The spirit of democracy. [volume] (Woodsfield, Ohio) 1844-1994, 1867-07-09
[Erom the Bslleville Advocated
1T is M E.''
A story for Young Mothers.
BY MRS. c. r. FLEMING.

1 oA hhcs Os
All, is it2 And who is me? I will tel
you if you are patient, and listen atten
lively to my simple, mournful tale, o
little "It Is Mel
Dropping in at an elegant mansion
few months less than year ago, my at
tention was attracted to lisping lips, 81
Is Me" replying to an interrogatory b,
her neither.
aWbo is there at the piano2 Com
right away from it or you will spoil il.
at is met replied sweet little voice
that caused every chord of my heart t.
vibrate. There was no frowning, M
complaint uttered by little Lille as sh,
came away from her mammals piano, ant
seated herself upon herstool by my side
for she knew I loved Gods little lambs,
but there was sweet, solemn expression
of Der eountenance I can never forget
She was too beautiful for this world
Turning her large, mournful blue eyes
toward the ethereal sky, and pointing hel
little chubby hand upward, she said:
"Mamma, you have told me the angels
were beautiful, and good, and made beau.
tiful music in heaven, and that when lit.
tie brother died he had gone up there to
live with the. angels and Jesus, for he
said, Suffer little children to come unto
me, and | want to 60, mamma, and be an
angel, and live with little brother in
heaven; but / wonder if the angels will
let me play upon their piano in heaven
and won't be afraid I'll spoil it mammal
aHow strange you talk, my child, said
the mother, who could better appreciate
her worldly gorgeous luxury than Lillie's
sentiments, although she had taught her
child to respect Jesus and his teachings.
X X X x X
When Nays first roses began to bloom
! called at Lilies earthly home, and in
quired for Mrs. --- and Lille; sad
countenanced servant led the way to the
drawing room, informing me that the
house was in mourning. Lille was lying
a corpse in the parlor, and her mother
and father were too overcome with grief
to see any one, but asked me if I would
like to see the little corpse. OF course |
would; and as the servant led the way to
the parloT, ] followed, with solemn step,
to gaze upon the child / had SO marked
in life, as being too pure and bright for a
rough, cold world like this.
Her little coffin rested upon marble
table near a window, where the gentle
breezes Of May, waited through the jes-
samine boughs, stirred the silken brown
curls that lay around her pure brow. O,
how still were those precious featuresl-
Those little dimpled fingers could never
more strike the notes Of that mothers
piano, who sat wailing in her room, as
but mother could grieve over an often
ded dead babe. Lille was not offended,
but maybe God was.
A snow white robe wrapped her little
form, and white roses and lily buds en-
wreathed lay upon her heart. THAT same
smile of sainted sweetness that adorned
her ceuntcnance in life was still there in
death. Little dimples were still there in
those rounded cheeks, and death had only
stolen their rose tint. The long silken
lashes rested over those beautiful blue
eyes, in which one could in life
have read heaven Of love, and laid un-
disturbed upon her marble cheek, and
her little heart, that loved SO fondly, was
pulseless and cold, and the zephyrs NOV
ed only the white rose and wreath that
lay upon it. Rxs another morn had come
sweet Lilies fo.n rested low beneath the
cold damp earth of the cemetery, and a
little lamb watched over her grave on
earth, and the angels her pure spirit in
heaven.
Verify, said as passed the grave Of
Lille, mothers who have not pity for those
who haze offended one. of those little
ones, of whom Jesus speaks and says
Except ye become like one of these lit
tie ones, ye cannot enter the kingdom Of
heaven" That mother little dreamed
she had offended the little earth -ange
God had given into her guiding hand, t.
tIdin lOT duotHcE duu uttt6r WVriu, 70 VI
gentle, patient, kind to her, even as hel
Heavenly Father was.
She returned from her child s grave, ant
sought the room wherein rested its form
last. How meurnfull how still Hark
a stepl She hears s'It is me, borne upol
the breeze. She goes to answer her child
Icall. Hushl do you hear that sweet voic,
stealing along through the hall. born,
upon zephyr? 1t whispers, "It is nae.
lShe listens againl two little feet are pat
ttering upon the stairs winged with vel
come, aIt is me. but | am gone"
at is mer' many there are who woul'
give half their hearts, and more thai
half their hope in them, for one such re
cognition in this wide, cherries world
ifor few there are of all the hearts tina
Ebeat so wildly, warmly, sadly, slowly cal
realize true soul amid the dimmsd dark
mess of this lower world; in that simple
but elegant, "It is me" J"