The Weekly Perrysburg journal. [volume] (Perrysburg, O. [Ohio]) 1861-1???, 1864-02-24
Coming and GoIiag.

Sunshine AMI shadow come and gn altor-
natcly, or with mingled influence checker
the scenes of life. The first coming Oi Il
child into the household is moro than the
advent of an angel. a divine messenger
might more surprise us, might play upon
our wonder and fear, or give food for re-
1cction by his message.
Rut child comes from as mysterious and
strange a land ~ the unknown sliy. Every
day the IittIo thing fills ,t1 with questions
and wonders Of Thought. One child is II
wholo population. What Is it! what will
it become? how shall we rear iR what is it
dOins to ~, AMI within us? These thoughts
como and 20, in light and shadow, iu hope
and fear, in glalness and sorrow, with foot
falls as numerous as if wlolc host, and
not one little baio, wcrc the subject OF them.
But OF the coming of these little ones poets
and parents have written abuuimtly.
What about their going? When thoy go
but to return no moro, we believe that the
door of the Fathers houso has opened, and
they are safely at home. We wccp-not
because they are inside of the Cato but
because we are on the ontsdo and tho door
is shut
Bnt thcro are other going9 beside these
upward and heavenly ones. Children grow
up. Nothing grows SO fast rs Children 1t
was but yesterday, and that lad was play
ing with tops, II bouyaut boy. lie ia man
and gone now! Ills foot is in tho field, his
hand upon the sword. There is no more
childhood for him or for us. Life has
claimed him. When beginning is made,
it is like ravclinS stocking stitch by stitch
gives way. till all are gone. The house
has not child in it. There is no more
noise in the hall-boys rushing in pcI.mcl
it il very orderly now. There are no
moro skates or scds, bats, bells or Btrings,
left scattered about. Things arc neat
enough now.
There is no delay of breakfast for sleepy
folks; ;thcro is no longer any task before you
lie down of looking after anybody and tuck
ing up tho bcdclothcs. There are no dis
putcs to sottle, nobody to get of to school,
no complaints, no opportunities for impos-
siblc thngG, no rips to mend, no fingers
to ito up, no faces to bo washed, or collars
to be arranged. There was never such
peace in the houScl 1t would sound like
music to have somcr feet clattcr down the
front stairs! Oh, for some ohlldrcns noise
What used to all us. that we were hush!
ing their loud laugh checking their noisy
frolic-and rcprovinG their Stunning and
banging doors? We wish our noighhurs
make little noise in these premises. A
house without children? 1t is like lantern
and no candle n garden with no flowers; u
vino and no grapes; brook with no water
gurglng and gushing in its channel. We
want to he tired, to be vcXcd, to be run over,
to hear child life ut work With all its varic-
ties
During tho secular days, this is enough
marked. But it is Sunday that puts an
American homo toproor That is the Chris
tain family day. Tho intervals of public
worship arc long spaces of peace. The
family seems made up on that day. Tho
children arc at home. Iou can lay your
hand ON their heads, They seem to rocog-
Mise the great and lesser Lovc--to God and
to friends. Tho house is peaceful but not
still. There is Il low and mclodions thrill
of children in it. But Sunday comes too
still now. There is a silence that aches in
!ho ear. There is too much room at the ta-
bio, too much at the hearth. Tho bedrooms
are n world too orderly. There is too
much leisure and too littlc care.
Alas. what moan these things? Il some
body growing old2 Arc these sigus and to-
kens? Is life waning?
All summer long tho great full l-bvoastet
tree has covered its branches 10y number,
less leaves, and whirlcd them in tho wint
for music, and covered the little birds from
sight that sung or builded within. 1t wa,
| green and strong, and musical, At lengtl
u single Leaf hangs in the tree with n bril-
liant color You look at il aud sigh, ut i
the first | havo seen this summer; thcr,
will now be moro such" Tc-mowow it falls
Others ripen aud follow. Ere long the tire,
grows thin. Every wind lifts many OF then
and hands them down to the ground. Ever
day thcro Is less sound in the tree; every da
more of rustlmg leaves along tho fence,
At length after a rain, aud windy buffet
ing, the trco holds out its barron arms, an
there arc nowhere leaves upon them. Wal
o tree! There are buds and leaves yet. Onl
between thee and them is slccp-buriu
! resurrection, Winter is como, but so ais
is Spring coming. ~ T. MHypca&'E