Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1882-01-21

might find my mother, with quick
step and tender smile, at work in the
kitchen. 1t is night and a strange,
soft light from neither moon nor
stars, seems shed over all, and | feel
a sweet thrill in life that l have not
known for years. Out in the grove
Nettie calls me. The trees are not
asleep, but softly whispering to one
another; the flowers, too, are MUIR
muring, and the birds are moving
to and fro with gentle twitter. |
see many people-strangers.? Why,
no There is my old teacher; how
glad l am to see him. And here are
schoolmates, and friends of later
years, and business men, and moth
er's old neighbors. What does it all
mean ? They are the dead. The
dead living, and moving, and talk
ing don't know what l thought
had become of them, but certainly |
never supposed they met here and
talked together, and walk around as
they used to. | did not know they
were SO many, either. They drop
ped off one 10y one and nobody count
ed them. The man who to-day said
''poor fellow, he is gone" lay by his
side tomorrow, and there were
plenty to take his place.
When l see how fast they come,
and how many they are, l wonder
we who are left, do not grow lonely,
and impatient for our turn to go.
Fathers, mothers, children-whole
families. Here are four who used
to be neighbors and lived side by
side. Many times have | seen them
talking together over the low picket
fence; borrow a teasponful of soda,
perhaps, for mothers biscuits, or
carry in a pitcher of milk from our
old red COW. How their names are
interviewer with all my childhood
associations; how closely connected
with memories of my mother P! AS
| went by their houses last year, and
noted the changes and the strange
faces at the windows, it was hard to
think of them as dead. / wondered
if plump, laughing Mrs. f. had for
gotten the plum-pudding which was
her pride on a thanksgiving day; and
almost fancied l saw Mrs. N, with
shawl over her head coming out of
the gate. And surely now they
look not as if they were dead. | be-
gin to wonder, and forget | am only
dreaming, so natural it seems See
the soldiers, in the army-blue they
used to wear so proudly. Have we
forgotten them in these long years
of peace and prosperity E? Oh, those
were times of deep, intense, almost
cruel living, when we saw our brave
boys march cheering away, and knew
how silently they might return-our
very schoolboys, who threw away
their books, and with fire in their
young eyes, turned southwark. The
sunlight fell on their fair. hair as they
tossed us a laughing goodbye, and
their sad-faced mothers could hard
ly believe the little boys of yesterday
were the gallant men of to. day. And
we girls. We wrote them letters,
made them album-quilts, gave them
grand suppers when they came home
on furloughs. We cried when the
sad notes of WRAP the flag about
me, boys" were sung over their
bodies, and put flowers on their
graves. But we lived to love, and
marry, and grow into middle-aged
people, while they-they, too, have
grown with the years; and | feel that
theirs had been the years of life, not
ours, as | look upon them now.
How quietly the village is sleep
ing How little dreaming of what
we see and hear =! Oh, there are
footballs in every household, which
are heard not; passers on every street
who are seen not. Some time we
shall marvel at our blindness-mar-
vel that w did not hear.
There is a deep sorrow in my heart,
for now l remember my loss. Even
this beautiful dream cannot help
me, for he is not here, my little one.
Somewhere, in the dazzling, far-off
heavens they have him-the angels.