The Dawson news. (Dawson, Ga.) 1889-current, 1893-09-27
TWO PEN PICTURES.

an eagle III HIS lllSut.
But instead of seeing 1.-THE lights of
the village CLEAN through the rain and
the MIST" | only see the light of the
stars, as they zone out, one by one, ON
tour of inspection, so it seems. Occa-
sionally l catch'a CLEAN OF the beacon
light of homes scattered here and there
in the village. L have been restless and
disconnected all day, and as | sit here
all alone in the CLEANING, thinking,
thinking till my brain seems all running
together with daily cares, disappoint-
ments, hopes, and the longing for s"me-
thing higher and better-"the peace
which passeth all understandings
peace of soul Il stopped suddenly to
listen to voice which has been singing
there in little white cottage across the
street for half an hour or more, but, in
nv self-absorption, have not listened
to il before. 1t is not beautiful voice,
but | am sure the blue-eyed boy the
grooming mother rocks to sleep thinks it
the most5beautiful voice in the world,
because it is mothers. The little home
is very plain. with no luxuries; but with
in this humble home there is one love |
can never possess again-a mothers
love. The bare, but white floor
resounds with the rocking of the old
wooden rocker which is keeping time
to the lullaby she sings. The twilight
deepens, and the stars, as if growing i'm
paten have all rushed out together, to
find the same old world to be made
brighter and happier by their light.
She stops her singing to listen for The
music of loved football, and the click
of the gate, which tells of the fathers
coming. The bluc-eyed boy sleeps on.
with never thought of care, dreaming
perpaps of nigel voices, between which
he can scarcely distinguish his mothers.
And still she sings
''rm tired now and sleepy, toe,
Come put me in my little bed
Across the meadow comes father,
whisthng CLONE, Sweet Home, with
tinkling cow-bells as an Accompaniment.
He pauses at the gate to listen to the
song she sings, and his heart bounds
with Joy unspeakable. Yet he pauses,
thinks. and sighs. He is reminded of
voice long Lushed, which rocked him to
sleep with that song; and so we are
made to appreciate our present joys by
those we have lost.
ON the wings of Memory l cross the
Blue Ridge mountains, leaving far bc-
hind me the now sleeping village, and
the blue-eyed boy and his mother. l
see another village, away down in the
plains of Georgia. $40 tall mountain
peaks stand guard over it. Only the
blue of heaven, as far as the eye can see.
In an old Southern home. surrounded
by great old trees which seem to hold
out their protecting arms. The same
oil dispute Is raised between the crick-
cts and the katiedds, with the continued
avowal of the latter-"Kotie did! Katie
didr' tits eventide here, and a mother
sits rocking and singing to sleep little
girl who seems to have caught all the
vanishing sunlight in her hair. Lee us
look atthe sweet face which bends so
tenderly over the little burden in her
arms. All, the burden would be great,
indeed were these arms empty. Now
we can see the face as she lifts her soul
in silent prayer for her little one. Dark,
silken hair, with yet no thread of silver
woven in it by time. 1t is put back
from a pure white brow Eyes-how
shall! | describe them? Brown as au-
tumn leaves, with the ray of lovelight ia
them which keeps them aglow like rays
of sunlight on dewy autuma Leaves, \
dear, sweet mouth, always ready to kiss
away pain. Wrinkles, there are few,
caused by relentless care; but they make
her beautiful, for are they not smiles
which have but drifted from their moor
ing? And SO she sings to rest the sunny
haired baby, who only knows as yet the
world holds aught but mother.
Sleep on, little one, peacefully on
mothers breast. Too soon you Will be
left with only memory to cling to.
can almost feel the clasp of her arms
about me, and hear the sweet echo of
her voice.
But, no; any borrowed wings have
suddenly let me fall away up here IN the
mountains. The little house across the
way is all hushed i'll slumber now, and |