Monmouth weekly herald. [volume] (Freehold, N.J.) 1854-1860, 1858-08-05
Do you like pork very much :" whis-
pered Lizzie Lighte. pulling her mothers

sleeve.
And Mrs. Murke doesn't use butter nor
pork for frying griddle cakes u little dry
salt, they assured me, will answer every pur-
pose"
Il know one thing. I'm glad mother
doesn't have griddles creased with SALT
%Tentufsd lizzie.
Then these potatoes, small and poor as
they are, cost over a cent a piece. Murke
substitutes Indian dumplings."
Boiled in water, | suppose, palatablo p
Give me another piece Of chicken, Charles,
if you will" was Mrs. Lighte's only reply.
What do they make use Of instead Of
sweet potatoes r" asked Lizzie, who was very
fond Of the latter delicacy.
Mrs. Lighte looked smilingly for her hus-
bands answer.
"They do not eat such Injuries, my child;
MI Murke is saving against the time he
grows old"
I" Why, father, we II take care of you when
you grow old and / mean to have a home
just like ours, sweet potatoes and ALL" said
the child "yet tie Murkes' do have some
Injuries, for when the cake gets burnt. Mary
often brings the crusts to school for her
luncheon; she says her mother told her that
they'd make her breath sweet, but sclidcake
was poisonous I shouldn't think she d give
MASON to her company"
n3Ihost was banished but the thrifty
6eMZs Known as Mrs. Murke, came one last
time to the home of Charles Lighte.
There was to be a funeral on the morrow;
the sofa by the Preside was empty, and dust
was gathering over the work-box that stood
on the centre-table a group of children
were huddled together, crying as if their
hearts would break.
After the long life work, she had folded her
hands at last, and the corpse lay waiting for
burial Carrie, the proyident mother, the
faithful wife, the good, gentle, sympathizing
friend; and as Charles Lighte stood watch
irg her, with sorrow too deep for tears, Mrs.
Murke came to offer consolation. She said
eyes, she was good, and kind neighber
to me. l shall never forget her early infu-
ence over my husband but, Mr.. Lighte, we
must not waste time in grief and every sor-
row has its compensations. You have now
one less to support in these hard times
Your wife had a great many children, and was
ambitious for them, and liked to keep up a
good appearance in the world. She was an
excellent woman, but you may find another
Jnat xfrfa 10 as we'll as she, and save your
money beside"
"4h," broke forth the husband, too griev-
ed fotanger, "she spent for US she watched,
and planned, and wasted all her strength for
our welfare this house is full of the works
of her hands. My heart is full of recellec-
tions Of her patient love and industry. 1 have
too often panied the gentle heart that is sleep
ing here, by repeating your advice, Yester-
day fny partnership with your husband dis
solvs&; to-day, Mrs. Murke. I beg leave to
disSolye my acquaintance with you"
md they buried her, that good Carrie
& With the fruit Of her hands," she had
panted a vineyard" and when she was
dead her husband and children dwelt therein.
The Murkes added gold to gold, and ia
ded their souls with that thick clay" They
built a fine house, and gave a great formal
party every year then covered the furni-
ture, packed away the silver, locked the par
lors, and lived in few small back rooms.
Mr.. Murke's daughters married early to
esApe u9genial. home, accepted the first
adxentufv that offered themselves, andtoae
by one came back to him, with wasted health.
and ruined hopes, and a family OF children.
His sons rushed into dishonesty and extrava-
gance, and were q living disgrace and sorrow
to the parents hearts
Doing out, with many a sigh, the ssanty
pittance which they consider needful for the
wants Of their children and grand children,
Mr.. and Mrs. Murke live alone in their house,
pore over newspapers and needs, discuss
stocks, bends andsnotes, and feel poor, as we'll
they may, who have lost their souls for the
sake of gold which perisheth.
Dir. Lighte, with sufficient property for all
his wants, divides his time between many
households, all copies of the dear one he can
never forget and in each of which he is ca
gerly welcomed and cared for with watchful
leve. His children continually develop be-
fore his eyes the traits which he has now
learned to appreciate in his dead wife. They
have taken the place in society for which
their mother fitted them have married in
good families, are surrounded with refined
frfezIsar9 make themselves attractive by
whatever among the comforts and elsgancies
of life may be within their reach.
AS Charles Lighte, an old man now, sits
thus at the 6reside of his children, and
watches his daughters, ornaments to society,
blessings to their homes. oomfortsrs to the
destitute, and his sons, forward in all good
works and manly enterprises, tears, not of
loneliness, but Of gratitude, fill his eyes, and
he thinks how the good wife, " being dead,
yet speaketh,"
Yes, "let her own works praise her"
Reader, | would not disparage the excel
lent and needful virtue Of economy but only
suggest, by this sketch, drawn frsm actual
life, that there are kinds of vase which lead
to wealth, and kinds of accumulation which
lead to miserable waste.