The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1868-05-22
Misftllaneons Solutions
THE MTsER,s DREAM.

Cd Dut cieanly garments, whose nOil0V
cheeks and suuken eye told a painful
tale of sorrow and destitution. Thos
sad eyes were fixed anxiously and i'm
ploringly upon the stern, grim face of
hard featured old man, who, with ha
pulled over his shaggy gray eyebrows
was standing, resting on a stout staff, il
the centre of the floor.
SO, you haven't got any money 70
me- said the old man, in the harshes
of all possible voices.
ALAS! no, Mr.. Wurm-if | had
should have brought it to you long ago,
answered the poor woman. 4 had rak
ed aud scraped q little together-bu
the sickness of these poor children
poor Williams orpbans-swept it al
away-I haven't got cent
so much the worse for you, Mrs
Redmap, answered the old MAJ, harsh
ly. 'rve been easy with you-Pv,
waited and wsited-trusting your prom
ises. can't wait any longer. | wan
the money
You want the money! Is it posi-
blel Report speaks you rich
It's false. said the old man, bitter
ly. I'm poor-l'm pinched. AsI
the townspeopls how live. Do lool
like a rich mani No, no! tell you
want my dues--aud l will have 'em.'
Il cant pay you,' said the woman
sadly.
'Then you must abide the conse
quencesp
What consequencesF
'Pve got an execution--that's all !,
said the hardhearted landlord.
AN execution! what's thatp
"A warrant to take all your goods.
MY goodsp sail the poor woman
looking round her with melancholy
smile. why l have nothing but wha
few things you see in this room. You
surely wouldn't take those
I'll take all l can get
'And leave me here with the bare
walls
No, no! you walk out Of this to.
morrow
In the depth of winter! You can
not be SO bard-hearted.'
'We shall see that
l care not for myself; but what j.
to become of these poor children?' p
'Send 'em to work in the factory.
But they are just recovering from
sickness; they are too young to work.
o, where, where can we goP
sTo the pcorhouse, said the land,
lord, fercely.
The poor woman rose, aud approach
ing the landlords feet fell upon her
knees, clasped her hands, and looked
upward in bis stern and unrelenting
face.
Israel Wurm,' she said, has your
heart grown as hard as the neither mill
stone' Have you forgotten the days
Of old lang synel o, remember that
we were once prosperous and happy.
Remember that my husband was your
early friend-your schoolfellow-your
playmate. Remember that when he
was rich and you poor, he gave you
from his plenty-freely-bountifully-
gave not with the expectation of a re-
turn; his gifts were bounties, not loans.
With a bitter curse upon his lips, but
trembling and dismayed in spite of
himself, Israel Wurm left the presence
of the victim of his cruelty, and turned
his footsteps in the direction of his
home. His homei 1t scarcely deserv-
ed the name. There was no fire there
to thaw his chilled and trembling frame
mo light to gleam athwart the dark
ness, and send forth its pilgrim rays to
meet him and guide his footsteps to
his threshold. No wife, no children,
waited eagerly his return. 1t was the
miser's home-dsrk, desolate, stern,
and repulsive. Its deep cellars, its
thick walls held hidden stores of gold,
and notes, and bonds, but there were
garnered up no treasures of the heart.
The miser's path lay through the
churchyard, desolate place enough
even in the gay noon of a midsummer
day, now doubly repulsive in the wild
midnight of midwinter. The wall was
ruinous. The black iron gateway frown-
ed, naked and omiuous. The field of
death was crowded witt headstones of
slate, and innumberable mounds mark
ed the resting place of many genera
tions. The snow was now gathering
fast over the dreary and desolste abode,
as the miser stumbled along the beaten
pathway, bending against the blast and
drift. A strange numbness and drowsi-
ness crept over him. He no longer felt
the cold; an uncomfortable desire to
possessed him. He sat down
upon fiat tombstone, and soon lost all
consciousness of his actual situation.
Suddenly he saw before him the
well-known figure of the old sexton of
the village, busily occupied in digging
q grave. The winter had passed away I;
it was now midsummer. The birds
were singing in the trees, and from the
far green meadows sounded the low of
cattle, and the tinkling of sheep bells.
Even the graveyard looked no longer
desolate, for on many of the little hill
ocks bright flowers were springing into
bloom and verdure, attesting the affec-
ton that outlived death, and decorating
with living bloom the precincts of decay.
My friend, for whom are you dig
ging that gravel' asked Israel
The sexton looked up from his work,
but did not seem to recognize the spokes-
man.
For a man that died last night; he
is to be buried to-day
'Metbiuks this haste is somewhat in
1ecorous,' said Israel Wurm.
20, for the matter of that said the
sexton, the sooner this fellows out OF
he way the better. There's nobody to
mourn for him.
is he pauper, then?'
20 no! he was immensely rich
'And had he no relations-no friends?
For relations, he had nephew who
nherits all his property. The young
log will make the money fly, l tell you
As for friends, he had none. The poor