Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1856-04-23

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own children had none to shed.
"She was a good mother in her day,
and toiled very hard to bring us all up
but she had outliyed her usefulness
she was no comfort to herself, and bur-
den to everybody else" These cruel,
heartless words lang in our ears as We
saw the coffin borne up the aisle. The
bell tolled long and loud, until its iron
tongue had chronicled tile years of the
toil-worn mother. One-two-three-
four-fve;-how clearly and almost
merrily each stroke told of her once
peaceful slumber on her mothers bo-
som, and Of her seat al night-fall on her
weary fathers knees. Six-seven-
eight-nine--ten-rang out the tale of
her sports upon the greensward, in the
meadow, and by the brook. Eleven
NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS. more
gravely of school days and little house
hold joys and cares. Sixteen-seven-
teen-eighteen;-sounded out the en-
raptured visions of maidenhood, and The
dream of early love. Nineteen, brought
before us the happy bride. Twenty
spoke of the young mother, whose heart
was full to bursting with the strong love
which God had awakened in her bosom.
And then stroke after stroke, told of her
early womanhood-of the love and care,
and hopes and fears and tolls through
which she passed during those long
years, till Fifty! rang out, harsh and
loud. From that to Sixty, each STROKE
told of the strong, warm-hearted mother
and grandmother, living over again her
own joys and sorrows in those of her
children and children's children. Every
family of all the group wanted grand
mother then, and the only strife was who
should secure the piize; but hark! the
bell tolls onl Seventy--seventy -one-
two-three-four! She begins to grow
| feeble: requires some care: is not always
perfectly patient or satisfied; she goes
/ from one child's house to another; so
that no one place seems like home. She
murmurs in plaintiVe tones, that after all
her toll and WEAKNESS, it is hard she can
not be allowed home to die in; that
she must be sent rather than invited
from house to house. Eighty-eighty-
one-two-three-four, ,-ah, she is now
a second child-now "she has omlired
her uSefulnesS-she has now ceased to be
a comfort to herself or anybody;-that
is, she has ceased to be profitable to her
earth-craving and money -grasping chill
dren
Now sounds out, reverbreating through
our lovely forest, and echoing back
from our chill of the Dead" Eighty
nine There she lies now in the coffin,
cold and still-she makes no trouble now
demands no love, no soft words, no
tender little Offices. A look of patent en-
durance, we fancied also an expression
of grief for unrequited love, sat on her
marble features Her children were
there clad in weeds of woe, and in irony
we remembered The strong man words,
"She lgas a good mother IN her day."
When the bell ceased tolling, the
strange minister rose in the pulpit: Ills
form was erect and his voice strong, but
his hair was silvery white. He read sew
eral passages of Scripture. expressive of
Gods compassion to feeble men, and es-
pecially of His tenderness when gray
hairs are on him and his strength faileth.
He then made some touching remarks
on human frailty, and of dependence on
God, urging all present to make their
peace with their Maker while in health,
that they might claim his promises when
heart and flesh should fail them. "Then,"
he said, ''the eternal God shall be The
everlasting arms" Leaning over the
desk, and gazing intently on the cof6ned
form before him, he then said reverently,
"From a little child I have honored the
aged; but never till gray hairs covered
my own head, did l know truly how
much love and sympathy this class have
a right to demand of their fellow crea-
lures. Now feel ii. "Our mother"
he added most tenderly, ''who now lies
before US, was a stranger 10 me, as are
all these her descendants. All l know of
her is what her son has told me to day
that she was brought up in this town
from afar, sixty nine years ago, happy
bride-that here she passed most of her
life, toiling as only mothers have strength
to toll, until she had reared large fam
lily of sons and daughters-that she left
her home here, clad in weeds of widow
hood, to dwell among her children; and
that till health and vigor left her, she
lived for you, her descendants. You, who
together have shared her love and her
care, know how well you have re-
Quilted her. God forbid that conscience
should accuse any of you of ingratitude
or mourning on account of the care she
has been to you of late. When you go
back to your homes, be careful of your
words and rnnr nYann ME haforn r.n1r,. n,r.r,