The Athens post. [volume] (Athens, Tenn.) 1848-1917, 1856-03-07


night" lisps little fellow in n plaid dress,
who was chrstencd Willie about six years
ago.
"Now I lay down to sleep,
pray the Lord my soul to keep;
II should die before w-a-k.e-"
and the small bundle IL the trundle.bed has
dropped off to sleep, but an angel will finish
the broken prayer FOR her, and it will go mp
sooner than many long-winged petitions that
Sc. out great while before it.
And so it was Good Night" all round the
old homestead, and very sweet music il made,
too, in the twilight, and very pleasant melody
it makes now rs we think of it, for it was not
yesterday, nor the day before, but long time
ago-so long that Tommy is Thomas Some
body, ESQ.,, and has forgotten he was ever a
boy, and wore what the bravest and richest
of MS can never wear but once if we try-thc
first pair of boots; so long ago that Jenny has
gone the way of the old prayer she was
singing-for saying another, she did ms be-
fore, fell asleep as she said it, and asked no
more.-Good night to thee, Jenny, Good
night!
And so it was good night all around the
house, and the children had gone through the
ivory gate, always left little nar for them,
through into the land of dreams, or through
the golden one they call "beautiful," into the
land of angels.
So they are oil scattered and gone, and the
old house is tenantess and there is nobody
there to say good night, and nothing but the
rain can come in, aud the birds that have
made themselves Il nest among the broken
stones of the hearth, and the sheep that take
shelter from the piless storm under the wall
that is wholesyct now we think of it, there is
n wonderfu'dignity about the old place. Its
rooms were not very spacious; precious little
tapestry adorned the walls; the caves were
low, and mos sy, and gray; but did we not
begin to live and love, and to hope therr?-
Did not the old homestead have very much to
do with the Iashioning of our thoughts!
Was it not, as it were, an humble mould
for the shaping of our iancics? Did we not
bear away with us, wherever we went, n cabi.
net of pictures that were painted there p
Have you forgotten what shapeless thing il
was that used to lurk in the dark ut the tor
of the stairs, always in wait TO catch you or
your way to bed, but never doing it? Anc
what long drawn signs used to come moan
ing down the garnet, and what trailing gar
mcnts rustlcd along the garrct floor! How
We lanccd it was n lacy iE castle--a lady
fair and young-and We, so many champions
to sound the bugle nj the gate, and bear hcl
safe away. For then we had read the Scot
tIsh Chiefs and "1'haddeus of Warsaw" and
? the Duke of Gloster saw fewer Richmonds IN
, the field than there were Wallaces of us then
each one with Il Marion or Il Helen &c
bless them.
Then the tale that Dolly told round the
kitchen fire, when she had "done up" the
work and "done up her hair, and swept uI
, the hearth, and sat down TO her sewing
, Then it was we gathered round, and bcsought
her fora story-of ghosts, or witches, or fair
, les, or little wonderful children that lived {
long time ago, and became very beautiful, OF
very brave, or something that we longed tt
! be. How we would have delighted to bt
Robin Hood, and lived in the woods, ant
wear an array to Kendall green. How w
, wished we had been Jack the Giant Killer. o.
= Richard Wilmington, or Cinderella, or some
, body she told us Of
But when she told of ghosts in white tha
made no football when they walked; of thei
hands, how cold they were; of their laugh
how glit;cring and ghasily it was-have yol
, fufgotten how we drew little nearer, as tn
tale went on, and though the light was bur
, ming dim and blue, and begged her to sti
the sleeping fire, and dare not look behind u
=, where the shadows were, and fancied some
thing sighed or spoke, and syIlabed on
. names? Each voice subsidized to whisper
all but Dolly's; and she went on, with cas-
j, ties grim, and spectres dim, and dungeons
= deep, and ladies fair, while her gtterng nee
. die darted in and out along the lenglhene
. lap: and another bcgs to lay his head therein
j, and still the tales 60 on.
!, The clock is on the stroke of nine, an
:. how we dreaded the last shriIl chime!
. came, and we went reluctantly to bed. Ho'
- dark the hall was, and the door must be lei
open little, and "Dolly, are you there?" IN
"DolIy, good night" and Dolly somethin
y just to hear her speak, came from under III
= quilts We had drawn over our heads, and "
u wondered what ratified tho window, and viii
c shook the bed, and didn't you feel somethiu
cold, or hear something step; and how we Il
'' wished we were asleep, or it was morning,
the sun shone all night. How we sulere
4 then, and nobody knew it and nobody bac
=. us to be brave.
a. Well, years have passed, but we build ca
Ties as we did then, and feel just such gre
cold shadows MS used to lurk in the hall, M
is people them with forms no eye has ever see
u The memory should not be a tomb, plat
N for ghosts to revisit the glmpses of II
moon in, but beautiful place, full of recG
!, lections of sunshine and lovoiness.
n DoyLEsTowS, (Pa.) Feb. 10.
'" The execution of Jacob Armbruster, wi
! was convicted OF the murder of his wife, Cath
n rine, took place in the Jail yard to-day,
r. tween one aud two o'clock. lie maintain
;, his composure to the last, protesting I
y innocence. lie ascended the scafi0d with
" firm stem accompanied by his SON who we