Grass Valley telegraph., 1854-06-01

OF his character has rested no shadow OF
spot from eternity. But our brother doubts
this story of God. He takes that name in
way that shows he has little regard for the
Being who bearsit There may be some who
say nightly with many tears s-"God forgive
our Wanderer and bring him back, but the
lost one cares not for this We do not see
him when we bow in the great congregation,
we have lost him from the footstool of prayer.
The Great Father may know that he prayeth,
but we are alone in our alteration.
We have l9st otir 7srotllieE44 ssra4n tisA st
cacle. Alas sometimes when we ask h1m
why he is not there, he says with a strange
mingling of carelessness and despair that he
has no home =
The warm, soft nest where our childhood re-
posed is still folded in the verdure of our
hearts-we remember all that home has been
/ to US, and we find for awhile thro' our chok-
ing tears, no words of counsel or of comfort
to answer him. But we say, at gth,-in
the wide world there is need enough of the
true heart and the willing hand; there is
work to be done, and with the gains of honest
industry you may make an abiding place on
the bosom of our mother Earth and call
around you the dear home voices and the low
ing hearts. Butwe find there are in our bro
theirs soul no bright, green isles of memory
no holy, remembered music of home love
that she should care to struggle on thro' years
Of toil-to hear it again.
Lost out of all home circles on earth-he
wanders on-WeaVing around himself no links
of sweet affection to keep him in the "paths"
that are "peace"
But oftener it is, that our brother turns
away from the door that is ever open to him
he sits not by the fre-side, where there is
yet place kept for him. There is a spell
upon him more mighty than fathers bles-
sing, or mothers love. His voice is not
heard when the household hymn goes up in
unison. in the hour of quiet converse by the
evening lamp-he is not there. The smiles
upon painted cheeks are more to him than a
sisters welcome, and the gay glare of the
halls of revelry than the mild light of eyes
that beamed softly above his cradle bed. He
is relishing the course jest and the bacchana-
liam song, while away in lonely room the
pale cheek is laid on the midnight pillow, wet
with tears for him. Oh! lost 10 the fire-side
of home, the eye may be bright with hope,
and the manly form strong in its pride, but
that is little to US, if the brothers heart is
gone. Is it not better to look into the little
coffin where innocence sleeps, than down,
down in the dark pit, where all that might
have been man, is laid?
Humanity sends up its cry to Heaven, plea
ding for aid against oppression-for bread in
its hunger-for light in its darkness and ig-
norance-for love in it's desolate sorrow.
That cry, falls in solemn, reverberating
echoes on the dull ears of our brother. But
he is thinking of champagne, of dinners and
cigars is saying to himself, where shall I
go tonight to be amused p 1t may be that
with bleared eye and dethroned reason. he is
drivelling like an idiot, or sleeps like brute.
Lost! Lost! in the Shiny depths of sensuali-
ty. whence crawl misshapen monsters-to
bask in the red heat of passion-and taint
the air with their pestiferous breath. There
he is-look at him.
Yet he is our brother! and though he sees
in earth only SO much ground and timber, and
in the heaven above only signs of the wea-
ther-yet we know that his soul might be fl
led with delight, or bowed with awe at our
side. 'Into the sheaf of kindred hearts he
might be bound-and his name might stir the
secret depths of gratitude and love in many
breast"
What shall we do? Shall we make Maine
Liquor Laws, and shut up gambling houses
by the strong arm of civil power? All! what
shall we do? We can create cities. like mao
ic, in the bosom Of the wilderness-we can
send our thoughts in moment from pole to
pole--we can measure the far stars-but can
we lift up one fallen human soul? A sicken-
ing feeling comes over us. We have lost our
Brother.