It was ust at the close of a summer day, Wheii the fair, young moon in the eaat was up, And falHiig, as falls the pcace of God, Thedew-dropped balm in the wild-üower cup: And softsouth winds touched the weary brow üf a woman who leaned on a cottage-gate And lingered to catch the the low, sweet cali Of a late bircl singiug home to its mate. From within she heard the household talk, As if each to other wei e true and dear, And alter her, down the lonesome street Followed the sound of their mirthful cheer. They were biest, she kuew, in their homely peace - A sad smile trembled about her mouth - " I am glad," she said, " that for some poor souls There be full wells, though the rest have drouth." She saw the children about the door, With fond, young lips for mothers to kiss, And trom every home, as she passed along, She caught some cadenee of household bli?s. Till she came, at last, to her own low roof, Where she and a ghost dwelt face to face - The ghost of her day of youth and joy, The sole, sad guest in that lonesome place. They talked togethcr of all the past- She and the ghost, in the white moonlight - Till the pale guest's face like an angel's grew, And old-time glory had made it bright. When the new dawn rose, theyboth were gone - On the bed a shape hkfi the woman's lay- But she, with the ghost of the gay, glad past, To some land of shadows had wandered away; A land where she found the lost again - Whcre youth was waiting, and love was sweet, And all the joys she had buned once Sprang uu like blossoms about her feet.