Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1859-04-27

power to change that one cruel act !
Away from the rebuking record. writer
in his book of life in characters never t,
be erased. the grieving and repentan
man turned his eyes; but it was only Il
gaze upon another almost as painful L
behold, as this faded memory restored
other scenes in which he was the mean
selfish opposer. and she the loving, pa
tient, long suffering wife. II had eel
all exac;ion on his part, and gentle com
pliance on hers. even though eomplianc,
must often kaye been through reluctanct
or pain. He had been selfish ;yrant
she yielding. dutiful subject, though
often burdened beyond natures power o
endurance.
And now, as Mr. Carson read over the
past, he saw new meanings in slmus
every life incident. The sad eve; tht
pale, pleading face that grew thinner and
paler with every passing year. and al
most stony look tLat answered to his un
kind words; the silence that often sealed
her lips for hours after his arbitrary de
nials; all these and more, were present
10 him now, and he tried, but in vain. to
put them out Of sight.
How little had he taken her needs oI
mind or body into consideration during
all the years of their married life He
bad scarcely thought of her as being
with necessities like his own, but rather
as one given to be the servant of his
wants and pleasures. 1t mattered little
bow she thought. felt, or desired. II
ber action served him, that reached the
compass of his estimates.
Loving and patient" What a new
power TO smite him, as with whip oI
singing scorpions, with this testimony oI
the preacher gaining every moment
Yes she had been loving and patient.
Notwithstanding the cruel wrongs and
neglect, that snapped the foundations of
her life. Loving aud patient. though
daily she bent lower aud lower beneath
the heavy weight of her uncheered du
ties.
And these were the memories that
came beck upon the bereaved husband,
as he sat, with his motherless children,
in the home now made desolate There
had been IN angel in his house for years;
but in his blind selGshness he had not re
coguized her presence, even though her
hand crowned his days with comfort, and
made his pillow soft for him at night
And worse than this. for good deeds be
had returned harshness for love cold
ness; and for gentle words unkindly
speech.
Not a CLEAN Of consolation found its
way into this night of sorrow and sell
rehuke. Our dead return not. As we
have been TO them so will be our memo
ries of them; blessed or accusing mem
ories, according to our deeds.
How many hundreds of bereaved hus.
bands are sitting in the shadow of grief
to day, mourning for the departed ones.
whose loving presence will no more give
warmth and light to their dwellings
Ah! what are their companion thoughts?
What their crowded memories? What
their pictures for the past 4? Like those
Of Mr.. Carson ? Not all, we trust; yet
to all must come the recollection of acts
or omissions that the world, if we posses
ed it, would hardly seem too much to
give. if that great sacrifice could change
the record.
But TO those who have still their home
treasures around them, the lesson comes
with hope as well as rebuke. Ali how
little inclined are some men 10 think that
the patient accomplishing little ones,
who move daily through their dwellings,
have equal wants and aspirations with
themselves. How singulary inclined are
selfish, sensual minded mans wants,
yearnings, peculiarities and necessities!
Their range of thought and feeling sweeps
rudely away from hers. Their hearts
but rarely respond to the same touches of
sympathy. II, NV and then, a wife
drops her pure pearls of feeling at the
feet Of her husband, he trampIes them in
light scorn under bis feet, and she learns
from these sad experiences to keep sacred
her precious treasures. And so she with
draws more into herself, and, it may be,
turns to her husband some rougher side
of her character thus exposing one
that will suffer least from the rude con
tact to which she is daily exposed.
And who can tell in what externally
pleasant homes these heart martyrdoms
are going on. Beautiful mansions, richly
alfred, give charm and elegance to our
streets. They smile down upon US every
where, with their assurance of happy
hearts within. But every now and then
wan faces and sad dreamy eyes look out
upon US from the windows, or we catch
glimpses, through the futtering wells, of
hopeless countenaices, as victims of So
sial wrongs glide in and out of waiting
carriages. Alas! alas What mockery
OF life is all thisl If some are not patien