The Richmond palladium. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1855-1875, 1865-11-09


after that moments musing, he an
swered-
"Yes, get your bonnet"
/ stopped an instant on my way thro
the door ward TO gather bunch of the
bright June roses, which. Parson Avery
loved. as he loved every beautiful thing
in nature Then, with them in my hand
/ walked on silently beside my father
There was a deep peace about the house
into which we entered The brightness
of the June day had touched it, but
touched il with sort of solemn spien
dor / remember the childish sense of
awe-of standing on holy ground--that
came over me. as | followed my father
in at the open door--a door at which no
one ever thought of knocking, for all
were sure Of 4 welcome. AT the en-
trance Of the west room, where ti'e min
lister always sat, we paused EviG ntlv
he had not heared our foot steps lie
sat at the west window in his arm chair,
his hands folded; his work, as my father
had said all done From the window he
could see five graves, on which the after
noon sunlight shone, IN which slept ms
children and their mother. Solemn and
sweet "a the notes of solemn chant,
the tones of his voice trembled upon the
air
The Lord gave, and the Lord hath
taken. Blessed forever be his name :.
NV father motioned me to go in. /
went to the old mans side with my
bunch of roses. He turned toward me
and on his face strange light seemed
to glow; light of Gods peace, which
child as | was, made me think OF the
mount of TRANSPORTATION.
.Welcome my dear he sail with
that tender gentleness which made him
beloved by all innocent souls . You
and vour flowcrs ave alike, bright aud
fresh with the brightness of summer
You have brought the June with you,
And then he turned and saw my faith
er, and welcomed him as kindly as usual.
There was embarrassment indeed, but
it was all on my fathers side: We did
not stay long. Pcpa made remark or
two about wishing to see how he was
not having seen him for some days-and
a few such common places And Par
son Avery answered, with smile
Yes, l have been very busy l have
been writing my farewell sermon. l
ought to have preached it long ago; but
my people have been very patient with
me / am not ungrateful."
"Ungrateful ~ my father murmured
to himself, as he walked home. The
meekest saint that ever followed in the
foot steps OF his Master
The next day the old church was full.
The hearts Of all the parsh yearned
with unutterable and indiscribable ten
derness towards the man they thought
too old to do them any more good. Now
if they could they would have given ten
wears salary to undo the calling of that
one meeting. But that was out of their
power-they could only come to hear
the old minister's farewell.
Child rs | was, l can never forget the
melting eloquence to which l listened
that day Parson Avery brought his
notes into the pulpit with him, but he
laid them down. and did not look into
them Afterwards l think his sermon
was so written upon his heart that he
needed no reminder | could never re-
produce his words or the impression
they made on my mind They were
the words of one who felt as if all his
audience were his children. to whom he
was speaking for the last time, in all
eternity 1t was like the lamentatiou of
his Master over Jerusalem-"'How of
ten would have gathered thv children
chickens under her wings. and We woull
not" The old quavering voice grew
strong with more than the fire of youth.
As he called. yet once more, on these,
his children, to heed the invitations OF
his Master No ewes there but looked
through tears, no breath that sobs did
not coke no heart but swayel to the
passion of his pleading as n tree which
the wind shakes. a pentecostal glory
was about the place; then, IL never be
fore, did it seem not only the house OF
God, but the very gate of heaven.
When the last word was spoken, and
in the hush that followed came through
the window for a moment the birds twIt-
ter and the insects hum. he looked
around upon them all with such tender
ness as shines III eyes which looked
their last-theu he said quietly
II am weary. brethren. there will be
no service this afternoon and uttered
a few words of prayer for the flock he
loved so weli-whose souls he had borne
for so many years as n precious burden
before the throne of Him who is mighty
to save-and then dismissed them with
his blessing.
But as if spell was on all that weep
ing audience. no one moved and alone
the old man came down the pulpit stairs
and walked away towards his home
That night, when supper was over,
nv father went again to the parsonage.
and again he suffered me to be his com
panion. The sun had just set; and all
the wonderful glory of June twilight
was in the west. The clouds burned
here with gold and there with crimson,
and rosy reflection colored vividly the
eastern sky, from which looked a pale
young moon Just risen.
If deep peace had been about the
house the day before, a stranger, more
mysterious silence brooded over 1t now,
at which our very souls were hushed in
awe. Through the still air, almost felt
the ftful futtering of unseen wings, As
if angels watched, les any discordant
sound should break that stiffness, Again.
on the threshold of the west room we
paused As before, the old man sat At
the western window. The sunset bright
ness, toward which he was looking. had
Touched his silver hair till il shown Ike