Philip Freneau, the poet of the revolution; a history of his life and times . minence; thewhistle dies upon his lips, and a dreamy look comesover his face. There are moments in the livesof most of us — I might say portions of seconds— in which the misty veil of the future is raised;and down the vista of years our mental visionhas barely time to travel, and rest upon someobject, when the veil is dropped again, and we areconscious only of an isolated impression, concern-ing which we would fain know more. Let us, too,look beyond the veil and read the secrets of thefuture. Where the road forks, no
Philip Freneau, the poet of the revolution; a history of his life and times . minence; thewhistle dies upon his lips, and a dreamy look comesover his face. There are moments in the livesof most of us — I might say portions of seconds— in which the misty veil of the future is raised;and down the vista of years our mental visionhas barely time to travel, and rest upon someobject, when the veil is dropped again, and we areconscious only of an isolated impression, concern-ing which we would fain know more. Let us, too,look beyond the veil and read the secrets of thefuture. Where the road forks, not far from the old Mon-mouth meeting-house stands a war-horse; and onit leans a person of majestic mien dressed as asoldier, — none such, however, as Philip had everseen before, i^nxiously he looks down the road,as if awaiting some one. A soldier on horsebackrides up, and, throwing himself from his horse, makesa military salute, as if to a superior, and impartssome information of a seemingly unpleasant officer quickly throws himself into the saddle, [ 7- ]. AGNES WATSONMother of Philip Freneau The Poet of the Revolution and both riders disappear in the distance, from whichthe rolling of drums and rattle of musketry areheard. The boy pursues his way wrapped in deep thought;a morass lies to one side of the roadway, over whichcomes the wailing of the wintry wind, and greatstorm-clouds veil the sun. The snow begins to fall — thicker and yet faster its great flakes come; andby the border of the morass lies an aged man asif asleep; the large flakes fall upon his upturnedface, and play amongst his silvery locks —and thenight falls— The boy shudders and passes his handacross his eyes to know if he is really awake. Thewind has fallen and the sun is brightly shining;the aged sleeper has vanished, and with him thewintry storm. It is now what it was a moment ago, — a beautiful, bright morning in December, the eigh-teenth of the month. On the fourteenth day of Febru
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1901
