The weekly mountain Democrat. [volume] (Placerville, El Dorado County, Calif.) 1861-1862, 1861-07-20
THE CHILD IN THE GRAVE.
n HAxs CHRISTIAN AnDEHsEN.

the terrible blow. By night ana 0y dny
had she devoted herself to her sick child,
watched him, lifted him up, carried him
about, done everything for him herself
She could not bring herself to believe that
he was dead-that he should be laid In a
coffin, and concealed in the grave. God
would not take the child from her, o no |!
And when he was taken, and she could no
longer refuse to believe the truth, she ex-
claimed In her wild grief:
God has not ordained thisi He has
heartless angels here on earth. They do
what they list-they hearken not TO 4
mothers prayers I
She dared, in her woe, to arraign the
Most High; and then came back thoughts,
the thoughts Of death-everlasting death
that human beings returned az earth to
earth. and then al was over. Amid
thoughts morbid and impious 40 these,
there could be nothing to console her. and
she sank into the darkest depths Of de.
spair.
In these hours Of deepest distress she
could not weep. She thought not Of the
young daughters who were left to her {;
her husbands tears fell on her brow, but
she did not look up at him-her thoughts
were with her dead child; her whole heart
and soul wrapped up in recalling every
"Reminiscences Of the lost one, every syliE'
bic Of his infantile prattle.
The dag of funeral came. She had not
slept the night before, but toward morn
ing, she Was overcome by fatigue, and
sank for short time into rcpose. During
that tune the coffin was moved into an
other apartment, and the cover was screw.
ed down with as little noise as possible.
When she awoke, she arose and wished
to see her child. Then her husband, with
tears in his eyes, told her, We closed
the coffin it had to be done
when the Almighty is 30 hard on me,
she exclaimed, why should human beings
be kinder ? and she burst into tears.
The coffin was carried to the grave
The inconsolAblc mother sat with her
'young daughters. She looked at them,
but abe did not see them her Thoughts
had nothing more to do with home, she
gave herself up to 'wretchedness, and it
tossed her about as the sea tosses the ship
which has lost its rudder. Thus passed
the day Of the funeral; and several days
followed In the same uniform. heavy grief
With fearful eyes and melancholy looks
her afflicted family gased at her. She
did not care for what coini0rted them
What could they say to change the cur
rent Of her melancholy thOughtss'
Il seemed as II sleep had 6ed from her
for ever; it alone would be her best friend,
strengthen her franc, and recalled peace
to her mind. Her family persuaded her
to keep her bed, and she lay there ns If
buried in sleep. One night her husband
had listened to her breathing, and belicv.
ing from it she had at length found rcpose
and relief, he claspcd his hands, prayed for
her and for them all, then sank intu peace.
full slumber. While sleeping soundly, he
did not perceive that she rose, dressed
herself and softly left the room and house,
to gO-where her thoughts waadered by
day and by night-to the grave Of her
child. She passed quietly through the
garden, out to the fields, beyond which
the road led outside Of the town, to the
church-yard. No one saw her, and she
saw no one.
II was fine night; the stars were shi.
ming brightly, and the cir was mild, al
though il was the first Of September
She entered the chMrch.yard. and went to
the little grave-it looked like one great
bouquet Of weet.scented flowers. She
threw herself down, and bowed her head
over the grave, as II she could through
the solid earth behold her little boy, whose
smile she remembered so wildly. The
atfsctionate expression Of his eyes, even
upon his sick bed, wAS never, never to be
forgotten. How speaking had not his
glance been when she had bent over him
and taken the little hand he was too weak
to raise As she had sat by his couch.
so now she sat by his grave. but here her
tears might flow freely over the sud that
covered him.
'Wouldst thou descend to thy child ?
said a voice close by.
1t sounded so clear, so deep, its tones
went to her heart. She looked up, and
near her stood . man wrapped in large
mourning cloak, with hood drawn over
the head; but she could see the counte.
nance under this. 1t was severe, yet en-
couraeing; his eyes were bright as those
Of youth.
Descend to my childr she repeated /;
and there was the agony Of despair in her
voice.
'Darest thou follow meF asked the
figure. 4 am Deathl'
She bowed her assent Then it seemed
all at once ~ il every star in the heavens
above shone with the light Of the. moon.
She saw the many colOred flowers on the
surface Of the grave move like fluttering
garment. She sank. and the figure threw
his dark cloak around her. It became
night-the night Of death. She sank
deeper than the spade could reach. The
church.yard lay like roof above her
head.
The cloak that envelOped her glided to
one side. She stood in an immense hall,
whose extremities were lost in the dis.
lance. It was dark around her, but be-
fore her stood, end Ia one moment was
elaspsd 70 her heart, her child, who smiled
on Der In beauty Gar SURPRISING what he
had pOaseaasd before. She uttered Q cry,
though Il was scarcely audible. for close
BY, and then FAR away, and afterwards
near again, came delightful music. Never
before had such glorious, such blessed
sounds, reached her earS. They rang
from the other side Of the thick curtain
black as night-that separated the hall
from the boundless space Of eternity.
MY sweet motherl my 0wn dear
motherl' she heard her child exclAim. It
wsa his well.known, most beloved voice !;
and kiss followed kiss In raptIrous joy.
At length the child pointed to tho sable
curtain.
~ There is nothing 90 charming up yoU.
der on earth, mother. Look, mother Al
them ALL That b ielicityF
The mother saw nOthing-nothing IN
the direction to which the child pointed,
except darkness like that Of night She
saw with earthly eyes. She did not ses
as did the child whom God had called T.
Himself She heard, indeed, sounds,
v.,,sso k,,k oh.. AiN nok n0An%oAaOI Sha