Bradford reporter. [volume] (Towanda, Pa.) 1844-1884, 1856-11-27

My boy, like all other mothers boys, was
beautiful And yet his loveliness made my
heart ache. So frail, SO fair His colorless,
waxen cheek, his slender form, aud large and
melancholy blue eyes, filed me with thou
sand fears. How often haze bent above him
as he laid upon my lap, and prayed with all a
mothers earnestness that his life might be
spared 1t was foolish prayer-an unwise
one-but then could not see it
My very life seemed wrapped up'in that of
my babe. With him by me every day could
not see him fading, and the moaning sea could
tell no tales. But now and then shadow
came over bis fathers brow as he watched us,
| that not even my kisses could quite drive away.
| thought him growing stern and cold but,
OH / wronged him (! Never had he loved us
both so tenderly before
Weeks passed on. My baby's eyes looked
intelligently into mine, and the little rosy lips
smiled whenever came near. But still those
little lsping utterances that thrill the heart so
deeply were silent, and all my loving lessons
| fell on an unhecding ear.
The shadow on Arthur's face grew deeper rs
he watched my unccasing efforts. At last the
blow came. had been sitting in the doorway
with little Ernest in my arms, trying to teach
| him to say papa" His large blue ewes were
| fixed upon ME with wistfu expression but
still the lips were mute and yeXed and diSap-
| pointed, heared Il deep sigh, and laid him
back to his little cradle. Something in the
look my husband gave me startled me- | went
beside him, and putting my arms around his |
| neck -
What is it, Arthur" | cried
! God help you to bear it, Mary =! he an
| swered, solemnly, Our child is dumb :"
| CHAPTER II.
| Dumb Could it be possible? ? What had |
| ] done that SO deep sorrow should be Seut |!
| to chaSten me a.? Other mothers might hear |
| their children'S voices calling them. but mine |
would be forever silent ! Forever 1t was |
so long word Had it been for weeks, or |
months, or even years, would have borne it |
but to know that it could never be-that |
through childhood, youth and manhood he |
could never speak my name-oh, it was too |
much TO bear
AUTUMN and wiuter passed away, aud my
baby and threw spring daisies at each other |
on the lawn before the cottage, while Arthur
looked on, smilingly, from his study window |
| had not grown recOnciled to the great mis- |
fOrtune-only accustomed to it-and the mute |
kisses of my child were almost as dear to me |
as his spoken words could have been
1t was strange task to teach that soul how |
TO expand its wings 1t was strange TO learn |
the child his little evening prayer by sight
and yet, as he caSped his small hands, and |
raised his sweet blue eyes TO Heaven, | often |
wondered if any labored supplication could |
! have gone more quickly to the Throne of Grace |
1t was strange to see him sit silently above his |
| playthingS, to hear TO sound from him except |
the plaintive, half stiticd cry he uttered when |
in paint feel those delicate hands clasping |
/ mine when something new had puzzled him
| TO see the wiStful, obServaut lolk with which |
he regarded every one who converScd around |
| him.
! No wrong or impure thought could ever en-
! ter that little breast. He as one set apart |
to show us what an early childhood should be
| as stainless and innocent when the Ma
kers hand first sent the little spirit futterng
| into its earthly prison. Could | ask for him
| happier destiny than this-t0 pass through |
! life shielded by my unfailing love, and safely |
sheltered by the snowy wings of the guardian
angel ever by his side =?
We make to ourselves idols out of clav. and |
| they are taken from us. need the one les
son more. My little boy faded slowly before
my eyes, as the summer came on. 1t was not
SO much with him painful sickness as the
gradual wasting away of the springs of life
The mission he had been seut to fulfil was ac-
complished.
Many days before he was taken knew he
must GO ! was with him by day and night
| sang him to sleep, and wet the still golden
curlS with tears when he was slumbering quiet
ly-day hy day gathered up my strength for
the parting which knew must come, and day
by day my heart sank within me, and the blood !
forssok my cheek if the slightest change took |
place.
We sat beside the bed of our boy the lit
tie anguid head was resting on my breast, and |
the tiny transparent hands lay like two lilies |
in the broad palm of Arthur. ! sang, in n
huShed voice, the songs he loved the best, and |
the setting sun sank slowly behind the sea.
Cool breezes, the plaSh of oars, and the rude |
song of sailors down the bay, came floating in |
upon us Nv darling lay and listened could
not see that his breathing grew fainter and !
fainter, and that the lids of the blue eyes were I
droopiug slowly towards each other. At last /
they closed, and thinkin he slept, | laid my !
weary head upon my husbands breast and /
tried to sleep also. A strange drowsiness, which |
was not sumber, crept over me- | started |
from it suddenly, at last, with an indistinctive
feeling that all was not well. Tears fell fast |
upon my cheek as lifted my head. They fell
| from the ewes of Arthur, who had sat and
thought while We were still
! bent over my little boy. The little cheek |
kissed seemed growing cold, and with sus-
pended breath listened to hear the beating |
| of his heart. lie moved slightly | call !
ed his name and then looked up in my face |
| with gentle smile.
| 1t failed soon, and he seemed to be Strug-
Cling with some terrible pain. Ills lips were
drawn back, his eyes upturncd, and his hand
clenched. | could not bear to look at him. 1