Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1870-06-11
NO. l39.

the poetlcal mood was upon me, ana
didn't know when that would be again,
and was SO sorely disappointed cried.
She saw my red eyes, and divining the
reason, said, ''Oh, you'll have to drop a
good many of your fine lady ways if you
make a farmers wife"
So l dressed up after the fashion of
women who pick geese, and worried
through as long an afternoon as l ever
lived. My head aehed, and my poor arms
were pitted all over with blue spots, and
] was so tired and low-spirited that l could
hardly keep from crying right before John.
Sometime in the night was awakened
by low moaning sound coming from
mothers room. drew shawl over my
shoulders, and softly drew near the bed,
when heard her suppressed cries of pain,
| said, "Are you sick, motherPn
SIS that you, Chatty P" she replied, with
a sense of relief in her tones, "don't let me
sleep. Oh, my body and limbs are cramp-
ed and cold, but may be I'll get warm
pretty soon, and feel better. Go to your
bed and don't let me disturb yon."
laid my hand on her forehead, and it
was cold and clammy, and big drops of
sweat stood upon it. l soon heated water
and made teas, and had her wrapped in
warm flannel, and before half an hour she
was comfortable. As she became easy, she
closed her eyes, and was sinking into a
restless slumber, when | touched my lips
in blessing on her forehead.
''Chetty, child of mine,n she said crying
right out, II never have been half good
enough to you. | should not have taken
you from your writing to-day; you little
tender thing, what pity you fell into such
cruel hands!'
| slid my arms around her neck, and
gathered her to my bosom, and cried over
the dear old broken-down mother-the wo-
man of many sorrows, stricken when in
full leaf and blossom, with a blight that
would have been death to any other less
brave, and noble and true.
! crept into the bed beside her, and just
as she was sinking into q sweet and pain
less sleep. her trcmulous voice said ''Chat-
ty, don't ever tell it, but it is the truth,
never did one of my daughters come to
me in answer to my means OF distress,
when was sick at night. What was itP"
Didn't they love me as much rs you do ?
soothed her by saying had always
been the little nurse and doctor at home,
and my-ear was opened to catch any cry of
pain 1t calmed her and she rested un-
till morning.
Little things like this drew us together,
and we soon became warmly attached to
each other. Oh, we had pleasant times to-
gether-my mother-in-law and l.
When wee Charlie came to me, the little
pink and white flower, his grandmother
opened her arms to him as though he was
great blessing sent to her from Heaven.
He touched her heart and filed it with joys
she had never known before. The foun-
tains of her own soul were opened and life
assumed new realities and new beauties,
and sweet song of newness broke from
my lips and flooded my soul.
Crowned with motherhood, walked
with feet anointed, and the glory of the
stars seemed to gather about my brow.
From the time that mother was attacked
with sickness in the night she seemed to
fail, and to grow more lovely as she grad
ually faded from earth. She would sit for
hours and play with the baby, and laugh
at its funny little ways, and think that it
looked just like her babies, who had lain
under the sod for twenty years.
1t is very pleasant to die thus-like
light growing dimmer--like the sunset
that fading from the hill tops into soft
twilight, creeps into the dimness of dark
ness gradually.
The last summer we lived together we
had not much work to do; and look back
now, to that May, June and October, as
would remember the song, or poem, OF
book, read by the seaside, or something
that gave me sweet pleasure and LETT
beautiful memories.
After she was confined to her bed she
would lie and watch me, and follow my
footsteps with a tender, loving gaze
eyes full of the light of love, and often
she would say to me-"Oh, Chatty, you
are my best child
~ know have been stern and cold, but
you have always been the same dutiful
daughter You have overlooked my faults
and you have kept back the unkind reply
many time when Twas unjust to you.
"You have helped to make me a better
woman than l was, and for all this, you
know, we bless and love you'll"
Oh how much better it was for me now,
that had yielded my will and my wishes
to hers in the few years of my married
life, and treated her respectfully, too, in
the appointments of her own household!
What to me was the praise OF blame OF
my butterfly friends now in comparison to
the good will and earnest love of my hus-
bands mother,
Before mother died was her nurse for
seven weeks; she would have no other.
| gave her medicine and attended to her
wants, taking rest as best l could.
could not have endured it much longer.
l was worn, and pale, and thin, and felt
all the time as if were dreaming,
One morning sat in the rocking chair
beside her. John held the baby as he sat
on the side of the bed. Her hand was in
mine-her little blue-veined, wasted hand,
on which was beautiful ring, the gift of
a brother who had died far away from
home. She said in low voice, looking
fondly upon me--"Chatty, you are tired;
but YOU will not have mother to care for
tonight. l wish you would take off this
ring and put it on your own hand and
wear it for my sake. Whenever you look
at it remember what have often told you
lately-how dear you are to me; how
much | love you
Before noon of that day the strange ST.
lence of death came stealing over her
face. knew what it meant. We had so
grown together that it was like rending