Daily American telegraph. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1851-1852, 1852-06-05

Mr.. Miners old black dog on the way; put
though, Eddie's eyes grew very large ana rounu
while we were speaking, his tears dio no' III,
fiuence him great while, for, before we go'
half way down the lane back OF the house, we
were almost ALWAYS sure to see him coming
SLOWLY after us, stopping every time we stopped
and Keeping Just such distance behind US
until we were obliged to permit him to go with
us or return to the mousse
! poor Eddie When we came back to oui
Garden. and saw what he had done, we were
very much vexed aud quite cross to him, call
ing him good-for-nothing little rascal and
telling him ato 90 off"-he was always where
he wasn't wanted" and using many other
harsh, unkind words He did not cry-he sell
dom did-but his face, for one moment or so,
looked very red, and then he went and sat on
the door step, watching us stealthily from I'M
der the brim of his little straw hat.
AT length our garden was finished, and we
had scarcely had time to admire our own taste
and skill, before we were seized with the spirit
of innovation Anne had recently been with
her mother to visit cousin in the city. She
described his garden borders edged with box,
and proposed that we should edge ours with
moss, of which there was a plenty in the pas
ture over the river We started off immedi-
atey and for once little Eddie did not follow
u.s.. When we reached the bridge, he was still
sitting upon the door step, for his little straw
hat and red dress were plainly visible
We were gone much longer than we thought,
| for our search after the prettest MOSES led us
quite deep into the woods. When we return
ed, we found Eddie fast asleep in the meadow,
little way from the bridge. 1t had been
raining the day before, and the ground where
he lay was low and quite damp By this time,
we had got well over our vexation about the
garden, and rousing him up, we began to talk
to him about our NOSES, but he was quite fever
ish and fretful, and we were glad to take him
to his mother.
The next day there We're none of Mr.. Bur-
giss's family at meeting, and wondered what
could be the reason all sermon time. As we
came home at noon, mother overlook old Mrs
Fitch, who lived up the street from our house,
and heard her say that Eddie Burgess had got
the scarlet fever He had not been well for
some days, she said, and took severe cold the
day before, from sleeping on the wet ground.
there's your slip of girl" she continued,
turning to me !" | guess she knows something
about it, for saw her and Anne flying about
like bees yesterday
Oh, how guilty felt! The harsh words we
had spoken to the little boy the day before
seemed choking me. | knew that if we had
staid at home and played with him he would
not have fallen asleep on the damp ground,
and followed slowly behind my mother and
Mrs. Fitch, longing to hear them say that he
would get well, yet not daring to ask
never saw little Eddie again, For four or
five days / watched the Doctors sulky as it
came down the street, and followed my mother
out to the gate to hear what reply he made to
her inquiries after the little boy; and then, one
/ xrha ,,athar RI coll SIo
told us he was dead In spite of her dread of
bringing the infectious disease among her own
| flock of little ones, she had watched with him
the night before and she said that he did not
know her-he did not know even his own
mother-but once, in the early part of the eve
ming when, yielding to Anne's tears and en-
treaties, they permitted her to see him, he had
seemed to recognise her for brief second, and
had whispered, as she bent down to kiss him,
" Eddie sorry, sissie"
The very words which he had said, or tried
to say, when we scolded him 50 for disturbing
our garden that day-words which neither
she nor ever forgot.
They would not let me go to the funeral, but
watched the procession as it came down the
street and when the wagon which contained
the little coffin camo past the house, sobbed
bitterly, and longed to go out and whisper in
the deaf ears of my playmate
"Oh Eddie! Eddie / too am sorryl'
Years have passed since, and there are few
people in the village-scarcc any one, perhaps,
save myself and the sexton, that can tell where
little Eddie Burgess was buried, for the small
stone that marked the spot has been so crack
ed by the frost and moss-grown by time, that
it is almost impossible to decipher the inscrip-
ton. Yet often stood by that sunken grave,
and never without feeling at my heart that
prompts me to cry
Oh, Eddie, Eddie, forgive!"