Fremont weekly freeman. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1850-1853, 1852-12-23
misrrIIaurous.
THE LOVES OF CHILDHOOD.

tell tale air, for it whispers of voices long since
o hushed in silence, and speaks of friendship
o forever broken. The sunshine sleeps upoI
f. the floor, nesting in the woven flowers ol
RS the carpet. 1t does not dance gladly now
l. as in youthful hours No wonder; it too i
j. dleaming of youthful days
y Those days when it played laughingly ii
! rinelets of shining hair, danced with fairy
: footsteps on the old play ground, or playet
at hide-and-seek with one little bright form
am sitting in an armchair beside my
0 desk: an open book is before me, between the
? leaves of which les boquet of pressed and
! faded flowers; so like to faded hope are they
! But although the book is before, yet l am
D not reading My eyes are fixed upon vacancy
and my heart is wandering back amid the
i, , paths of childhood, when the flowers were
fresh and blooming, ere death came stealing
through life's bowers and left his foot prints
there.
Oh! for that land of flowers which have
left behind me. with its little joys and little
sorrows! Where can again find that Eden
of my soul? And why, oh, why did my
guardian spirits drive me hence, when my
only sin was, that l was no longer child
l am at the old homestead again, wander
ing in the woods with Blanche, pulling wild
flowers, and drinking Of the little spring
stream that gushes from the rock. 1t is an
autumn day, golden-veiled, soft breathing
autumn day; day of the heart; one that
childhood can remember so well. How plea
SAINT is the low music of the leaves as they
rustic beneath our footsteps, and how merry
is the sound of the stream as it gurgles and
ripples in among the flowers. as If the willful
water-spirit was singing strange melody TO
itself
The brown leaves that float in the air, dan
cling and wallzing with the breeze in world
of delight, hilst the sunshine, streaming up
on them, brightens the mingling colors Of
crimson and brown. Blanche says they are
wild little elves and truly they look like as
many fairies, each in their different dress,
charming away the day hours.
The shadows lie long and dark beneath
the elms, and the sun makes golden bars on
the glass. and lays golden kisses upon the
glowing lips of every flower. The flowers
alas! for the beautiful fowers-there are but
few of them now.
Spring stole many of them when she left
the earth. Some of her pet buds. Summer
chose some of her fairest and blooming ones,
when she passed away, to strew over her
grave. Poor, beloved Autumn comelh in a
faded dress, few brown leaves adorBing her
dark tresses, and carrieth the flowers that
Spring and Summer left behind.
And though they are not the lovliest of
flowers still they are childish flowers, ard we
love them. Blanche and ale sitting upon
the grass in the shade, weaving garlands of
crimson leaves, flowers and fern Blanche is
my dearest friend, and l love her brown, shi-
ming ringlets, her sweet, smiling face, and
dreamy blue eyes.
We are talking of my dear little sister Lulu,
whom we had lefG at home because she was
i'll, and could not come with US; and we say
she will smile and put out her little dim pied
hand when we bring the wreaths we have
made for her,
The air whispers in the leaves, and the |
flowers droop because the sun is Withdrawing
her kisses from them. The water-spirit muir
murs sadly, and the leaves dance more galy, !
because it is almost evening Blanche SAYS, |
Let US 60 home,' and we leave the beautiful
woods and walk slowly toward the homestead
we part with an embrace, and steal into
my mothers room to delight Lnlu with the
last flowers of the season. Sweet sister, they
are indeed the last of earth's flowers that
ever bloomed for her
Oh sistery love! to what can it be hken-
ed q? No one can describe it; no tongue can
utter its true value. How holy is the ever
bubbling, overlooking love which resteth in
one sisters heart for an other.
An angel hath unfoIded its dark wings over
our dwelling. 1t is the angel Of Death
Voices speak low; footsteps are nois elcss.-
The curtains are closed to shut out the glad |
sunshine which is no longer beautiful to the |
eye. l steal from my own room to the dark
encd parlur. The little coffin is there-so
dark, SO terrible! | lift the white covering
from the still whittier face beneath. The blue |
eyes are closed and the silken lashes rest like |
threads of gold upon that waxen cheek.
The iong, fair curls are still now no breath |
disturbs their sumbers. A wreath of snowy !
buds encirce them, so like the pure soul OF
the departed one, The dimpled hands are
cold, and lie buried in the flowers, which my |
mother has placed over them. | stoop TO kiss !
those beautiful lips, but Death has been there !
before me, and left his icy breath upon them.
l have taken my last kiss have clIpped |
off tress Of that beautiful hair and creep
from the dark room alone-but shed no tear
stop to listen if she is calling to me. No.
is but the echo of my own footsteps She
never will speak more. | hasten through the
sitting room. My mother and Lulu are not
there. MY loot stElkes something, which ltliIs
with a low, mouruful sound 1t is Lulu's
little cradle, and the doll has fallen from its
bed The tears now gush from my eyes; |
press these childish playthings to my heart
land hasten to my room.
There are no clouds in the sky. All is
serene, azure hue. It's day, bright, beauti
ful, heavenly day-day without, but night
within. There is a hushed and heavy stiffness
lingering in the air, and even the trees bend
their luxurious branches, as if in devotion,
whilst the cleaning winged sunshine hovers
over them.
A bird flies through the air, with rusting
pinions Its plumage is snow white, and it
seems like the spirit of the loved and lost one,
winging its flight to heaven.
There is silence above, and silence below.
and j. Lnart Is crui,.r thrnncrh the siilness-I