Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1849-01-18

cheek of the departed. So autumn's first
wild frost's kiss had touched the great ma
pie over the cottage, with blaze OF spIen'
dor. The dear boy sat no more in his won't
ed place beneath its wide arms, save in the
soGest season of blandest day for dear past
mcmories sake; and now his thin white
fingers sIenderer than girls, hung idly
from the folds of his thick shaw, no more
to shed lle-liko glow from the reflected
bushes of the rose, or stain ct bleeding
berries.
The potcnt mother knew his autumn too
had come, and was resigned: SO centered
were her gre and trust, that smiles and
tears would mngIe on her face; and every
morning she would thank God rather that
he was here, than murmur that he was 60
ing hence.
"Mother" he said one day, after severe
struggle with pain, which flushed his beau
tiful pale face, but could only wiring it to
slight contortion, as the soft wind would
ruiile the water in passing-"Mother it is
over now the pain and trial, and bright
spirit, with pure blue wings, and white
transparent robe, stands close by me. ]
have seen him often in the distance, and
every fit Of agony would bring him closer,
as if were ahoat, and it was rough wind
to drive me to him."
"Fathor, mother, Bob, Ellen, all come p
and the boy kissed them all silently. They
knew he was going, and were mute, cave
little E8h, who put her arms about him
tenderl3 ond begged him, 80 don't 60,
Charlie!"
But quick glance of his kindling eye
caught vision, invisible to those who
watched him, and flashed a pure smile over
the falling tears.
"Mother," he whispered family, "they
ar bringing awhile fower-wreath, and they
say it is for fal and fraternaI love, mother
-because | have loved you, and father and
Bobby, and Ellen and yet, how could |
help it YOU are so good And one holds
up band of sofcst blue flowers, and he
says it is for patience, mother-because |
have borne suffering meckly ; but thai
should be for you, for it was yen aho qdc
me so happy, | couldn't feel the pain 45"t
row one comes close to me, with tiny be-
quot of the most sweet small flowers, like
the lily Of the valley, but sweeter, clearer !;
and they make a low, soft tlnkling in tunes
as they wave in her hand, and this she says
is for Purlty-and she will bind it on my
bosom. Omother, do you not feel them!
they float smoothly by you, and look kind.
ly on you and now lovely company of
them have come and twined wreath of all
these flowers together, round US all-and
now float away O mother, one kiss the
rose-chain Iengthens, but it will not break.
90, but this will hold us always until it
folds US close again. Hark."
Dropped the faint lids over the dying
eyes, claspcd the pale hands on the pulse.
less bosom, and the white soul of the boy
flew up to God OH some divine strain which
his car had caught, and which it seemed
the sobbing mother and kueeling sire, in a
moments hush of grief, could almost hear.
So sweetly passed his spirit, that sweet
smile, more of heaven than earth, lay on
the unchanged face; and to the deep-soul-
ed mother seemed it no fancy that she felt
the pressure Of the extending flower band,
and down is living links. sweet pulses OF
living bliss rom the beautiful soul of the
ascending Ivy
What if Ttrdnge scenes passed in that
/ little cot, and the autumnal winds sighed
through the open door and passed skeleton
bier; and solemn words were said, and
tears were rained protusely on a marble
check; and nocks of children, all in sim.
pie white, with late flowers i'll their hands,
walked weeping, two by two, and paused to
sing mid sobs, low hymn, round little
grave, and make the name of their lost
darling inarliculate with grief Yet round
that mothers heart, if round no other, the
invisible fower-wreath pressed with blessed
heaIng--and perpetual inflow Of Divine
love from his dviner soul. deepened her
spirit beyond joy or grief, and told her ev-
err, "Charlie is not dead"