The southern enterprise. [volume] (Greenville, S.C.) 1854-1870, 1856-06-12


the little ones as he loved me. He will not
sob OF agony, and the dying man started as
the sound fell upon his ear, "My poor, poor
Anna J"
Footsteps were Coming up the little gray
elled wrlk in front of the house Slowly
and reverently the two elders shut the small
wicket-gate, for a solemn quiet was round
the house Of death. Sabbath after Sabbath
had their gray heads bowed in prayer, while
their hearts echoed to the words that fell
from lips soon to be closed in death. The
world was passing from them, and little had
they thought that he would go before them;
for the hair that shaded his brow was not
yet streaked with silver, although care and
suffering had stolen from it the lustre of ear
ly youth. Solemnly they entered the cham
Der of sickness, and stood by the bedside
Tomorrow would be the Sabbath hand the
little church was visible from the halfclosod
windows. Not yet had its empty walls
been consecratcd by the voice of worship
AMI while others, like worthless weeds, re-
manned, he, their prop and dependence, was
passing from them. What would become
of the little flock when he was gone? Who
would so piously, faithfully fulfil ;hs charge
as he had donel We cannot see the full
reality Of a thing that blots, as it were, the
sunshine Of our existence, until its fearful
presence leaves no room for doubt; and still
tue people Of Woodside hoped on, deluding
themselves from day to dav.
But the elders saw that an icy hand was
laid upon his brow {; they saw the life-bood
pale rs i: coursed through the shrunken
veins, and behed the dim and fading eye
lie bade them come closer-still closer, for
he saw them not; and when with stifed
voice they said, I'VE are here" he answered
ut is we'll" There was a solemn pause-no
sound arose in the little chamber, and the
sick man lay with closed eyes, while awe
stricken, they gazed at each other fearful
that the spirit had passed from EARTH
But The end was not yet rousing himself
with a strong effort, he said "My friends,
when the cornerstone Of that church was
laid, told you that some then present might
never see the finished pile. There were
those whose weight of years seemed bear
ing them to the grave; and | believed that
many Of them would not be spared till now.
| But here they aIe--.;,lI here, while am has
tening from you. am ready for the Jour-
ney--it has no fears for me, but looked not
for so speedy summons. Who among
you will stand in my place r. The elders
were silent; they dared net take upon them
selves so great a responsibility. They felt
that they were unfit to assume the place of
the dying man, who, through sickness and
agony, had preserved a high and noble feel
ing, losing all thoughts of self in his care for
others. But placing hand upon the head
of each, he continued in q solemn and i'm
pressive voice: "Unto you bequeath the
flock over whom | haveso long watched and
| prayed. lisa holy trust. Oh! may you guard
1t well !" When The elders left the bedside
of their pastor there was light within their
hearts--the light Of high and purifying
thought and passing into the lonely forest
where the golden sunset was fast fading in /.
to even, they communed together upon their
solemn trust.
1t was the Sabbath morn, and all was qui-
ct around the little parsonage. There is
hushed and holy beauty in the Sabbath
morn of summer, while the dew still spark
les on the bended flowers, and trembles like
threaded pearls upon the blades of grass
when the notes of the forest songsters, or the
hum of distant worshippers, ia the only sound
that reaks the stiffness. The voices Of the
assembled congregation fell upon the suffer.
er's ears blending together in solemn
strain. He listened to the well known tones
ill they died away in silence, and then he
knew they were at PRAYER. He covered his
face with his hands to join with them for
the last time and as the words died upon
his lips he fell into sweet aud refreshing
slumbsr. The old clock moved quickly on
his hour of Life was waning but still by
the bedside sat that faithful watcher.
When he awoke there was sound OF sob
bing in the little room--not low and stified |
like suppressed grief, but the voice of a
strong mans agony. He recognized the
naughty brow on VIII ch Time had f,irrowed
many deep line; and his last wish was
granted--he once more laid his head on his
fathers breast. The proud man had re
turned to his desolate home with his heart
full of anger against the disobedient son who
forsook him, and chose a life of poverty and
toll for the sake of his foolish whim. But
as time wore on, the naughty spirit was sub.
dued, and he resolved to seek the jewel he
had once despised. He sought earnestly
and found it; and TO the eye Of faith it look
ed pure and bright. But he had lost his
son--banished him by his own harshness
and cruelty he set out on the second jour
ney with a enaslened spirit, and again clasp