The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1855-12-20
From the National Era.
The Valley of our Childhood.
BY MISSTE MYRTLE.

10 IiAlldi W od'lD I'N'~'Afh lIOlH Jul flC VI
as the putting engine rolled US on, till we
were again, after an absence of months and
years, in our Yallcy-not tie Vale Of
Oyoc, out the Valley Of the Connecticut:
'The vale in whose bosom the bright waters
meet
And can It be this is the river Chat
seemed to our childish vision so deep, and
E broad and grand How well we remGm-
= Der tie first time we crossed itand never
expected IN our life, should tengthen that
+ OF Mcthuselah, to make more wonderful
] voyage or see more wonderful sights, than
We did in the little village which was sep
araed from us by those mighty waters
These are the meadows that seemed so
long and 50 wide spreading, tecning with
. waving harvcsts, and shaded by the foliage
Of the stately oak and the graceful elm
We have danced with their dancing shad
ows, and woven wreaths of their shining
leaves that were not less beautiful in our
J eyes than princess emerald crown
Here, too, fancy decked the brow Of ma
E ture s years with her bright garlands-
Oh, how different from those which reali-
i ty has chosen to place in their stead
But the mountains, neither time nor
T. comparison had diminished, as high and
; bold they rise, as wild the gorge, as terri
d iic the cliff, as dense the forest, and as dark
the shadows, as when we first learned to
|. wonder at their grandeur. We have seen
d the broad rivers and broader prairies Of
d the West we have climbed the snow-clad
hills of the North, and nestled in the sun
q ny gIades Of the South; but their granite
v peaks which bound our vision on the east
le and evergreen ridges which stretched SC
proudly along the western horizon have nc
rivals in any cline.
7 How gorgeous now, in their autumn
,g robes, are the trees over all the hillsides
r. and how deep the blue above, in contras
with the flow of gold which the 1ndiar
Os Summers sun shedsupon the Valley.
to to Our Valley is it changed, or can it b
of that change has so marred our vision tha
re, We cannot see it as it is? Let us sit dow
re and look abroad. Far away, across tn
cl meadow, we see the river winding slowl
We around, and its silver lustre is not dimr
nd ed. The foliage droopsas gracefully upo
its border, and is reflected with all its ga
and parti-colored tints, as brightly as whe
we danced with careless Joy upon III
sloping bank, The fshesare darting
to to and fro, and we should not know but the
on on are the same that tempted the hook
he childhood's lrolcsome hours. The nu
in are brown upon the tree, and the acol
m shells upon the ground do not differ fro
/, Of those which formed the tiny cup we use
'O' for tea, when the guests, and viands to
we're only present in our imaginings.
The garden is still radient with mai
- colds and asters-those bright hues wit
out which autumn would be, indeed.
Fall "The saddest time of all the year."
ion And the pansies are shedding still the
perfume, while we may find
"The yellow saffron in the wood
And on tho hill the golden rod"
In the shade of these very elms o
fancy began to rove and the moose IL
does not less kindly shelter us now tn
on those unhedged hours, when we q
-- not dream of flight beyond the shadc
of its branches. We hear the crckt
chirping in the grass, the kline are low
in yonder field, and the lazy sheep are n
. bling in the crisping grass near by, in
Hag meadow.
" How we used to- enjoy the apple gath
e Of inc and the corn husking, and the pip
we are as rosy-red as when with rosy fling
we heaped them in the baskets and
'er' yellow cars are as round and golden HI
sort as when ouruimble fingers stripped tn
of their faded tassels, and scattered to
winds the dry and dusky robes. .
,'TSc +. tSc We wander by the brookiet! IL
thrillngIy upon US ever comes the mu
its ripping waters and the casca
ns' which dashes through the distant glen
not less sprightly in its bounding gle
e we has not softened It's, laughing caden(
4 vi, We ascend the hill, and ewthe landsc
:, ,..u, Ger and DER. Not a tree has talle
~ ,D every feature is the same-stlIl 1t ls
~ the Valley ofour childhood It's scat
- ed thick with pleasant memories and
associations.
0Bpttbe true hearts lie withcrod,
And fond ones are noWn. -
There are children playing IN the stI
s's" md bounding free and happy upon
Green, but their voices are not those
sale Of which ours made melody in chlldho
iron careless hours. We wander here
Hoop. there emoug the pleasant haunlS D
is alone-there is no heart answelll
XES, heart nature is the same-but lie,
NDS. changed.
in This Where are they, the playmates OF
md we childhood +? We stroll through the VI
'i' line cemetery, and the cold marble ansv
chants Here they lie.' Yes here we read
whore, familiar names of, oh, how many,
q bnn,i InG once composed the joyous throng
~ made the welkin ring with their n
Second shouts, and reyelled in the fairy vi
with which childish faneies paint tn
- n,re to be realized in the cold embra
death. Some have roamedi TO TO
IS can lands,
imme- ,NyLnso c,roves are served Ear and '
= - and all are gone-not one we meet
ish four one, whichever way we turn, comp
of those haldyon days. So tie AZ
--.- wind has to us mournful sound,
NS seems dirge for the departed an'
-~N~s dry leayes Tustmg on the ground
30 made such merry usie TO tho sk'ppj
.-L-- nnr nimhle feet have lost tlelr m