The River Falls journal. (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1857-1861, 1857-07-29

wealth of Cesar. But he viewed these
men of will as only one kind of men; he
kept them in their place, and / found that
he, who could understand the Roman, vet
expressed in Hamlet deeper thought. s.
The I'Iaythings ON the Grave.
1t was little grave-a very little one.
A child's arm could have spanned it.
could have reached the top Of the slender
shaft that shot up Whitley and purely
from the swelling curve Of the little green
mound. Maybe four years Of innocent
child-life were rounded by that sod
Maybe when the fifth year came, the lit
tie feet @ew very weary, and the deep
blue eyesfst on = quiet, serious, earnest
look, andthen shut their lids on the glor;es
of spring time-and the white hands fold
ed as if for sleep, just as they had done
for 50 many beautiful nights after the era
die song Maybe that rest seemed the
most beautiful thing in the universe to
that little spirit, even though the mother
called wildly for the AWAKENING Of her
child, and wondered strangely that those
dear eyes should close SO early on the
world that was just opened to their vision
wondered that not even her love could
detain the boy. s.
There was no cypress or willow shading
THAT would have spoken falsely. But
roso tree dropped over it with its cluster
ing buds, telling Of hope and promise.
Everything whispered of that-there was
expectation and the resurrection faith in it
all The white shaft broken at the top,
bearing only the single inscription, "Our
Charlie the white rose tree making no
gloom, but tempered light where its shad-
ow fell-and on the grave the playthings
the worn ball, the hoop, SO often trun-
died over the grass plot before the door
of the dear old homo, wherein tiny hands
had twirled for long joyous hours on bright
sunny days-and the little riding whip,
worn and dilapidated-that was all!
sour CharIiev' 13@ "a
That was what the stone said, and that
was all it revealed. Who was the boy
whose Charlie was he!
Oh! had we ever seen the father and
mother of the boys Had we ever met
them anywhere in the walks Of lifes 1t
was vain query, and yet our thoughts
dwelt with q strange interest on them
wherever they were.
1t was somebody's Charlie. Somebo-
dy had missed little pattering feet from the
home paths - missed little querulous
tones, little winsome ways, the mornings
gleeful awaking, and good nights kiss
and prayer. Somebody had closed blue
eyes, aud smoothed soft hair over the
yc;ned tcmblcs, and folded small hands
over still bosom, and placed in their
ncrveless clasp bright young flowers. And
over somebody's threshold the shadow of
little coffin had passed. And we pic
tured to ourself the time when the parents
of Charlie had laid HIM to rest under the
mound
Perhaps one fair spring morning, not
many years ago, little hearse was borne
to this spot, followed by pale, fearful,
fair-haired, youthful woman, leaning in tho
very helplessncss of grief on the stronger
arm of a noble browed, eagle-eyed, but
now sorrowful man. And these were the
father and mother of Charlie.
Maybe he was the only ons-maybe a
happiness and hope went out of existence
with the closing of that young life. Or
there might have been others-and he,
the first-born. A brother or sister may
miss him from their daily sports. Who
knowsa But there was hope in it all
else why tho simple language of this
spot
"Our Charlic!'
Oh, when you laid your boy down to
sleep, was it not in hopcs Did you not
have faith in the coming time when he
should be given to your arms again? Did
We not know that he was your Charlie
still-and try, even amid the tears and
anguish of the bereavement to believe
that no doubt it was better that he should
depart from YOU for season, so that you
might receive him foreyer!'
Our Charlie!"
And twas in this beautiful faith and
hope that We planted the roses over his
head. and set the white marble looking
heavenvard, and smiling through your
tears, laid the toys above his bosom! Yes,
your Charlie on earth, and, oh, joy! your
Charlie still in heaven!
Oh, young mother, whose tears fall
like an April baptism above the grave.
whenever in the holy evening tide you
came and stand there-and oh, brave man,
whose chief hope withered the night that
Charlie died, know that . it is well with
the childr Water the little mound with
tears. and let his name dwell in your
hearts as shousehold word, and know,
with quiet joy filing your spirit that
God hath Charlie And be glad that
your child is safe, and waiteth for you
in the land where there is never grave
where no tombstone tells the stories OF
the heart-but where every broken thread
Of human existence is gathered at list
safely abound in the bundle Of Life !
DANIEL WEBSTER penned the following
beautiful sentiment -
II -.-LIr = xr,l1 v,ny;;ab.