Kenosha tribune and telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1855-1855, 1855-06-07
From the Chicago Journal
" GODS ACRE"

The village Grave Yard-have YOU for
, gotten it I? We do not mean the ne,c on.
they call a Cemetery, wherein are splendid
hctions IN Autograph, but the old buria
place. where the first settlers scooped away
the snow perhaps, and deposited in virgin
: earth, their first dead with many tears; the
ola place we mean, selected and peopled
by those whose lives and loves are dimly
remembered, and feebly cherished at the
best.
Just such an old Grave Yard rises upon
memory now, and will you bear us com
Pany, this pleasant night in May, while we
visit 1t? There it is, where those talk Lom-
hardy poplars are drawn up like solemn
seniinels and where that Maple rolls its
green pillows into the sunset.
We lean upon the brown and broken
fence, and look over Gods acre, with its
gray and fallen tablets, and its subsidized bill
lows ofgreen turf. 1t looks like an old fallow
that the husbandman forgot to sow, and SO
1t lay sheafess and dumb in the harvest.
II we only knew the history of the silent
sleepers, that lie there, we should have that
to think OF, that would displace the living
IN thought and heart, for while, and win,
may be, tear or two for memory and for
them.
Here, beside the unused gate, stands the
rude and crumbline bier, whefeon the young
and beautiful, the reverend and old, came
one by one. A vine has run over its frame
work, and with many clasping tcndril.
holds it securely in its place. But the time
| hoe hoon xubop Nc Il r L. L Il !
reno away, even by its roots, a more beau
liful vine which chung around the threshold
of loving and mourning hearts.
No old Mortality had made mission
here. Moses have obscured many gray
and time stained tablet, and many stone
like the first Tables of the Law, is broken
and gone, All, there are names upon some
of them, that in their day. could bring smiles
and honors-names that were only other
words for love and trust.
Here is a grave, close under the Maple,
and We remember for whom it was made.
All that remains on the tablet now, is
rudely carved Willow and "MARTHA :"
beneath it. She was village flower, and
among the talrest at sixteen, and at sixteen
she died. 1t was a Saturday afternoon, and
with merry company she went flower
hunting among the rocks that lined the deep
gorge worn by the waters on their Journey
TO the Village Mill. She ventured out with
a laugh upon the green and messy verge,
and stood there like Marian and sang. The
summer wind shook out her ringlets in
shower upon her shoulders.
| A straw hat with blue ribbons, was funo
| hack from bar hrnr. md H.
one descending for moment from the blue
heaven above her. 1t is long time ago,
but we cannot forget the glance of her beau
iiful eyes, as she turned half play fully, half
triumphanlly to her more timid companions.
see fiower-a violet " she cried.
''it is just over the brink--it shall be NINE
and before hand could be extended to save
her, she had advanced one foot, and bent
over the verge. She had grasped the floral
trophy, and was just recovering her po-
sition when she slipped upon the
moss yet damp with a recent shower; there
was flutterlng of garments, one wild cry,
and Martha was plunged into the abyss be-
low. Oh, where was the hand put forth
from the ark cf old, to take the wanderer
in and where were the wings she wears
now, that they were not unfuiled to sustain
and to save her?
There was lamentation in the new Ra-
NAH that day, when she was borne up by
winding way, and carried to the home of
her mother. There was no school on the
morrow, for wasn't Martha dead, and who
should ever look upon her like again 2"
The blacksmith's hammer seemed to ring
slow and solemn knell; and shouts upon
the village green were hushed; and child
rem stole noislessly along the street, and
spoke in whispers Of Martha, and Of Martha
dead.
1t was the first death of the early called
in the little village. We had seen the old
loose their grasp of life, but they held it,
like Autumn leaves, by a frail tenure, and
sank without a struggle into the grave
But here it had come years nearer to us, and
an underlined awe o'ercame our Young
spirit, like cloud
The next day but one-for they were in
no unseemly haste in those days, and there
were no Railways to the grave-she was
buried. How beautiful she looked in her
wedding garments, for she was married.
even unto Death. Her hands were meek
ly folded over her motonless bosom, and in
one of them was the violet she had pluck
ed from the fatal verge.
1t was beautiful summers day, and the
coffin was brought out beneath the trees,
and rested upon the table. The old Elder
whom we then fanced too good to die,
though alas for it. we have heard since that
." the prayers of David the son Of Jesse are
ended "-stood by the coffin. The birds
sang sweetly over head. and the winds made
music among the branches, but many eyes
were shedding rain below.
The old man, in torres tremulous and low,
offered prayer commencing the living to
Gods good keeping. and then they joined
in an old fashioned hymn, but there was a
faltering in the simple strains, for sweet
voice was missing in the little choir. The
text was in the coffin as well as in the BIZ
bic, for it was only, "Me Fouer Fadeth."
There is but one thing. that at this dis
lance of tine we can remember, and it is
this: we think it is a calamity that called