The weekly Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1854-1861, 1855-05-09
The Time Of the Falling stioW. S q:
BY GEORGE LIPPARD.

~.
The tears come into my eyes when the
snow falls, for it was in the time of falling
snow she died. A dreary morning, cold and
desolate, with sleet pattering on the win
dow pane, and snow upon the frozen ground.
The tower of the church, which you could
see from the window Of the death chamber,
rose drearily and alone into leaden sky
And | can see her now, by the light which
came but dimly through the half.draw cur
tains. That face, stricken by death-those
eyes, yearningly to Heaven, and filled with
light that shone upon them from the better
world; those cold, thin hands, clasped over
the shrunken breast-I can see her now,
even as she looked in the moment before
she died. O, ifyou had all the power ot
expression that language in its sublimest
flights affords, you could not paint the ago.
ny and rapture of that dying face. She
knew us all, knew that she was the las
Of many we had given to the grave--sh'
called US by name, and told us how hard !
was to part with U.S.. and in the SAM
breath, "a quick gaspiDg breath, for sh'
was struggling between time and eternity,
she told US how good it. was, to 60 home
We watched her as she died. One mo
ment her eyes were all right-the mex
they were timy and cold. And can re
member now how went from that dealt
room, leaving her upon her death bed, ever
as the life had just passed her lips. How
hurried out in the cold and felt it good t.
feel the sleet upon my face, and drunk o
the wintry air with delight. How I wen
to work, and amid the care and clamor o
work endeavored to drown the thoughts o
her who all the while lay cold and beaut
full in my home, attired for coffin and grav
yard, her thin, white hands folded on he
shroud. And / can remember how 1 cam
home at night, and went into my room an
wrote--still cherishing latent though
that she was not dead, but only waiting
for me in the next room--waiting for m
to come and read to her what had writ
ten. And when had written Il remem
Der it yeti rose up and took the manu-
script in my hand, and placed that han
upon the door which led into the next roor
her room. had forgotten she wa
dead! 1t had been my custom to read t
her what had written--and had .uncon
sciously fallen into the old habit. My han
was upon the door-then, and not till the
did the truth rush on me, that she was nc
sitting in her chair awaiting me but tha
she was laid upon her bed, with her dea
hands upon her dead bosom. That she va
dead! The thought, Isay rushed upon m
1T crushed me back against the wall lik
blow from strong arm, and for Ion
time held me their choked and gaspin
without the power to say q word. An
can remember how we took her forth o
that last day of the year,, when the gu
was out and the snow glistened in il
beams, and blue sky was over the VIII
try earth--how we took her forth and lai
her in the grave, amid the graves of he
people. and heard the rattling of the froze
clods upon her coffin lid.
And also do ! remember how for day
and weeks and months after she was gon,
q cannot say dead) | would come HON
at evening, and expect as ! opened tt
door, to find her there us Of old. And hov
when saw her place vacant, the trut
would rush Upon me and crush me afresh-
just as though she had only died m,
ment before. -.s7
i This is why the tears come into my eye
when the snow falls.
t And when sit in my room and loe
out upon the leaden sky and new falle
snow, ] see her dying face again. Al
turning from the scene without, and loo
i within, I gee the book in which she wro
her name the day before she died--I !,
| the door which opens into the next roo
and through its panelsI can see her se
ting there--waiting for me to, come Al
Tread 70 her.