The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1860-08-17
BOY LOST.

llo uhu Dihck oybs Win iOnH ,thsnC, Lou
cheeks. and hair almost black and almost
curly. Ho wore crimson plaid JACKIE, with
full trousers buttoned on. Had habit Of
whistling, and liked to ask questions. Was
accompanied by q small black dog. lisa
long while now since he DISAPPEARED. havo
q very pleasant house and much company
My guests say, 'Ah! II Is pleasant 70 DO
here ! Every thing has such an orderly, put
AWAY look-nothing about under foot, no
dirt"
But my eyes are aching for the sight OF
whitlings and cut paper upon tho floor; OF
tumbled-down card.hOuses Of wooden sheep
and cattle; Of pop-guns, bow and arrows,
whips, tops, go-carts, blocks and trumpcry.
want to SEQ boats a-rigging and kits
a-making. want TO SEQ crumbles on tho
carpet, and paste split on the kitchen table.
I want to see the chairs and tables turned
the wrong way about; want to see candy
making and corn:popping and to find jack
knives and 6sb-hooks among my muslins;
yet there things used 10 fret mo once.
They say-"Ilow quiet you are hero ah!
one here may settle his brains and DO at
peace" But my ears are aching for the pat
tering of title feet; for hearty shout, o
shrill whistle, gay ira q Ia, for the crack
Of little whips, tor the noise oS drums. fifes
and tin trumpcts yet these things mado mo
nervous once.
They say-"Ah you have leisurc-noth.
ing to disturb you; what heaps Of sewing
you have time for" But long to DO dis
turbed I want to be asked for bi. Of string
or an old newspaper; for cent to buy o
slate pencil or peanuts. want TO DO coaxcd
for piece of new cloth for jibs and main
sails, and then TO hem tho samo want to
mako little flags, and bags to hold marbles.
I want to be followed by little feet oil over
the house teased for bit Of dough for
little cake, or to bake pie In sanccr. Yet
these things used to fdge. me once.
They say-"Ah! you arc not tied ut home.
How delightful to DO always at liberty for
concerts, lectures and parties; no confinc-
mcnt for you.
But want confinement; want TO listen
for the school bell mornings to give tho last
hasty wash and brush, and then 10 watch
from the window nimblo feet bounding away
to school; l want frequent rents to mend,
and to replace lost buttons; I want TO oblit-
crate mud stains, fruit stains, molaSes stains,
and paints Of oil colors. want 10 bc sit
ting BY little crib Of evenings, when wcary
little feet arc ut rest, and pattling voices
are hushed, that mothers may sing their lul-
labies, and tell over the oftrepcated stories.
They don't know their happiness then, those
mothers. ! didn't. All these things called
confinement once.
-
A manly figure stands before me now. Ho
Is taller than I, has thick black whiskcrs and
wears frock coat, bosomcd shirt and crayat.
He has just como from college. Ilo brings
Latin and Greek in his countenancc, and
busts Of the old philosophers for the sitting
room. He calls me mother, but am rather
unwilling to own him.
He stoutly declares that he Is my boy, and
says he will prove il. lie brings mo small
pair Of white trousers, with gay stripes ut
tho sides, and asks II didn't mako them for
him when he Joined the boys militia? lIo
says he Is tho very boy, too, that made tho
bonfire near the barn, 30 that we came near
having fire In earnest. llo brings his lit
tie boat to show tho red strips on the sail (it
was the end OF tho piece) and tho name on
the stcrn-'Lucy Lowe'-a little girl Of our
ncighbor, who, because Of her long curls,
and pretty, round face, was the chosen favor
ito oil my little boy. Her curls were long
since cut oil, and she has grown 10 tall,
handsome girl. How the red comes to his
face when he shows mo tho namc on tho
boat. Oh! sec 1t all M plain as II II wero
written In book. My little boy Is lost and
my big boy will soon be. Oh! wish ho
were little tired boy in long white night
gown, lying IN his crib, with me sitting
by, holding his hand In mine, pushing tho
curls back from bis forehead, watching his
eyelids droop, and listening to his deep brcath-
Ing.
II only had my little boy again, how
patient would bo! How much would
bear, and how little would fret and rcold!
| can never have him hack again; but there
are still many mothers who haven't yet lost
their little boys. wonder IL they know
they are living their very best days; that
now is the timclo really enjoy their chill.
dren think IL had been more to my
little boy might now be moro to my grown
up onc.-Wdrriy Mcga:ine.