Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1870-02-09

mencement of this mournful history, on a
bleak autumnal evening, rough country
wagon drove into the town Of c.. 1t
stopped at the aims house; an attenuated
form was lifted and carried in, and the wag-
on rnmbied away. This was Lucy Dutton,
brought to her native town to die.
She had been in decline some for months,
and the miraculous strength which had so
long sustained her in her weary wanderings
at last forsook her utterly. Her sister had
died some time before; and the widowed
husband had soon after moved to the Far
West; so Lucy had no friends-no home
but the aims house.
One day, about a week after her arrival,
Lucy appeared to suffer greatly. and those
about her looked for her release almost
impatiently; but at night she was evidently
better, and for the first time slept tran
gully till morning. The matron who stood
by her bedside when she awoke, was star :
led by the clear and earnest gaze which met
her own, but she smiled and bid the invalid
Good morning" Lucy looked bewil1ered.
but the voice seemed to reassure her, and
she exclaimed:
''Where am srsd who are you? | dc
not know you? do not know you.
A wild surmise flashed across the mind Of
the matron; the long lost reason of the
wanderer had returned. But the good wo
man replied calmly and soothingly:
why, you are among your friends and
you will know me presently"
Then maybe you know Edwin and Ell
len," rejoined the invalid; have they
come? Oh, had such a terrible dream
dreamed that they were married Only
think, Ellen married to Edwin Strange
tbs that should dream that
"My poor Lucy" said the matron, with q
gush of tears; that was not dream
twas all true
"All true - cried the invalid, "then Ed
win must be untrue, and that cannot be, fol
he loves me; we love ca n other well, and
Ellen is my sister Let me see them;
will go to them"
She endeavored to raise herself, but fel
back fainting on the pillow.
What does this mean,'' said she; what
makes me so weak ?''
J-. .hc- her eyes fell IN her own hand
that old and withered hand She gazed
on it in blank amazemeit
Something is the matter with my sight
she said, smiling family, 'ior my hands
look like an old woman's."
And so it is, said the matron gently,
and so is mine; yet We had fair plump
hands when We were youg. Dear Lucy, do
you know me =? lam Maria Allen-I was to
have been your bridesmaid" "
cannot say more--I win not make the
vain attempt to give in detail all that
mournful revealing-to reduce to expressive
words the dread sublimity Of that hopeless
sorrow.
To the wretched Lucy, the last thirty years
were as though they had never been. Oi
no scene, or incident, had she the slightest
remembrance, since the recreaut ana trai
torus lover stood before her and made the
terrible announcement.
hc hiHu pauSCu itSuuOhIiS al
the sad narrative of her poor friend mad
ness and wanderngs, but the invalid would
say with fearful calmness: $50 on, go on, y
though the drops of agony stood thick upon
her forehead. When she asked for her sis
ter, the matron replied:
she has gone before you, and your faith.
er also"
'And my mother?'' said Lucy, her face
lit up with sickly ray of hope.
Your mother has been dead twenty
years"
.. Dead all gone Alone. old, dying l-Oh,
God, my cup of bitterness is full, and she
only wept aloud.
Her friend bent over her. and n ingled
her tears with hers, and said affcctionately
But you know who drank that cup be-
fore you2"
Lucy looked up with beu ildered ex-
preston; and the matron added: The
Lord Jesus; you remember him?'
A look of sunlight breaking through a
cloud, a look which only saints may wear,
radiated the face Of the dying woman, as
she replied:
80, yes, know Him, and loved Him be-
fore | fell asleep"
The man of God was called A few who
had known Lucy in her earlier days came
also. There was much reverential feeling and
some weeping around her death bed. Then
rose the voice of prayer. At first her lips
moved as her spirit Joined in the fervent
appeal. Then they grew still, and poor
Lucy was dead-dsad in her grey haired
youth. Those who gazed on that placid
face, and remembering her harmless life and
patient suffering, doubted not that the
morn of an eternal day had broken on her
Night of Years.
FELT HIS Own PULsE-A good story
is told by the Attica, Indiana, Ledger, of a
physician of that place, who was called upon
TO visit sick man, after he had, himself,
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