Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1874-02-05
WOODSTOCK, W., THURSDAY, FEB 5, 1874.


silent for some moments, when Emily
said, in her timid way
"My dear friends, this is very pretty.
1t is so quiet, so peaceful, so like what
| think heaven must be- You must
be very, very happy here. 1t reminds
me so of little verse that l used of.
ten to read, in book before-before"
she hesitated a moment, her eyes
resting upon baby, and then continued,
"betore he was born. May repeat
them, please? ? They are so pretty !"
Then in her sweet voice, she re-
peated those four beautiful lines by
Thomas Moore
at was an evening bright and still
AS ever blushed on wave or bower,
Smiling from heaven as if naught i'll
Could happen in 80 sweet an hour"
"My dear friends" she continued,
recovering from her abstraction, 81
want to tell you something. 1t isn't
much, l know, though | have suffered
keenly. You have been so good and
kind to me and my babe, that / want
to tell it you, if you will let me. I
am falling very rapidly, ard cannot
live long, and | know that you will
remember what l tell you, and repeat
it to my poor little child when he
shall be old enough to hear it, and
when l shall have been long time In
my grave. You will tell him, won't
you, about his mother? Tell him
that she loved him ? And once in a
while, you will take him-take him
with you to my grave, and tell HIM
that | want him to meet me in heaven,
where we will be together, again,
and never more be poor nor wretched.
This world has been so hard to us,
when we never meant to do any body
harm, that we shall be very, very
happy in that good heaven above"
As she spoke her face was serenely
beautiful. That same submissive,
trusttul expression that l had remark
ed at first, seemed never to leave it.
81 was born in England, my good
friends. My father was a poor labor
er, and was compelled to work very
hard on gentleman's estate to get
enough money to support mother and
me. Often and often I've known him
to go away at four o'clock in the
morning, and not come back to us
until late, very late, in the night
I used to carry him his dinner in a
pail. 1t was such poor dinner, mean
dinner, too, that used to cry because
it wasn't nice, like his lordship's; for
I always thought that my dear, good
old father, who worked so hard, ought
to have as good as the gentleman who
only rode about and received grand
visitors. When l cried, father would
stoop down and kiss me on my cheek,
aid say, oh pshaw, child! This is
good enough for poor man like me.
Then he would call me his lily, and
tell me that | should have been born
a rich lady.
1T was hard life, my friends. l
had but little schooling, though l used
to read all the books of poetry and
stories that / could borrow.
"When l was eighteen, I promised
to be Harold's wife, and, in three
months after, we were married in the
village church. Harold was mate on
board merchant ship, and had saved
a little. He was handsome, and so
brave and generous | loved him
tenderly. Only little while after
Harold and I were married, my poor
father and mother died, and were
buried side by side in the churchyard
at home. Harold had no relatives,
nor had l, after my parents died. He
was ambitious and wanted to be rich,
and so we came to this country in
search of our fortune From the
moment we left the ship we had a
hard lot. First was sick, and after.
wards, poor Harold Little by lit
tie our money melted away, until we
were very destitute and then my
poor husband died. and | was left
alone in the great city of New York.
They buried him where the poor
people are buried, and, Oh did wish
then that they would lay me beside
him, and cover me all up with the
fresh earth that seemed to me more
friendly than the strangers in the
great city.
ga little while after | was told to
leave the room that we had occupied /;
for | had no money with which to pay