The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1851-10-30

dark wrapper and a little collar; my hair is
neatly braided, for remember, and as yet put
in practice the advice 80 often bestowed on
women, not to neglect after marriage the neat
ness which 30 pleased the lovers eye before it.
Our meal is finished, yet we linger at the table
to talk over the various things so interesting to u.s.
50 unimportant to the rest of the world half
hour passes in pleasant converse, and then
Eyerard. looking at his watch, declares that he
can stay no longer He comes to my side, kisses
me, and is gone. go about my household
duties, happy in the consciousness of his love,
proud that my love is so much to him.
Anon we are parents With a timorous JOY,
grateful wonder measureless affection, we
look upon the little one that God has sent us.
We hang over it with fond solicitude we
watch with delight the movements of it's tiny
limbs Other people see in it only newborn
baby, with the red complexion, shapeless fea-
lures, and puny legs and arms, which belong to
that early stage Of being But we see in it
our chld-our darling-the new link between
our hearts
The baby grows The red hue clears away
from its features, the thin, silky hair nearly
covers its head its eyes brighten with intelh
gence. 1t begins to know us-t stretches out
its arms to be taken and held. Thenceforth
- - II = >hs2l,;;atx -T-9s.. -. g.
istence. 1t has cut a tooth it can say papa "
it has learned some little trick which seems to
us the prettiest that ever baby tried BY and
by it can walk it begins to talk, too, with the
sweet lisping utterance Of earliest childhood
| Ali it is indeed blessing to Eyerard and
me.
Years pass on. The little one who first woke
in our hearts the thrOb Of parental tenderness
has been taken in its innocence to purer
home We have mourned its loss Us only pa
rents can yet mingled with our grief has been
a chashned joy as we remembered that our
lamb was safe in the bosom of the Good Shep-
herd Since then, many children have been
given us. They are healthful, blooming crea-
tures--nosy and rOmping enough, no doubt;
and faulty enough, too yet still of kindly hearts
and generous affections
They grow up-the boys 90 into business,
or enter college the girls are becoming part
of society. Eyerard and | are getting old;
silver threads mingle with his dark locks, and
his step is not as free and light as it was in
former days am altered cap cOnceals
the hair which has lost its youthful brightness
and luxuriance; wrinkles furrow forehead
that was once smooth and fair. | care little for
the change however. The slight personal van
ity which | once possessed is merged in the
pride feel in the beauty of my children !
often wonder if any mother but myself has
such iamil y-such strong, manly boys, such
graceful, winning daughters. Eyerard and |
are still happy coupe-life is full of interest
and occupation for us. Our children are at
once our chiefest care, our most abundant joy.
But time goes on and the group is widely
scattered. Marriage fortune, chance and
change, and Death, too, have thinned the
blooming ranks A widowed daughter, a
young, fair woman STILL is the only child that
shares our home. She is the light of our dim
med eyes, the sunshine of our closing day. For
we are really old now; Everards tall form is
bent and he moves feeby about leaning on his
staff But he is kind, generous, loving still;
you see that in his face, which has no harsh
ness in his wrinkles, no guerulous shade in its
gravity. Little children love him. they climb
upon his knee while he tells them stories Of
past days, and thoir slight fingers play with his
gray hair. Peace is ours--happiness in each
others love, in the tenderness of our children,
the kindness of the few friends whom Time
has spared MS and more than all, in the love
of God, and the hope of that bright home to
which we draw so near
At last great change comes; | am laid
upon that couch of sickness from which am
never more to rise With what fond faithful
care am tended how unweariedly does love
minister to my every want. Kind hands smooth
my pillow; gentle, tender tones question me of
my feelings and desires-anxiOus affection
watches over me, fearing much, yet hoping
ever for my restoration. But that is not to
be- feel it so. In peaceful resignation await
the final hour
1t comes, The time comes when the two
lives, for years so blent together are to be sew
cred. | am dying My children are around
me-they have been summoned to attend their
departing mother and each has tearfully obey
ed the call, Everard sits by me- my hand
claSpcd in his | am weak can say but little
but | entreat our children 80 to make their
choice, that they, like me, may be enabled to
look ON Death rs but the entrance to eternal
Life beg them to be kind to their father, to
make happy his few remaining years by their
tenderness and duty. To him say but little,
since words could i'll express what owe him,
how love him, even then. But he feels the
pressure of my numbing fingers he sees the
fond looks of my darkening eyes, and knows
all that would tell him of my gratitude for
his lifelong affection, his unceasing care.
My sight fails-my breath is short and drawn
with efort--with one last look on the weeping
circle around me, and the bowed form Mt the
bedside, my spirit passes.
There is nothing terrible in such depart
urc, said-the very last moment on earth is
cheered by human loye--and then how easy
the quick transition to that Divine love which
shall be ours throughout eternity In such a
death, can well believe that all the natural awe
which we might feel in the near contemplation
of that Unspeakable Glory in whose presence
we must stand, would be changed into a joyful
serenity calm and happy waiting for the
coming of the Lord
| resumed my musing.
When all is oyer-when the grave is filled,
and my children have gone back to their own
homes-eyen then am not forgotten. They
think often Of mc-they talk kindly of me to
each other. They tell their children of grand
mamma who loved them so dearly while she
lived Eyerard-thc feeble, aged man, Jour
neylng forward 10 the home where | have
gone-neyer torgets me. | am always present to
hm-he thinks of me with tenderest affection
he longs for her who for more than forty wears
was to him another self Dear Everard
My grave Is often yisited-howers bloom
there which living hands have planted-little
feet tread about the narrow mound. and rrayer
steps pause ottentimes beside it.
Yes ! live in the memory of those whom
once cherished
Alas! | cried in bitterness, how different is
the Death of which have mused from that
which will one day seize on my fororn existence
How different the life, 30 full of usefulness, and
of joys springlng out of that usefulness, from
my own! And that green mound in the church
yard-how unlike the grave which lies wonder
ON the bleak hillside, and hungers for this
wasted form
! remember how, in the old days at home we
children once found dead leech-a dried-up,
shrivelled thing We put it into warm water
and soaked it for time--it swelled up plump
and full and looked aliye-but il could not
move, draw blood, or perform any of its leech-