The semi-weekly mountain Democrat., 1860-09-08
Boy LONf.

Boy Lost.
He had black eyes, with lashes, red
cheeks, and hair almost black and almost
curly. He wore crimson plaid jacket,
with full trousers, buttoned on. Had
habit Of whistling, and liked to ask ques-
tons. Was accompanied by Q small black
dog. II is now long while since he dis
appeared l have very pleasant house
and much company. My guests say, Ah !
it is pleasant herel Everything has such
an Ordely, put-away look-nOthing about
under foot, no dirt !"
But my eyes are aching for the sight
Of whitlings and cut paper upon the floor;
Of tumbled-dOwn card houses; wooden
sheep and cattle of pop-guns, bows and
arrows, whips, tops, gO-carts, blocks and
trumpery. | want to see boats a.rig-
ging, and kites a-making. want to see
crumbles OIL the carpet, and paste split on
the kitchen table. | want to see the
chairs and tables turned the wrong way
about; ] want to see candy-making and
corn-pOpping and 10 find jack-knives and
ilsh-hooks among my musiins yet these
things used to fret me once.
Aucy SAN AAOW uuIeJ JOu uIc HSTC ;
ah one here may settle his brains and be
at peace" But my ears are aching for
the pattering of little feet for hearty
shout, Shrill whistle, gay ira 10 la, for
the crack Of little whips, for the noise OF
drums, flies, and tin trumpets yet these
things made me nervous once.
They say "Ah you have leasure-
nothing to disturb you; what heaps OF
sewing you have time for" But long
to be asked for peice Of string or an old
newspaper for cent to buy slate pen.
Gil or peanuts. want to be coaxcd for q
piece of new cloth for jibs or main-sail
and then to hem the same want to make
flags, and bags to hold marbles. want
to be followed by little feet all over the
house; teased for bitof dough for little
cake, or to bake pie in saucer. Yet
these things used to fidget me once.
They say All! you are not tied al
home. How delightful to be always al
liberty to go to concerts, lectures and par
tics no confinement for you "
But want confinement want to lis
ten for the school bell mornings to give
the last hasty wash and brush, and ther
to watch, from the window, nimble fee
bounding to school. want frequcn
rents to mend and to replace lost buttons
wanttO oblitcrate mud stains, fruit stains
molasscs stains, and paints of all cOlors
want to be sitting by little crib of eve
nings, when weary little feet arc at rest
and prattling voices are hushed, tina
mothers may sing their lullabies, and tel
over the of repeated stories. They don
know their happiness then, those mothers
| didn't All these things l called con
fineInent once.
A manly figure stands before me now
He is taller than /, has thick black whis
kers, and wears q frock coat, bosomc'
shirt and cravat. He has Just come from
college. He brings Latin and Greek il
his countenance, and busts Of the old phi
losophers for the sitting room. He call
me mother, but am rather unwilling t
own him.
lie stoutly declares that he is my boy
and says he will prove it. lie brings m
small pair Of white trousers, with ga,
stripes at the side, and asks If l didn'
make them for him when he joined tn
boys militia. He says he is the very boy
too, that made the bonfire near the barn
so that we came very near having fir
in earnest. He brings his little boat Il
show the red stripe on the sail, it wa
the end Of the peice, } and the name OF
the stern" Lucy Low"-a little girl o
our neighbOrhood, who, because other loni
curls and pretty round face, was the cho
sen favorite of my little boy. Her curl
were long since cut off, and she has grOwT
to be tall, handsome girl. How the ret
comes to his face when he shows me thu
name on the boat Oh see it all a
plain as il it were written in book. NJ,
little boy is lost. and my big boy will sooI
be. Oh l wish he were little tircC
boy in long white night gown, lying il
his crib, with me sitting by, holding hi
hand in mine, pushing the curls bacl
from his forehead, watching his eyelid
droop. and listening TO his deep breathing
III only had my little boy again, hov
patient would bel How much woul'
bear, and how little would fret and scold
| can never have him again but thci
are still many mothers who have not los
their little boys. wonder if they know
they are living their very best days-tha
now is the time to really enjoy their chill
dren think if had been more to M,
little boy, l might now be more to m,
grown up one.-JV JVareriy Mogdzine.
l