Part 19 (1/2)

Mr. Cooley's widow and son, Marvin L. Cooley, still survive, and at present reside in Darlington.

A STORY WITH A MORAL.

One ev'ning, as some children play'd Beneath an oak tree's summer shade, A stranger, travel-stained and gray, Beside them halted on his way.

As if a spell, upon them thrown, Had changed their agile limbs to stone, Each in the spot where it first view'd Th' approaching wand'rer mutely stood.

Ere silence had oppressive grown The old man's voice thus found a tone; ”I too was once as blithe and gay-- My days as lightly flew away As if I counted all their hours Upon a dial-plate of flowers; And gentle slumber oft renew'd The joyance of my waking mood, As if my soul in slumber caught The radiance of expiring thought; As if perception's farewell beam Could tinge my bosom with a dream-- That twilight of the mind which throws Such mystic splendor o'er repose.

Contrasted with a youth so bright My manhood seems one dreary night, A chilling, cheerless night, like those Which over Arctic regions close.

I married one, to my fond eyes An angel draped in human guise.

Alas! she had one failing; No secret could she keep In spite of all my railing, And curses loud and deep.

No matter what the danger Of gossiping might be, She'd gossip with a stranger As quickly as with me.

One can't be always serious, And talking just for show, For that is deleterious To fellows.h.i.+p, and so I oft with her would chatter, Just as I felt inclined, Of any little matter I chanced to call to mind.

Alas! on one ill-fated day, I heard an angry neighbor say, 'Don't tell John Jones of your affairs, Don't tell him for your life, Without you wish the world to know, For he will tell his wife.'

'For he will tell his wife' did ring All day through heart and brain; In sleep a nightmare stole his voice, And shouted it again.

I spent whole days in meditating How I should break the spell, Which made my wife keep prating Of things she shouldn't tell.

Some awful crime I'll improvise, Which I'll to her confide, Upon the instant home I rushed, My hands in blood were dyed.

'Now, Catharine, by your love for me, My secret closely hide.'

Her quiet tongue, for full three days, The secret kept so well, I almost grew to hope that she This secret wouldn't tell.

Alas! upon the following day She had revealed it, for I found Some surly men with warrants arm'd Were slyly lurking round.

They took me to the county jail My tristful Kate pursuing, And all the way she sobb'd and cried 'Oh! what have I been doing?'

Before the judge I was arraigned, Who sternly frowning gazed on me, And by his clerk straightway inquired, What was the felon's plea.

May't please your honor, I exclaim'd This case you may dismiss-- Now hearken all a.s.sembled here, My whole defence is this: I killed a dog--a thievish wretch-- His body may be found, Beneath an apple tree of mine, A few feet under ground, This simple plot I laid in hope To cure my tattling wife; I find, alas! that she must talk, Though talking risk my life.

So from her presence then I fled, In spite of all the tears she shed, And since, a wand'ring life I've led, And told the tale where'er I sped.”

FORTY YEARS AFTER.

For twenty guests the feast is laid With luscious wines and viands rare, And perfumes such as might persuade The very G.o.ds to revel there.

A youthful company gathered here, Just two score years ago to-day, Agreed to meet once ev'ry year Until the last one pa.s.sed away.

And when the group might fewer grow The vacant chairs should still be placed Around the board whereon should glow The glories of the earliest feast.

One guest was there, with sunken eye And mem'ry busy with the past-- Could he have chosen the time to die, Some earlier feast had been his last.

”But thrice we met” the old man said, But thrice in youthful joy and pride, When all for whom this board was spread Were seated gaily at my side.

Then first we placed an empty chair And ev'ry breast was filled with gloom, For he we knew, who should be there, That hour was absent in the tomb.