Clarksville chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1857-1865, 1859-05-27
IFrom the N. Y. Musical World
A ME B ELL.
AN OLD MANS STORY.
BY FALCON BIRD.

Thirty years since. To me it seems not
long to look back upon, yet it is the best
part of lifetime. When the life blood
of youth coursed swiftly through my veins
years of that number would have seemed
an eternity, but l wonder now at the re-
trospection, SO seemingly short-so well
remembered.
Thirty years since. stand now, at
the close of this lovely summers day, on
the same spot where, 50 many years since,
/ bade farewell to her whose memory has
ever been sacred How lightly the hand
of time has been laid upon the old familiar
places for they seem to me the same as
when first gazed upon tAem in boyhood's S
careless hours, never dreaming that /
should view them with feelings SO akin to
sorrow.
l sit beneath the old elm tree, and as the
sun marched proudly down the western
sky, casting long shadows, like PROSTATE
giants, l bow my head and muse upon the
strange, eventful past. My fancy makes
me boy, and l live again my happy
school days-my ambition to gain place
in the world esteem, aud how | toiled to
win it. Then, as the tears fall fast think
of Annie Bell-one who should be beside
me now-but she lies at rest upon the
hillside yonder, and | am alone
A sound different from the cricket's
chirp, falls upon my ear. l lsten-yes-
it is the sweet, strange melody Of the
evening bells, liling the air with their soft
music, speaking a sad story to me, bat tc
Inc only,
As the twilight shades turn to darkness
| retrace my steps down the.hill to the lit
tie cottage, the dim outlines Of which
can family discern as it stands out in re
lief against southern sky, | cross thu
threshold, enter the deserted room and an
again surrounded by memories, bittel
memories of the past.
seat myself beside the latticed window
and look out upon the night The clear
calm light of the full moon falls on al
around, i can hear the brook singing it
quiet, ceaseless song, and love the music
but when l look up, the music leaves m.
heart, for | see nought but ruin and des
olation. The once tall maple is now
blasted stump, and the rough bench be
meath where we sat so many hours, ha
gone to decay long since, The old barr
still stands, but the roof has fallen in
and the damp, green moss clings to tia
sides. The cottage stands firm, and, lik
myself seems to have been spared-fo
what know not
From my window see the spire of tn
little church pointing upwards, above tn
tallcst trees, with it's gilded vane shining
like FURNISHED gold as the moonbeam
rest upon it, but the iron tongue tina
speaks from the tower is silent, and agai
thoughts are of Annie Bell
ncn l HIst saw hcI was u uudh
school boy, with stained face and tor
garments leaning idly over the rusti
bridge that spanned little stream, who's
course was through green fields and shad
forests, away to the ocean. | was watch
ing the fishes, as they darted here an
there through the clear pool, half lcapin
from their watery home as they tried
catch some careless insect when shade
beside my own made me start, aud instea
of turning my head, | still ga2cd dowI
wards, half thinking it was u reality,
los sweet Faugh broke my dream and
raised my oyca ami they foil ppowajitt