FROM A NEW ENGLAND HILLSIDE. 1 69 



their several trips, laden inside and out 

 with hopes and fears, sorrows and joyful 

 anticipations, as well as with human bodies. 

 Hands and kerchiefs have been waved, and 

 kisses thrown, and the teary eyes tried 

 bravely to seem as though there were no 

 showers within hail. But ah ! there is no 

 drought that long affects the fount which so 

 readily flows at the tap of the affections. 



Go up, thou bald-head ! Has life so 

 worn with thee that all thy papillae have 

 become seared and callous, no longer re 

 sponding to the touch of thy fellows ? 

 Has all sentiment come to seem mere sen 

 timentality, and naught real and true ex 

 cept bonds and stocks, and quotations in 

 the market, line carriages and fast horses, 

 dollars and cents ? If so, I pity thee. 

 Good by, bathos and spectacle, a good 

 riddance to you. Do not try to pump feel 

 ing from wells drilled in the social hard- 

 pan. .But if there be anything truer, 

 richer, more lasting, and more worthy than 

 the strong attachments of human beings, I 

 know not what it is. If we may not testify 

 to the tie which binds heart to heart, until 

 the eyelids are closed, and the cool pit is 

 opened, and the dull clods fall upon the 

 straw, then let us r like the stricken deer, 



