The Cass County Republican. [volume] (Dowagiac, Mich.) 18??-1880, 1861-09-19

.,uer The Charms OF Married Life. vcr4s
4 If in that chair yonder, not the one
your feet lie upon, but the other beside
you, closer yet, were seated a sweet
faced girl, with pretty little foot lying
out upon the hearth, a bit of lace run.
ming round the swelling throat, the hair
parted to a charm over forehead fair
as any of your dreams; and if you
could reach an arm around that char
back, without fear of giving offence.
I and suffer your fingers to play idly with
those curls that escape down the neck.
and could clasp with your other hand
those little white taper fingers of hers,
which lie SO temptihgly within reach,
and SO, talk softly and low in the pres
ence of the blaze, while the hours slip
without knowledge, and the winter
wind whistle uncared for, if in short,
you were no bachelor, but the husband
of some such sweet image dream call
it rather,) would it not be far pleasant
eri than cold night sitting single,
counting the sticks, reckoning the
length of the blaze, and the height of
the falling snow, rsal sav eaf'a9SnoD
Surly imagination would be stronger
and purer, if it could have the playful
fancies of dawning womanhood to der
light it. All toll would be- torn from
mind labor, if but another heart grew
Into this present soul, quickining it,
warming it, bidding it ever God speed.
Her face would make halo, rich as a
rainbow, atop of all such noisome
things as we lonely souls calls trouble.
Her smiles would illumine the blackest
of cares, and darkness that now, seats
you 'despondent in your solitary chair,
for days together weaving bitter fan
cies, dreaming bitter dreams, would
grow light and thin, and spread and
float away, chased by that beloved
smile. lpin-af ons 80 eu'' -arlf oA
Your friend. poor fellow! dies
never mind that gentle clasp Of, her
fingers as she steals behind you, telling
you not to weep-is worth ten friends
Your sister, sweet one, is dead
buried. The worms are busy with all
her fairness. How it makes you think
earth nothing but spot to dig graves
upon. 9sbemilfE tg9oza ruEosldNa5h
: 1t is more-she says she will be q
Isister,r and the waving curls, as she
leans upon your shoulder, touch your
cheek, and your wet eyes turn to meet
those other eyes-God has sent his an
lgel, surely !.ar.T -ssllorign;eo 1oT
Your mother, alas, she is goneI Is
| there any bitterness to a youth, alone
and homeless. like this? 2 .4-sarsr
, But you are not homeless yon are
not alone she is there !; her tears soften.
ing yours, her smile lighting yours, her
grief killing youts; and you live again
: to assuage that kind of sorrow of hers.
+ Then these children, rosy, fair
haired no, they do not disturb you
, with their prattle now-they are yours.
Toss away there, on the green sward I;
never mind the hyacinth, the snow
! drops; the perfume of their healthy
lips is worth all the flowers of the
world. No need now to gather wild
bouquets to love and cherish flower,
] tree, gem, are all dead things; liyelier
s hold your soul.i 9ii no z7o;eaaas siH
2 And she, the mother, sweetest and
. fairest of all, watching, tending, caress-
, ing, flowing, till her own heart grows
: panied with Htenderest jealousy and
cures itself with loving n .s5nsb
4 lIl You have no need now of cold
f lecture to each thankfnlness, your heart
e is full of it, No need now, as once,
0 of bursting blossom of trees taking
o leaf, and thankfully, forever beside
: you there is frnit for which eye, heart,
: and soul are full of unknown, unspo.
f ken-because unspeakable-thank Of
D ferings. 81 u .sfnEbf- t1oa iE snoiisS