True American. [volume] (Steubenville [Ohio]) 1855-1861, 1855-03-01
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From Arthur's Home Magazine.
The Cradle Away up in the Garret.
BIZ NJ. LOUISA eHlTWooD.

Plouu u@uS SuteI-lu-ldW NOulu sCUEu W utNS
it in the nursery. Her children sleep in
dainty cribs; and the relic Of oldcn times is
pushed into darkened corner, away up in
the garret. 1t isa quiet autumnal day:
such days arc full of memories and the old
grandmother is thinking, thinking. She
rises, at length, and tottors up, and up,
the lofty fight ofstairs she passes through
the elegant rooms; she gains the garrct, and
sinks down beside that uusightly cradle ;
and bows her trembling head over it. as if
watching the slumbers of babe. That
little old garret, with one long beam Of sun
light streaming from the high window anu
the spider webs woven over the rafters; and
one cricket, singing lonesomely from some
silent corner, in good place to dream,-
Memory is unfolding picture after picture,
for the grandmother to look upon.
She sees cabin home. 1t is in the sum-
mer time; there are green bows in the fire
place, and around the clock, and over the
mantle board There are short, white,
muslin curtains, drawn partially across the
windows, There are two beds, with bu-
reau between, standing in the eastern part
of the room and little stand, with the bi-
Die and hymu-book upon its white fringed
cover, beneath the little looking glass
There is her cupboard, with its brightly
polished pewter; and the pine table, scour-
ed by lis own hands And she is sitting
by the window, her foot gently touching
that same deal little cradle; and her eyes,
lifted from her sewing, now and then, to
see ii that dear husband, on whose love
her heart rests, is coming. How delicious
y her heart is stirred to the music of sweet
thoughts. 1t is her first born, her darling
Johnny, sleepingin tho cradle. Nevcryet
have his dewy, rosebud lips murmured
"mother," but lis dimpled arms clasp her
neck; his velvet cheek uestles against her
breast, his clear blue eyes look lovingly
into her own. She is the young mother
again, as memory paints that sweet baby
face. She hears the bees humming in the
little bed Of pinks, below the wiudow-I
She sees the shadow leaves Of the Virgin
10 creepers,, playing upon the grass, in the
sunlight, as the breeze stirs the long clasp.
ing arms that cling about the rough logs.
She hears the riyulets ripple as it winds
through messy spots, and lave the roots OF
the old sycamore, whose shadows fall upon
her roof She hears the birds singing,
away of in the woodlands. She sees, Oh.
best Of all, her dear husband coming home
from his daily labor. His step is on the
sill, his merry voice speaks her name and
then little Johnny is clasped to his heart
Another picture. She is little older
now. Itis winter; there are drifts Of snow
on the caves; and, US far as the eye can look,
one unbrokcn mass Of snow. She hears
the winds moan through tie sycamore.-
The flowers are dead the rivulet frozen;
the birds silent But there IS a bright fire
on the hearth, and the cabin home warm
with its crimson light. Johnnyis playing
with father; and baby girl, the little liz
zie, is in the cradle fragile, delicate, beau
tiful; she has dark eyes, like her mothers,
only they wear sadder, softer look, and
her baby smile seems sad also; her hands
are clasped aud thrown above her head,
and she smiles in her sleep, as if the an
gels were whispering to her.
Another picture, 1t is in the May
month, and all out of doors is so beautiful
Flowers in the woodland birds in the wood.
land; joy-music everywhere. Everywhere.
No, there is sadness in the cabin home
There is another babe in the cradle. 1t
is robust and the blood of health flows
through its veins. 1t is Charlie. Why
are they sad then? Johnny sits, with his
face hidden in his mothers bosom, and she
is sObbing. Under the front window is
something covered with white. The neigh
Dor women are moving noiselessly about,
speaking but little. Lizzie is in her cof-
fin. There is an empty grave waiting for
its victim, right up on the hill, where but
tercups dot the grass. Dear little Lizzy!
Joy that the angels took the home so ear
ly.
Another picture, Johnny has grown up
to nearly manhood. Charlie is a stout,
merry boy, and there are others about the
fre-side, The mother is a good deal older
now. Her hair is streaked a little with
silver; her brow furrowed; and her check
very faded. There are fair daughters and
sons, that have been born unto her since
Lizzie died. Grace, with her dazzling blue
eyes Sndg golden hair. Mary, with sad dark
eyes, like her dead sister. Annie, with
her lips ever dewy with love and joy