Preble County Democrat. [volume] (Eaton, Ohio) 1857-1859, 1857-06-25

passed uneventfully away, and g place
to the balmy breezes and sun sriles
of spring. Nothing of iTnpor nee had
transpired during the interiu ofect
the fortunes of the Fletchers; hard-
ship and privation had been por-
tion; and although the form rs.
Fletcher had begun to bow. bs ash the
iron rod of poverty, and the of
Kate had grown more van avery
passing dag yet with q elssei
did they maintain the pride aich was
almost a second nature to them,
One afternoon, off cheerless clustering
day in March, Kate come home from the
store whittier she had been to convey
her weekly bundle of work, looking un-
usually sorrowfnl, for Notwithstanding all
their want and poverty, she had ever
been as cheerful as proud resignation
to her lot would admit.
+" Well, Kate" said Mrs. Fletcher, as
she tore open the bundle of ane shirts
which her daughter had brought home,
and proceeded to put one together,
"Why do you look so sad ? Has any
thing occurred to distress you, or to
wuond your feslings Z"
| Kate did not answer Immediately; she
seemed to be struggling to force back
the tears which choked her utterance;
but at length she found voice to
say:
!" Mother, there is no use in killing
ourselves by work, to enrich others
Mr.. W---,the wretch has reduced the
price Of our labor one-third; SO, instead
of the paltry sum of the three dollars
per week, We shall hereafter have but
two" -..-.z
The poor widow seemed to be struck
dumb by information so unexpected and
improbable, and for an instant looked at
Kate with vague, wondering stare; then
she buried her face in her hands, while
from her livid lips burst wailing gasp
which rent the heart of Kate with un-
speakable woe. s2e
My God p cried the distressed wom-
an conyulsively, what shall we do? I
cannot, cannot accept aims from the
world, and We must certainly starve.-
May Heaven pity US, for we are sorely
troubled.
"There are yet two alternatives,
mother" said Kate, with a tone of
fierce irony in her voice, for suffering
and despair were fast changin&her very
nature, "and those are death and aims
house. Which shall it be Z"
A groan ofanguish was Mrs. Fletcher's
only reply, as with gesture of impa-
tient affiiction she cast aside the garments
which she had taken up a few months
previous, and arose to her feet. And
she did so, a spasm ofagony crossed her
thin wan face; she placed her hand up
on her heart, utteripg at the same time
a sharp, wild cry of pain, and sank in
sensible to the floor, while from her lips
flowed the crimson stream of life. She
had broken blood vessel.
s'Mother! g dear mother " cried Kate
frantically, as she fell upon her knees
beside the dying woman, and chafed her
icy hands and kissed her marble brow
with frienzed fondness, "speak to me
you will not, cannot die, dear mother!" "
There was no response, but the dying
eyes were unclosed for moment with a
look of unutteruble love and tenderness,
and the blanched lips quivered with a
vain attempt at speech. Then the eye
lids closed wearily, strange, choking
rattle issued from her throat, and with
long, faint sigh, the spirit winged its way
from the shores of time. The silver
chord was snapped; the pitcher was bro
ken at the fountain; Death had set its
irrevocable seal upon the brow of the
loved and honored mother; and hence
forth Kate Fletcher must pursue her
way in the world motherless and friend
less orphan.
Oh, the deep, deep, anguish of her
soul, as she gazed upon the cold form of
clay before her, and thought that even
that must be borne from her longing
gaze, and imprisoned in the dark and
silent tomb. And how did she yearn to
lie down and die by the side of that
sainted mother, that thus they might
mingle their songs in the Heaven, with
er she felt intuitively that the departed
soul had flown. But not could not
be; her mission on earth was not yet ac-
complished, and she must live on, a
poor, forlern victim of poverty and pain,
with naught to cheer her gloomy, lonely
hours, save the memory of departed joys,
and the hope of blissful reunion with
the loved and lost on the joyful shores
of ofimmorality.
The funeral was over; dust had been
consigned to its kindred dust, ashes COM
mitted to ashes-and into the open grave
of her dead mother, Kate Fletcher had
gazed with that bitter, hopeless, desol-
ate sense of Abandonment and despair,
which no pen can depict, no tongue de-
scribe, but which experience alone can
teachthe soul.
But, thank God, through adversity
and affliction, through wrongs, and
troubles, and privations innumcrable,
she had yet one true, devoted friend in
the person ofAllan Green; who clung to
her fortunes with all the tenacity of
friendship not unmixed with an ardent,
unchanping love. 1t was he who made