Cleveland morning leader. [volume] (Cleveland [Ohio]) 1854-1865, 1860-10-30
DEACON PALMER's FAMILY.

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The sound of the stage horn flowed in
sweet mournful currents in and out of the
holloHs, and the echoes among the hills
caught them up and tossed them back and
forth through the forest, and they ran in
long, silvery eddies up the turnpike, over the
meadows and across the orchards, till they
reached tge ears and gladdened the hearts of
the quiet little village of Woodstock, whose
farm houses sat in the valley at the foot of a
long range Of hills, like company of pill
grims gathered to worship before the shrine
of "a vast temple. 1t was just at sunset and
somehow those long, mournful minor tones
seemed the fitting close OF the days service
that autumn day which had arisen on the
mountains in garments Of sunshine, and
marched through the hours in beauty and re-
joicing, living "Glory TO God :" the Gre
ator OF its good and perfect gift. But 1t was
a day fraught with dread and toreboding TO
thousands Of homes and hearts in the land,
for the voice of war was abroad in the earth,
and mothers had strained their brave sons
for the last time to their bosoms, and seen
them 60 forth to the battle and husbands
and fathers had laid aside the ploW and scythe
and shouldered their muskets, and taken
their lives in their hands for the sake of
freedom, and in the name Of the God Of bat
ties.
So deep shadows lay on the quiet country
thresholds of almost every home in New
England, that autumn day, and almost every
hearthstone was an altar where anxious, low
ing hearts sent up a cry to God for their be-
loved
Mrs. Palmer, wife Of Deacon John Palmer,
of Woodstock, stood in the wide, old-fash-
Toned kitchen Of the dingy, yellow farm
house, which she brought her husband on her
marriage morning. Sne was an ample, moth
erly, pleasant-hced looking woman, whose
whole physiognomy corresyonded with the
room. Strings Of red peppers and rows Of
dried apples were festooned along the ceiling,
whilea swinging-board fastened TO the beam,
which divided The hall overhead, was bur
dened with herbs and berries, hams, dried
beans, seeds, and a motley variety of dOmeS-
tic wares. Mrs. Palmer's life had slipped over
its fiftieth summer, and her black hair was
thicldy sifted with gray, and there were lines
about her forehead, and the smile in her faded
eyes had something sorrOwtul about it. for
Mrs. Palmer had walked with grief many
times; and of ten fair boys and girls who
had been gathered to her maternal heart, only
two remained to her old age. IL was a small
family under the roof of the old gray home
stead on earth, but larger one in that gold
en- upper homestead whose blessed threshold
is never darkened by the shadow OF death.
Mrs. Palmer paused as her ear caught the
faint sweet echoes of the stage horn, and she
deposited halt dozen freshly-boiled dough-
nuts in the pan on the table, murmuring to
herself "NoF, for all the world, if that ism
the mail coming in Who knows but what
there may be some news from Reubenp All!
if you had heard how her voice fingered over
the name, you would have known she was
his mother. 81 wonder if that bOy'll take
any sort o cure of HIMSELF continued the
fond mother, dexterously convolving several
strips Of dough, and placing them in the large
iron kettle which hung over the fire, filled
with boiling fat, which Indignantly snapped
and sputtered at their intrusion. ''lf there
was a fray, he'd be sure to be foremost, forhC
alays was poking his head into all sorts o
danger, and never seemed TO feel quite SC
| content as when there was achance O setting
! his neck Off his shouldersl | never coulC
exactly see where he got his harumscarun
turn, for his father was alays a sOber-minded
man; but il was amazin' how he'd be sarti1
to come out straight. | never had an easy
hour for the first ten years of his life, for fear
| he'd be brought home with broken limbs; bu
after he'd gone through with what would 4
killed dozen ordinary children, l kind o
| gave up. concluded he bore charmed life
Bless his heartl my brave, handsome boz
| never gave his mother cross word in tn
world; and I saw the tears a shinin' undo
his lashes that mornin' when he kissed N
| good bye, afore be started for the army
though he talked SO bold and CHEEKY abou
his coming back a cap'n or colonel. Poe
fellow hope he won't get the rheumati
campin' out nights, and they say they hav
| to put up with fare such as we wOuldn hav
| the face to offer TO a smart dog. | wish
could do up a paper o these doughnuts 10
the boy, he alays was fond Of EN-. Dea
me them cakes are burnin', dipping he
large tin Iadle into the boiling fat but
alays illustrates me when get to thinkin' {
Reuben. I'm reminded sometimes o whs
Parson Hunter said to me: Miss Palmer, yO
mustn't make an idol of your son. He bC
longs to the Lord l know its true as ScriI
| buf, Dut can nci lnlnkln lne LOfu II SuO'
marcy on my weakness, COS he's all I've go
and after a great many struggles I've give
up the others to him. but my liie's bound u
in that boy, and if anything should happe
to him, God knows it would break his poo
mothers heart"
And Mrs. Palmer broke down here, an
she sat down on the old oaken chest, an
wiped her eyes on the corner Of her apron
Light warblings Of some old psalm tnnefiu
tered down the staircase, and then the do,
opened, and a pleasant looking girl burst SUI
denly into the room. Rebecca Palmer W.
twenty-five, and the sight of her bright youu
face was like picture rejoicing the eyes,
She was not beautiful, but her cheeks we
fun Of the glow of youth, and the richne
OF perfect health.
"Well, child" said Mrs. Palmer, talhir
her kettle from the crane, "You just bust
round spry, and get up supper. Your faith
and the men will come home clear tucker
out Tor they've been fellin' trees ali day, al
we must get a.hearty meal for 'em. "
slice up some ham, too, and fry a dozen egI
while fix up some short cake.u