Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1857-09-23


Weary OF its troubles and its cares
Willing to rest-beeause well know
What draughts the hand of Passion still prepared
$50 tired!'
A little child came painting in from
play the other night, and climbing into
his mothers lap, laid its head upon her
bosom, and uttered those two word S.
l saw the fond young mother brush the
golden hair from the darling's moist fore
head. and press her lips again and again
to the flushed cheeks. The shadows of
evening were falling fast around US, and
the birds had already sung themselves
to sleep. Little shoes and stockings were
drawn off and laid aside-little weary
feet bathed and cooled-a little night
dress took the place of the pretty blue
frock and white apron, and the boy was
quiet. With a sigh of satisfaction he
nestled closer in her arms; his blue eyes
closed, and her cradle song grew lower
and lower as his breath came longer
and more regularly through his parted
lips. Happy sleep of Childhood She
rose and went softly to her room. Heav-
en- knows what memory of a time when
I, too, was graded upon loving breast
when the dead mother whose face can
not remember, sung to me in twilight
came over me as took up the infants
cry.
80 tiredl"
Aman OF business man whose name
is bond in Wall street. Why should
he lean bis head upon his hand and sigh
as the words fall upon his lips? Tired of
his gay and busy life, of his elegant home,
his fair daugters, and his fashionable
wife? Tired OF all these. and longing
for little red farm house up among the
hills OF his native home, where he used
to play, bale footed, light hearted boy?
Even so, strange as it may seeml Yet
not so much for the farm house, as for
the happiness and innocence that staid
behind it, and which he can never hope
TO find in his dusty office, or splendid
home.
$50 tiredI"
She has been loving wife and ,indul-
gent mother. Six strong sons has she
reared beside her cottage hearth. but
the grave has claimed them all but two,
and those the world has taken. The
husband of her youth did long. long
ago: and 10 day, her sixtieth birth day,
she sits alone in the deserted homestead.
To her boys she is "the old woman" to
their brilliant wives 'a good old thing,
but so old fashioned;" TO their homes
and their children almost a stranger
Her tears fall as she thinks of them in
the distant city, gay, prosperous, wealthy
and happy, yet not remembering her, on
this day, even by line to say, Dear
mother, 1 love you" This is her re-
ward for years of toll. and care. and
anxiety. She has outlived her genera
tions, and when she dies she will hardly
be missed by those to whom she has
givenh health, and strength, and life itself.
Poor, lonely old woman! Well may the
bitter tears fall fast-well may you long
to die! For this is often the return for
love and devotion that have outwatched
the stars, and seen the moon grow palel
$50 tired!'
Yes, turn from the brilliant crowd
that listens eagerly for every word you
utter. fair sougstress, and heed what
your heart is saying. Words of fire may
fall from your rapid pen-your own
wild soul may stamp its impress upon
the page before you-tbe world may
place the crown of laurel upon your
bowed head-but will it not be dIadem
of thorns? In the hight of triumph
in the fever Of success-there will come
sudden pause and the iron will enter
your soul as you remember that one
voice is silent, and one face still, calm
and cold. Fame, wealth, success-ohi
what are these 10 happiness? Vanity,
vanity all, and "vexation Of spirit" and
you bow your head and weep to think it
should be so!
Oh! little child yet not released from
thy mothers care, it would be better for
thee to sleep into the tranquil sleep of
death, within the shelter of her arms,
than to tread the path which we are
There are sharp thorns hid
den among the fairest flowers-there are
treacherous quicksands in the sweetest
valleys. God help thee, boy, for only a
hand from Heaven can lead thee safely
there. The golden hair will turn to sill
yer, it may be, and the blue eyes will
wear an anxious look before the painful
Journey is half done, and evil shapes
will mock and mutter when thy heart
faileth thee, and thy steps are faint.
$50 tiredl"
Ny boy, cling closer to thy mather's
oreastI For a day will surely come
when thy lips will utter these self same
words, and she will not be beside thee,
% hush thee into fOrgetfulress of thy
rouble. God help thee, then, and lead
hee to the only refuge "where the wick
ID cease from troubling and the weary
ire at restl''