Marshall County Democrat. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1855-1859, 1858-06-03

Englishmen. of little Tom Whittingtons
and great Bow-Bells, built pretty casles in
the air, rode on airy nothings, and shut
our eyes to behold little frmaments ofsun-
shine and glory revolving at our pleasure:
and then the sea-coal fire was full of ina
ges; sometimes it would have trim locking
there was grandfather tottering onward
with his staff, Till one full blaze sent him
into nothingness; mother had stern old
bachelor always looking at her, and !
sometimes fancied-it was but a fancy
that little child in innocence wooed me
as lover.
Alas! these little thousand images are
gone; we no longer close our eyes to invite
feeling of dreaminess; it would only
bring back to our memory the things that
are gone forever.
A real child of flesh and blood, whom
we all loved, made us much mirth. His
little blue eyes and roguish laugh, always
full Of life. and such plump, round faced
little fellow. happy and as joyous as bird
in spring.
Yes. but this child is growing out of
these habits and looks every day. and II
we see him again perhaps we may not be
able to recognize him. That image that
we treasured up in our memory will not
answer for him. Affection is a corporeal
conservative to absent ones. How oft have
we indulged the thought if we had the little
one by our side we could bury our cares
by tossing him in our arms.
Not altogether in idle talk or fairy my.
thology were our evenings spent Moth
er had too deep reverence due to an all
wise Con to counsel this. Each repast
found US offering up our thanks for the
blessings we enjoyed. not of our own mer-
it, but of the fruits of mercy and compass
sion. The Bible oft was read: and at night
(it is sweet remembrance to us)mother
taught our infant lips to repeat the Christ
ian's prayer, and chen with kiss and an
invocation to Con to bless US and keep US
always under His care and by her roof.
she half in sadness and half in joy left us
for the night. Sometimes when she
thought we were all asleep, she came, per-
haps once, perhaps oftener, to look at us
again. Yet we did much to make her sor-
owful, committed wrong and panied her
heart deeply. and now the very thought ol
these things presses upon US heavily, and
we can only say: Blessed be GoD for a
mothers love, pure and unde6led, that
hopes and lives and loves for the wayward
and the wicked. Here is no interest min
gled with respect. here is no compassion
wound up in cold looks and lofty bearings
but free and extended arm. and voice
that gives utterance only to assure that VIC
have true friend.
Not lightly would We portray the char
acter of mother endeared to ms by al
that is noble and good. There are foun.
aims of bliss that exist not for th4 world
it is sufficient that the flower blooms and
flourishes in quietude.
We love not our birthplace because it i,
, peculiarly picturesque or beautiful, be
cause it is hallowed by the association o
great deeds of valor, or that sanctity her.
) has built itself quiet retreats and found ,
, resting in days gone by; it is for none o
; these things that we care aught. If tht
hills were as barren as the desert. and tn,
valley possessed no lovely retreat, it woulG
still be the same cherished place. W.
love it simply from early association. 1
, is place where eve ry mans heaat cen
ters, where he hopes one day to return ant
build up name, or to lay one aside to be
? come the counsellor and friend of the poo1
f and needy. We look at home as it was il
our early days. There was the cottagt
. half hid in honeysuckles and graceful run
ming roses. with an old apple-tree close BY
3 known by all school-boys. and school-mates 8
t the garden. neatly bordered with box, here
Q a stalk, there a lily; in this corner swes
perfuming geranium. in that diffidsn
hearts-ease; the center Was full of cluster
| roses, carnations and fusia, and then ther,
f were the garden fences. inclosing bushes
r the delight of fjuvenilty. Some little un
$ known birds, bold at our hospitality. bull
s their nests and reared their young in nook
D of the garden.
In This quiet. secluded home we passet
9 many happy days. Men called it tn,
/: grove. Tall elms stretched their maiesti,
heads high in the air and played with th'
5 wayvard wind.
Il The parish church. with the adjoining
ruins of the once-renowned monastery O
the White Friars, and the massive ston,
walls encompassing the town, stood a
monuments Of the industry of the men o