Muscatine journal. [volume] (Bloomington, Iowa) 1849-185?, 1854-01-20
MAHIN & CLEMENS.
ORIGINAL STORY.
Writteu for the journal.
The Fathers Curse.

u "
A short distance from the village O
H, in Pennsylvania, isa country churcl
and graveyard, surrounded by dilapida
~ stone wall, over which the ivy and Wild
briar have clambered until many places i
10 hidden from view. How oft in YOUTH
bright sunny season have sat in that time
honored old house of prayer, and listened
10 the teachings of the venerable gray-hair'
Cd pastor, Mr.. B., who statedly minis.
tered in spiritual things to the little focl
that regularly assembled together land
those high pews and the still.higher pulpit,
with its sntiqss sounding board depending
from the ceiling, and the quantity arched
roof and old fashioned doors-how indeli
bly, are they fixed in my memory! and hare
BY the church was the school house ar
old, antiquated one story building in which
was initiated into the mysteries Of "ba.
ker" and the "multiplcation table, and re-
csived many sound drubbing for my mis-.
shievous propensities. And spread out be.
FORE it was the old play ground, where
joined in the sports so dear to childhood
and 80 conducive to health how it all
comes back to me now-lke
The voice OF other years-of boyhood years
Whose cadence fingers gently in my ear,
And stirs the fount of memory, by its
Music soft and sad. Scenes long, long agone.
Aud forms to dear remembrance sacred, rise
And greet me with their holy memories.
The school house, with it's quaint old desks
and doors;
The mrsie,. with his lowering brow Of gloom
And pitiless gray eye, that gazed on me
Reprovingly and stern; the young and gay
Companions there met, now scattered far
And wide some happy, bIest and good, and
some
Bewrccked within the wave of dnrt despair;
And many cold and silent in the grave.
All, NIL, bestrcw sad memory's mystic fame,
th dim and dark and sorrowful arrav.
Ah, time! how chanceful are thy ways! A few
Brief years n~y sever kindred hearts, and
In twain the ch rished bands of hope and
loveg
And yet there are a few gre, spots to glad
And cheer US in life's dreary way; few
Warm hearts that fondly linger near us still,
Whose love vet binds US by the tenderest ties
To earth and earthly scenes To these, to
oh! let me ever firmly cling, till life's
Brief hour Is fed, and death, with all its
gloom,
Shall bid me breathe a long and sad farewell
To nil love. Then may calmly lay
Me down to sleep that drcamless sleep
Which knows no waking but the trump of
uod
Bu: our chief business is with the old
church-yard, and aithn its quiet borders
must conduct the reader. Unlike the ccme-
teries which receive the dead of thicxly in
habitcd localities, there were but few fresh
graves, funeral in that vicinity being a
rare occurrence. But there were number
of antiqunted monuments, ,rudely carved and
cycred Nth lichen and moss; AMI many
graves with naught but a simple mound
to indicate that the wondrous tenement
OF an immortal soul moul cred beneath.
There was one tomb, however, and the one
with which our present narrative is cbn-
nected, which presented marked contrast
with its neighbors it was built of brick to
the height of about four feet, and ON the
top of this masonry rested huge marble
slab, elegantly carved, and bearing this in
scription: