Martinsburg gazette. [volume] (Martinsburg, Va. [W. Va.]) 1833-1855, 1854-08-30
5elefteo Gale.
CARO- LEE.

hood-a stranger Mine had been life of
adventure now upon the topmost verge Of
fortunes wheels, anon, toiling and sweating
beneath the task Of cruel taskmaster--a
chained slave, had become wearied of life,
sick Of an existence which brought with it
nothing but misery, flor at best, my life was
miserable one,) and, upon the impulse of the
moment, while treading the gaily lined walks
of rich southern city, determined to visit
once more that little spot on earth which /
once gloried in calling my home. Who can
paint the pilgrims feelings as, after twenty
years absence. he again visits the scenes and
spots where in childhood, be spent, in sweet
est happiness, the long sunny days, and gam
boiled away the choicest hours of our exist
ence What pen can picture the emotions
of that throbbing heart as it nears the cher
ished goal, around which every recollection,
dear to memory, clings as the ivy clings
around the forest oak 2 Who can describe
the feelings on beholding again those same
old hills, those broad, green meadows; the
same clear babbling brook, and verdaut
plains Tongue nor pen can paint the thrill
ing emotions of the lone wanderer as he thus
returns, as the prodigal, to his fathers home.
Yes, determined to visit again my early
home. As / entered the little village a feel
ing of deep melancholy came over me--a sad
forebodng of chang solemn change and,
this sad idea seized my mind, this rough,
stout heart of mine wept bitter, bitter tears
of sorrow. am not ashamed to own that /
wept, though many, many years had fled
since my eyes were moistened with tears -
Who would not have wept Those whom ]
knew and loved were no longer numbered
with the living, or but very few, at most
their once cherished forms now silently repose
in peace beneath the green sod Of yonder
graveyard. The wide, shady streets, which
once echoed the merry laugh of myself and
companions, now seemed, to me, deserted,
though scores of busy men and gaily attired
women still thronged them as of yore. None
Of these / knew, and | was stranger.
1t was a June evening" beautiful, bright,
fragrant June evening, when laid down my
little pack in the village inn. The birds
we're carolling forth their happy vesper
songs the cowboys merry voice echoed
among the pine clad hills and verdant plains ;
the herds and flocks were grazing in the
green meadow, when 1 wendell my solitary
way to the village cemetery, When l left
my home, years ago, but few mounds were
scattered here and there over the beautiful
retreat of the dead but a few monuments
reared their snowy crests above the foliage
of the shrubbery that surrounded them. But
what change This spacious yard was
now all filed up with the narrow homes of
hose who were once filled with life and AMI
nation. / did not wander far before came
to the grave of one whom had tendcrly
loved in youth. A plain marble slab, with
an appropriate inscription, marked the rest
ing place of the once beautiful maiden. 1t
was too much for me my soul could bear to
90 no farther That maiden was once my
playmate she was my companion in all my
childish sports, and Iloued her. Her image
had ever been present with me in all my
wanderings; her idolized form, her face, ra-
diant with sweetness, had been ever distinct
ly remembered, and to gaze upon them once
more was the reason of my returning to my
home again. Nothing but this desire "a
wish that had ever haunted me-could have
induced mc to return to that spot where no
friends now remained to welcome the wan
derer back Fool that / was for ever re-
turning
l Immediately repaired to the inn, aud
there from the lips of an aged gentlemen,
learned the sad history of her whom | had
so long and tenderly loved. The sad story
ran in this wise:
"Lovely and beautiful was that sainted
maiden, George, and many were those who
bowed the knee of alteration before her
queenly form. She eclipsed in beauty and
grace all other maidens,
GAS the sun rising doth obscure a starr
and she was tenderly beloved by all. None
could help loving her, for she was friend
to everybody; her presence dispelled the
cares and gloom from the howell of want, as
the morning mists fly before the rising sun
she stood by the sick couch and the bed of
death, cheering and animating The sufferers
with hope and resignation in short, George,
she was our good angel ]; and more worship
ped by the poor villagers than the God who
made US, fear. Many suitors duplicated
for her band upon all she smiled a smilac of
friendship, and nothing morc--she accepted