Grand River times. [volume] (Grand Haven, Mich.) 1851-18??, 1852-12-15
BLESSINGS BRIGHTEN AS THEY TAKE
THEIR FLIGHT.

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the idea so beautifully expressed in these words?
And how many times has the heart throbbed
with sadness at the thought that these bless
ings we so highly prize as they take their de-
parture, were so little regarded when fully with
in our grasp. have witnessed many scenes in
the lives of others as well as in my own, where
the truthfulness of the theme have chosen has
been protrayed in most vivid colors. But I will
refer to my own experience only
well remember an intimate friend of my
boyhood, whose laughing eyes, rosy lips, and
sunny brow, made him the sweetest picture of
earthly perfection my eyes ever rested upon,-
whose throne in my own heart and the hearts
of his doting parents, was as fixed as the ever
lasting hills. He was as constantly my CON-
panion in all boyish sports and innocent pleas
ures, as the pure air of heaven, and almost as
necessarily so. His clear ringing laugh was as
musical as the songs of the birds at dawn when
all nature unites in the swelling anthem that as
cends to God Hand in hand and heart in
heart we roved to and fro in those happy days
OF childhood, which will return-nerer! At
school we studied the same books, sat in the
same desk, and wept in sympathy for each 9TH
er when our delinquencies were visited in wrath
upon our heads.
AS we grew older, we used to ramble with
book in hand to lofty hill, crowned with ma
jestic grove Of maple and brch a little in the
rear of the village, and store our opening minds
with the beauties of literature and the poetry
of nature. These were my happiest days; and
now that they are gone, memory reverts to them
with pleasure which present joy cannot AVA
ken.
We had reached the age Of fifteen years. when
my friend-my idol was to leave the place of
his birth, and seek a home on the ocean bill
lows. 1t was warm, delightful day in Octo-
ber, when with sad heart and moistened eve
took his arm for the last time to walk in our
pleasant haunts hallowed by more than earthly
friendship. We took our way to the maple
crowned hill, near the close of the afternoon,
and seated ourselves in our accustomed place.
We thought to watch the setting sun, and let
his last glorious beams cheer our hearts with
the hope of happy meeting in after life, when
my friend should return from his wanderngs
on the drear tempestuous sea. The forests
were smiling, dying, "passing away" but in
their glorious decay were brighter than the tints
Of the heaven born rainbow-far brighter than
when kissed by the balmy breath of June. We
gazed on those glowing pictures with swelling
hearts, and burying our faces on each others
shoulders-wept We talked of pleasant days
gone by, but looked with hope on the deeply
yelled future. Our countenonces frightened as
we communed with each other, and we gazed
calmly on the "king Of day" as he slowly but
surely sunk beneath the horizon. "How bright
the sun is this afternoon" said my companion
{" he seems all the more smiling because it is the
last time he will smile on us together does it
not seem so to you?" Icould only answer with
tears,-and through those tears the sun seemed
to grow brighter and brighter, until the calm
twilight followed in his track. 81 never saw so
glorious a sunset" said he !; /" his smile seemed
to inger with such an unearthly radiance upon
us as he took his last parting glance that it SEEM
ed as though the gate of heaven was opened
and flood of glory from the throne Of God had
burst upon us in all its fulness." Thus we talk
ed, as reluctantly we bent our steps to his home,
where | was to bid him bitter farewell on the
morrow.
He left me but his barque went down amid
the swell of the ocean billow, and the sea-weed
is now his winding sheet! and never think of
his pure spirit as he left me at that time, without
comparing his departure with the setting of the
sun on that beautiful autumnal evening, which
grew brighter and brighter, till his last ruddy
beam faded from our sight.
Thus in this slight sketch have endeavored
to show how the happy hours of childhood
the dying autumnal foliage,-the " king of day"
and my dearly cherished friend, all seemed to
brighten as they took their final flight to return
no more.
The newspaper is emphatically the poor mans
lyceum, his library, and his best instructor. The
weekly sheet brings to him a vast treasure ofin-
formation, which he cannot read without being
a wiser and better man. 1t has been aptly said
that newspaper is as good as a sermon for the
thoughtful. Where newspaper is seen upon
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