The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1873-11-29
TO COUSIN MARY,
ON REvIsITING THE OLD HOME.

THE following beautiful Rererie-we had
better call twas written by former res
ident of Elkton, on the occasion of visit
to her old home in the State of New York.
With greater than the power of an enchan-
tress the old house is again peopled with
the forms of its occupants, scattered by the
hand of time, who come forth in the bloom
of youth and life and fill the chambers with
their happy songs and CHEEKY voices. In
voking shadows out of the dim past is
sad and fearful occupation.]
Leaving the carriage to go around by the
main road, took the path through the
fields to the cottage, half a mile distant.
Every foot of the way was as familiar as
if had trod it but yesterday. There to
the right was the little house where "Aunt
Sally" lived so many years ga lone born
widow here, the apple-tree where the
red spitzenbergs grow, and yonder the
bridge somewhat gone to decay, but the
path winds up the hill just as when we
girls trooped over it 80 gaily.
The little cottage where you were born
is closed, and the dear old spring neg
lected. AS passed it with half averted
gaze, tried to bring back the old picture
of black-eyed Molly, with rosy cheeks lift
ing the trimming pitcher from its sparkling
waters, but it was of no use l could not
cheat myself thus. But here in the twilight
shadows can fancy you are beside me,
sitting on the old doorstep as in days gone
by. Look, is not everything as it used to
be? The roses Chamber over the parlor
window just the same, and leaning from
the north chamber can still gather my
hands full of blossms.
Where "Dck's" cage used to hang in
the sunshine, is now a WIRE basket with
bright leaves and vines trailing to the
ground. And here beside the porch is the
same honeysuckle which she. the dear
mother, tended with such loving care
Strange hands have pruned and tied it up
all these years, and now it not only shades
the windows of my chamber, but climbs
far up close under the ewes.
At moon day the sunshine flickers through
the branches of the naples, just as it used
to flicker upon the gray hair of the fond
old father taking his midday rest; and now
at evening the light breeze stirs their leaves
softly, as in the old time when we used to
sit here talking over the trfes of the day,
while the girls one by one joined u.s.
Then, our circle complete, how gaily the
talk went on-how merrily the light laugh
rippled through it all; until the careful
mother called, "girls the dew is falling"
All, is the dew falling upon my hand? and
is it the night air that chills me so? am
alone in the home of my childhood, and
my heart cries out for the dear ones gone.
1 listen for the familiar step and strange
ones fall harshly upon my ear. look up,
longing to meet some one of the glad faces
that in the old time were bright living pic
lures fitting here and there through the
old house, and strange eyes look coldly
into mine.
Snatches of song come floating upon
the air-but find no echo in my heart-for
it is not her voice-that is hushed to mortal
ears, and none will sing so sweetly any
more.
Foot steps may come, foot steps may go
they are nothing to me. peer into the
faces of the harvesters coming home from
their work, they are all strangers not
familiar form among them. l go to the
milking yard, and "Bettie' answers not
to her name, and "Beauty looks wonder
ingly, and shakes her head in answer to
my call; even the house dog has forgotten
me and turns coldly from my greeting.
o Mary, rude hands have been at work;
the household gods are all removed
Strange pictures hang upon the walls, the
high-backed chair is no longer in its favor
lite corner, and the tick of the mantel-
clock has haunting, tormenting sound.
The grass grows rank, leaving no trace of
the children's path to the swing, and the
children whose young feet trod down the
tender blades of grass-where are they?
Softly, softly feet of mine,
Lest the echoes wake and call
Through the base and empty rooms,
Through the wide deserted hall.
Up the naked stairs, and slow,
Follow gently loving friends,
Howsoe'e r the moments go,
Sooner, later, comes the end.
In this room where warmest falls
Sunshine from the winter skies,
Here my blessed babies all
Opened first their wandering eyes;
Here they frolicked al day long,
Happy with their tops and toys,
Echo wake that buried song,
Laughter Of my girls and boys.
Nay, instead the wind is signing
Like human-hearted thing,