Went into Congress for a little spell,
Where everything seemed going pretty well;
But all through boyhood's easy-moulding day
I'd heard so much of Webster and of Clay,
That, though they had been dead for many a year,
I thought at least by proxy they'd appear.
It was a disappointment, I declare:
Daniel or Henry--neither one was there!
* * * * *
NEW YORK, _January_ 1, 18--.
Got back from several cities; and it looks
As if the things we've seen would fill ten books!
Some time I'll write our wanderings to and fro;
It's a large job: I'll have to take it slow.
[_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._]
[ONLY A BOX.]
Only a box, secure and strong,
Rough, and wooden, and six feet long,
Lying here in the drizzling rain,
Waiting to take the up-bound train.
[Illustration: "ONLY A BOX, SECURE AND STRONG,
ROUGH AND WOODEN, AND SIX FEET LONG."]
Only its owner, just inside,
Cold, and livid, and glassy-eyed;
Little to him if the train be late!
Nothing has he to do but wait.
Only an open grave, somewhere,
Heady to close when he gets there;
Turfs and grasses and flowerets sweet,
Ready to press him 'neath their feet.
Only a band of friends at home,
Waiting to see the traveller come;
Naught he will tell of distant lands;
He cannot even press their hands.
He has no stories weird and bright,
He has no gifts for a child's delight;
He did not come with anything;
He had not even himself to bring.
Yet they will softly him await,
And he will move about in state;
They will give him, when he appears,
Love, and pity, and tender tears.
Only a box, secure and strong,
Rough and wooden, and six feet long;
Angels guide that soulless breast
Into a long and peaceful rest!