Rensselaer Gazette, Volume 3, Number 25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 October 1859 — NELL NARLIE, No. IV. [ARTICLE]

NELL NARLIE, No. IV.

I The evening was beautiful, the ocean calm. A solitary vessel’s canvass was spread to catch the faintest breeze that might be passing. The sound of distant bells came floating over the waters, so clear and distinct the mariner could not doubt their tones though no ship was in sight, no land for many leagues. From whence came the sound be could not tell, but as the bell again tolled out on the stilly air in answer to the salute of his booming cannon he felt sure that though beyond his ken, others were sailing over the trackess deep—hearts, like his own throbbing with hopes and fears. It is thus with voyages on the sea of life. In my far off Ohio home I hear the echoing of the distant bells of Hesperia and would again return salute while passing over the changeful waters of destiny; their chimings tell that other barks are “sailing o’er life’s solemn main ” with their precious spirit-freight, all in quest of that Utopian shore where all hopes are to be fulfilled and sorrows fade into rapturous bliss. Months have passed from us likq shadows from off the figures on a dial since our last exchange of greeting—what tidings have they borne away to be graven on ever during recoids—what inscriptions has Time written on the tombs of the buried days. While birds have been floating in liquid melody the livelong summc- day, have we woven their songs into our life and our hearts re-echoed their choral song of praise to Deity for daily blessings? While the forests have been weaving and arrano-in'* their beautiful garments, have we been preparing robes of charity ! as they have gathered new strength by resistance to the raging storm and fierce blast, have we found [ new energy and a higher purpose by battling I bravely with the storms of life.' While the unsightly sod has changed to living green, fragrant clover and nodding blossoms, has unselfishness clothed the heart with verdure kindness shed its aroma, love opened her rose-hued flowers there ’ Alas for many ! for melody is as harsh sounds, strength of purpose has gone out from them, the desire for a purer life stifled in the pursuit of gain or pleasure, by the bitterness of regret, or perhaps crushed by the hand of thankless toil; or more pitiful still—the vital life is paralyzed and lies embalmed and hidden fn the mummy case of some great hope long since dead—for life has sorrows deeper* darker than the grave and “In the shadow of each pleasant tree, a grief sits idly sobbing to its leaves.” But swe tis the burden of a quaint old song that comes ebbing back on the tide of memory “Earth has no sorrows that heaven casnot heal.” Few, probably, have realized the visions of the ideal period of youth, and as we turn back the leave? of our heart-journal to the record of those sweet dreams and decipher their half forgotten hieroglyphic language, we experience anew the settling down of the shadows of fond hopes that have sunk behind the horizon of life. Regret says “It might have been.” “God pity us all Who vainly the droums of youth recall, For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are those, it mijht have oeen.” Such recurrence to the past is judicious only as we address ourselves to the task of conning the lesson written there Perhaps

out aim was unworthy the efforts of immortal natures, though attractively arrayed in the glamour ot pleasure; and the chaliced goblet dashed away ere pressed to our lips contained a poisonous draught. Childhood loves not the restraint of parental authority—youth loves pleasure more than prudence, and maturer years leo often continue the pursuit of folly to the concluding act of the drama of life unless restrained by the chastening hand of seeming evil. Well for us if we recognize by whom and for what purpose it is laid upon us and earnestly ask “What would He have this evil do for me, What is its mission? what its ministry? What golden fruit lies hidden in its husk? How shall it nurse my virtue, nerve my will, Chasten my passions, purify my' love.” “God seeks for virtue, and that it may live it must resist.” •. “Wo may win by toil Endurance, saintly fortitude by pein, By sickness patience,,faith and trust by fear— But the great stimulus that spurs to life ' And crowds to generous development Is the temptation of the soul to sin Resisted and re-conquered evermore.” These golden sheaves of thought bound together in that beautiful and excellent poem of Holland’s Bitter-sweet, we may gather into the store-house of memory, scatter the precious germs of wisdom in our hearts, deep-plowed furrtvvs and their fruit shall be—peace and trust. Bitter-sweet, first the trial then the reward. If life be bitter, let its close be sweet. The mist rises from the valley and floats away in the ether blue—so may the fogs of life disappear in Heavens eternal azure.

NELL NARLIE.

Garrettsville, 0., Sept. 17, 1859.