The Abbeville banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1847-1869, 1857-05-28
From the Pennsylvania Inquirer.
SOUNDS FROM HOME.
REvERIE OF TIE PAST, ny AN OLD MAN

| n KEY ERiE VI IiE PASi, Bf AN OLD MAN.
The fire burns brightly on the wide
hearth before me. The red flames rusl.
whistling and sing up the great black
chimney, that swallows them carclessly and
gapes for more. l have seen youth as
bright and sparkling as those flames, rush
like them into the black gulf Of ruin, and
like them, too, leave behind them naught
but ashes, but tho ashes, alas! of blasted
hopes, and fond hearts, stricken by despair.
| am an old man; 1 have run my race al,
lottcd by Heaven TO all Of earth. My head
is bowed down towards the dust, which will
soon claim me rs its own. / should he
alone, alone in the great iron world, had l
not one good, faithful friend, who, thank
God humIly, is still spared me. Oh! il
were worse than death, worse, worse thou
sand times to lose that friend. Men call it
memory" I call it good angel, for it
brings back to me those whom [ loved and
lost.
AS I sit before the wild flames, that
throw trembling. STOPPING shadow upon
the wall, this spirit one is singing in my
ears strains, sweet though sad, the melodies
of by-gone days. Oh, dearly do love to
) hear that song, to listen to those "Sounds
from Home" What sound from the home
of my boy-hood is floating round me now
Have You over heard village church bell
fill the quiet air with its sweet, plaintive
, sound, OIL one Of those fair summer eve.
nings, when all around there is such n still
and holy calm, that it seems as if heaven
itself were slumbering on earth! Such TO
g me this sound has always been. know it
! well; it is my mothers voice. I had q
mother once and I loved her, toe-who
, docs not | remember, when little child.
| tried to pray, l first would think of her,
to fill my heart with love for God. She
was my stepping-stone from earth to heav-
Ell! Oh! what is there like a mothers
love or where the love so pure as that we
bear 10 her 4? When we are fresh from
God, then it is strongest; for as we grow
older, and the cold and sncering devil, called
the world,' breathcs on US its rank. with
ering breath, then does ourlovc for her who
gave us birth, wander amid so manv fierce
human passions, that their black shadows
dim its brightness, but still it burns within
our hearts, and we copfess it, too, when
death is in our homes and We are mother
less.
But memory, restless spirit, sings now to
me another strain. hear another sound
from home. This time it is a simple strain,
sung by one who was dearcr to me than all
the world besides. Long years ago there
crossed my path in life grlish form, some
called it prctty-perhaps it was; I never
thought of that 1t was very fair, with
delicate frame, and voice in which was a
strain as musical rs the notes of a harp
which | once had when child the chords
of which werc moved by the wind as i.
passed over them. By slow degrees this
girlish form grew powerful in its mastery
over me. / who had mock for love, now
found in il n master. I struggled against
this newborn power, for l was young, and
those whom l loved, and who loved me,
would have me turn 10 other things. 1t is
an old story that I am telling. Ica1ed her
wife, and then thore burst on me the anger
of parent, and for time left my faith.
er's house, and wandered far from it. But
she, the one whose voice still hear was ut
my side, and in her love I was happy
She died See there, where the moon
beams rest on plain marble stone, as if
they love to watch over the grave Of one
as pure as themselves. She lies there, and
I am not at her side! For awhile, my bo-
som, on which her head was wont to rcst
was as cold as the earth in which she now
slumbers. But Time is friend indeed, for
he-yes, he comforted me.
Pshaw what is this dream we call love,
after all toy to while away an hour, a
theme for boys and girls to prattle about. I
dreamed like other fools once, but now
have learned to stare reality in the face, and
bear unfiinchingy its cold gaze. But I
must talk other. She died, and died when
we were poor, and I cursed myself that I
had taken her from her home, and had no
home to giveher. It was selfish, was it not?
But selfshncss holds the key Of all mems
hearts; yes, was selfish to love her as
', did. She died, died; blessing me. Well,
we'll, If what wise andgood men say be true,
l shall see her again; that this may be is
, my constant prayer to heaven. Another,
, sound from home-sn infants cry. The
tiny voice Of my firstborn is ringing inmy,
ears. Afasi that sound from home lsas been,
stilled. Heaven took what God lad saissp,
me, ere earth had tine to withsr itwith lis
aceursed breath. Theirs r. n1ifSfa fl,Ssf 49,