Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1850-12-05
to himself, and he died after few days ill.,

ness.
1t would be hard to tell the sorrow h
widow and orphans felt, when they saw Ill
fresh sods planted on his grave 1t wa
not grief altogether like the grand stated
grief of the quality. although may be tn,
lsalne sharp knife is sticking into the sam
sore bosom inside in both; but the ouisid
differs in rich and poor. saw the mistres
week after Miss Ellen died. Sine was il
her drawing-room with the blinds pulled
rdowu, sitting in the low chair with her ell
bow on the small work table, and her cheel
resting on her hand-not a speck of any
thing white about her but the camoric hand
kerchief, and the face that was paler than
! the marble chlmney-piece.
When she saw me, (fo. the butter being
busy, sent me in with the luncheon tray,
she covered her eyes with her handkerchief
and began to cry, but quietly, as if she did
not want to be noticed. As l was going
out. jus, heard her say to Miss Ailce in a
choking voice:
Keep Sally here always; our poor darl-
ing was fond of herr
And as closed the door, l beard her
give one deep sob. The next time l saw
her she was quite composed only for the
white cheek and the black dress you would
not know that the burning feel of child's
last kiss had ever touched her lips.
( My fathers wife mourned for him after
another fashion. She could not sit quiet,
she must work hard to keep the life in them
10 whom she gave ii; aud it was only in the
evenings when she sat down before the fire
with Mary in her arms. that she used 10 rock
herself TO and fro, and sing a low wailing
keen for the father of tie little one, whose
innocent tears were always ready TO fall
when she saw her mother cry.
About this time my mother got an offer
from some of the hucksters in The neighbour
hood, who knew her honesty, TO 90 three
times week 10 the next market town
ten miles off, with their little money, and
bring them back supplies of bread, grocer
les, soap and candles. This she used t.
do, walking twenty miles-ten of them with
heavy load on her back-for the sake of
earning enough to keep us alive. Twas
very seldom that Richard could get a stroke
of work to do the boy wasn't strong him.
SELF for he had the sickness too, though he
recovered from il, and always did his best
TO earn an honest penny whenever he could.
often wanted my mother to let me 90 and
bring back the load but she never would
hear of it, and kept me at home to mind the
house aud little Mary. My poor pet lamb
twas little mInding she wanted. She would
go after breakfast aud sit at the door, and
stop there all day, watching for her mother,
aud never needing the neighbors' children
thai used 10 come wanting her to play
Through the live long hours she would new
er stir, but just keep her eye fixed on the
lonesome 6oreen Thy road j and when the
shadow OF The mountain ash grew long, and
she caught glimpse of her mother ever so
Tar off, coming towards home, the joy that
would flush on the small patient lace was
brighter than the sunbeam on the river
Faint and weary as the poor woman used
TO be, before ever she sat down she'd have
Mary nesting in her bosom. No matter
how little she might have eaten herself that
day. she would always bring home little
white bun for Mary: and the child that had
tasted nothing since moriug, would eat so
happily. aud then fall asleep quietly IN her
mothers arms.
Al the cad of some months got the sick
ness myself, but not so heavily as Richard
did before ANY way, he and my mother
tended me well through it. They sold al
most every little stick of furniture that was
left, 20 buy me drink and medicine. By
degrees recovered, and the first evening
was abIeto sit up noticed strange, wild
brightness in my mothers eyes, and hot
flush on her thin cheeks-she had taken
the fever.
Before she lay down on the wisp of straw
that served her for bed, she brought little
Mary over tn me take ber Saily," she
saId-and between every word she gave the
child a klss-take her, she's safer with YOU
than she'd be with me, for you're over the
sickness, and 'tsut long any way I'll be with
you, my jewel, she sal as she gave The lit
tie creature one long, cluse hug. and put
her into my arms
'Twould take long to tell all about her sick
ness-how Richard and l, as good right
we had, tended her night and day, and
now, when every farthing aud farthing's
worth we had in the woxjd was gone, the
mistress herself came down from the big
house, the very day after the family return
ed home from France, and brought wine,
food, medicine, linen, and every thing we
could want
Shortly after the kind lady was gone, my
mother took the change for death; her
senses came back, she grew quite strong
like; and sat up straight in the bed.
Bring NE the child, Sally, dieagh, she
said. Aud when Icarried little Mary to her,
she looked INTO the tiny face, as if she was
readngu like a book.
"You won't he long away from me, my
own one," she said, while her tears fell
down upon the child like summer rain
Mother" said ], as well as | could
speak for crying" sure you know PIl do
my best To tend he's"
81 know you will. acushia you were al
ways true aud dutitul daughter to me, and
to him that's gone; but, Sally, there's that
in my wenny one that won't let her thrive
without the mothers hand over her, aud
the mothers herrt for her TO lean against.
And now" Ii was all she could say
she Just clasped the little child to her boz