* * * * *
XI.
WHAT I CARRIED TO COLLEGE.
A REMINISCENCE AT FORTY--PICTURES OF RURAL LIFE.
Nobody has brought me a kiss to-day,
As forty comes marching along life's way;
At least, only such as came in a letter,--
And two hundred leagues from home, the debtor!
So out of my life I will dig a treasure,
And feast on a reminiscent pleasure.
Our old New England folks, you know,
Little favor to kissing were wont to show.
It smacked, they thought, too much of Satan,
Whose hook often has a pleasant bate on.
And even as token of purity's passion,
Sometimes, I think, it was out of fashion.
So at least in the home my boyhood knew,
And of other homes, no doubt, it was true.
My grandsire and grandma, of the olden school,
Were strict observers of the proper rule.
And from New-Year on to the end of December,
A kiss is something I do not remember.
It seemed, I suppose, an abomination,
Somewhat like a Christmas celebration,
Or a twelfth-day pudding in English style,
Whose plums are sweet as a maiden's smile.
Hush! fountains New England fathers quaffed at
Were surely something not to be laughed at.
They drank, the heavens above and under,
Eternity's abiding wonder.
And here, I confess, in the joy of the present,
The thought of those days is sacredly pleasant.
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