Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1859-08-31


Mrs. Nash had been down stairs pre-
parng supper; she had just laughingly
said, in reply to a neighbOr's question con-
cerning her husband
''0l going to die, as you men all are, if
you happen to cut your finger
Little she thought how true the prophecy
she so unthinkingly uttered. In another
moment the eldest son came into the room.
'Isn't it funny?" he cried, "pa don't
know me. He called me Mr. Norris, and
asked if had that will all made out"
"What do you mean, child?" His
mother paused in the midst of her work.
( He don't know me, because kept cal
ling pa, and he would look at me so strange,
and keep asking if l had that will made
out
! Her cheek paling little, Mrs. Nash
hurried up to the chamber above. Her
husband was talking wildly to himself, and
his appearance had changed frightfully.-
Now, seriously alarmed, she sent for the
physician, who was all wonder that he had
been called at so late an hour.
The man must have shown symptoms
of more than ordinary distress, this morn
ing" he said, "did he make complaints of
nothing but an ordinary headache?'
The wife was forced to confess that the
syptoms had been unusually severe, but he
was so liable to these attacks that she
didn't think much of it. Her heart, how
ever, condemned her. She was conscious
that the means and complaints of her poor,
sick husband had irritated her to an unus-
ual degree, that she had borne far from
patiently with him. Now she was ready
to make all amends. With tears and low
ing thoughts she hovercd over that sick
bed, accusing herself-as every wild cry
for her rang out, and still there was no
consciousness, still he felt not the kind
hand, saw not the streaming eyes-of
being the cause of all his wretchedness
through her selfish neglect.
Tears, hot and copiOus, wild prayers to
heaven, sweet and fervent words Of love
availed nothing. The death-hour came,
and with it consciousness. Arrows could
not have pierced that sad heart as did the
last words of the dying man
Dearest, you have been good wife to
me-
The meek face looked calmly white
amidst the casemente of the grave, but it
was scarcely winter than the face that bent
over it. o. what would she have given
to recall those cold, careless words that
were ringing in her own ears at every step.
This was the thought that gave anguish
unparalleled, as her trembling steps led her
to his open grave-as she looked her last
upon the dear. manly face that had ever
had smile for her. o. to.live with this
consciousness to bear burden so heavy
these were to be her punishment.
If | had been tender to him that day"
She often sobbed out, as she accused her
self-''if had only kissed the hot brow,
and bathed it more carefully-if l had
only put down that feeling that 1 would
not humor his fancied indisposition-I
would give worlds.'' But the sorrow,
dreadful as it was, has not been without
its salutary influence. Now the widowed
woman is the welcomed visitor by the bed
side of the sick. Her gentle voice soothes
as the voice of mother-her hand touch
is like the pressure of velvet, her very
sympathy is as the sweetest cordial. And
if ever she is tempted to think an impa-
tient thought or give expression to selfish
wish, there comes up before her the vision
of pale face that, but for her neglect,
might be smiling on her now-and with
the rebuke working patience in her heart,
She goes about her Masters work-lNoth-
er'S Journal