That I would never leave you, so long as you lived!"

----"My own dear Madge,--come to me,--kiss me! And you love him,
Maggie?"

"With all my heart, sir."

----"So like your mother,--the same figure,--the same true, honest
heart! It shall be as you wish, dear Madge. Only you will not leave me
in my old age,--eh, Maggie?"

----"Never, father,--never."

* * * * *

----And there she leans upon his chair;--her arm around the old man's
neck,--her other hand clasped in his,--and her eyes melting with
tenderness as she gazes upon his aged face,--all radiant with joy and
with hope!

IV.

_The End of Dreams._

A feeble old man, and a young lady who is just now blooming into the
maturity of womanhood, are toiling up a gentle slope, where the spring
sun lies warmly. The old man totters, though he leans heavily upon his
cane; and he pants as he seats himself upon a mossy rock that crowns the
summit of the slope. As he recovers breath, he draws the hand of the
lady in his, and with a trembling eagerness he points out an old mansion
that lies below under the shadow of tall sycamores; and he says,--feebly
and brokenly,--"That is it, Maggie,--the old home--the sycamores--the
garret--Charlie--Nelly"--

The old man wipes his eyes. Then his hand shifts: he seems groping in
darkness; but soon it rests upon a little cottage below, heavily
overshadowed.

"That was it, Maggie;--Madge lived there--sweet Madge--your mother"--

Again the old man wipes his eyes, and the lady turns away.

Presently they walk down the hill together. They cross a little valley
with slow, faltering steps. The lady guides him carefully, until they
reach a little graveyard.

"This must be it, Maggie, but the fence is new. There it is, Maggie,
under the willow,--my poor mother's grave!"

The lady weeps.

"Thank you, Madge; you did not know her, but you weep for me. God bless
you!"

* * * * *

The old man is in the midst of his household. It is some festive day. He
holds feebly his place at the head of the board. He utters in feeble
tones--a Thanksgiving.

His married Nelly is there with two blooming children. Frank is there
with his bride. Madge--dearest of all--is seated beside the old man,
watchful of his comfort, and assisting him as with a shadowy dignity he
essays to do the honors of the board. The children prattle merrily: the
elder ones talk of the days gone by; and t