The evening telegraph. [volume] (Philadelphia [Pa.]) 1864-1918, 1867-04-06

God in his wisdom brought that sore annOUon
upon us all-the famine and the sickness Oh
az. Who that has lived through that year Oh
misery and horror, but shudders az Ihe
remembrances its very name recalls VINO
but walls some beloved one snatohed away /
with scarce moments warning the chilu
from its mothers arms; the mother HOlI 'u9
child's caresses the youth standing luli ol
hope on the threshold of his manhood, Wnen
the warm blood froze suddenly IN ms VEINS,
the Glad visions of his future faded before him
as the relentless hand of death seized MN
with grasp of irOn leaving him upon the
earth but one hour of agony, ana Jne
breath to say farewell; the aged lung INTO the
grave upon whose brink they had, uemDling,
stood for years clinging to life with more than
the tenacty of the young-all, All sTlCken
with that horror of dissolution; bowed down
as if curse had fallen upon us for our sins as
once came the plague upon the Egyptians.
First amongst the victims was the long-tried,
patient Mary. With sufficient warning only
to bring the good priest to her side, to receive
the last rites of her faith, to press in her en-
feebled arms her terror-strickeN son, and upon
his lips one agonizing kiss-anO her soul was
with its God.
The agony of the boy when once he
realized the great grief that had fallen
upon him was, they told me, so fearful
and so wild as to wiring with horror the
hearts of all who heard him. After time he
was somewhat paciied by the gentle per-
suasion of the priest, and the kind soothing
of some good -natured neighbOrs, who, dis
regarding the danger of the infection, had
gathered in out of love and pity They strove
to lead him from the deathbed; but no, the
first paroxysm of despair once over, he sat
himself down, silent, yet stern, by the bed
side. He spoke not, he wept not. Apparently
unconscious of the presence of others as OF his
own existence the icy fingers of one hand
o1o in qt TOOtiOnlnsq
as stone upon the dead face of his mother.
On through the long hours of that autumn
! night sat the stricken mourner and though
| daylight came, ay, even the sunlight that he
loved stole in and crept up upon the bed till
! it fell upon the placid features of the dead,
illumining them as with the glory of immor
| tality still he moved not. Dead as the dead
he seemed, in all but the strange, weird evil
dence of being in his eyes. Stolid he remained
to all remonstrances; silent as mOtiOnless to
! all words of comfort.
| The hour came at last for preparation towards
the removal of the body-for the cholera did not
spare the poor body after death, decay set in so
rapidly-when, contrary to the expectation of
| all the innocent voluntarily arose and even
assisted at the necessary dutiess, duties which
must have conveyed to him the knowledge of
his approaching parting with her to whom he
still clung as lovingly in death as he had done
in life.
1t was the afternoon of the day following
that of Mary's death when few neighbors
gathered to see her home, poor girl | should
not say few either, for they were many at
such a time, when the dead cart ratified hourly
past the door, and sorrowing and desolation
was in every home.
They bore her from the cottage and along
the way leading to the burying ground of Cas-
tlewean, the parish she had lived and died
in. The waling orphan walked steathily be-
lind hoaH han rfb 1Ioro h
face, his fingers interlaced before him, every
motion and expression speaking of the sorrow
unto death, of the mortal agony of desolation.
Mournfully the procession passed along till
it reached the cross road leading to this vii
lage here; but continuing their journey, those
forming it were suddenly interrupted by a
| Wild unearthly cry from the lips of the idiot.
Where are yez goin', men, where are yez
| goin', men, | say? You must take her to
| Drumbhan, you must take her to Drumbhan
She said she would lie there some day beside
her father; do you hear that, men So bring
her to Drumbhan, l say -
His agony was fearful, his shrek inhuman
in the ferceness of its passion. The bearers
stopped, the mourners gathered around the
boy, but vain was every effort to appease him,
and still his cry rose far above their words of
comtort:-"Bring her to Drumbhan, oh
bring her to Drumbhan %
None there knew, as l have said the
mothers story, and all believed this but a
wild, unreasonable fancy of poor Ned's but
had it been otherwise, what could they do
The grave was already made, and the good
priest waiting to give the last religious rite to
the body of this patient and enduring
Christian.
Seeing that they again moved on,
Ned suddenly ceased his cry, as if he had
formed some strange resolution which pacifed
him, and relapsed into the sullen gloom that
had preceded the outcry of his anguish. They
buried her; he came away quietly with them.
They sought some of them, to bring him to
their houses, thinking to save him the agony
of returning home just then to miss her pre-
sence; but all efforts to lead him any way but
that towards his desolate home were fruitless.
He returned to the cottage. He sat down by
the vacant bed and rocked himself to and fro,
singing with mournful pathos snatches from
an old ballad, favorite of his mothers.
An old neighbor promising to remain with
him that night and care for the cottage till
next day, when arrangements were to be
made for the disposal OF its contents and for
the future of poor Ned, the others went to
their homes.
The shadows of the night came down. In
and near the cottage all was silent. The old
woman crept towards the boy to rouse him
from his lethargy, and to urge him to take
some food which she had prepared for him.
He was asleep. Thanking God for this, His
greatest gift to the sorrowing heart, the old
woman sat down, and covering her shoulders
with her cloak, dozed away an hour or two,
then awoke and watched, then slept again,
again awoke to find the idiot still asleep, and
then slept again.