Preble County Democrat. [volume] (Eaton, Ohio) 1857-1859, 1858-11-18
NO SORROW LIKE MlNG.
BY VIRGINIA F. Townsend.

into her voice; she olasped her hand
over her eyes, and the tears broke thro
I her 6ngers-such salt, bitter tears a
could only break up from a mother.
heart-a mother robbed of her frs
born |! tl z.>t t.'= - -ae -.'.- :
Two weeks ago that very day he hat
been with her. IN. the ehambersNher
g ) ) D Il Ill IS
and -desolation, the little. joyous .hea,
huttering about the room, the little rest
less feet pattering along the floor, ant
the little glad voice breaking up ia
fquick shouts of laughter, or lisping out
those pretty broken words and eDtrea,
ties which are such sweet music to &
mothers heart; and now
There stood in the corner the little
crib, with its pretty lace curtains, and
over it hangs the snowy apron and en-
broidered merino dress he had last worn
and at the foot lay the little morocco
slippers that the mother couldn't have
removed from her sight, though the
feet that had worn them now lay folded
| close. together, and down SO deep under
the grass that no warmth of the sunshine
could ever reach them.
''Dou't, Mary, don't! 1t might have
been worse. Remember there are sor-
rows greater than yours, p said the soft,
plying voice of Mrs, Howard, the la
dy's most intimate friend, who was pass
ling the morning with her.
Thei stricken woman looked up in in
|credulous astonishment, that checked
for a moment the flow of tears. GLOW
can you tell ME this, Helen p she ex-
claimed, in voice broken with grief
and wounded feeling; ''he was my only
boy, my little Harry, with but two
years and five months over his golden
head; and ! loved him SO; and thea /
don't believe there ever was another
quite SO pretty and bright a child.
"You know, too, how nay very heart
was bound up in him; how, if / ever
ran out an hour, was7neyer easy until
l got back to. him again; and how !
got to sleep in the crib there, with one
little chubby hand wrapped up like a
lilly under his check, and the smiles
crimping up his red lip; and then, just
to think. of his pretty, frolicksome, teas
ing way, that made me stop every other
minute and hug him up to my heart,
and cover his face with kisses. OH,
Harry my baby, my precious baby -
shall never see you .againi Surely,
Helen, there never was sorrow like un-
to my sorrow and the sobs broke out
again. -H' -"-- ~ .-s-'.' +i
"Yes, Mary, there was," and Mrs.
Howard's solemn tones checked the
tears of her friend Il know of sor-
row with whose bitterness yours is no
comparison, and has come into our fam
lily, unto my own and only sister, for
her pride, her idol, her Herbert Is an
prison." i aaf44 -.t-.. ....r. -..-
oh, Helen p cried Mrs. Sprague,
springing up from her chair with a
shudder, while she looked at the pale,
working features of her friend, '.how
you horrify me !''aft >:arG .Ea I.
81 cannot talk of it, Mary, or it will
drive me, as it has his mother, frantic.
You saw him in his childhood, and can
remember what beautiful promising
boy he was; but he was impetuous, and
fond of society, and all sorts of fun,
and his mother was doting and indul-
gent; and So he grew up to his seven
teenth birthday, reckless and self will
ed, though he was too kind hearted to
be ever malicious. 81 yaassui ~ :. :
81 must make the story short-he
fell into bad company, and bad habits;
and one night, when quite intoxicated,
he was persuaded to.joinA some incendi-
aries. The ring leaders were detected,
and the boy was sentenced to year in
the penitentiary, which might have been
ten, only his youth plead hard with the
kind hearted Judge; and now he lies
down at night in felon's CELL while
his poor broken hearted mother PAGES
her room. with the tears streaming
down her wasted checks as she means
over and over these words IF he had
but died when keswas baby if he had
but died then 7 -. -~ 80 l .,'"
And Mrs. Sprague listened to this
story with mingled horror and sympa-
thy, which made her forget her own
grief, and at its close she said solemnly:
Yes, Helen, her sorrow is greater than
mine. had ten thousand times rather
Harry had died than lived for this"
And for you, oh, stricken mother,
who have laid down, with such heart
aches as God best knowethSthe child of
your love, do I write this story. There
is sorrow that is heavier than deaths,
the sorrow of sin and shame; and from
this the little one, over whose bosom is
set the green seal of the Summer grass.
lis forever delivered. The child walks
in tha: blessed country where no dis
grace shall ever scar its soul or crimson
| its cheek, and bitter as is the cup ap
pointed you to drink it will not bring
L IL,
causes a mother TO cry out for her child;
Would he had died = '.,.-- r--..- 5...,
Be comforted, you who have given up
the sweet, fragrant blossoms of your
lives to adorn the garden of your God.
1t may be, if your hands could roll
away the curtains of the future year. so
that you could behold what awaited
your beloved on erth, you wo uld say:
fIt is better that God called them" '-
"<e Novt ThurzdS iS ankspivinp