Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1845-1854, 1846-03-11

! or him she loved so wells
There sleep the lover and the bride,
| Low IN the greenwood dell.
H. 'DEATH OF A CHILD"
BY T. S. ARTHUR.
a The death of a child, to those in no
way connected with it either by rela.
ftionship or daily intercourse, is thing
tpllittle moment--a circumstance scarce
Eaoted; but how different is such an @.
went TO those who have grown familiar
with the little prattler, TO those who
Fhave begun to listen, even in memory,
ffor the music Of its happy voice.
\ In the family where | once resided
WAS dear child who had won its way
1ibto every heart. Ten of us there were
but Of these, six only claimed rela.
tionship--the rest of US were strangers
and sojourners. But words cannot tell
how dear to US was that sweet child.
He was our playmate when in the
house, and claimed many Of our pleas.
ant thoughts when we were away
lhe father and mother were very hap.
by in the possession Of such treasure,
and thoug sensible persons, found it al.
Emost impossible to restrain even tire
some expressions OF fondness for, and
Interest in, their little one.
T He was just three years old, when
Ehe was taken with symptoms Of that
terrible disease, the Group. In the 81.
alent midnight his parents were startled
from their sleep by his loud and diff.
I cult breathing. A hot bath was ilnme-
I sajately prepared, and antimonial wine
administered, but to no good purpose;
and, ere dawn, an experienced physi-
clan had been summoned TO the house.
No relief could be obtained, however,
for many hours, and that relief was but
a slight abatement of the alarming
symptoms. But little was eaten by any
at the breakfast table next morning.
Concern and anxiety were upon every
face. How all was changed the day
before! Then we were happy with our
little playmate--now we spoke low and
ominous words together, and stole a.
bout softly, and as if we feared 10 wake
a sleeper. 9-... ;......s.' ..-
When we again assembled at the
:, dinner hour, hope had not yet dawned
upon the hearts Of the anxious parents
, ORe by one we gathered in the sick
chamber to look upon our pleasant com. =.
panion. now struggling with pain, and
subdued by sickness. For a moment
his eye would brighten as each famil-
lar face bent over him, but it would
soon settle into an appealing look, as
if he asked our aid in his extremity.
How ardentIy did we long to bcstow
, that aid and how humbled in spirit
were we, as we turned away from his
bed side, feeling as though his rebuke
went with US for not rcscuing him from
the hands of his tormentor.
The day wore on heavily with each
of Us who was absent on business, and
at last the evening came.
"How is little Wilic?" asked ca.
gerly, of his mother, who was the first
that met me as entered. She looked
! at me moment before she spoke, evi.
dently struggling to keep down her
feelings, and then said, mournfully, and
with wet eyes,
"He is no better"
Softly | entered the chamber, the
stiffness OF which was broken only
by the loud, quick, labored breathing
Of the child. How changed was our lit.
tie friend! The rose of health had fad
ed from its chcek-the gladness from his
young, bright eye. Nor was he suffer-
ing from the violence of the disease a.
lone. Powerful medicines had pros>
trated his system, without expclling the
malady. and large blister had burnt
the skin from his breast without mov>
ing the spoilcr from his vigorous hold.
| whispered his name as bent over
him, bat he heard me not spoke in
a louder tone, but he needed not my
voice. Even to his mothers earnest
call of--'WilIie! dear Williev he an
swered not by look, word, or motion.
The night passed heavily. The first
sound that greeted my ears in the NOR
aing, as LETT my room was the hoarse,
sutfoca,ing breathing of the child. 1t
sounded through the house. iearfully dis
tinct, from the half opened door of his
chamber.
Another day passed, and another