Eventide A Series of Tales and Poems
EVENTIDE A SERIES OF TALES AND POEMS. BY EFFIE AFTON. "I never gaze Upon the evening, but a tide of awe, And love, and wonder, from the Infinite, Swells up within me, as the running brine From the smooth-glistening, wide-heaving sea, Grows in the creeks and channels of a stream, Until it threats its, banks. It is not joy,-- 'Tis sadness more divine."
bottom of the sleigh. Jonas himself sat upon the seat, with his feet
under the bundle; but Oliver sat upon the bundle. He said it made a very
soft seat.
They rode along pleasantly towards the mill. The snow-drifts were very
high in some places on each side of the road; and the fences and walls
were almost buried up.
"I wish that Josey was here," said Oliver. "I think that he would like
to see the carding-mill very much indeed."
"Yes," said Jonas.
"Only," replied Oliver, "perhaps it would be dangerous to take him."
"Why?" said Jonas.
"Why, because," said Oliver, "I suppose he would touch the machinery,
and perhaps get his hands torn off."
"Yes," said Jonas, "boys sometimes do get very badly hurt in
mills,--careless and disobedient boys especially."
"I think that he is a careless and disobedient boy," said Oliver.
[Illustration: "He said it made a very soft seat."]
EVENTIDE A SERIES OF TALES AND POEMS. BY EFFIE AFTON. "I never gaze Upon the evening, but a tide of awe, And love, and wonder, from the Infinite, Swells up within me, as the running brine From the smooth-glistening, wide-heaving sea, Grows in the creeks and channels of a stream, Until it threats its, banks. It is not joy,-- 'Tis sadness more divine."