The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1863-10-15


around his neck. embraced him with delight.
He answed my caress with low whlmper,
which told me / was understood L looked
for nv rifle Fortunately it had not sunk
deem and | soon found it. My boots were
left behind, but stayed not to look for them
being smitten with dread Of the place | had
left them in, and grateful, ! trust to KIND
Providence for my unlocked Tor preservation
For the Telegraph.
Waiting for the Cars.
While we sit here in little country station
house, waiting with listening ear for the shrill
whistle to announce the coming of the 'fast
horse" that is to bear us over the iron rail,
our thoughts with nimble feet, go bounding
back over two years in time, and quite good
many miles in distance, and stop at the depot
where we last sat waiting for the cars.
Again we are surrounded by happy group,
to whom only few months ago, we came a
strangers but the many little joys and sor-
rows, hopes and fears, anticipations and dis
appointments that since then our heart has
shared with theirs have been so many golden
links to bind us together, and we have not
known before how much we loved them
They have come to bid us good by
for only two weeks vacation, but then we
do not know what may happen in two weeks
The little curly-headed girl whose face has
been growing paler, eyes brighter, and heart
for no the
bosom of the Great Teacher, ere that time
rolls away but bark! the cars are coming I;
so with tears in our eyes, we kiss all the girls
and the little boys, shake hands with the
large boys, and in a few minutes more the
waving handkerchief are only white specks
in the distance, soon lost to sight, and with
long sigh drawn from sad heart we turn
ed to take look at our travelling eompan-
ions
Next us sits pale sad looking lady, dress
ed in mourning, and we know that her heart
''WitLered and lone Ike the flowers that lie
Cod and pale meath the winter sky,
Stays with some dear sleeping low
Out IN the church yard under the snow >
She seems to be alone, and we long to speak
kindly to her; but there is so much noise that
if our voice were strong enough for her to
hear, we fear that it might be too harsh for
soothing; but we do breathe a silent prayer
that whoever sac is, whatever her sorrow may
be, Gods good angels may make smooth the
rest of her life's pathway, and that He him
self may guide her weary feet upon it up to
heaven.
Just across from us sits tall man with a
hard sour looking face, and we wonder if he
is going home and if he has wife and little
children, and if they would dare put their
arms around his neck and kiss him. We don't
believe he loved anybody, for when the baby
in the next seat, claps his little hands togeth-
er and laughs at him. he does not even smile,
but looks just as cross as ever, and we pity
him. Perhaps there is a great sorrow buried
down deep i'll his heart and he wears this icy ex-
terror to keep the world from knowing it, If
So he has yet to learn what is the mission of
sorrow upon the earth.
But the little baby is growing and laughing
and we see bright, beautiful and holy things
in his pure sweet face.
'.lieaven lies about us in our infancy
and he who can look into the face of a child
Especially when it is laughing) without hav-
ing born in him, little if not great deal of
the faith, hope and love, that come from heav-
Ell, has not soul to appreciate heavenly
things, and we should Judge him to be very
nearly related to the man, who when taken
to see achoce collection of statues, remarked,
that they would make frst-rate scare-crows.
We do pity, and we believe God pities such
men.
The door is opened, and the cold wind irri
tates our cough-a cough that has been troub-
ling anxious friends for sometime; but we
have felt no fear 1t will be better when
pleasant weather comes. A gentle hand is
laid upon our shoulder and on turning around
we find that the sad looking lady has taken
the seat just behind us, and it is her voice
a sweet earnest voice-that asks-Have you
had that cough long ? and while the words of
the soul Poet uncalled rise from the heart
What music certes can you find
So sweet voices which are kind
She tells us how it frightens her to hear
cough-how long years ago her husband died
of consumption, when they had been married
but two years, how her heart must have bro
ken, and she have been laid by his side in the
grave, had it not been for the dear little babe,
who so much needed a mothers love and care,
how year after year she watched her child SO
tenderly and anxiously until she had almost
grown to womanhood- her eyes and hair
were Just the color Of her own, and when she
saw our face it looked 50 much like her daught-
er's that she wantedto come and talk with
us. Dear woman. our heart and eyes are
full, we cannot speak, so we take her hand in
ours and press it She died a year ago."
finishes the sad story, and we can only press
her hand a little tighter, while with full
heart, we pray, God comfort her.
The cars have stopped. 1t is the place for
us to get of. With another clasp Of the hand,
and kiss upon the wet cheek, that have in
them more of love and sympathy than many
words could tell, we part with the sad looking
lady, cast another look of pity upon the cross
man, who is asleep, give the baby an apple,
then step out into the cold air and try to keep
from coughing until the cars have gone.
My reverie is ended; and here l am at the
little station house, just where stepped from
the cars two years ago, and just where l have
been waiting for the cars for the last half
hour. But where is the group at the depot !?