The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1854-06-21
"Don't Forget Me-"
BY M. LOUISA cH1rw ooD.

Three little words! Thousands Of times
have they been written and spoken, and
thousands OF times passed silently from
heart to heart, inaudible 10 the ears OF
mortals. Beautiful words! bearing in'their
bosom so much OF love.
1t was spring day; cosy little hooks
were musical with the voices Of clear
streams-children often dream in the pu,
pie twilight beside these dimpled waters OF
the river, "pure as crystal" running
through the city above-sheltered inches
in the woods were blooming with delicate
nameless flowers; each holding trembling
| ly its transparent return to the sunbeam
that blessed it, its "thank Offering" pure
drop of dew; and where the winds had
gathered up the leaves of the last autumn
in long. long grave. were tiny plots blue
with violets. Birds were fashioning quaint
little nests in waving willows, and singing
the same strain over again, as they did so.
Poor Milfred! No one loved to be abroad
in the Spring time more than she; no one
had longed as she tossed in pain and
WEAKNESS all the long Winter.time, for the
sight Of one flower more than she. Her
bed was drawn by the window, and her
little thin figure was PropPed up by pill
lows. What longing, earnest look her
eyes had as she gazed out on the beautiful
, world-she felt so thankful that she had
lived until Spring; many times when the
SHOWS were heaped in the yard, and by the
door, she would say, IL do not want 10
die until the SHOWS are cones" and ONE
who loves little children heard her prayer
and whispered, "Be it So"
And then when her brother brought her
flowers, dear little boquet with two OF
three violets hidden in its heart, and a
| 2aisey, and some buttercups, she wep1
over them. and breathed blessing on
each leaf--somewhere in a secret drawer
that same bunch OF flowers is lying, faded
and odorless, to be sure; but very, very
| think some good angel musthave told
her Of the time when she was expected al
home, for suddenly she grew willing to go
All along she had clung to the hope that
she would yet get well; and many there
were who thought she would recover. fol
at times her eyes grew bright, and delicate
rose tints we're penciled on her sunken
cheeks-dear little consumptive! it was
only the hectic blush Of the leaf in Octo
Der. But at last gentle hand. as itwere
unloosened every tie that clung TO an eartt
idol, and trained them about pair o
golden wings, and then rose and fel
through the quiet air until lost in the bright
ness Of heaven.
Milired was willing to die. Many won
Oh olrolsy no thor pnr
her toys and little keepsakes, and distrib
ute them to weeping playmates, saying al
she did so. II shall not need Them"
She had many dreams far too beautifu
to translate into words. and on her young
face was steady light like the radiance
Of star. Very patient was she, gentle
and loving to the last.
There was one rose bud by her window
Day by day she watched it unfold, which
4 it did very slowly. Il shall not die, unit
I the rose blooms" size said one night, Al
! The bud was swaying in the moonlight
i But we thought there was but one NOR
unbroken thread which made her hear
Autter, and sent the life tide slowly through
her blue veins.
}, One morning, as the blushing dawl
sent golden mantle about her fair form
j Milfred grew worse. She was standing b,
the cold stream-cold and dark only Il
/, those whose hearts are sinful waiting III
hour Of departure. She glanced at tn
, little ridge. where earth was divided fron
heaven, and then turned to bestow on
| more look on the scenes she had loved
was only one look, and there was no win
| Al. 4 xyhsnh cbo
And now, her eyes sew, in the shinin
distance, little barque with an angel il
its Prov, moving softly to meet her. Sh
> could see the waters rising and falling
, crested with tints brighter than ever NOR
tails imagined-she could hear the plasll
!, ing of the waves, and more than all. IT,
song an angel sung. But we could Sc
! nothing Of this-we saw only the pantin
3 little form, the rise and fall Of the transpH
rent hands, and we could only weep ths
g she was dying.
I And now, for a momeL I, the tiny barqu
anchored on the bank where she stood
I rocking gently on the waves; and the angt
q whispered softly. "Are you ready?" Th
e lips replied" Ready;" but just as one foe
t rested on the starry deck, she turned I
!! say three little words-"Don't forget me.
a We raised the window, just as the la!
y struggle was nearly over, that she migl
8 breathe more freely, if possible. Or
9 hearts throbbed tumultuously-there ha
: been a shower of rain in the night, an
a the bud had suddenly opened-a ver
: emblem Of the sweet dead, it seemed, .
# it rested on her bosom.
v -"DoN' T FORGET ME, we will not. w
will turn often from the rude far off world
d voices. TO that low childish tone--we wi
y listen to it in the silence of night, whe
i the heart grows soft and music comm
o from Eden thrills its broken strings.
!? "DoN'T FORGET ME. ut was carved o
d her head stone beneath white full blow
- rose. ~ esi
,fl Mrs. ROBINSON, THE MuRpEREss.-
q correspondent of the Troy Wing. an FL
- glish man. we'll posted in what relates I
: = titles and blood, asserts that Mrs. Robil
70 son is related to Queen Victoria. her fath'
! Wood, Of Qpebec.) being son Of ii
= Duke Of York.
= WoMAN's 'RrGHT.-A good looking hu