American Republican and Baltimore daily clipper. [volume] (Baltimore, Md.) 1844-1846, 1846-08-21
fFrom The phiIa, salurd " Courier.1

from the Phila. Saturday Courerl
ENTON, OR, THE FOOTSTEPS IN THE SNOW
IA TRADITION OF CHRISTIANS NIGHT, l776.
lit was dark and dreary night, sixty-nne
Ars ago, when in an ancient farm house, that
Ees along yonder shore, an old man and his
ildren had gathered around their Christmas
.arth.
Ut was lovely hearth.
EtThat old man, sitting thee on the broad
sarth, in the full glow of the fiame-his dame
fine old matron, by his side-hs children, a
nd Of red Tipped madens-some with slender
inns just trembling on the verge Of girlhood,
ners warming and flushing into the summer
prn of womanhood! And the warm glow of
b fire was upon the white locks Of the poor
y man, and on the mild face of his wife, and
NJ young bloom of those fair daughters.
Had you, on that dark night-for it was dark
Id cold-whle the December sky gloomed
owe, and the sleet swept over the hills of the
ielaware-have drawn near that farmhouse
tndow, and looked in upon that Christmas
Earth, and drank in the full beauty of that
lene-you would confess with me that though
bis world has beautiful in poetry-yet there,
that hearth, centred and frightened and burn
that poetry, which is most like Heaven, the
IoErRY AT HOME.
You have all heard the story of the convict,
no stood on the galows, embrued in crime
Ieeped to the lips in blood-stood there, mock
G at the preachers prayer, hooking even the
angman! When, suddenly when he stood
(jith the rope about his neck-his head sunk
single, burning, scalding tear rolled down his
{iieek.
81 was thinking, said he, in broken voice
81 was thinking of the-Christmas fire."
Yes, in that moment, when the preacher fail
d to warn, when even the hangman could not
we--a thought came over the convict's heart
"A that time, when father and his children in
far land, gathered around their Christmas
ire.
| That thought melted his iron SOUL
II care not for your ropes and your gbbets,"
% said. "Bat now, in that far land-there,
ver the waters-my father, my brothers, my
sters, are sitting around their Christmas ire
|Nhey are waiting for me! And am here
Rere upon the scaffold!"
Is there not a deep poetry in the scene, that
ould thus touch murderer's soul, and melt it
nto tears2
And now, as the old man. his wife, his daugh-
ers, cluster around their fire, tell me, why does
hat old mans head droop slowly down, his
|byes fiji, his hands tremble?
n All, there is one absent from the Christmas
hearth!
He is thinking Of the absent one-hs manly,
brave boy, why has been gone from the farm
louise for year.
But bark! Even as the thought comes over
lin, the silence Of the fire-sde is broken BY a
Paint cry-a faint moan, heard over the wastes
bf snow from afar.
The old man grasps lantern, and, with that
young girl by his side, goes upon the dark
hight
Look there-as following the sound of that
lmoan-theY 60 softly over the frozen path: how
The lantern flashes over their forms-over few
/ white PAGES of frozen snow-while beyond all
lis darkness
Still that moan, so low, so feint, so deep-ton-
ed quivers on the air!
Something arrests the mans eye there in the
Psnow-they bend down, he and his daughter
they gaze upon that sight.
1t is human footstep painted in the snow,
painted in HUMAN BLOOD.
"My child" whispers the old man tremu
lousy, "now pray to Heaven for Washington!
For by this footstep, stamped in blood, judge
that his army is passing near this place"
Still that moan quiyers on the air
Then the old man, and that young girl, fol-
loving those footsteps stained i'll blood-one-