Anti-slavery bugle. [volume] (New-Lisbon, Ohio) 1845-1861, 1860-03-24

For the Anti.slavery Dugle.
A LETTER FOR YOU. NO l.

kirkbam. Rather Of an indefinite pronoun il is
sometimes perhaps some Of my readers may men.
tally decide who, or what it 'persouates' in
The present instance if so they will do mo a "a.
Vor, for it is more than | can do. To night long
since the nine O'Clock bell rung out It's knell Of
Of passing time, the impulse has seized me to write
to whom To you oC course. Var the impulse
came l cannot tell. perhaps il was born Of the
quiet stiffness of the night, 60 grateful after the
weary cares of tho day, perhaps il Goated into my
spirit from that flood Of silvery moonlight, that
streams 10 through the open chamber window, and
battles my little room with the pure. soft radiance
that poets love, and lovers delight in ;-(wish mar
ried mot:als did not so often lose the love for il
and all other romance wifS the lapce OF the wan
ing honey moon, for life is so bare and barren
when bereft OF The sweet Illusions that make it to
She young and loving, a real, living romance-Lut
they are not illusions, | only used the word 10 the
matter O. fact sense of the utilitarian-there is
an everlasting long parenthesis, or parehtheticsl
~sentance or paragraph but please do not omit it,
perhaps 1.-THE impulse-cnme as the train Of sad
sSeet memories did, tripping along to the music
Of che first note from frog idnd-fOr | love their
mSsic, piehian as the taste may seem. for | loved
WV ~ ""e WV - ahA
lASd, and DOW, wben as tonight, the first faint
heStsting peep that hcralds he coming spring.
comes up from some subteranean retreat, there is
. charm in its melJdy, equal to the moro harmo-
niOus song Of birds. But | was telling you Of m
impulse to write, and hain't decided how, or Why
it esue. whether born of the silence and solitude
Of the night, of the glory tf the moon that un.
failing source Of inspiration to half croged IN.
"aticS; bus il is here, and with your permission,
or without it, | shall obey tho impulse or voice
that says unto me write
l guess af,er all--indeed l remember now, il
came to me from the shadowy depths Of tn rec pair
Of speaking eyes azure hued, hazel and brown,
that looked 40 long and lovingly into mine, as l
sat with them Oh the floor just where the moon
light from yonder window falls in a long oblong
patch, o~bliquely across the room, and told them
STORIES Of sun, moon and stars, and Of the far
of happy land till weary Of listening they went
to rest, and iheir soft breathing makes a low,
EwGes music for me, their mother.
But talking Of prontuns- permit ME to change
the first person singular, with which l 50 awkward.
began this rambling epistle to you, for the plural
Of the same person, as SAID by critics to be less
eGotistical, and SAVIOR less of vanity though |
won't promise. but that in an uugarded moment
/ may be betrayed into the same error again, for
my old grammar said l means myself, and | hav-
MT been in the habit Of saying we, when | meant
IL All preliminaties settled, introductory re-
marks made, | shall proceed to write.
But how the SUBJECT theme may gang,
Let lime and chance determine;
Perbaps it may turn out a sang,
Perhaps turn out q Sermon
Pardon US, shade of the minstrel plowman, for
never in our most aspiring moods have We ventur-
ed to hope that wc might embOdy in the space Of
our short 'e%pistle,' so much sound advice. wise
counsel and true philosophy. to cay nothing Of the
poetry, that was hut the fitting robe for the glow
ing thoughts. as did thou in thy epistle to thy
young friend And yet even unto us, humble
tOiler that we are. sometimes comes the impulse
to write, and with it, sometimes the rushing i'm
ages of thought and fancy-a wild unbroken train
that will not submit to the crampiug letters and
iron bit Of words-and Sometimes with the i'm.
pulse there come,h nothing else, cave Il vague,
dreary sensStion Of pleasure, that hath 40 power
of expression, yet which bathes the split in q soft
delicious atmosphere Of its OVID, sweet and sooth-
ing as the breathinss Of May. Tickle and capri
NASNS 10 hh'o hipNlcC ohO ulNNh NC lduCy IL II JuotI
q little cruel or inconsistent /; for it cometh not al.
ways when we strive to WOO its presence, and
when, to employ an expressive phase, so often US
ed in cbildh0Od's sports, we are all fixed up and
10 q fitting state to receive such company, when
the inner chambers of the soul are oten 10 the
sunshine, swept and garnshed. the dust and cob
webs of daily toll carefully removed. and 10y d;nt
OF extra exersion to gain the time, the hands are
free to trace the fancies ne they come. not one bright
winged visitant from the shade ~ realm nf thought,
ia through the open window Of our inoer be.
ing TO make melody for US. Bul when all around
US are the imIliments of Industry, not always
such as figure on pages OF romance and poetry,
but stern. every day toll that knows no relaxation,
aud has no eud-Ior 1 beg you will remember
woman's work is nerer done when t c much
abused washing day Lrings its foil array Of la
bors, OF the dairy its every day toil-in short, wheu
the hands are tied. efectuaily 60, and there is no
relief, then from some unknown source. some far
Of land of beauty, comes a rushing train Of
thoughts aud fancies, fitting q moment through
kitchen and dairy, making everything bright by
the sunshine Of their presence, and then, just as
we are ready to bid them welcome, and listen to
tho melody they bring-away they go, en- masse,
for all the world just like o flock Of frightened
pigeons, that for a brief momen. have frightened
the rGsset robes Of the autumn woods with the
rich purple of their Guttering pinions, only to
leave it more brown and desoiate than before.
Such unto US IL the advent and exodus Of our
spirit guests, the angel SisitanIs whom We should
Joy TO entertain for aye. Wish you who are 50
well versed in the philosophy of mind. would ez-
plain for our special benefit. why 81 Maynard and
esprieious, are the thought guests Of the brain.
Why unto us is never giSen the control Of those
invisiLle phantoms OF The mind that make joy and
gladcess. or Wailing, lamentation and woe EiIhin.
why ne cannot say OntO one 60. and be goetb. to
another cone. and he eomelh.' Bot as the wind
bloweth where it lis:e!h AID taou hearst the sound
thereof but elnst not tell whence it eomeih