The examiner. [volume] (Louisville, Ky.) 1847-1849, 1848-01-22

put 20 u 10 Keep tnctnocifct olive W ulit1u us
or our dead. Sure twas the great God gave
strength to mother that day, for nothing was
too hard for her. We scrsped out the earth
out earth and berrid him. Mother didn't
spake all the time, only shivered. and put
her face atune her hands and thin she got
up quite stout and walked home so fast that
could scarcely keep up wild her. No soon
er wor we in than she tainted away; an whin
she come 10 Thank God he's berridl" says
she; swim I'm gone, mavourneen, il We
wor to 60 on yer Bonded knees to the neigh
bors, make 'em put me down beside him.
That ont be long," ses she, "for hear
him calling me" ] thought may be she
was tired, an enthraited her to ate, but she
wouldn't. Thin she put her arms round
me, an drew me to her, and called me her
fair-haired son, her fatherless boy, and said
the orphans God wud puriect me. for
got the palse Of her heart stopped whin faith
er laid low, and whin she said 90 Go to sleep,
darlint, for We need il sore" slept in her
bosom for was rale tired. Whin woke,
my forehead was agin something cold
Och twas mothers neck, an the hand |
held was stiff. She was dead A hard
sorrow was rasping her heart, an it iuttered
like bird in light grip, and al last 1t got
away. Thin | was alone. Thin come the
grief and the heart throuble intirely.--
Though | could hardly crawl, got to the
next house and brought 'en to see if she
was dead all out for though twas plain
enough, | wouldn't believe she was gone in
airnest, and thought it might be weakness,
an she'd get the better Of it. But whin all
failed, thin by dale of ooaxing | got man
10 put her beside my father think she
wouldn't rest aisy anywhere else; an win
she rises from the grave she'll see kept her
word. Och! lady, didn't | feel bitterly
whin she was covered up from me, an ]
lost the hand that used TO stroke down my
hair, an the loving words and the sweet
smile | always stay beside the grave ex-
eeps whin hunger, that las no nature in il,
drives me away.
Those fine bright days don't agree wild
me at all. Once | used to like to see the
sun dazzling, and the strames looking up so
good humoredly at him; but now everything
seems swimming before my eyes, full Of
binding tears, an the sky seems laughing at
me, an the little birds in 'em seem to be
making game of my grief. But sure they
have no feeling that way, the crathurs! An
the only thing that gave me any comfort,
was this morning, whin | saw little flower
in the grass wild the dew on it. don't
know why, but it seemed sorry for me; it
looked like a blue eye full Of tears. No
one else spoke kindly to me since my moth
er died but ii; for didn't it spake! Yes, it
told me the great God made it, an sent it
there to comfort me; an TO say, He'd mind
me, the last on the stem. So | thanked
Him on my knees, although | don't know
much about Him at all. wish did.
Thin whin looked up. | thought of
Norah, an how happy she was; looking
down, may be wild her face covered over
wild sunshine; an | felt sort Of gladness
but whin REMEMBERED my father an moth
er, the pain shot through ME agin. For
they say they're in PWrgGthory, and must
stay there long time for dying without the
clergy. That's what kills me intirely; to
think Of my poor father that nivir said an
i'll word to me, an my own gentle temper
ed, soft-natured mother that would lift a
worm sooner nor thread on it, 10 be in such
burning pain! My head burns whin | think
Of it. Id rather live any way, for couldn't
bare to be there looking at mother suffering
an | know ! wouldn't 60 to heaven, be-
cause I'm not innocent, like NOrah. Ii I'd
only strength Id wear my knees out, pray
ing round the stations to get EN- out; but
that will nivir be, for my heart strings wor
tied round my mother an they're pulling
me into the grave, for death couldn't loose
EN-.
| was child alore all the woe happened
TO me. dont feel like a child nor,
though It is not many months since, for, o
lady, my heart as grolcn Ould. didn't
break my fast since yesterday but when |
Try to ak for something. the blood comes
into my face, an my tongue won't spake
for me. An whin | do tell my story, It's
too common a one to be minded, an they
won't believe I'm telling truth; for they
don't know how heavy my heart is, or the
squeezing in my heart. People amt pitt
fol at all now nothing shuts up the heart
like famine; it has cruel and wonderful
power, for it puts mother out of my head.
Sometimes I'm afraid I'm too weak to get
back to the grave. | wouldn't lave it at
all, only for fear Of the purgathoy.
Lady, your speech is gntle, and your
eyes are full, like the flower in the grass.
Ye say We will shelter an feed me. D, If.
ye could give me back my darling mother |
An ye say she isn't in purgathory; but,
maybe, Gods coed Son took her to Him.
self. Blessings on yer fair head, my lady, |
tbs kindly meant. 0, if could believe
that An ye say may go straight there
too! 1t would raise my head TO think so.
If yell only teach me now, I'll live to
sarve We. Ill go to the worlds end to do
yer bidding. I'll die to sarve ye; yes,
twice over for yer sake.
An Imperial Mayicia@.
Doco.a tka olosa of tha 49, 1-nO H.