The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1854-01-14

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long, and was so thin and sickly. H.,
husband had been dead little over a
year. He left her nothing but his child
and poverty; a common legacy among
the poorer sort ofpeopIe in that country
After his death she toiled late and ear.
ly TO maintain herself and babe. MANY
a dawn she rose before the sun; and The
sun rose there very early. Many a
night she saw the moon set; and il sets
very late at certain seasons OF the year;
but her labors were never done. The
labors of the poor never are, until death
comes. When death came to her, she
rested from her work, and her work fol.
lowed her.
1t was fine day in spring when they
buried her. The fresh green earth was
tull of dew. the soft blue sky without q
cloud. 1t was day to make one certain
of immortality. Few and unconcernrd
were those who bore her to the grave;
they would rather have gone to a merry.
making: they were neighbor and nothing
more. The dead woman left no friends
or relatives, only her child.
When they reached the churchvard,
they found the old sexton besides the
grave, leaning on his spade. The vicar
put on his bands, and read the funeral
service. "Dust TO dust, ashes to ashes,
but the spirit to God who gave it."-rhe
coffin was lowered into its narrow house
and the earth thrown npon it, while the
minister of Christ exhorted the people
around.
Little Agnes, being left to herself by
those who had change Of her, strayed
drown the winding paths, and was soon
hidden among the gravestones, which
were very thick; for the dead OF ages
were buried in that little cnurchy ard.
AT first she wondered why she had been
brought there; but the sky was so blue
above her, and the earth so beautiful
around, that she soon forgot it. The
shadow OF death, which falls heavily on
the hearts OF men, passes like light
mist over the soul of child.
Large butterflies, with crimson and
golden wings, were flying to aud fro in
the air, and the wild bee pursued its
honry.making in the buttrrcups. She
sat down in the long grass, and began to
weave the blue voiets as she had seen
the basket-maker weave his rushes. Not
month before, a little girl of her own
age was laid. with many tears, in the
mound at her feet; but the dew hung
there as brightly as in the deep meadows
and the sunshine filled the place, like
the smile of God. Nature nourns not,
like man, for the dead whom she had
gathered TO her bosom in peace.
By and by; little Agnes began to grow
drowsy, and in spite OF all he coul do to
keep awake, she found her eyes closing
and her head nodding on her breast; so
she repeated the prayer that her good
mother had taught her to say before go.
ing to bed, and committed herself to the
care OF her heavenly Father, and IN
moment was fast asleep, and waking in
a dream with the angels.
In the meantime, the good vicar fin.
ished his exhortation, and the people
having departed, he began to wonder at
her absence, and searched for her down
the path which he remembered to have
seen her take. Looking right and left
among the sravestones, and calling "Ag-
nes,' with sweet, low voice, he came
to the spot where she had fallen asleep.
She was sleeping still, and beside her
stood little lamb, innocent and beau.
tIful. Its fleece was whittier than the
driven snow, and it glistened in the sun.
light like gold. There was a golden
collar around its neck. with an inscrip.
ton in an unknown tongue; and ITS
eyes were exceeding tender and beauti-
iui. There were no folds in that coun.
try and how it could have come there
was mystery which the vicar could
not explain, nor could the child when
she awoke. She only remembered to
have seen it in her dream, following a
shepherd in the pastures OF paradise.
As the vicar stood lost in amazement,
1t drew near him, and looked up IN his
lace with its tender and beautiful eyes,
and then at the child, and then IN his
face again, as much az to say, Here Is
poor motherless one; she has no friends
in the wide world; who will take care
OF her, if you do not Indeed, he fan
cied that it did say so; and voice, soft.
er than silence, whispered to him, "Ferd
my lambs. His heart was touched
with pity, and he lifted her up in HI,
arms, and bore her to the vicarage.
1t was not long before the news spre. ri
through the neighboring towns, and
many of their jewellers came to c,e,. thn
white lamb and the young c,.uld who
grew daily more beautiful and oood
The pious seemed to .row better tb>
moment they beheld the loving na;r.
and the wicked, who had sat for YEARS.
under the d.oppings of the sanctuary, or
Knocked at the goodness of H.axa, aC,,