to do outran the power.
Often would Percival observe his child,
And study to divine if in the future
Of that organization, when mature,
There should prevail the elements that lead
Woman to find the crowning charm of life
In the affections of a happy marriage,
Or if with satisfactions of the mind
And the aesthetic faculty, the aims
Of art and letters, the pursuits of trade,
Linda might find the fresh activities
He craved for her, and which forecasting care
Might possibly provide.

His means were small,
Merged in a life-annuity which gave
All that he held as indispensable
To sanative conditions in a home:
Good air, good influences, proper food.
By making his old wardrobe do long service
He saved the wherewith to get faithful help
From the best teachers in instructing Linda;
And she was still the object uppermost.
Dawned the day fair, for Linda it was fair,
And they all three could ramble in the Park.
If on Broadway the ripe fruit tempted him,
Linda was fond of fruit; those grapes will do
For Linda. Was the music rich and rare?
Linda must hear it. Were the paintings grand?
Linda must see them. So the important thought
Was always Linda; and the mother shared
In all this fond parental providence;
For in her tender pride in the dear girl
There was no room for any selfish thought,
For any jealous balancing of dues.

"My child," said Percival, one summer day,
As he brought in a bunch of snow-white roses,
Ringed with carnations, many-leafed and fragrant,
"Take it, an offering for your birthday; this
Is June the twelfth, a happy day for me."
"How fresh, how beautiful!" said Linda rising
And kissing him on either cheek. "Dear father,
You spoil me for all other care, I fear,
Since none can be like yours."

"Why speak of that?"
He with a start exclaimed; "my care must be
Prolonged till I can see you safely fixed
In an assured and happy womanhood.
Why should it not be so? Though sixty-five,
How well am I, and strong! No, Linda, no;
Dream not of other tendance yet awhile;
My father lived to eighty, and his father
To eighty-five; and I am stronger now
Than they were, at my age."

"Live long!" cried Linda,
"For whom have I to love me, to befriend,
You and my mother gone?"

"Your mother, child?
She should outlive me by some