The Westerly echo, & Pawcatuck advertiser. [volume] (Westerly, R.I.) 1854-1858, 1856-08-07

beside the dead, he told me of his love
for Isabel, and how he had determined
to conquer it, and had vowed there,
beside the dead to be true to me thong
the effort cost him his life. Again he
kissed me, murmuring from out the
fullness of glad heart-words Of ten
dorness and comfort and oh, dearer
than ever was he to me the hour that
resigned him forever.
What cause was there for delay i-l
My brother Harmon had come home to
the funeral only. Isabel could not re-
main longer as Warmers guest; the
property was decided to me and mine
forever, and We restored it to its owner,
for l had not really any need Of it, my
mother having left me handsome an
nuity.
1t was no time for idle displays; the
death angel had left shadow on our
house, yet never did my cousin Isabel
look SO softly, sweetly beautiful as when
| helped to array her in her simple
robe of India muslin, and twined in her
braided hair q few Of the last white
roses Of fall.
They who had called her cold and
, heartless, should have seen her now,
when she turned from the altar of the
old moss covered church, no longer a
maiden, but the highest, holiest thing
this earth contains-a living, trusting
wife.
In the stiffness of my chamber that
night, neither wept, nor groaned, nor
raved. But you may never know the
grief that filled my soul. But God be
ever merciful.
Years have passed since when |
would have gone forth and sough in
the worlds turmoil to forget the vain
love of youth the withering hand of
sickness was held upon me. Lillian
has grown up fair and lovely woman,
and is happily married. Hcrmon too,
has blooming family around him, but
l like not his imperious wife. And my
sister has followed her husband to the
far off plains of Africa, where, as a
missionary, he unfolds the banner of
the lamb. Isabel has more than full
filed the promise of her youth her
character has settled into something SO
strangely tender and devoted, that all
the projections of her nature have been
hallowcd and beautiful. Their welded
life has been one long lapse of sunshine
and if the storms of sorrow hover over
the evening of their days, know they
will meet its waves together. As for
me, my feet have turned into the path
that leadeth within the arch.' I
catch almost the music of seraphic
voices, and though die daily
Il am not darkly sinking to decay
But hour by hour my spirits fades away
As melfs the radence from a slvery cloud.
my chastened heart exclaims-
l must love on, oh God,
This bosom must love on; but let thy breath
Touch and make pure the flame that knows
no death,
Bearing itup to Heaven, Loves own
abode.
If have sought to live
But in one light, and made a human eye
The lonely star of my idolatry,
Thou that art Love, oh, pity and forgiven
And thus closes the simple story Of
the struggles of human heart. Does
the critic call it improbable, and turn
from it coldly as the creation Of dis
ordered fancy?
How readest thou thy brothers
heart ; may there not be depths of feel
ing Of which you in your sefshness are
incapable, heights to which you may
not attain +?
The hands that traced these lines are
folded calmly above the still breast -
On the evening that she closed her eyes
on earth, We gathered about her dying
bed, her mind was wandering, she
called for Warner Gray, and he came
and held her little wasted hand in his,
her eyes rested for moment on sin
gle ring she wore, his gift in childhood.
That thread of gold carried her back to
the hours when she had climbed his
knee she talked of the buttercups and
daisies that come in May-she asked
: him to gather them for her-She had
her emaciated arm about his neck and
kissed him with her lips, on which hung
the dcws Of death, and in that hour, for
the first time. Warner Gray realized
how be had been loved by the being
that be deemed incapable of cherishing
any depths of feeling for any orie.-I
Such is mans judgment. Surely God
is more righteous than we.
Does any question the wisdom and
goodness of Heavenly Father, who
permitted so much love to be poured
out vainly l know that could the
spirit of Alice Moore return from bo-
side the still waters wither she rests
she would say to such, that in the bles-
sedness Of that love which is divine,
eternal, she hath lost all human passion
v