SUNDAY THOUGHTS

BY

REBECCA ROWENA RANDALL

This house is dark and dull and drear No light doth shine from far or near Nor ever could.

And those of us who live herein Are most as dead as seraphim Though not as good.

My guardian angel is asleep At least he doth no vigil keep But far doth roam.

Then give me back my lonely farm Where none alive did wish me harm, Dear childhood home!


Dear Mother,--I am thrilling with unhappyness this morning. I got that out of Cora The Doctor's Wife whose husband's mother was very cross and unfealing to her like Aunt M. to me. I wish Hannah had come instead of me for it was Hannah that was wanted and she is better than I am and does not answer back so quick. Are there any peaces of my buff calico. Aunt J. wants enough to make a new waste button behind so I wont look so outlandish. The stiles are quite pretty in Riverboro and those at Meeting quite ellergant more so than in Temperance.

This town is stilish, gay and fair, And full of wellthy riches rare, But I would pillow on my arm The thought of my sweet Brookside Farm.