“Well, then, finally, father died, mother died, Susan run off, and I’ve become almost discouraged. I have three children to take care of, but they are good children. They do just precisely as I tell them, and won’t do anything without asking me whether it’s right; and I ask somebody else. They have n’t got any minds of their own, any more than I have. They’ll do just as I tell them. I’ve nobody in particular now to tell me what I shall do; so I take everybody’s advice, and try to do as everybody wants me to do. I’ve come to Boston on a visit, and shall go back to-night, if you think best.
“Now I’ve given you my autobiography. You can do just what you want to with it,—print it, if you like. People, perhaps, will laugh at me when they read it; but perhaps there are other Automatons besides me.”
He came to a full stop here; and, as it was getting late, I arose, wished him well, bade him good-by, and left. I had proceeded but a few steps, when I felt a touch on my shoulder, and, turning, found it was the Automaton, who had come to ask me whether I thought he had better go home that night.
TO THE UNKNOWN DONOR OF A BOUQUET.
Richest flowers of every hue,
Lightly fringed with evening dew;
Sparkling as from Eden’s bowers,
Brightly tinted-beauteous flowers!
Thee I’ve found, and thee I’ll own,
Though from one to me unknown;
Knowing this, that one who’ll send
Such a treasure is my friend.
Who hath sent thee?-Flora knows,
For with care she reared the rose.
Lo! here’s a name!-it is the key
That will unlock the mystery;
This will tell from whom and why
Thou didst to my presence hie.
Wait-the hand’s disguised!-it will
Remain to me a mystery still.
But I’m a “Yankee,” and can “guess”
Who wove this flowery, fairy tress.
Yea, more than this, I almost know
Who tied this pretty silken bow,
Whose hand arranged them, and whose taste
Each in such graceful order placed.
Yet, if unknown thou ’dst rather be,
Let me wish this wish for thee:
May’st thou live in joy forever,
Naught from thee true pleasure sever;
From thy heart arise no sigh;
May no tear bedew thine eye.
Joys be many, cares be few,
Smooth the path thou shalt pursue;
And heaven’s richest blessings shine
Ever on both thee and thine.
Round thy path may fairest flowers,
As in amaranthine bowers,
Bloom and blossom bright and fair,
Load with sweets the ambient air!
Be thy path with roses strewn,
All thy hours to care unknown;
Sorrow cloud thy pathway never,
Happiness be thine forever.
TO A SISTER IN HEAVEN.