The Perrysburg journal. [volume] (Perrysburg, Ohio) 1853-1861, 1857-05-07
A Dive Into a Box Of Pearls.

Hare you ever seen schoolgirls " box OF pearls ?"
Even il, my dear reader, you happen to have
been doomed from birth TO corluroys and long
mines, you wero perhaps, somewhere in the rosy
days of marbles and hop scotch tempted to be-
hold, and admire with the boyish whow !! and
woaIer how such tangible rainbow could be
crowded into so small II compass.
well then, il yol have you are in possession Of
an idea of complete conglomcralion OF gems in
instant greater prepoaderance of variegation in
color AMI shape than the mother of pearl (that
very prolific mana J ever deigned to yield at a
glance to the most rapacious. How they astonsh
dazzle, exhaust, subsile, reillumo and blaze at a
slight shake! hold one of these treasure boxes of
young girlhood in my hanl. The colors OF these
gems give me an emotion of deep interest, desire
to listen, as one when a leaf of hidden history has
been glanced into or, when an audible voice has
spoken of the hopes and fears, the joys and sor-
rows that every human heart throbs under Shall
tell you how read them, Or rather how they
read to me Blue and orange, flashing as belle,
increasingly anxious to chlrm-or widow grave-lrcsh-
ened for conquest red and back,set me shivering
as if hatred aud death were glowering down upon
me yellow and green, that reminds me Of butter
cups in their tenderest emerald setting ;-pinks,
tingel like the lip of day as her lords parting
kiss she ngeringIy sips; purple, in shades fit for
regality; vioets, violet only violet can be and
white, pure enough to be the dress of angels.
Such box do hold in my fingers, But men,
ory il jealous, brings forth richer Thanks most
opulent memory. Pearls pearls ! ! pearls!
What a shame that not one is indigenous to the
soil to which, wish mach tender reverence aud love
they were transplanted ! If longing to be, would
be one, howincomparably wealthy sone folks would
become
"7he thing we long for, that We are
For one transcGnIdnt mOmen1r
says Lowell,
Comforting, very for the moment, j it be true
1t may be true, yet to live in a world full OF one
own creations, Hsayen-born H.ayon-tending
"Heayen's air is better than the dull, cold grave
of life-lifo spent in Iongng9 longngs that III
iron realities heap on hope till, wted and doomeC
it yet wonders over its transmogrications, and will
faded eyes moums for the rosy days waen the re
aIizution of an imagined futuriiy OF bliss seemed
but brsath oil, or like the tempting smiles o.
one not yet ours, but to be ours when the inter
yening moment has thrown huriedy to the pas
! its cnyious seconds
"ThoaSA.s of the dead are always sad, and vet,
Those We have loved we never can forget"
And who does not love the dreams that came il
gladness though they faded out, the mcrest illus
ioas that ever misled poor mortal
But each day brings its petty dust
| Our soon chOked soul to fill,
And forget because we must,
u And not because we will"
This last came from the casket of invaluable
that Mathew Arnold gave us. like him in spit
of few critics who, tripping over hair, tina
perhaps happens to be red,Nhen, according to thci
notions, it should be black, croak him down as II
poet Pity that perpexing hair couldn't choa
| EN- No Poetg | wonder if they expect tho
criticisms to live as long his hair-spIiting lines
He is careless 10 the construction of his sentences
5 said one with green glitter in Lis eyes III b