The weekly Portage sentinel. [volume] (Ravenna, Ohio) 1854-1861, 1858-05-20

Weeping over the fabric of the slk.worm-
mourning that she must part with few bits
of shining crystals and-colorsd ssoaes'
The world has followed thee to the grave,
and lefta mound in place of the green grass,
or shut the doors Of a tomb upon thy coffin!
Pale Rachel Moreiy--patent, angelic
Rachel Morely! She was little known to the
world, save when beautiful thought went
forth from her pen, and tears and smiles at
tested her genius. But, better than that
better than fitting, moth.like existence in
the midst of the blazing light and wild ap.
plaupe=her "life was hid with Christ in
God" She, too, had face of wonderful
power. The brow was wide and pale, the
eyes large, deep and searching. ...
She was minister's child-a poor preach
er's only daughter, and an untring student.
He fathers library was also her sanctum.-
There, at his feet. she studied. His old yell
low Latin and Greek folios were conquered
by her with comparatively little effort. Her
mind was q store.house of know ledge; she
was gifted with an eloquent tongue, wrote
in clear aud forcible style, and in her soft
large eyes, us they were sometimes upturned
in the moment Of inspiration, could be seen
something Of heaven. ...
Her part was acted also-not with regal
robes and kindling jewels--not in the spirit
of dead heroism-not in perpetuating the
licentious freaks of miserable proAigate
Obi none of these did Rachel, the preachers
daughter, represent, as she moved along her
path of duty. Her stage was the poor mans
home, where sickness and want and squalor
abounded; her jewels, the little children that
loved her SO that the iightest touch of her
finger, or the nerest chance that turned her
dark eye towards them, were treasured up
up More lovingly than the French Rachel
treasured her pearls. :. So A...,.. ......
Disease, too, ear'y in It's light Of dim cal
culatioD, dimmed her eye and paled her
cheek. The same sickness that wasted the
form Of the French Rachel, consumed hel
life; and for many months she ling efed
growing more and more ethereal till she
looked ut last like luminous shadow, ready
at any moment to throw the fragile covering
Of mortality aside. j..
She, too, beguiled the tedious hours, no
with agcniziDg glances at rich and gllsten
ing rob es, or rubies, emeralds and diamonds
Che robe atone absorbed her attention--the
robe of righteousness. She contemplated
it's exquisite purity. its white lustre, unequal
ed even by the light of heaven, and she did
not weep at Tie thought of parting with tiii'
beautiful dress, for it was the gift of Christ
She was to wear it at the marriage suppe
of the Lamb.
Her Jewels were sometimes Brought to
l.er bedsde-the children of the village
lnd as she compared them with the crown
in the hand of her Redeemer, she whisper
ed: II can leave these for the treasures h
has promised" The little ones whom she
had tau ght aud clothed, and who were never
to forget her, wondered as they saw th'
shining eye light up with unearthly radiance
and thought of the angels about whom sh
had often told them. -
O, it was delightful to sit near her, to hol'
her wasted hand, and hear her talk of hea
ven. Her trust was so perfect! her faith 8
full! and her countenance seemed at time
trans6gured and to wear the splendor Q
heaven. No regrets-not one. Not sig
for the pleasures of earth. for her delightful
studies. She was entranced by the vision
revealed from the better land.
Beautiful was the day on which she diet
A soft breeze wandered through her chan
ber laden with the fragrance of roses. No
a cloud flecked the sky as her pure spirit as
cended. The presence of angels were fel
around that dying bed, and We smiled eve
as we wept. She looked 60 calm! SO ia
diant! SO holy! 1t was the sculptured slee
of death, without a single terror OF one mar
ring feature. A long procession followe
her-not the noble, not the richj but thos
whom Christ loved-=the poor. the suffering
the sorrowing. ......*
While no earthly tablet is reared owe
Rachel Morley's grave, and only littl
bush that bears fragrant white flowers ever
summer, sheds beauty upon the mound, it
sweet to think that the good she has don
will never perish here, and that her name
written in the "Lamb's Book of Life !"