Oxford Democrat. [volume] (Paris, Me.) 1833-1933, 1870-09-16

and helpless, and while no word was said
to her save the kindest, the simplest, and
most necessary, and she said none in
reply, she found the Vale Baca full Of
water, the waters of consolation, and sho
rested still upon her God. Her convcrsa-
ton was in heaven. Her wish to die
became content, if heaven so willed; and
as she grew stronger, the thought Of her
child stayed with her. And that first
smile. of which we spoke. was the dawn
of her desire to live.
II cannot die she said, when first her
grave and kind friend encouraged her to
speak-"l cannot de-that is, pray to
be spared for my mother, for my child.
and Tor you," she added, as she drew to
her lips and kissed the hand which rested
carcssingly upon her temples.
Don't talk, Marion, but listen. A few
short weeks ago you said, II cannot live"
/ answered you cannot die, "and so / may
venture still to promise. thought knew
what God had given you to do. And |
think so now"
And here the speaker paused, and turn
eel away from the beds ide. Marion sus-
pectcd. but she did not know, that he
walked away to weep. Himself phys-
clan. he was the father OF her husband.
For the love of the living, his sons wild
ow, and his more than daughter, he had
schooled his voice to Roman fiImness.
while with Christian gcntlencss his heart
melted wi,hi4 him. Rcgaining his com
posurc. he returned to Marion.
81 said YOU could not die; for felt
that it Was promised that you should give
me back my only son, and so, please
God, You have. He shall be named his
fathers name. He shall fill in the world
and in our hearts, his fathers place.
Don't speak, Marion, have said more
than | should but wished to give you
happy thoughts in yor silence. Silence
and rest cnjoin upon you still, il you
say truly that you would not die"
A smile broke through her tears, rs
her mothers gentle hand wiped them
away. The curtains were drawn. the
windows were darkcned, and Marion
took her child 10 her heart, and return d
conversation in heaven. thanking Him
who had ptied the SORROWS of his hand
maiden, and given her JOY for the spirit
of hcayiness. The shadow which the
dead had sent from the spirit land turned
to sunbeams; and when her father and
mother stole look upon her rs she peace
sully slept, they read in her face the
promise Of life for herself. and a happy
future for her child The spirit OF proph-
ccy is still in tho world, if man could only
hear and read.
"Life is real, life is eanest,"
and the record of all that is deep and true
in any mans history of a nation, as h is
tories arc written. The deed, the thots,
the fears. the hopes, the joys. sorrows,
wonderfully real, while they arc with us.
cannot be written so closely Tor the whole |
Of lie as we have traced the experience
Of Marion Hart for few sad, yet hope
lul weeks.
They deemed that she grieved as she
never could again. whom her husband
died. But when his father, full OF years
and OF good works, laid down his staff
and went TO his rest, Marion found that
the fountain of.tears was not yet Why
And when her mother died, of all gricls |
this seemed to her the greatest. 1t was
not that she had forgotten her husband,
but her mother had cherished her then.
"Who now" in her grief she asked,
'who now shall comfort me ?'
"Mother.' said a voice half tender,
halfrcproachful, all manly. And Marion
Hart, rebuked, leaned and wopt upon the
shoulder Of her son-wept. yet hoped.
For the spirit of faith whispered in her
ear, "Inslrad Of Thy fathers, thou shalt
have children"
A fine. ingenious youth was Maron's
son. The baptism Of grief into which he
was born had, as we have said Of the |
sorrows OF his mother, its compensation.
He had not escaped the trials and templs'
tons Of childhood. And these things arc
to a child rs weighty rs his burdens
Life is quite as ''real" toa child as TO a
man; and boyish though his spirits may
seem, life to him is more earnest. The |
warriors first victory is not 4 greater tri-
umph than was his first Latin conjugaton.
The statesman's first gain(ul coup does
not elate him so much as did his first sue.
cessful examination.
He had been faithful to the hopes Of the
aged man who so heartily welcomed and
SO tenderly loved him. He had rejoiced
the heart of her who stood by his mother.
her child, in her great tribulat;on. And
now he offered Il manly form and noble
heart who trusted to lean on her son as
she walked down to the grave; not ebcl-
lious against death, yet still, though her
time had come, not anxious to die.
Shall We write his life? Why should
we? AS with the parents, SO with the
children. The life is all alike in this. if
they would consider. That JOY is temper
ed with grief, and grief is relieved by joy.
And God is the Father OF us all.