Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1863-08-17


gladness, written there. For one, l love to
call UP the memories Of the. by-goncs, and |
look ugen their old familiar faces
Did you know Lillia LINN? All it is fool /
ish to ash such question for Lillia was
scarcely ka9wn beyond her own neghbor-
hood. Iut you have seen the old school
house ontho hillside We'll, Lillia went |
ahers, and sat, and read, ald wrote after Co
2Es and played under the great hickory tree
klQN1 by the brook, and played with her,
&na worked hard sums for her, and loved
Ief too. But she died.
lsUor lost Lillia Eturn back and look On
thesaay when childhoods gladness drove
Karc away, when the realities of life were
antIed and she was my own little laughing
angel. ! wish could tall you iuss how Lii
Va looked when she was a mere child, and
above all when she left school, But can
not mo | cannot but 7 can sec her lust as
she was the last time we sat on>thc seat her
brother Bob built under the cedar tree, and.
said it was for US. ANo silvery wreath float
ing the blue sky of summer evening, was
more graceful; no warbling bird had a Light
.er hearti- but cannot tell you how ten
derby her blue eye looked, and sometimes
had tear-drops sclinging to the long ashes
like buds OF crystal She was the sweet
flower. that bloomed out in brightness on the
wayside of my youth. | loved her then and
when nay locks became dark and my brow
was stamped with manhood's sgnet, [ loved
her the more, andI love her now in the noon
or winter OF LIE rs it may be- Yes, love
her pure spirit that hovers Ger me on angel
wing, while write Of my poor lost Lila.
--------years ago How time flies 1t
seems but a few days, but I know it has
been more than that; for nv head is grow
ing white like il was when Lillia and play
.-ed<amoErg the flowers Oh the. brookside be-
fcW lhe'mlll, Watching the .percn' aid horn
cd dacc' frolcking in the sun where itshone
through the elder and hazel bushes on the
bank; and as [ pass my hands over my
face il feels hard and rough with wrinkles,
and here's my smooth cane, the gift of a
nephew in foreign land, himself beyond the
morn Of life, and If that's my shadow in the
mirror against the wall am now an old man.
Yes,--years have gone by since Lillia
passed away, and have been dreaming as il
life had not q winter and frost, as well as
spring'time and flowers.
The country was new then; the settle
ments were sparse and the 'clearings' only
here and there in days travel. My father
came from Pennsylvania and SO did Lillia's
They were school-mateS in oldCn time anC
they "settledn near each other in the ole
wilderness. have heard my father say i
seemed lonely till James Linn came ant
bought land near him and built cabin
Then we had neighbors. The smoke from
the two cabins curIcd up gracefully from
wide chimneys and mingled together in tn
clouds or vanished among the shadows 0
the wilderness.
A blessed homo was there. I revere tn
old trees that whispered so softly as tn
breeze played in the boughs, and sent u
solemn anthem to heaven when the liv
storm leaped upon their glossy crests.. Tn
birds sang earlier then than now, and sweet
er too it seems, and the creek beyond tn
'patch" sang good song not to be forgot
ten; its silyery tones lnger with me yet.
Years passed by so swiftly that we scarce
" noticed their fight. Spring time with it
flowers came and went, the brown leaves {
autumn fell and went to the dust and tn
winds Of winter walled the death Of the oil
year, but Lila and I cared little Cor that
The snow might fall and clothe the old cart
In cold garnitudc Of white, but our cab
fires were warm and we felt live love ar
happiness glowing in our hearts
When the next spring came with ne
flowers and birds tossing we were to be IN
ried.
All We g were happy
shall never forget that dismal uint
night The fire on our cabin hearth bur
ed brightly enough to dispel dull care, b
somehow | felt comfortlcss and sad. NV
ther held our Old Bible on his knees and re
aloud the promises in its blessed pages, ,wh
my mother busiy piled the knitting nee
les weaving warm socks for me- Little |.
was playing with the yellow kitten OH
rug, and I sat with my head leaning agai
the logs of the cabin listening to the stu
without A sleet and cntting hail !
coating the old forest with a cracking arm
How the cold pebbles Of ice ratified on
cabin roofl can hear their patteriag n