The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1869-11-26
Tha 49, 81 Irarriad Lifa-

/ The Charm Of 1Tarrisd Life.
If in that chair ygndsr. not thD
one your fsetlie upens but the one be
sids you, closer yet. were seated
sweet-faced girl. with a pretty it'll,
foot lying out upon the hearth. q bi
of lace running around the swelling
throat, the hair parted to q charm ovel
a forehead fair az any Of Jour dreams
aud if yoa could reach an arm sronpe
that ehairback without fear of givfn
oaenss. and suffer your fingers t
play Idly with those curls that escaps
down The neck, aud # you could
clasp wish your hand those little
white taper fingers Of hers, which lie
SO tsmptingly within reach, and 70
talk softly aad low in ths presence Of
She blaze. while the hours slip With
out knowledge and the winter Winds
whistle uncared for; il, il short. you
were no bachelor. but the husband
Of some sweet image. would it not be
far more pleasant than 8 cold. single
night sitting, counting the sticks,
recknonipg the length of the blazs
and the height Of the falling snow
Surely imagination would be stFon
ger and pursr if it could have
playful faneies Of dawuing
hood e deHghtit. All.
be torn eHa mind; lab
other hear
seul aa
.eheeriu ---sn.
speed er face -
rich as bow, a s}op
noisoms things as We D
call trouble. Her smk
mine the bIsckest Of efo
AID darkness that now ss s.
pondent in your solitary days
together, viewing bisss taneies,
dreaming bitter dreams-would grow
light and thin and spread and float
away, chased by the beloved smile
Your friend, poor fellow, dies--never
mind that gentle clash of her fin
ger, 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. 1t is more she says
she will be a sister, and the waving
curls, as she leans upon your shoul-
der, touch her cheek, and your wet
eyes turn 10 meet other eyes-God
has sent His angel. Surely ! Your
mother-a as she is gone Is there
any bitterness to a youth slone and
friendless, like this. But you are
not homeless, you are not alone-shs
is there, her tears softeniDg yours,
her grief killing yours; and you live
again to sssuage that kind sorrow of
hers. Then these children-rosv,
fair-hairsd; no, they do not disturb
you with their prattle now-they are
yours. Toss away there on the green
swad; never mind the hyacinth, the
snowdrops or the violets, If 30 be any
there the perfume of these bealthful
lips are worth sll the flowers of the
world. No need to gather wild bo-
quets to love and cherish flowers,
tree, gum, all are dead things; things
livelier hold the soul. And she the
mother, sweetest and fairest of all,
Watching, tending, caressiug and loT.
ing, till your own heart grows painet
with tenderest jealousy, and ours it.
sslf with loving. You have no need
of cold lecture to teach thankful
ness your heart is full Of it. M
need now, as once, of bursting bios
SONS, of trees taking leaf and green
ness, turning thought kindly anC
thankfully forever beside you thsr,
is bloom, and ever beside you Their
is fruit. for which eye, heart and sou
are full of unknown, unspoken-be
cause of uuspeakable-tbank-Of offering