Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton :: :: University of Virginia Library

I had a dream, but was it all a dream?
Howe'er, I'll tell it, as you always seem
To court my confidence; so now give heed,
And my uncommon dream you soon shall read.
The real from the dream you may divide,
And ponder on the truth, but set the dream aside.

I ate mince-pie last night, perhaps the cause
May there be found—transgressing nature's laws;
But let mince-pie no more be touched by me,
If after it such sights I'm doomed to see.

Methought I had a little purse
All trimmed with tassels, none the worse
For wear; the clasp had not yet lost
Its polish, nor the silk its gloss.
Methought I had some money,
Not much, I confess,
But though 'twas very little,
It might have been much less,
And so, of course, I valued it,
As you will easy guess.

Methought, then, in my dreams I put
My money and my purse together,
And glad was I that so I did,
For well did each one fit the other.

As still I dreamed,
To me it seemed,
For reasons known
To me alone,
I wished that you
Nor none might view
My little “root
Of evil” put
Within my purse, nor have it told
Just my exact amount of gold.
I did not think that it must be,
For safety, put 'neath lock and key.

Mother, I thought, was surely trusty,
And so, indeed, must be Augusta;
And, fondly putting confidence
In your own honor and good sense,
I laid the purse “d'argent et d'or”
In Mother's secretary drawer.

Now, still as on and on I dreamed,
My mind assumed a different tone,
A strange, harsh sound fell on my ear,
“Money, Paul, money,” did I hear.

Then in my sleep I turned my face,
Methought, unto the very place
From whence the ugly sound proceeded.
Gracchi! but one short glance was needed,
For what sight met my wondering view!
Why! there before the drawer stood you.
My little purse was in your grasp,
Your fingers had unloosed the clasp,
Each shining piece that through it passed
You counted—then a laugh I heard,
Low but contemptuous, and it stirred
The evil passions in my heart;
I bid them, but they'd not depart,
But I controlled them all and uttered not a word.

My feelings then were as acute
As though I were awake.

How glad I am that 'twas not so,
Though only for your sake.

You whom I had believed upright,
Whose every word I'd thought was right,
Now stood direct before my face,
Clad in the robes of deep disgrace.

A different kind of sound
I soon began to hear
A hand was on my shoulder,
A voice was in my ear;
I heard my father say,
“Here, mend my mittens, dear.”
I started up, a ray of hope 'gan through my soul to gleam;
Judge, if you can, of my relief to find it all a dream.

Abby. Nov. 9, 1848.