Sank the mighty orb of day,

Staring with a hazy glow

On the purple plain below,

Where (like burning embers shed

From the sunset's glowing bed,

Dying out or burning bright,

Every leaf a blaze of light)

Ran the maple swamps ablaze;

Everywhere amid the haze,

Floating strangely in the air,

Farms and homesteads gather'd fair;

And the River rippled slow

Thro' the marshes green and low,

Spreading oft as smooth as glass

As it fringed the meadow grass,

Making 'mong the misty fields

Pools like golden gleaming shields.

Thus I walked my steed along,

Humming a low scrap of song,

Watching with an idle eye

White clouds in the dreamy sky

Sailing with me in slow pomp.

In the bright flush of the swamp,

While his dogs bark'd in the wood,

Gun in hand the sportsman stood;

And beside me, wading deep,

Stood the angler half asleep,

Figure black against the gleam

Of the bright pools of the stream;

Now and then a wherry brown

With the current drifted down

Sunset-ward, and as it went

Made an oar-splash indolent;

While with solitary sound,

Deepening the silence round,

In a voice of mystery

Faintly cried the chickadee-

Suddenly the River's arm

Rounded, and a lonely Farm

Stood before me blazing red

To the bright blaze overhead;

In the homesteads at its side,

Cattle lowed and voices cried,

And from out the shadows dark

Came a mastiff's measured bark.

Fair and fat stood the abode

On the path by which I rode,

And a mighty orchard, strown

Still with apple-leaves wind-blown,

Raised its branches gnarl'd and bare

Black against the sunset air,

And with greensward deep and dim,

Wander'd to the River's brim.

Close beside the orchard walk

Linger'd one in quiet talk

With a man in workman's gear.

As my horse's feet drew near,

The labourer nodded rough "good-day,"

Turned his back and loung'd away.

Then the first, a plump and fat

Yeoman in a broad straw hat,

Stood alone in thought intent,

Watching while the other went,

And amid the sunlight red

Paused, with hand held to his head.

In a moment, like a word

Long forgotten until heard,

Like a buried sentiment

Born again to some stray scent,

Like a sound to which the brain

Gives familiar refrain,

Something in the gesture brought

Things forgotten to my thought;

Memory, as I watched the sight.

Flashed from eager light to light

Remember'd and remember'd not,

Half familiar, half forgot.

Stood the figure, till at last,

Bending eyes on his, I passed,

Gazed again, as loth to go,

Drew the rein, stopt short, and so

Rested, looking back; when he,

The object of my scrutiny,

Smiled and nodded, saying, "Yes!

Stare your fill, young man! I guess

You'll know me if we meet again!"

In a moment all my brain

Was illumined at the tone,

All was vivid that had grown

Faint and dim, and straight I knew; him,

Holding out my hand unto him,

Smiled, and called him by his name.

Wondering, hearing me exclaim.

Abraham Clewson (for'twas he)

Came more close and gazed at me,

As he gazed, a merry grin

Brighten'd down from eyes to chin:

In a moment he, too, knew me,

Reaching out his hand unto me,

Crying "Track'd, by all that's blue

Who'd have thought of seeing you?

Then, in double quicker time

Than it takes to make the rhyme,

Abe, with face of welcome bright,

Made me from my steed alight;

Call'd a boy, and bade him lead

The beast away to bed and feed;

And, with hand upon my arm,

Led me off into the Farm,

Where, amid a dwelling-place

Fresh and bright as her own face,

With a gleam of shining ware

For a background everywhere,

Free as any summer breeze,

With a bunch of huswife's keys

At her girdle, sweet and mild

Sister Annie blush'd and smiled,—

While two tiny laughing girls,

Peeping at me through their curls,

Hid their sweet shamefacËdness

In the skirts of Annie's dress.

That same night the Saint and I

Sat and talked of times gone by,

Smoked our pipes and drank our grog

By the slowly smouldering log,

While the clock's hand slowly crept

To midnight, and the household slept

"Happy?" Abe said with a smile,

"Yes, in my inferior style,

Meek and humble, not like them

In the New Jerusalem."

Here his hand, as if astray,

For a moment found its way

To his forehead, as he said,

"Reckon they believe I'm dead?

Ah, that life of sanctity

Never was the life for me.

Couldn't stand it wet nor dry,

Hated to see women cry;

Couldn't bear to be the cause

Of tiffs and squalls and endless jaws

Always felt amid the stir

Jest a whited sepulchre;

And I did the best I could

When I ran away for good.

Yet, for many a night, you know

(Annie, too, would tell you so),

Couldn't sleep a single wink,

Couldn't eat, and couldn't drink,

Being kind of conscience-cleft

For those poor creatures I had left,

Not till I got news from there,

And I found their fate was fair,

Could I set to work, or find

Any comfort in my mind.

Well (here Abe smiled quietly),

Guess they didn't groan for me!

Fanny and Amelia got

Sealed to Brigham on the spot;

Emmy soon consoled herself

In the arms of Brother Delf;

And poor Mary one fine day

Packed her traps and tript away

Down to Fresco with Fred Bates,

A young player from the States:

While Sarah,'twas the wisest plan,

Pick'd herself a single man—

A young joiner fresh come down

Out of Texas to the town—

And he took her with her baby,

And they're doing well as maybe.'"

Here the Saint with quiet smile,

Sipping at his grog the while,

Paused as if his tale was o'er,

Held his tongue and said no more.

"Good," I said, "but have you done?

You have spoke of all save one—

All your Widows, so bereft,

Are most comfortably left,

But of one alone you said

Nothing. Is the lady dead?"

Then the good man's features broke

Into brightness as I spoke,

And with loud guffaw cried he,

"What, Tabitha? Dead! Not she.

All alone and doing splendid—

Jest you guess, now, how she's ended!

Give it up? This very week

I heard she's at Oneida Creek,

All alone and doing hearty,

Down with Brother Noyes's party.

Tried the Shakers first, they say,

Tired of them and went away,

Testing with a deal of bother

This community and t'other,

Till she to Oneida flitted,

And with trouble got admitted.

Bless you, she's a shining lamp,

Tho' I used her like a scamp,

And she's great in exposition

Of the Free Love folk's condition,

Vowing, tho' she found it late,

Tis the only happy state....

"As for me," added the speaker,

"I'm lower in the scale, and weaker;

Polygamy's beyond my merits,

Shakerism wears the spirits,

And as for Free Love, why you see

(Here the Saint wink'd wickedly)

With my whim it might have hung

Once, when I was spry and young;

But poor Annie's love alone

Keeps my mind in proper tone,

And tho' my spirit mayn't be strong,

I'm lively—as the day is long."

As he spoke with half a yawn,

Half a smile, I saw the dawn

Creeping faint into the gloom

Of the quickly-chilling room.

On the hearth the wood-log lay,

With one last expiring ray;

Draining off his glass of grog,

Clewson rose and kick'd the log;

As it crumbled into ashes,

Watched the last expiring flashes,

Gave another yawn and said,

"Well! I guess it's time for bed!"

THE END.