American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1868-10-17
SHE Is DYING.


The following is sublimcly bcauti
full and pathetic, and could only have
been directed by a heart that has ex
pericnced all the bitterness that is
therein expressed. Who the author
is we know not, but suspect it is ar
extract from some book. IF anybody
can read it without moisture in theil
eyes and stones in their throats
they are worthy of marble:
Hush! She is dying! The sun.
light streams through the plate glass
window-the room fragrant with the
Southern tlowers-large milk white
African lillies-roses a nightingale
would stop to worship; cape jasa.
mines and camelias with their large
glossy leaves. Through the open
easement steals the faint, musical
ting!e of playing fountains; the light
tempered pleasas3y by rose curtains
of embroilera.. $, an, k;n,iius up
gorgeous old paintings with halo
bright as rainbow.
1t is as if fresher sunshine were
falling earthward on the bower OF
| beauty.
The canary sings in his gilded
cage-her canary and the mocking
bird raises his clear notes higher and
higher on the Derfumed air.
Why do you clench your hands
until the nails draw the rich rosy
blood through the thin, quiyering
skin? Why do yougrind your teeth
together and hiss between them that
one word, htsh? TbS a beautiful
home, l am sure, and that lady with
her hand upon her bosom is fair as
any dream vision Of the painter.
Surely, nothing could be purer
than that broad, high brow nothing
brighter than those curls.
And she loves you, too All yes,
any one can read that in the deep
violet eyes raised so tenderly to your
own. All! that is it; your young
wife loves you.
She linked to yours the existence
of an angel when she knelt beside
you at the marriage altar and placed
her hand in yours.
For twelve long golden summer
months an angel has walked or sat
by your side, or slept on your bosom.
You know it! No mortal woman
ever made your heart bow before IL
purity so divine.
No earthly embrace ever filled
your soul with the glory beyond
the stars; no earthly smile ever
shone unchangingly above all noisome
things as you earthwormS call care
and trouble. She is an angel, and
other angels have been singing to
her in the long days Of this pleasant
June time.
" "uush," you say, you can't shut
the anthem notes Of heaven from
those unsealed earS-longGr, lighter,
swell the hymns of the seraphS
brighter grows the smile on your
young wife's lips.
She whispers, Dearest, I'm al
most home, and [ am going to ask
God to bless you" !" But you cannot
hear it-you turn away, and the big
tears gather in the violet eyes.
You had held her there on your
bosom all day-all night; are you
tired? But you can't answer,
Closer, closer you clasp the slight
fair figure; painfully you press your
lips sto the cold brow-Carrie is
dead
What is it to you that the sun,
shine is bright what that it's cheer
full rays fall on the broad lands-our
lands? What is it, now that she
can walk on them no more! And |
what is death-her death? Few
people knew her; no wise president
must be chosen to fill her place no
nation will raise monument to her
memory But she was yours, great .
God of ours-your all
No, yours and Gods; and your
years of joy are over; she rests on
His bosom now in heaven.
They have dug a grave for her.
Spring flowers brighten over it, and !
-he grass smiles with the daisies and |
violets. You go there, and sigh and
pray and ask God if you, too, may
come home And when no answer
zones your blighted heart rises up in
and with the bold wicked .
words upon your tongue. you pause,
or your guardian angel looks down
rom heaven, and whispers, "HuSh !"
g A woman whom her husband
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