Part 13

And lo! through mists that may not be dispelled, I see an old farm homestead, as in dreams, Where, like a gem in costly setting held, The old log cabin gleams.

. . . . . . .

O darling Pathway! lead me bravely on Adown your valley-way, and run before Among the roses crowding up the lawn And thronging at the door,--

And carry up the echo there that shall Arouse the drowsy dog, that he may bay The household out to greet the prodigal That wanders home to-day.

THE OLD GUITAR

Neglected now is the old guitar And moldering into decay; Fretted with many a rift and scar That the dull dust hides away, While the spider spins a silver star In its silent lips to-day.

The keys hold only nerveless strings-- The sinews of brave old airs Are pulseless now; and the scarf that clings So closely here declares A sad regret in its ravelings And the faded hue it wears.

But the old guitar, with a lenient grace, Has cherished a smile for me; And its features hint of a fairer face That comes with a memory Of a flower-and-perfume-haunted place And a moonlit balcony.

Music sweeter than words confess, Or the minstrel's powers invent, Thrilled here once at the light caress Of the fairy hands that lent This excuse for the kiss I press On the dear old instrument.

The rose of pearl with the jeweled stem Still blooms; and the tiny sets In the circle all are here; the gem In the keys, and the silver frets; But the dainty fingers that danced o'er them-- Alas for the heart's regrets!--

Alas for the loosened strings to-day, And the wounds of rift and scar On a worn old heart, with its roundelay Enthralled with a stronger bar That Fate weaves on, through a dull decay Like that of the old guitar!

"FRIDAY AFTERNOON"

TO WILLIAM MORRIS PIERSON

Of the wealth of facts and fancies That our memories may recall, The old school-day romances Are the dearest, after all!--. When some sweet thought revises The half-forgotten tune That opened "Exercises" On "Friday Afternoon."

We seem to hear the clicking Of the pencil and the pen, And the solemn, ceaseless ticking Of the timepiece ticking then; And we note the watchful master, As he waves the warning rod, With our own heart beating faster Than the boy's who threw the wad.

Some little hand uplifted, And the creaking of a shoe:-- A problem left unsifted For the teacher's hand to do: The murmured hum of learning-- And the flutter of a book; The smell of something burning, And the school's inquiring look.

The bashful boy in blushes; And the girl, with glancing eyes, Who hides her smiles, and hushes The laugh about to rise,-- Then, with a quick invention, Assumes a serious face, To meet the words, "Attention! Every scholar in his place!"

The opening song, page 20.-- Ah! dear old "Golden Wreath," You willed your sweets in plenty; And some who look beneath The leaves of Time will linger, And loving tears will start, As Fancy trails her finger O'er the index of the heart.

"Good News from Home"--We hear it Welling tremulous, yet clear And holy as the spirit Of the song we used to hear-- "Good news for me" (A throbbing And an aching melody)-- "Has come across the"--(sobbing, Yea, and salty) "dark blue sea!"

Or the paean "Scotland's burning!" With its mighty surge and swell Of chorus, still returning To its universal yell-- Till we're almost glad to drop to Something sad and full of pain-- And "Skip verse three," and stop, too, Ere our hearts are broke again.

Then "the big girls'" compositions, With their doubt, and hope, and glow Of heart and face,--conditions Of "the big boys"--even so,-- When themes of "Spring," and "Summer" And of "Fall," and "Winter-time" Droop our heads and hold us dumber Than the sleigh-bell's fancied chime.

Elocutionary science-- (Still in changeless infancy!)-- With its "Cataline's Defiance," And "The Banner of the Free": Or, lured from Grandma's attic, A ramshackle "rocker" there, Adds a skreek of the dramatic To the poet's "Old Arm-Chair."

Or the "Speech of Logan" shifts us From the pathos, to the fire; And Tell (with Gessler) lifts us Many noble notches higher.-- Till a youngster, far from sunny, With sad eyes of watery blue, Winds up with something "funny," Like "Cock-a-doodle-do!"

Then a dialogue--selected For its realistic worth:-- The Cruel Boy detected With a turtle turned to earth Back downward; and, in pleading, The Good Boy--strangely gay At such a sad proceeding-- Says, "Turn him over, pray!"

So the exercises taper Through gradations of delight To the reading of "The Paper," Which is entertaining--quite! For it goes ahead and mentions "If a certain Mr. O. Has serious intentions That he ought to tell her so."

It also "Asks permission To intimate to 'John' The dubious condition Of the ground he's standing on"; And, dropping the suggestion To "mind what he's about," It stuns him with the question: "Does his mother know he's out?"

And among the contributions To this "Academic Press" Are "Versified Effusions" By--"Our lady editress"-- Which fact is proudly stated By the CHIEF of the concern,-- "Though the verse communicated Bears the pen-name 'Fanny Fern.' "

. . . . . . When all has been recited, And the teacher's bell is heard, And visitors, invited, Have dropped a kindly word, A hush of holy feeling Falls down upon us there, As though the day were kneeling, With the twilight for the prayer.