Fayetteville observer. [volume] (Fayetteville, Tenn.) 1850-1966, 1852-01-29

) Ever ioI my I6StOIdtlOH- DuU THAT
0 hot to be; | feel it so. In peacel
S Resignation | await the final hour.
II 1t comes. The time comes wht
-sthe two lives, for years SO bIent
: gether, are to be severed. / am d,
ing. My children are around m
they have been summoned to atten
their departing mother, and each hf
tearlully obeyed the call. Everar
sits by me, my hand clasped in his
| am weak; | can say but little, but
entreatour children so to make thei
choice, that they, like me, may b
enabled to look on death as but th
entrance to eternal life. beg then
to be kind to their father, to max,
happy his few remaining years b.
their tendern ness and duty. To hin
| say but lit tie, since words could il
express what | owe him, how l love
him, even then. But he feels the
pressure of my numbing fingers, he
sees The fond looks of my darkening
eyes, and knows all that | would tell
him Of my gratitude for his lifelong
affection, his unce$s;ng care.
Ny sight fails; ny breath is short,
and drawn with effort; with one last
look on the weeping circle around
me, and the bowed form at the bed
side, my spirit passes.
There is nothing terrible in such a
departure, [ said; the last moment
on earth is cheerell by human love;
and then how easy the qu ok transit
ton to that Divine love Hhich Shall
be ours throughout eternitEl In such
a death, calfwell believe that all the
natural awe which NE might feel in
the near contemplation ol that Tn
speakable Glory in who's : presence
We must stand, would be 4hanged IN
to q joyful serenity, a caIlh and hap
py waiting for the com Ing Of the
Lord. n.
! Presumed my musing.
When all is over; when the grave
S filled and my children have gone
)ack IL their own hameS. even then
am not forgotten They thinf, of
nea they talk kindly OF me to each
,ther. They tell tier children Of
who 4oked them Sd
learly while sAe lived. Everard-I
he feeble, aged man, jiourncying for
ward to the home where / have gone
never forgeta me. | am always
resent to him; he thinks Of me with
enlefest affection; he longs lor her
'ho for more than forty years was 10
lin another sell. Dear Eyerard.
My grave is often visited; flowers
'lcom there. whid IN living hands have
'lanted; htle fec i tread about the !
larroB mound, and gfaver steps
,ause oGtenGmes beside it.
Yes! | live in lhe memory Of those
Shom once cherished.
Alasl l cried in bitterness, now DIFF
erant is the dea th Of which ! haze
nused, from thatf which will one day
eize on my forlorn e1istencel How
the life, SO fall of usefulness,
nd Of oys sprihging out Of that
soflIness from my ownl And that
,r7eIl mound in the churchyard-
low unlike The grave which lies yonr
Ter on the bleak hillside, and hun
,ers for this wasted fornlt
/ remember how, in The old days
t home, we children once found a
epd leech-a dried up, slrvelled
hing, We put it into warm water
nd soaked It for q time; it swelled
p plump and full, and looked alive,
pt it could not move, draw blood, OF
erformanyof it's leech-lilse functions.
am a good deal Ike II; [ soak my
elf in the warm water 0fnterest and
in thd lives and happiness
[ Others; in charity;in various otiieT
apid baths; but its no use. | am
pt really alive; like Che poor laech,
have at best a miserable Semblance
t existence. The simile is not a
ery pretty one, certainly; still,
lech is about as lovely and loyeable
5 an old maid df iorty-six.
The truth is, that | cannot be hap
y on the happiness ofothers; must
ave something of my own; some-
hing to love and cherish; to be loved
y, cherished by, in return. But
llat I cannot have; and why? 9th
t people do. Who but l has such
Idreary, lone existence? Why, did
ps God give me, too, the objects Of
aterest and affection which be has