Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1898-06-18
TIE FACE AT THE WINDOW
A Sketch From LIE, BY U. $. G. pitzsr-
sJosie. why don't you come n

sweet scent Of honey-suckles per-
fumes the air. A new moon hangs
her crescent on the bosom of an
ocean Of ioamy, scattered clouds,
while host Of golden stars dance in
her retinue. Like the music OF a
dream, in the quiet OF the night, the
waves OF The Ohio sob themselves to
sleep against their sedgy banks.
The low, sad, plaiative calls Of
night birds, like the walls OF depart
ed spirits, come qaivering from the
woodland.
A little village in Ohio is bathed
in the glory, the quiet, the moon
beams OF such night and scene.
The words first above written,
croaned in sad, wailing, beseech-
ing voice, come from the lips of On
aged, gray haired, wrinklcd-faced
woman, who, understanding, has
thrust her head through a window,
from which she had broken every
pane Of glass. Stretching out her
trembling hands and bare arms, in
the moonlight, she eagerly peers
through the shadows for The loved
ones, long dead and gore. She calls
them tenderly to come to her again.
She sings in q low, soothing, Ger
man voice, lullabies of bahyland and
love songs of Fatherland.
Eighty-one years of age, and be-
reft of ressonl
"Josie, why don't you come 7"
Papa Papa, come right home
Why don't YOU listen 2"
Restless, confined, half-clothed.
irom dawn of day It'll late in
the night, she sit, by the window,
calling to Josie snd papa. Josie
was her son, and papa her husband.
Both are dead. A careless daugh-
ter livee in the house with her, but
the mothers door ia locked, and
few are the moments she passes with
Others. Josie, the son, toppled from
high balcony in Cincinnati, and
was picked up below, a shapeless,
crushed corpse. The husband of
her youth died soon afterward Sad
and crazy, though seldom violent,
the old mothers thoughts linger
with her dead. The passer-by
gazes sadly and curioualy at her
wrinkled face, peeripg through the
window, and quietly walks away,
with plying heart, thinking of an.
other mother, by the window, in bis
own bright home.
Still sits the old mother at the
window
In her confused mind, linger the
memories of the past. The we'd
ding bells ring in her ears, and
friends press forward to wish the
young couple "God speed" On the
Journey of life. The cottage is so
clean and neat, with morning glories
climbing partly DER the doorway and
the murmuring waves Of the Ohio,
splssb near the garden wall. Baby
Joe turns from playing with the
golden suBbeam on the floor, and
climbing into mother'e lap, sleeps
sweetly GA Ter bosom. Fapa, hus.
band, gszes with pride ct mother
and babe and blesses God for his
treasures. The years pass away.
The boy ia & young man, strong snd
eager for the battle of lie. Mother
still tenderIy watches over him
aud guides his footsteps. Papa's
shoulders are stopped, and there is
snow at the doorway and ice on the
river.
Still dreams che OF the past
Sad faces now. Grape on lie
docs, aud mourning, low and bitter.
ice sleeps. Not tue sleep Of inno-
cent childhood, nor the rest OF yig-
orous young manhood. IT'S the
sleep Of death. Mangled and crush
ed, 10 dimple in the cheek, no smile
on the lip, no blue in the closed
eye. Gang clapg ! It's the funeral
bell, Rattle rattle tits the clod
falling on the coffin. The night
falls, stsrless and moonless, aud the
shutters clatter and squeak, and the
waves dash hoarsely against the
garden wall.
In the moonlight, Is the face at
the window
a gray head bends o'er a coffin
again, in the cherries cottage by
the Ohio. a widow looks at the
face of her husband, for the last
time. Autumn's sun kisses with
golden rays the grapes clustering at
the window, and sunbeam dances
on the floor. Joe in his grave sees
it not. The good wife sees it not.
Bowed head rests on open Bible
and the night falls swiftly DER the
land. Birds are nesting. From the
river comes the hum of commerce,
and now ray Of star light shines ON
the book and on the bowed gray
head. Alone o God, how lonely.
A face at the window
1t is haggard and motionless.
Two wrinkled hands crossed in peace;
gray head resting against the sill.
A tired mother in Israel, sleeps at
last. Ended are the trials ard heart