Vermont watchman and State journal. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1836-1883, 1875-08-18

have sometimes thought that no human
creature ever passes away from earth un-
mouned, even as no human soul ever goes
out upon it, hual pilgrimage unmarked by
the eye Of Gods providence.
lie had been a hard, cold uuloying mar,
his whole life long--and be was dead
Slowly, solomuly, as il had tollod for low
ing mothers, for fair young children and
noble men, the bell rang out its iron wall
above the narrow valley and across the fair,
green fields.
And as the wind took up the sound, and
bore it on and on, the lahorers on the sunny
hll-sides paused TO listen. aud said to one
another, "Old Wilke is dead;" and always
the answer came, " No one will mourn"
No one will mourn" said the men who
had grown mp with him, who knew his hard,
cold life. and his grasping nature.
No one will mourn." said the widows aud
the fatherle-s, whom his rapaeity had plum
deled
d" so one will moum." said the careless
lounger, a. he thought OF the greedy heirs.
No one will mourn and even the iron
tongue OF the tolling bell seemed fraught
with the self.same hurthen,
Il was stately funeral. grand process
sion. solemn with pomp and circumstance,
that bore him to his final resting-place. But
IL any wept beside him. if there were those
that grieycd above him. they wept but for
his misspent years and the iair-haired little
Jean. his soc child-niecc, too young 10 know
Of death, thought only Of the nodding
plumes, the sombre pall the stately equ page.
The solemn rites were almost over. The
child had been lifted up for her last look at
the white face of her stern relative; the lid
had been fastened down, and they were low
eiing him into his narrow sepulchre, when a
cry half shrek, half wall broke in on the
,tillness-the cry of a little child whose
sports bee had sometimes smiled to see whose
sunny curls be had sometimes stopped 10
fondle.
Unmarked by al around, She had watched
the bearers at their work with an interest
that grew deeper and more intense.
The whole terrible import seemed 10 burst
itpon her. She sprang forward with Wild.
shrill cry OF terror You shall not put him
there, YOU bad, bad men lie IS my uncle
Joe, and he is good You shall not put him
there" she cried, her tones growing wilder
and more frantic.
The moumers stroye to draw her back to
bear her away, shrlekng and struggling, but
the pastor would not suffer 1t. The white
haired man had caught the look in that ter
ror-stricken face
1T is better" he said. that this solemn
service should be interrupted. 1t Is better
that this little one of Gods creatures should
not bear away with her the ghastly horror Of
this scene Let her look at him once more"
Unto him little children were the priceless
I legacy Of Gods love.
The deep pathos Of his tones thrilled
/ through the careless crowd which had gath
cred but to watch the stately pageant.
They placed the coffin once more upon the
bier, and the child's voice stroye 10 rouse
him. lie had not lavished endearments
upon her She could remember few caresses
but his smiles had all been hers, and she had
known and felt it-that motherless little one.
Wake up, Uncle Joe," she said softly,
tenderly, as mother would rouse her sleep
/ ing child. "Wake up, Uncle Joe; 90 home
with Jeauie, Little .Ieanie will take care of
Uncle Joe"
The surgug crowd grew still as death to
hear, until sob went around, the sob Of the
mothers who had taught their children to
shun the old mans footsteps and tears fell
fast, the tears OF the struggling debtor, to
whom his name had been a terror and Of
| the laborcr to whom he had been a harsh
and cruel master.
/ And then they bore the child away to tell
I htt as brSl tHfN could OF the dead body and
( the living soul and she remem bered their
/ words, that he could still see her, though the
earth was heaped above him.
/ \ week passed on. There was no foot
( prints in the upturued soil by the old man S
/ grave, save those which week had half
| effactd.
His heirs had little time to think of that
low sepulehre. But one day the child was
missing.
They searched for her vainly in her ac-
customed haunts. They traced her beyond
the confines Of the village, along the woody
road that led to the quiet graveyard.
She had gone with a childish playmate to
the grave of the stern old man whom no
I body mourned for, She had wreathed it
with sprays of fair spring flowers. She had
set in the dry, loose earth the stems of
winteTgreen, bright with their scarlet her.
ries. which she had found upon her way.
He sees them, and sometime he will
come and get them" she said.
The fair, bright berries, 80 sweet to child
ish lps-and she had kept them all for him
Were they not the precious beads Of golden
rosary? And let us trust that the breath OF
the sweet arbutus flowers went up, the in
cense of saving mass, for the peace of the
! old mans soul