Will come to me, don't you see,

And the dinner I had

And the ache that was bad

Prove a——barren "idealty"!

[Pg 31]

[Pg 31]

A CHERISHED RELIC.

In the attic, unused, there they put it away;

The old oaken frame has begun to decay;

What iron's about it is eaten with rust,

And upon and around it are cobwebs and dust;

The dear, loving hands that on it have spun,

With labor and toil forever are done,

And long is the time since I saw them unreel

The threads, snowy white, from the old spinning-wheel!

It stood on a porch where the Summer sunshine

Sifted down to the floor through a clambering vine,

Whose tendrils about the lattice-work clung

Like my heart-strings round her, and the song that she sung;

And the pictures of fancy I con o'er and o'er,

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