Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1859-05-06
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POOR TOM.
PICTURE OF THE RUN TRAFFIC.

PICTURE OF THE RUN TRAFFIC.
Toll!
How mournfully the tone rung through the
air then its musical cadence died away till
all was still.
No; all was not still, for bird was sing
ing without, and the light breath of summer
came floating into the room where lay and
bore It's tromulous song to my ear. | arose
and looked through the easement into the lat
ticed porch. The geranium, the rosebush,
The vine and the honey-sucklo spreading out
their tender leaves, obstructed the view bnt
nevertheless left room for glimpse into
pleasant garden, where the flowers are smi-
ing. How pleasant
After all. is not this happy world;
Toll Toll
Again that sound but this time its faint.
ing murmurs were caught up and prolonged
by another more deep toned than the first
The inarteuatc harmony tells more forciby
than words, that man gooth to his long
home, and tho mourners so about the streets ~
There is sadness and yet sweetness about the
knell-a murmuring, and yet joy.
just such a requiem as the saints should
have; sorrow for our loss, joy for their tri-
umph. But oh it may not be the body of a
departed believer that now takes its last Jour
ney Oh to think that when the last trum-
pet shall sound-alas alas
Come with me, enter a sick chamber A
bloated form lies before you the eyes glare
wildly around as he wakes from stupid
slumber. a sepulchral voice breaks the 81
lence, "where is my bottle y
Tom, replies a middle-aged man by the
bed-side--it was kindly but firmly spoken
tom, you have drank all that was in tn,
bottle and you shouldn't have had that if
had not been afraid yon would sink belor,
your medicine could act"
81 want my bottle, tell you. | will hav,
IT, III get up out Of this bed, and go dowr
into town, and get some for myself" HI
rose up in his bed, but his strength was too
far gone. lie fell back in a fainting fit.
A few hours later Day dies in the West
the crimson, the gold and blue that overhang
are fading into a sombre pail, as though thi
abiding place of ours were, as il is indeed
one vast charnel house. Knock Knock
Death is at the door.
Lift me up" says the dying man.
tom, you cant stand it, you are to
weak"
''l.ift me up" said he sternly to servan
The servant takes hold Of his head and rails,
him up little. He tries to rise still furth,
but the effort was too much for him, he sinh
back in his last swoon, draws two or thrt
breaths-and he is dead
Toll Toll
A group Of idlers were standing on the CO.
ner Of the street, when presently there can
into view a slow procession Reader, wi
you, or your father, or your brother, or 20,
son, ever lead such procession,
"Poor Tom said one on the sidewalk
The speaker was plump and rubieund, wi
heavy gold fop-chain and an embroider'
crayat, dainty tied around his broad neck
"Poor Tom! he was a good clever fello
when be wasn't drunk My Sam was out
the house this morning. and went in and to,
look at the corpse. He says an old womi
was standing at the head Of the lounge, wit
she lifted up the cover from Toms face, 81
looked feariully solemn, and when Sam la
back the coyerlct, she took hold of his hal
and said, ''pcbr Tom is gone !; and then 4
tears came tricklng down her face, and s