The Nevada journal., 1852-06-26
The Lost Ages.

4h y iIitiuS, iiiNc you Tcdu Eila! -
IF so, follow me. walking in the shad.
ow Of his mild presence, while / re-
count to YOU my vision Of the Lost
Ages. lam neither single nor unb!est
with offspring, yet, like Charles Lamb,
| have had my "dream-children."-
Years have flown over me since l stood
n bride at the altar. My eyes are dim
and failing, and my hairs arc silver
white. My real children Of flesh and
blood have become substantial men
md women, carving their own fortunes
and catering for their own tastes in
the matter of wives and husbands,
leaving their old mother, as nature or
dercth, TO the stiffness and repose fit
ted for her years. Understand, this
is not meant to imply that the fosterer
Of their boyhood, the instructor of their
CHILDHOOD, the guide Of their youth, is
iorsaken or neglected by those who
have sprung up to maturity beneath
her eye. No; l am blessed in my
children. Living apart ! yet see
them I; their joys. their cares are nine
Not Sabbath dawns but it finds me
in the midst of them; not a holiday or
a festival Of any kird is noted in the
calendar Of their lives, but grandmama
is the first TO be sent for. Still, Of ne
cessity, l pass much time alone; and
old age is given TO reverie quite rs
much rs youth. ] can remember a
time---long, long ago--when in twi-
light Of o summer evening, IL was n
luxury to sit apart with closed eyes,
and needless of the talk that went on
in the social circle, from which I was
withdrawn, indulge in all sorts of fan
cifi,l visions. Then my dream people
were full grown men and women. /
10 not recollect thai I ever thought q.
bout children until l possessed some
Of my own, Those waking visions
were very sweet-sweeter than the
realities Of life that followed; but they
were neither ha.f SO curious nor half
so wonderful as the dreams that some
times haunt me now. The imagina-
ton of the old is not less lively than
that of the young; it is only less ori
ginal. A youthful fancy win create
more new images: the mind of age re-
quires material to build with; these
supplied, the combinations it is capa-
bic Of forming, are endless. And so
were born my dream children.
And it never occurred to you, mo-
theirs and fathers, to wonder what has
become of your children's lost ages! !!
Look at your little boy Of five years
old. Is he at all, in any respect, the
same breathing creature that on be-
held three years back? ] think not.
Whittier, then, has the sprie vanished?
In some hidden fairy nook, in some
mysterious cloud-land he must exist
still. Again, in your slim.iormcd girl
of eight years, you look in vain for the
sturdy elf Of five. Gone? No; that
cannot be; "a thing Of beauty is joy
forever" Close your eyes you have
her there! A breezelike sportive,
buoyant thing; a thing of breathing,
laughing, unmistakable life; she is
mirrored ON your retina as plainly as
ever was dancing sunbeam on o brook.
The very trick of her lip; Of her eye ;
mischief-smile, the sidelong saucy
glance, -
aThat seems ii ssy,'.
Iknow yon love me. MI. iat;;s
it is not traced there al, every line,
as clear as when it frightened The at
mosphere about you ii the days that
are no more /? no Be sure II Il; and
qeing so, the thing must exist some
Ineyer was more fully possessed
with this conviction than once during
the winter of last year. It was Christ
mas eve. Twas sitting alone in my
old arm chair, and had been looking
forward to the fast coming festival day
with many mingled thoughts some
tender, but regrctfdl; others hopeful,
yet sad some serious, and even solemn.
AS I laid my head back and sat thus
with closed eyes, listening to the
church clock as it struck the hour, !
could not but feel that Twas passing.
very slowly and gently it is true, to-
wards time when the closing Of the
grave would shut out even that sound
SO familiar to my ear; and when other
and more precious sounds Of life, hu.
mar voices, dearer than al else, would