 Huldah started as if awakening from some horrid dream, 
 held out her arms imploringly, and sank into the deep, 
 swiftly flowing waters of the Mahahlah. 
 
 The next instant almost, Doctor Bramhall, divested of 
 his outer clothing, was struggling with her in his arms 
 against the strong current, which had borne her near the 
 rocks and inflicted a cruel wound on her temple. 
 
 " Huldah — my poor darling ! " he cried, as a low moan 
 escaped her lips. He was a strong swimmer, but, burdened 
 as he was, the still stronger currents bore them away from 
 the shore, and he could not reach the boats of the charcoal 
 burners moored somewhere above. 
 
 The deep murmur of the falls fell upon his ear, and in 
 the moonlight sparkled the white spray as it shot up from 
 the ledges, giving warning of the dangers below. Their 
 nearness to the rapids filled him with dismay ; but he grew 
 wonderfully calm, for the course of the river was taking 
 them shorewards, and as a drowning man will catch at 
 straws, so he watched for some overhanging tree by the 
 river. 
 
 Huldah had lost all consciousness, and lay pale and rigid 
 upon his arm. The whirlpool was surely drawing them 
 into its vortex j all hope seemed futile. Once he clutched 
 wildly at the low branches of a willow, only to find his 
 weight too great for these trees, which, excepting a giant 
 elm above the whirlpool, were the only ones growing over 
 
112 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the river. This tree was his last hope — a forlorn hope, it 
 is true, but he might gain support from its low-hanging 
 branches till help arrived. 
 
 But would anyone be likely to come in search of them ? 
 he wondered. Perhaps Therese might listen for his step on 
 the garden walk, as she had done before when he was off 
 on his late rambles, and becoming alarmed at his long de- 
 lay, arouse her father. And then, yielding to some strange 
 influence of the time, he thought how much easier it was 
 to die with Huldah, for she would penetrate with him the 
 mysteries of death. But a look into her pale face, as she 
 drifted with him, dispelled these selfish fancies. 
 
 His cries for help echoed through the forest, floated 
 away on the river, and reverberated from cave-like hollows 
 in its banks. Once he fancied that he heard a feeble shout 
 in reply. Yes! it was plainer now, and coming gradually 
 nearer each time. This discovery infused a new cour- 
 age, and being now underneath the big elm, he had 
 strength enough to seize its low branches, which he held 
 with a desperate resolve to meet death calmly, if such was 
 to be the will of fate. How idle to think of death with 
 help so near ! But a feeling of drowsiness and languor 
 was stealing over him, every nerve in his body seemed 
 drawn to its utmost tension, and he knew they could not 
 much longer endure the strain. 
 
 To his horror he found the bough was breaking ; this he 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 113 
 
 had not looked forward to, and it filled him with despair. 
 He would soon be at the mercy of the whirlpool, which, at 
 least, would not let him sink until drawn into its terrible 
 vortex. A faint gleam from the moon, shining softly down 
 through the branches, lighted them on to death. He 
 listened breathlessly to know if friends were yet in search 
 of them, but the loud roaring of the cataract was all he 
 heard. 
 
 Out from the darkness of the shore crept a shadowy boat, 
 which was being rapidly rowed down river by a boy — none 
 other than our young friend Linky Parks, whose garments 
 were dripping from an involuntary bath in the river. He 
 had tumbled from the rocks into the water, when Bram- 
 hall's wild laughter rang out on the quiet night, but luckily 
 found this boat near the shore. 
 
 Linky, as we know, possessed a boy's love for Huldah 
 Stratton, and this devotion led him to follow her into the 
 forest. He had gone to bed shortly after dark, leaving 
 Huldah sitting at a window watching the moon coming up 
 over the mountains. 
 
 " Poor Huldy ! " thought the boy, as he tried to go to 
 sleep, "she aint very happy to-night, and I know why. 
 She's in love with the Doctor. But she won't marry him, 
 'cause she's only a country girl and aint like his folks. I 
 heard her cryin' on marm's shoulder, and know what he 
 said when he kissed her to-day. Of course she had to tell 
 
114 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 marm all about it — or may be her heart would bust. Jee- 
 whiz ! girls is funny things after all." 
 
 Linky could not go to sleep as usual ; he wanted to do so, 
 in order to visit his beaver trap early in the morning. Why 
 is it that a boy's imagination is never so fertile as when 
 bed-time comes ? His pillow assumed queer shapes, but 
 sleep eluded the youngster's grasp ; and he tried many ex- 
 pedients to get asleep, such as saying his prayers backwards, 
 marking the ticking of the clock, and counting imaginary 
 sheep as they jumped over the pasture bars. His active 
 brain disclosed sheep black and white, little and big, vault- 
 ing through the air, but even this old-time narcotic failed 
 to act, and he dressed himself and stole out to the orchard. 
 
 The moon having now climbed over the hill tops, he did 
 not feel afraid, but at once started toward the river. He 
 had not gone far before he saw a woman ahead of him in 
 the path. So great was his surprise, as he drew nearer, to 
 find in her his teacher, that he followed on without speak- 
 ing, full of a boy's curiosity regarding her errand so late 
 at night. 
 
 He had left her alone in the twilight, at a window front- 
 ing the river, where she watched the moonbeams play upon 
 the water till she fell asleep. Poor girl ! — the musings at 
 the window were unhappy ones ; sleep was as a balm to her 
 sad heart. And with the drowsy god came a wild, strange 
 dream about the dell, which led her in slumber as we have 
 seen. 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 115 
 
 The course of the narrative takes us again to the Mahah- 
 lah, where we left Linky pulling the boat in the direction 
 whence proceeded Doctor Bramhall's cries. He had seen 
 him jump into the river, but could not gain the spot in 
 time. But by following the sound of his voice, Linky now 
 reached the exhausted man, who, clinging to the boat, was 
 safely taken to the shore — saved from death and the whirl- 
 pool. 
 
 " God bless you, my brave lad ! " he said to Linky, as 
 with Huldah in his arms he sank upon the shore. "You 
 have saved us from a terrible fate. But now go for help 
 to the nearest place. Your teacher must be quickly cared 
 for, or she may die! " 
 
 When Huldah Stratton regained consciousness the gray 
 light of morning was stealing over her couch in the cottage 
 of the charcoal burners. By her side Doctor Bramhall 
 knelt, with touch as delicate as a woman's. 
 
 The scene at the river all came back to her now: the 
 sudden awakening, her fall from the log, and the recog- 
 nition of her rescuer before she became insensible. But 
 Linky — how came he here ? 
 
 The Doctor wisely forbade all mental excitement, while 
 he stopped her words of gratitude with — a kiss ! He under- 
 stood his patient perfectly at this moment, and, thanks to 
 the whispered consultation he had held with Linky, the 
 diagnosis of his first case of somnambulism was productive 
 of mutual felicity. 
 
116 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 And now it is August again. Bless me ! how the 
 months roll round. Huldah has been married nearly a 
 year, and with Doctor Bramhall is visiting Therese at the 
 Elms. 
 
 But you thought — Ah ! dear reader, speculation in love 
 affairs availeth little. Hearts are much the same to-day as 
 they have always been. There are mountains we cannot 
 climb ; there are rivers we may not cross ; there are hopes 
 that will never find fruition ! But there is also "a divinity 
 that shapes our ends, rough hew them as we will." 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 117 
 
 IN CAS 00 BAY. 
 
 " I can see the shadowy lines of its trees, 
 
 And catch, in sudden gleams, 
 The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, 
 And islands that were the Hesperides 
 
 Of all my boyish dreams." — Longfellow. 
 
 here will be no school this afternoon/' said Pro- 
 fessor Clyde, the new teacher at Sunnyglade Academy, 
 as lie was about to open the morning session. At this 
 unexpected good news, every boy in the school looked up 
 with astonishment. But still no one ventured to ask the 
 reason why, for they as yet stood half in awe of their stern- 
 browed instructor. 
 
 " We will take a half holiday/' continued the Professor, 
 glancing over his gold-bowed glasses to note the effect of 
 these words. 
 
 " I presume you would like to make an excursion to the 
 seashore; and as I have the idea of giving you a pleasure 
 trip, I hope to meet you all here after dinner for that pur- 
 pose. A train will take us to Seaview, and I have en- 
 gaged a schooner there for a trip down the bay. Attention 
 now to studies, and remember to be in season this after- 
 
118 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 At the time named the boys were ready for the train, 
 and after an hour's ride they reached Seaview on the shores 
 of Casco Bay, where Professor Clyde had made every 
 necessary preparation for a pleasant afternoon. 
 
 They were to embark at once on the schooner Sophier 
 Ann, which had a short while before come up from Fisher- 
 man's Ridge to take the excursion party aboard. Skipper 
 Barnabas, who owned the schooner, was thoroughly famil- 
 iar with the bay, and had a good crew to manage the ves- 
 sel, so there was little fear that any accident would happen 
 to mar the pleasures anticipated. 
 
 As a part of the afternoon's enjoyment, they were to land 
 on one of the many islands in the bay and there indulge 
 in a " clam-bake " and "■ cunner-fry," which in themselves 
 would make a delicious supper, to say nothing of the gen- 
 erous supply of eatables brought from the Academy. 
 
 Now that all were on board the schooner, the skipper lost 
 no time in getting under sail. After clearing from the 
 wharf, the vessel's course was shaped for the Portland side 
 of the bay, as the wind was most favorable in that quarter, 
 and also because it would afford a finer view of the sur- 
 rounding scenery. 
 
 Away sped the light-footed Sophier Ann, and in a short 
 time was discerned the Cleeves monument on the eastern 
 promenade of the city, with green foliage towering be- 
 yond; while below glistened the harbor where ships 
 were lying at anchor, where busy island steamers were 
 
SONGS ANT) SKETCHES. 119 
 
 puffing under heavy burdens, and where grim-looking fort- 
 resses kept watch over the scene. 
 
 The wind was now blowing quite fresh, and the boys 
 sniffed the salty-flavored breeze with evident relish. It 
 was a beautiful afternoon. Many sails were seen among 
 the islands, but in the other direction — out to sea — it was 
 almost deserted, save for one or two small vessels that were 
 part of the mackerel fleet. 
 
 If the reader has never looked " out to sea," perhaps it 
 will be hard to understand any description. But if you can 
 imagine yourself on some high cliff with water everywhere 
 before you, till the sky shuts down on it like a huge um- 
 brella, a faint idea may be formed of the spectacle. The 
 sight is not a grand one, and after a wbile the eye 
 grows tired of its monotony, but yet in it there is a fasci- 
 nation for those who love the mysterious. 
 
 Look at yonder vessel just coming out from the harbor, 
 which proves to be a barkentine bound for the West Indies. 
 Everything is bustle and stir on board, for they are fairly 
 getting under sail. 
 
 Was that a dog barking ? you ask. Oh, jes ; every ship 
 should have one on board, or what would they do for the 
 dog-watch ? And very likely you will find a hencoop, too, 
 filled with cackling biddies, or perhaps see a sleek-looking 
 cat asleep in the sunshine, with her weather eye fixed on 
 the shaggy Newfoundland baying at the gulls. 
 
 All these will be rare company for the homesick cabin 
 
120 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 boy, when the ship is far from his native shores. How it 
 will gladden his heart some morning to awaken from a 
 sweet, lingering dream of home, and hear the hens clamor- 
 ing for their breakfast, led on by the fussy old rooster with 
 gay plumage, who crows as lustily as if he were perched on 
 the barnyard fence far away in Maine. 
 
 And is that cat really a cat o' nine tails ? No, indeed; 
 she has but one tail, and that is often one too many for 
 puss, as it is liable to be stepped on by the clumsy cook. 
 But you must not ask any more questions at this time. 
 See, the crew are going aloft to set the topsails, and the 
 pilot is climbing over the side of the vessel. Now he has 
 dropped into his boat, the line is thrown off, and the bark- 
 entine leaves him bobbing up and down in her wake. 
 
 Skipper Barnabas was an old fisherman, and as they 
 drew near the mackerel boats, his practiced eye saw that 
 they had struck a "school" of these fish, and were pulling 
 them in at a lively rate. The boys were greatly excited at 
 the scene, and, of course, wanted to catch some mackerel 
 for supper instead of fishing for dinners. So a rush was 
 made for the lines, and everything got in readiness. 
 
 If the reader lives where brooks and streams abound, 
 very likely he has ensnared many a silvery trout b}^ skim- 
 ming a buzzing fly over the surface, or coaxed many a lazy 
 fish up from the sand}' bottom by baiting his hook with a 
 wriggling worm. This may do very well for trout and the 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 121 
 
 like, but the mackerel do not care for such dainties, and the 
 fishermen would fare poorly if they had to stop and bait 
 the hooks. 
 
 Instead of this a quantity of finely ground bait is thrown 
 overboard, which floats upon the sea, and soon the surface 
 of the water is covered with the hungry mackerel. Those 
 on the vessels now begin work with the lines, which con- 
 tinues until the fish have kept them. It luckily happened 
 that the skipper had left a small quantity of this bait 
 aboard the schooner, or else the bo}^s would have lost their 
 sport. 
 
 " There seems to be suthin' wrong over there," remarked 
 Skipper Barnabas, with a nod of his head in the direction 
 of the fishermen. " Lookit the way they're hurryin' round, 
 and pullin' in their lines ! Shouldn't wonder if they've 
 found a whale, for there's a man with a harpoon in his 
 hand." 
 
 "I did'nt know they were ever found in this latitude, or 
 at least not so near land," said Professor Clyde. 
 
 " They aint, generally, sartin ; but once in a while they 
 happen to get chased into the Gulf Stream, or maybe foller 
 a school of sharks this way, and then it's nat'ral for 'em 
 to rove around after cold water again." 
 
 At the mere mention of whales each boy wanted to be 
 the first to see this monarch of the deep. Some went aloft 
 the better to watch for " blows," as they had often read of 
 
122 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 this practice in whaling stories ; others ran to the vessel's 
 side, while Fattie Fink, who volunteered to act as the 
 boatswain, stood ready to blow his whistle in case the 
 crew should get orders to go in pursuit. The schooner 
 had but one boat, however, and perhaps it was just as well 
 that no such order was given ; for, of course, no boy would 
 have felt willing to give up the pleasure of chasing a prob- 
 able descendant of the whale that made itself immortal by 
 befriending Jonah the Ninevite. 
 
 The skipper was right, however, about there being some 
 excitement among the fishermen. It was evident that a 
 large fish was the object of attention, and it had very like- 
 ly driven away the mackerel. 
 
 "It's a shark ! it's a shark ! " cried some of the boys on 
 the schooner, as a huge fish appeared upon the surface of 
 the sea, its body shining in the bright sunlight. 
 
 "No! no! It looks just like a young whale!'' cried 
 another. 
 
 " Wherebouts is it ? I don't see nary a shark, nor 
 whale, nor nothin' else but that red buoy yonder ! " This 
 question was asked by Skipper Barnabas, whose vision was 
 not of the best. 
 
 "Just the other side of the buoy. Look ! there he goes ; 
 now he's under that floating sea-weed ! " 
 
 "No ; he isn't there now ! Must have dived down again. " 
 
 Such conjectures as these were freely expressed, but all 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 123 
 
 went wide of the mark, so far as the kind of fish was con- 
 cerned. 
 
 " It's a sea serpent ! Sure as you're born, it is ! " cried 
 Fattie Fink, with great earnestness of spirit. 
 
 "Joe Blodgett told me there was one in Royals river, 
 and that aint far from here, you know. And he said it had 
 two heads and fourteen tails ; because it chased his grand- 
 father once, and he stopped to count 'em." 
 
 "Ye're all on yer wrong," remarked Skipper Barnabas, 
 who had now sighted the object of so much curiosity. 
 " 'Taint neither a shark, nor a whale, nor a sea-sarpent — 
 but a whoppin' big hoss mack'ril." 
 
 "Do you mean old Neptune's horse ? " asked Ralph Os- 
 borne, who had long cherished a wish to see this wonderful 
 animal, and still hoped there was such a thing in the sea. 
 " What sort of a fish is it, anj^way ? " 
 
 " A hoss mack'ril," said the skipper, as he gave the wheel 
 a turn or two, "is just like any other mack'ril, only it's 
 bigger, and weighs two or three hundred pounds some- 
 times. You boys orter read your grammar more, so's to 
 find out sich things." 
 
 " Professor, you seem to be a smart kind o' sailor, so s'pose 
 you take a turn at the wheel, while I have a hand in the 
 sport too. They're tryin' to throw a harpoon at the hoss, 
 and it won't do to have them Cape 'Lizabeth chaps get 
 ahead of us, nohow. There, that's it — steady now ! Just 
 keep her a leetle more to the southward." 
 
124 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 After this instruction the skipper went below, but he 
 soon re-appeared with a rusty old harpoon, sharp enough 
 to suit his purpose. 
 
 The huge mackerel was sporting in the water, and was 
 evidently enjoying itself. As it came nearer the schoon- 
 er, her gallant skipper aimed a blow with the harpoon, but 
 the rope was not long enough and the spear fell short of 
 the mark. The fish soon showed itself again as if to furth- 
 er tempt the fates, and wriggled its tail in defiance to the 
 Sophier Ann. 
 
 "It's no use tryin' to do anything with this ere harpoon, 
 I guess," said Skipper Barnabas at last. "We'll have to 
 try some other way, after all. There's more'n one wa} 7- to 
 kill a cat, and there orter be more'n one way to kill a hoss 
 mack'ril. One of you git me a piece of that pork you 
 brought aboard, and we'll try another dodge. If I can 
 only git a hook in his mouth, there's lots of fun for you 
 boys, and we'll have a chance to see who's the strongest 
 puller." 
 
 "You surely don't mean to catch that big fish with a 
 hook ? " said Professor Clyde, with astonishment. 
 
 " Cert'nly, I do. I've got some extra strong halibut 
 hooks that'll hold him, and we can tie on a small hawser to 
 pull in on." 
 
 The large hook was now baited, while a strong rope was 
 tied to it, and the skipper again took position at the side 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 125 
 
 of the vessel. The tide carried the tempting morsel with- 
 in sight of the horse mackerel, which began to swim nearer 
 and nearer, till all at once it turned and made a rush for 
 the pork, taking hook and all into its mouth. With a 
 skillful twist of the line, Skipper Barnabas hooked the vic- 
 tim through the upper jaw, and took a sort of half-hitch in 
 the rope, which held the struggling fish firmly. 
 
 " Hoora ! we've got him! we've got him!" }^elled the 
 excited skipper, bracing himself against the capstan. 
 
 The boys at once sprang to the rope, and all joined lustily 
 in the skipper's song of " Yo-ho ! heave yo ! " 
 
 The more the boys pulled, the more the horse mackerel 
 struggled to get free. Suddenly a happy idea seemed to 
 occur to the fish. Up to this time every inch of advantage 
 was dearly earned, for the " hoss " was a very balky one, 
 and little disposed to be led by a ring in its nose. Of 
 course, as the boys hauled the rope taut, all that kept them 
 on their balance was the weight of the fish at the other 
 end; and when, all at once, it changed tactics and darted 
 toward them, they tumbled over each other like a row of 
 nine-pins. The minute they fell the line was jerked from 
 their hands by the fish going in an opposite direction, and 
 if the skipper had not been careful to tie it to the capstan, 
 the sport would have ended right here. 
 
 So soon as they were on their feet again, the horse 
 mackerel was taken in hand for the secoud time, but it was 
 
126 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 growing weaker by its struggles. Yet the huge fish was 
 slowly being drawn out of the water, till in a short while 
 it was floundering on the schooner's deck, twisting its body 
 into many shapes and trying very hard to escape from its 
 captors. 
 
 Now came the tug of war. The mackerel was fully four 
 feet long, and gave the boys all they could do to manage it. 
 They were pulled all over the deck and tumbled against the 
 masts, besides receiving other injuries during the struggle. 
 
 Some of the younger ones grew frightened at the new 
 turn of affairs, and climbed up into the rigging, from 
 whence they offered wise suggestions to those below. It 
 was all very well while they were chasing the horse mack- 
 erel, but when the tables were turned they failed to see 
 anything funny in it. 
 
 " Some of you drop the line and club the pesky thing, or 
 it'll have us all overboard," cried Skipper Barnabas. 
 
 One or two of the boys armed themselves with heavy 
 sticks, which had been brought aboard for firewood, and 
 Snowball, the darkey cook, now appeared on deck with his 
 carving knife. 
 
 But the boys did little harm to the fish, even if they hit 
 it at all. The fat boatswain managed to put his stick be- 
 tween its jaws, and in return got a blow from its tail fair 
 in the stomach. Then another boy took his place, but met 
 with no better success. 
 
SOJSfGS AND SKETCHES. 127 
 
 There is no telling how long this would have continued 
 had not Snowball, by a misdirected stroke of the knife, 
 severed the line and allowed the horse mackerel to escape 
 into the sea. 
 
 "There, you've done it now!" cried the boys. "All 
 our trouble for nothing. What made you cut the rope, 
 Snowball ? " 
 
 "I didn't do it a-purpose, anyway," said the grinning 
 Snowball. 
 
 "It is just as well, after all," said the Professor. " The 
 fish would be of no value to us. Let it go back to its na- 
 tive element, for it has certainly earned its freedom." 
 
 " 'Taint so much the hoss I care about," remarked Skip- 
 per Barnabas, "as 'tis the glory of beatin' them Cape 
 fellers over yonder. And, besides, it's got my best halibut 
 hook, too." 
 
 " As to the glory of the affair," returned Professor Clyde, 
 " I guess your reputation is all right, as you pulled the fish 
 aboard, while it was only by accident that it got away. 
 And now we'd better steer for the island, before it gets any 
 later." 
 
 The stars were twinkling in the dark sky when the party 
 arrived at Seaview that night. Owing to the winds and 
 tides they were longer delayed than was expected, but this 
 only pleased the boys all the better. A memorable after- 
 noon had waned to its close, and the time is far distant 
 when its events will be forgotten at Sunnyglade. 
 
128 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 THE MAJOR'S APE. 
 
 n/eip, drip, drip ! Would the sunshine never relieve 
 us from this enforced imprisonment within the grim walls 
 of Berkley Grange ? It seemed, indeed, as if this oft- 
 repeated question might safely be answered in the negative, 
 judging from the dull aspect of the heavens, which gave 
 no token of fairer weather. For three whole days had the 
 rain drops beat a pitiless fusilade against the window pane, 
 and tumbled the gold and purple leaves from the stately 
 beech and maple, till their half denuded branches presented 
 that sorry spectacle suggestive of autumnal decay, and on 
 the fourth day of our arrival there was no apparent cessa- 
 tion of hostilities— not even the prospect of a patched-up 
 armistice of a few hours only, in which to explore the sur- 
 roundings of that crumbling old relic of the past called the 
 Grange. 
 
 " Confound this beastly weather ! " was the frequent ex- 
 pression of our grizzled old Major, whose guests we were, 
 as he paced up and down the long library, or gazed abstract- 
 edly into the glowing hearth ; for though the season was 
 not cold, in the sense in which that term is commonly 
 used, yet this excessive humidity rendered a glow of warmth 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 129 
 
 from the shining products of Newcastle most acceptable 
 indeed. 
 
 This imprecation upon the state of the weather was in- 
 variably seconded by two officers of Her Majesty's Lancers, 
 lounging in that languid manner peculiar to military men 
 off duty. And it certainly was provoking. Only a week 
 of our furlough remained, before we should go marching 
 back to India or the Transvaal — we hardly knew which, 
 owing to the red tape measures in which all governments 
 delight ; and as yet we had not been permitted to realize 
 the object of our pilgrimage down into the very heart of 
 Devonshire — a fox hunt across the hills and dales of one 
 of the most famous courses in all England. 
 
 If it were not for the Major's ape time would have 
 dragged wearily with Leigh and myself, despite Berkley's 
 open hospitality, and the charm of Madeline's ballads and 
 subtle glances as we hung over the piano and turned her 
 music. But it is not my purpose, in alluding to that really 
 charming girl, to " lute and flute fantastic tenderness." I 
 am, at best, an old dog of war, and loyal only to my queen. 
 To Leigh, who is much the younger and better looking, be- 
 longs the privilege of writing a panegyric on the subject of 
 feminine charms. Egad! but the boy made love like a 
 soldier. 
 
 Jocko was a rare companion during those rainy days. 
 He was, moreover, the finest specimen of the ape species I 
 
130 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 had ever seen, and seemed endowed with an intelligence 
 that much inclined us toward the Darwinian view of 
 things. In stature Jocko bore no slight resemblance to a 
 man, being four feet two and one-quarter inches tall, well 
 proportioned, and when walking erect, as he invariably did, 
 presented a soldierly bearing. The Major, who had re- 
 ceived his strange protege from a friend at the Zoo, had 
 taught the animal a number of clever maneuvers, and as 
 Jocko was docile and willing to learn, we found pleasure 
 in imparting a supplementary course of instruction in 
 military ethics, which seemed to impress the ape with the 
 gravity of the discipline he so patiently underwent. So in 
 teaching Jocko to turn and wheel, right-about and left- 
 oblique, while he varied the march to suit his own whims, 
 Leigh and I in a measure grew reconciled to our environ- 
 ment, and talked less of hounds and foxes, till even the 
 Major ceased to dilate upon the charms and dangers of the 
 chase. 
 
 Berkley Grange, like all old mansions that link the tra- 
 ditions of the past with the doubting, matter-of-fact to-day, 
 had its ghostly visitant that periodically performed all the 
 duties encumbent upon a conscientious spirit of the race. 
 The latest phase in its history, however, according to the 
 servants, would seem to be the adoption of a semi-military 
 style of dress and a habit of parading with drawn sword 
 through the deserted corridors, to finally vanish in thin air 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 131 
 
 behind a life-size portrait of George III, as if that grim 
 old tyrant was still the refuge of evil doers fleeing from the 
 light of a dawning rationalism. 
 
 We were discussing his ghostship with the Major, and 
 also discussing a bottle of very old Madeira by way of ren- 
 dering the discussion all the more spirited, when he in- 
 formed us that the family jewels had been purloined from 
 their usual place, and every effort to discover them had 
 proved futile. What was of infinitely more consequence, 
 the very legal documents by which his ancestral halls were 
 insured to future Berkleys were also missing, and irrepa- 
 rable ruin would follow their ultimate loss. 
 
 Allow me, at the outset, to say that a belief in the super- 
 natural, with all that the term implies, has never been 
 included in my category of shortcomings. Either from the 
 precocity of childhood, or some other cogent reason, the 
 seeds of superstition so industriously sown in the nursery 
 have fallen on barren ground, and have not attained to the 
 gigantic proportions of the grain of mustard seed, in whose 
 umbrageous branches the birds of evil omen may croak the 
 constant pratings of a silly nurse. Still, I must confess to a 
 sensation akin to that described by the shade of Hamlet's 
 father — where each particular hair manifests a disposition 
 to stand on end — when, as I was groping my way along the 
 dark corridors that night, I distinctly saw a ghostly figure 
 pacing in pensive mood, and immediately vanish through 
 
132 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 the wall. By the faint light I could distinguish the showy 
 epaulets of au army officer, and fancied I saw the gleaming 
 of a sword, as if saluting some imaginary superior. 
 
 Of course I was laughed at in the morning when I re- 
 counted my experience with the ghost. The Major pooh- 
 poohed and laughingly attributed it to a phantasy of sleep, 
 induced by undue quantities of salad; while Leigh, with a 
 significant wink, insinuated that the juice of the grape, 
 combined with the narcotic properties of a good cigar, some- 
 times had a demoralizing effect upon our mental per- 
 ceptions. 
 
 " To convince you of the utter absurdity of your story, 
 Colonel, we will join you to-night in watching the move- 
 ments of this nocturnal prowler," said Leigh, which propo- 
 sition was immediately accepted. 
 
 Nothing unusual revealed itself this time; but I pre- 
 vailed upon Leigh to continue the vigil the next night, 
 though the Major refused any further participation in what 
 he characterized as a piece of tom-foolery. Fortunately, 
 the weather had now cleared, and the light from the full 
 moon streaming in through the hall windows made it easy 
 for us to discern objects. 
 
 " I hope you are satisfied now," growled Leigh, who was 
 beginning to grow sleepy. 
 
 I looked at my watch. It was just three minutes past 
 twelve o'clock — the hour at which wandering spirits are 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 133 
 
 said to begin their nightly revels. Much chagrined at 
 this lack of punctuality even in a ghost, I was about to 
 acquiesce in Leigh's remark, when a measured tread was 
 heard in the opposite direction, which caused my hitherto 
 incredulous companion to exclaim in a stage whisper : 
 
 il By the gods of war, Colonel, here it comes ! — aud blowed 
 if it isn't of a military turn of mind." 
 
 Out into the moonlight marched a strange apparition sword 
 in hand, with all the precision of evolution which charac- 
 terizes an old soldier, and made directly for the place where 
 two hitherto valiant disciples of Mars were tremblingly 
 watching his proceedings. 
 
 My attention was now called in another direction by a 
 low chuckle from Leigh, who was almost in a paroxysm of 
 suppressed laughter. As soon as he could recover from 
 this sudden attack of Momus, he whispered : 
 
 " What a precious pair of idiots we've made of ourselves ! 
 Frightened half to death by the antics of an ape ! " 
 
 Sure enough, it was Jocko, attired in the Major's scarlet 
 soldier coat, and with his sword taken from its place in the 
 hall. 
 
 We were particularly anxious as to what would be the 
 next move, as the object of attention was now opposite the 
 artist's tribute to departed majesty, the supposed point of 
 disappearance. Nor were we disappointed. As if con- 
 scious of something before forgotten, the ape took a short 
 
134 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 survey of George III, when lo ! the massive tablet on which 
 he was painted slowly moved to one side, and Jocko disap- 
 appeared through the opening. Then I recollected the 
 Major had told us of this secret passage to the west wing, 
 now unused save as the repository for antique rubbish. 
 The ape, undoubtedly, had learned how to open the panel, 
 having seen his master do so when showing the Grange to 
 visitors. 
 
 So suddenly was this done that had it not been for Leigh's 
 presence of mind, our adventure would have ended right 
 here; but with commendable promptness he stayed the 
 slowly-closing panel by fastening it back with a chair, and 
 fairly dragged me in after him just in time to see Jocko 
 disappearing down a flight of narrow stairs. Luckily for 
 us, the moon shed a refulgent light through a narrow 
 grating partly overgrown with ivy, by which we were able 
 to follow our guide, which was now a matter of great mo- 
 ment with us, as presenting the only means of solving the 
 mystery of his movements. Judge of our surprise, on 
 emerging again into the moonlight, to find Jocko gleefully 
 examining the Berkley jewels, dazzlingly beautiful in their 
 clusters and pendants. The cunning ape had concealed the 
 casket in this secret passageway, and his midnight jour- 
 neys thereto were, it was evident, the subject of the ghostly 
 sights and sounds narrated by the servants. 
 
 Everything was now plainly apparent. Jocko, with that 
 
SONGS AND SKETCHES. 135 
 
 inborn love for mischief which is a notable trait in his species, 
 had ransacked his master's room and stolen the precious 
 casket, caring nothing for the papers it contained, but 
 fascinated by the brilliancy of the gems that reposed within 
 its velvety depths. But what strange freak of his monkey 
 brain had led him to this hiding place, where at night, in 
 all the pomp of borrowed plumage, he could gloat over his 
 treasures in security ? Our actions in teaching him to 
 play soldier might account for the possession of the coat and 
 sword, but as gentlemen we protest that we never, by pre- 
 cept or by example, inculcated dishonest practices even in 
 an ape. 
 
 It was desirable, as well as important, that the jewels 
 and papers should be restored to Berkley at once, lest they 
 might be secreted in some other place. To this end, Leigh 
 advanced abruptly upon Jocko, when the now surprised 
 and maddened creature, giving a strange cry, attacked us 
 with all the'fury of its savage nature. 
 
 This we had not expected, and in the struggle that fol- 
 lowed it required all our efforts to protect ourselves, for the 
 ape made good use of his teeth and nails, and actually tried 
 to wield the Major's sword. 
 
 I am not a vain man, but the loss of my whiskers would 
 subject me to personal chagrin, besides making me the butt 
 of my brother officers ; and as the ape was literally pulling 
 out my beard by handfuls, perhaps this reflection, equally 
 
136 SONGS AND SKETCHES. 
 
 as much as the pain I suffered, led me to tighten my grip 
 on the animal's throat. Those of you who have witnessed 
 the drama of Virginius remember the closing scene, where 
 that grand old Roman throttles Appius Claudius. Well, I 
 was the Virginius of the hour ! But, to my lasting sorrow, 
 when Jocko's hairy paws relinquished the hold upon my 
 beard the poor ape fell dead at my feet. 
 
 The grief of the Major at the death of his pet was com- 
 mensurate with the joy occasioned by the recovery of his 
 deeds and jewels. In justice to myself, however, I will say 
 that he still warmly grasps the hand that gave Jocko his 
 quietus. Our adventure with the ghost secured me the 
 Major's friendship for life, while Leigh received for his 
 reward the hand of Madeline Berkley, for which he boldly 
 asked the next morning. 
 

 
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