The Council Bluffs nonpareil. [volume] (Council Bluffs [Iowa]) 1857-1867, 1857-05-16

| cannot let him die 2,
And then again:
s1Oh, why is it, why must i be sof When
we left every thing else, and bur other chill
dren behind MS, we could not leave little
Charlie. He was was to \ have been our
good angel, to make every hardship light
and pleasant. Tell me, John, II there is
any meaning in this blow"
'Itis the penalty We pay for being pools,''
answered the man bitterly.
A dark shs1nw, as Of reporse, settled
suddenly down upon the. woman's brow as
she conti1ued wildly:
ssBut thought it was enough when we
buried little Arthur; you said God had ta-
ken him, and it was better for him and Us.
But Charlie, he has been longer with us,
and he is different from all, the others; W
can never love any thing again as we have
loved him. Oh, see him now; see his little
limbs how they twine. God, do not Let
him suffer thus! take him, if thou must, bus
do not let him lingsr thus!"
And the father answered ,solemnlv, while
the child's limbs were stiff and bent in a
last conyulsion. and the old look Of life was
fading away in his upturned eyes, and great
drops Of. agonizing sweat stood upon his
/ little brow, and while greater drops cams
npon the fathers face face whose every
line spoke voieeless prayer to Sod 10
shorten the death struggle-thus he answer
ed. +,'@f
eyes, Mary, this suffering is very hard,
almost too hard; but hear me, Mary, and
thank God with m. that our Charlie shall
never know suff ring ten thousand times
greater than this, which you and could
not have seen and felt for!'' -
e. s'He does not suffer-" said another voice
close by. s.Even now, yodr child Charlie
rejoices with the angel in the paradise Of
uod." - -
i As the voice spoke, the painful gurgling,
ceased in the child's throat, his limbs
gradually straightered and resumed their
native grace, while lovely radiance illu-
minated his beautiful countenance, as if it
had caught il reflex from the unhappy spirit
lowering there short moment to bid adieu
| to its late tenement of clay. A'peaceful,
easy drawing of breath or two, and the
last chapter Of this little life on earth was
closed.
| There was silence for some minutes. The
rain was over, the winds We're at rest, and q
! broad square of moonlight came in through
the doorway of the ranch, lighting up the
spot where sat the figures Of the scene.
| 1t was only natural that the last conner
should have been Arthur Orrington. 1t
was particularly fitting that he should have
come at that moment had no curious
sensation how or whence-to form as it
wern a connecting, reconciline 4ink between
those afflicted spr rits and the higher order of
existences, of which their child WAS now
har, nf oh
within his own. he K, el before tn m in
prayer, could not h lip feeling lndeed that
som thing of the spirit Of Him who, coming
down from helven, took upon hims 1t the
likeness even of us, and event about doing
good" yet fingered in the fo.m OF our
humanity. .
His prayer was no idle expenditure of
words. 1t rose up from his soul like spirit
ual incense: and as it assembled, Ike in
cense from other souls mingled and rOs,
with it, all acceptable Offering at the throne
of the All-perfect. oh, what an odor Of
| fearful iov, and gratitude, and hope seemed
/ to foat upward and outward from our hearts
making the atmosphere about US redolent
of all pleasant things, when that clear, soft
I solemn voice repeated the words Of our Sa-
viour, s:Suffer little children to come unto
me-" and then the ineFable peace and faith
which oyercame us, how can describe 1t
when there followed the blessed assurance
! that ssos such was the kingdom of he;tsen!''
/ But when, for the first time, the absolute
certainty of their chld's eternal bliss broke
upon the parents brain: when, following
the spirit of the PRAYER, they saw him set
ting with the white-robed cherubs at thu
feet of Christ. and knew that there should
be his home for ever, the measure of their
thankfulness was full. The great glory of
the thought, that while they were going
about in quest Of the treasures OF earth,
other bands than those of men had been
gathering treasures for them, worth more
than all the worlds of space,and laying them
up in those regions ''where neither moth
nor rust doth corrupt. and where thieves do
not break through and steal." was enough
The corpse of the child wing in its l%>t COM
posure. as if faRned TO slumber by an an
gels wing, was but typical Of the perfect
peace and gladness of those two spirits
bowed and silent in the presence OF that
sublime revelation.
1t was long after the departure Of Arthu,
Orrington, ere word was spoken on ei,heI
side. The man and woman sat in their re.
spcctive seats, almost motionless, while The
former still held in his arms his still precious
burthen. At length loud, long sob burst
from the woman, and as she turned her face
full towards me, catching meanwhile upor
her husbands arm, saw lines Of tears
streaming down her cheeks.
'sJohn,' said she. in tone most thrill.
lingly sad. yet earnest, Il feel that l have
done great wrong, but God has forgiven
me: can you forgive me also?o
The man changed not his posture in thu
slightest, and she continued:
s'When YOU were in trouble, John, wher
the world grew dark around you, when yor
hadn't friend, John because YOU hadn't
money, but when little money would have
made you free and happy, Ihad it and kept
it back from you."
The man turned upon her countsnanct
full of emotion, but IN which was no senti.
ment of anger.
eyes, John, had money, money inner.
tied from a relative, that YOU did not know
of-and kept it back. But oh! believe me
did not keep it from avarice or mistrust:
kept it because would have been too wise
and was fool" ~
In the mans countenance was an expires.
sloH VI carHesl, sedrCuinE inquiry, WHICH tut
woman Interpreting, went on: 8"
"Yes, John, saw you suffer day by day;
saw your sensitive spirit goaded and made
miserable; saw you despised by mean, un.
worthy men, and kept back the money
which might have made you Independent Of
them all. But oh, John, did not keep it
back for myself, 1 kept it back for him; yes
for him, that might have it to keep off the
evil of his dark day. Oh! thought il
would come as yours had come, when ht
was a handsome, high-hearted young man
and conld not bear to think of him crush.
ed and disappo ntcd, and despised Of his
companions. So said, | will save it fol
him, and when his dark day comes and ht
shall say to me, sMothsr, have no friends
and no position in the world, and musi
die,' then would bring it forth and give il
to him, and be repaid by his kisses and hi,
tears for all that you and have suffered
Oh, what fool was!"
A The woman's tears fell in gushing rivers
but her sobs were less wild and VIOLENT
The man wept too, but calmly; and taking
her by the hand he said, in a voice so touch.
ingly tender and sad that found my owI
tears falling likewise:
ssYou are my own dearest Mary. love