The Lancaster ledger. [volume] (Lancaster, S.C.) 1852-1905, 1853-06-15
Melancholy Reflections.

WE are in gloomy, melancholy mood
tonight. We feel almost inclined to write
our obituary. This may sound rs impious
to some, yet Dean Swift wrote his, or rather
what people would say of him when he was
dead, yet, Swift was preacher. Sometimes
We can lay these melancholy reflections to
no particular cause. Man is on inconsistent,
unhappy ,iiscontentedm mortal atheist, he thinks
fffsfhae tomake him dicsontented, and vet SO
seldom gives a thought to that which is be-
yond--that bourn from whence no traveller
returns.
We walked up to the grave yard the other.
day. We saw the graves there of several
who few years ago were in the vigor of
life. Death is no respecter of persons. How
vividly we call to mind, as if l. were scene
of yesterday, the last moments of friend
who was near and dear to us. We watched
by his bed side day after day, and night af-
ter night. He would not suffer us to leave
him, and when speech was denied him,
lie would bccken US to his side, and faith
fully we watched beside him. And at
last when he looked up TO US with beseech.
ing eyes, We propounded inquiries, and when
we asked If he wished to write, he nodded
yes. We procured slate, and he grasped
the pencil, but death had already set his
seal. we closed his eyes,and he died. What
were his wishes, We know not. Perhaps to
advise US to lead more Cody life-perhaps,
II seems to us but yesterday, when We I'M
petuously obeyed the summons to visit a
dear and afiectionato brother. When wo
reached his residence, We met his corpcs.--
Great God what feelings Of utter loneliness
and sorrow pervaded our soul. These, read
er, were sad moments to us.
In our church yard we looked upon the
grave Of ono we were intimately acquainted
with in life. He was a man OF storling
worth--he died q christian. Then but n
few steps further, we looked upon the grave
of one who in life was man Of great legal
reputation. Affections hands have erected
a monument to his memory. A few steps
farther, we looked upon another grave. We
knew the history Of the manly youth, who
verging into manhood, was cut down by the
ruthless hand Of death. He was the prido
Of happy househould. A father looked
upon his boy rs the embodiment of every
virtue which would raise him up to eminence
and famc,--a loving mother saw in the gal
liant youth briore her, stay and support in
later days. In infancy when she parted the
hair on his fair brow, and sang a gentle lula
by while he slumbered on his little bed
Hope whispered in the beautiful words of
Campbell.
Sleep image Of thy father, sleep my boy!
No lingering hour Of sorrow shall be thine
No sigh that rends thy fathers heart and
mino,
Bright as his manly sire the son shall be
In form and soul; but all more blest than
no
Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love. at last,
Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past,
With many smile my solitude repay,
And chase the worlds ungenerous scorn
away
And say, when summon'd from the world
and thee,
I lay my head beneath the willow-trse,
Wilthou sweet mourner at my stone appear
And soothe my parting spirit lingering noari'
Hope whispered thos in maternal ears
and as the youth grew up the fond and de-
voted notkcr looked forward with bright
expectations to tho fai6lmens Of her wishes.
But the day Of sorTow essas. The mother
EvnG azso parea With hst al 10 sass ss !