The Wheeling daily register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1864-1878, 1866-11-21

Weary of life. all, nO-hJIt al he : woe;
Weary OF MI it, troubles AMI it cares!
Willing 20 rcst-bccausc wei know
What tiraughts tlIc hand of Passion still pre-
parrs.
$50 tircdr' A little child came pant
me III from play, the orner nlgnt, anu
into its mothers lap, laid its
head upon her bosom, and uttered those
wo words. l saw the found young
mother brush the golden hair from the
darling's moist forehead, and press her
lips again and again to the flushed
checks. The shadows of evening were
falling fast around us, and the birds
had already sung themselves to sleep.
Little shoes and stockings were drawn
oil and laid aside-little weary feet
bathcd and cooled--a little uight-dreSS
took the place of the pretty blue frock
and white apron. and Tie boy was quiet.
When sigh OF satisfaction he nestled
closer in her arms; his blue eyes closed,
and her cradle-song grew lower and
lower as his breath came longer and
more regularly through his parted lips.
Happy sleep Of childhood! She rose and
went softly to her OWN room, TO lay him
in his little crib. and was left alone
Heaven knows what memory of time
when |, too, was Graded upon loving
brgaSt-whcn the dead mother, whose
face cannot remember, sung To me in
| the twiliG1it-came over me as took
IN the infants cry.
80 tired" \ man of business-a man
whose name is on bond on Wall
street. Why should he lean his head
upon his hand and sigh as the words
fall from his lips' Tired Of his gay and
busy life, of his elegant home, his fair
daughters, and his fashionable wife.
Tired of all these, and longing for the
little red farm house mp among the
hills of his native home, where he nscd
to play, bare-footed, light-hearted
boy! Even So, strange as it may seem.
Yet not 50 much for the farm house, as
for the happiness and innocence that
Staid behind with it, and which he can
never hope to find in his dusty office,
or his splendid home.
''So tired She has been loving
wife and an iudulgent mother. Six
strong sons has she reared beside tls,t
cottage hearth, but the grave has
claimed them all but two, and those the
world has taken. The husband of her
youth died long ago; and to-day, her
SiXtieth birthday, she sits alone in her
deserted homestead. To her boys she
is 'the old woman" to their brilliant
wives ~ good old thing, but SO old
faShioned:A to their homes and their
children almost a stranger. Her tears
fall rs she thinks of them in Il distant
city. gay. prosperous, wealthy and
happy, yet not remembering her, on
this day, even by a line. to say, Dear
mother, | love you.' This is her re-
ward for years of toll, care and anxiety.
She has outlived her generation, and
when she dies she will hardly be missed
by those to whom she has given health
and strength. and life itself. Poor
lonely old woman. Well may the bitter
tears fall fast-well may you long TO
die! For this is often the return for
love and devotion that have out watch
eli the stars, and seen the moon grow
pale!
$50 tired - Yes, turn from the bril-
liant crowd that listen eagerly for every
word you utter, fair songstress, and
heed what your heart is saying. Words
of fire may fall from your rapid pen
your own,wild soul may stamp its i'm
press upon the page before you-the
world may place the crown of laurel
upon your bowed head-hut il will be n
diadem of thorns. In the height of
triumph-in the fever of sncceSs-there
come sudden pause, and the iron win
enter your soul as you remember that
one voice is silent, and one face still,