Ashtabula telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1874-1880, 1878-11-22
AutumnaI Rains.
DEDICATED TO MRS. KATE R PORTER.
BY AMELIA THROPP.

BY AMELIA THROPP-
am alone in nv chamber row and the
midnight hour is near. No sound breaks the
Stiffness but the patter of the rain against
ny window panes. / 20 to ml window and
.bok out; there is but one cloud in the sky
but it covers it from ple to pole. see
through the dimnesS he trees ending their
branches, yielding to the fury Of the storm.
/ draw down the curtain. ali Is closed and
warm. l seat myself at the fire. which
burns brightly upon the hearth. whilst
memory carries me back to my childhood,
and see picture near my heart-the pic
tnre of my home.
There whilst gazing at the curling flames,
a tide of recOIleetions bring back visions
fairer than could ever be dreamed of by
artist. No artistic hand eauld conceive
a subject more beautiful than the one orig
mating from the fount,ims Of loYe. In the
frelight see the old hearlh as it used to
be, aud fancy brings my father in his old
accustomed place. The frelight streams
upon his silvery hair. and look of true
5enevolence is on The good mans face as
ne sees his Lowell ones around him. BY his
side is my mother, always lovely in charae-
ter and disposition. OF my farher's happi-
ness she was the corner stone, for hers was
a character of unusual lOveliness, unusual
excellence. The law OF kindness was on
her lips. The golden rule Of christian love
prevailed her hrart. Near by sits their
eldest, the young man full of promise
The light falls fair on his sunny hair, and
the violet eyes are full of tenderness. He
was there irst-born, their Summer child,
born amidst the blossoms Of June, in the
summer of their youth and happiness.
Ambitious, energetic. he dreamed OF n
bright destiny. Oh, land of the future
with Thy singing birds, and laughing foun
tains, who has ever tasted thy promised
realities
On memory, memory, where now is the
scircle once 81 widey Ask death the great
destroyer.
The first called was the irst-born son.
Who thought he should be the first taken?
That the sunny head should be laid so low
beneath the daisies? There he sleeps, cof-
fined and solitary. only the wet earth keep
ing him from the storm.
Soon followed the loving mother. seeking
a place to rest-by him, the eldest of her
race. Dearly beloved. deeply lamented,
God called her to join the white-robefl
throng.
The father gathered his loved ones about
.hlm, but the vacant chairs saddened his
heart, and cast their shadows Ger his brow.
Time showed i'm through the mists of the
heavenly gales aiir. "a loving hand becken-
ing he bade farewell to join in heaven, the
loved ones gone before.
The old place is now Il rlcmory, biog-
raphy. Strange voices sound around the
hearth, strange footsteps echoes on the
stairs. The loved ones are scattered, fight
ing the battle Of life. The rain tonight
cannot penetrate their cheerful, happy
homes. The old home with its sunny rec
objections is n thing of the past Tonight
memory has taken me there, and allowed
my head to rest as it used to against my
lmother's knee, and Imagination made me
happy as / sat by her side and saw the love-
ly vision.
Oh! memory, memory. return with your
happy shadows. your sunny pictures, and
your loved mes; then let the rain drops
fall, and the winds blow, for the heart will
be full Of happiness rs it sees through the
shadows the picture of its home.