Beechenbrook | Page 6

December's snow!
Come, Sophy, my blossom! I've something to say
Will chase for a
moment your gambols away:
To-day as we climbed the steep
mountain-path o'er,
I noticed a bare-footed lad in my corps;
"How
comes it,"--I asked,--"you look careful and bold,
How comes it you're
marching, unshod, through the cold?"
"Ah, sir! I'm a poor, lonely orphan, you see;
No mother, no friends
that are caring for me;
If I'm wounded, or captured, or killed, in the
war,
'Twill matter to nobody, Colonel Dunbar."
Now, Sophy!--your needles, dear!--Knit him some socks,
And send
the poor fellow a pair in my box;
Then he'll know,--and his heart with
the thought will be filled,-- There is one little maiden will care if he's
killed.
The fire burns dimly, and scattered around,
The men lie asleep on the
snow-covered ground;
But ere in my blanket I wrap me to rest,
I
hold you, my darling, close,--close, to my breast:
God love you! God
grant you His comforting light!
I kiss you a thousand times
over!--Good night!
V.
"To-morrow is Christmas!"--and clapping his hands,
Little Archie in
joyful expectancy stands,
And watches the shadows, now short and
now tall,
That momently dance up and down on the wall.
Drawn curtains of crimson shut out the cold night,
And the parlor is
pleasant with odours and light;
The soft lamp suspended, its
mellowness throws
O'er cluster'd geranium, jasmine and rose;
The

sleeping canary hangs caged midst the blooms,
A Sybarite slumberer
steeped in perfumes;
For Alice still clings to her birds and her flowers,

Sweet tokens of kindlier, happier hours.
"To-morrow is Christmas!--but Beverly,--say,
Will it do to be glad
when Papa is away?"
And the face that is tricksy and blythe as can be,

Tries vainly to temper its shadowless glee.
"For you, pet, I'm sure it is right to be glad;
'Tis a pitiful thing to see
little ones sad;
But for Sophy and me, who are older, you know,--

We dare not be glad when we look at the snow!
I shrink from this
comfort, this light and this heat,
This plenty to wear, and this plenty
to eat,
When the soldiers who fight for us,--die for us,--lie,
With
nothing around and above, but the sky;
When their clothes are so
light, and the rations they deal, Are only a morsel of bacon and meal:

And how can I fold my thick blankets around,
When I know that my
father's asleep on the ground?
I'm ashamed to be happy, or merry, or
free,
As if war and its trials were nothing to me:
Oh! I never can
know any frolic or fun,--
Any real, mad romps,--till the battles are
done!"
And the face of the boy, so heroic and fair,
Is touched with
the singular shadow of care.
Sophy ceases her warbling, subdues her
soft mirth,
And draws her low ottoman up to the hearth:
"But, brother, what good would it do to refuse
The comforts and
blessings God gives us, or use
Them quite with indifference, as much
as to say,
We care not how soon they are taken away!
I am sure I
would give my last blanket, and spread
My pretty, blue cloak, at night,
over my bed,--
(Mamma, you know, covers herself with her shawl,

Since we've sent all our blankets,)--but, then, it's too small! Would
Papa be less hungry or cold, do you think,
If we had too little to eat or
to drink?
So I mean to be busy,--I mean to be glad;
Mamma says
there's time enough yet to be sad;
I'll work for the soldiers,--I'll pray,
and I'll plan,

And just be as happy as ever I can;
I've made the grey
shirt, and I've finished the socks:-- So come, let us help,--they are

packing the box."
How grateful the task is to Alice! her cares
Are quite put aside, and
her countenance wears
A look of enjoyment as eager, as bright,
As
Santa Claus brings little dreamers to-night;
For Douglass away in his
camp, is to share
The daintiest cates that her larder can spare.
The turkey, well seasoned, and tenderly browned,
Is flanked by the
spiciest a la mode "round;"
The great "priestly ham," in its juiciest
pride,
Is there,--with the tenderest surloin beside;
Neat bottles,
suggestive of ketchups and wines,
And condiments racy, of various
kinds;
And firm rolls of butter as yellow as gold,
And patties and
biscuit most rare to behold,
And sauces that richest of odors betray,--

Are marshalled in most appetizing array.
Then Beverly brings of
his nuts a full store,
And Archie has apples, a dozen or more;
While
Sophy, with gratified housewifery, makes
Her present of spicy
"Confederate cakes."
And then in a snug little corner, there lies
A pacquet will brighten the
orphan boy's eyes;
For Beverly claims it a pleasure to use
His last
cherish'd hoardings in buying him shoes.
Sophy's socks too are there;
and she catches afar--
"There's somebody cares for me, Colonel
Dunbar!"
What subtlest of essences, sovereign to cheer--
What countless,
uncatalogu'd tokens are here!
What lavender'd memories, tenderly
green,
Lie hidden, these grosser of viands between!
What food for
the heart-life,--unreckon'd, untold--
What manna enclosed in its
chalice of gold!
What caskets of sweets that Love only unlocks,--

What mysteries Douglass will find in the box!
VI.
The