Ellsworth American. [volume] (Ellsworth, Me.) 1855-current, 1876-03-09


carnations. sweet-wiliamS and dahljas
rivalled tulips and roses; and in winter
made hot-houSe of the old kitchen whose
deep windows were filled with fushas ger
aniums and verbenas. Nav, this grave
man actually got out of his bed once or
twice every cold night to put wood in the
stove, Tor fear the milk would freeze, as he
SAID apol@getically to Aunt NJ Madelne. Alice
pretended not to know the care her father
took OF her flowers; bat in his presence she
was always In state of wonder that they
nourlshed so well, and laying her peach
ike cheek against his wrinkled face. her
glossy, black curlS mngling with his orav
locks. declared that il was his smile which
made them grow; while the pleased and
faded mother stood by, with the old smile
almost renewed on her face. Uncle Jo-
seph would look from one to the other and
murmur, 'Ihe Lord is good and greatly to
be praised"
Tnen Alice would put on a jaunty little
bonnet. tie a red scarf about her neck. and
! declaring that she was going to ride down
| MIL with Walter, would invite her father or
! mother, or toothless Aunt Patience to 90
| with her and then dance out of the room
tossing her pretty head and pouting her
rosy lips, pretending to be very angry at
| the refusal.
So the peaceful years passed, till Alice
| was eighteen.
One day in the latter part of May, Aunt
Madeline was startled by the sound of
wheels coming furiously toward the house.
II was Uncle Jesephs spirited team that
! frightened at something, vas running awav
Just as they neared the house, some part
OF tEe harness gave way; the pole dropped
ana fastened itself into the ground; the
| momentum caused the wagon to pitch vo-
lently. and Uncle Joseph was thrown for
cibiy to the ground. Alice and her mother
were at his side in a moment. He was in
| sensible, but there was stll life. Assistance
! was obtained, and the unconscious man
was conveyed to his bed The doctor pro
| nounced his injuries serious. aud probably
| fatal. There was a severe confusion OF
/ the spine; the lower limbs were paralized.
/ and It he lived, he would be a cripple for
| lie; and there was also conclusion of
the brain. whch.in a man of his age. might
| prove fata..
But after a time CONSCIOUSNESS returned,
aud his friends began To entertain hopes
of M recovery. lie was very weak, and
suffered mach pan and as he lay silent.
! his eve wandered from the face of his
daughter to that OF his wife, while an met
fable tenderness softcned his usually seri-
Gus and almost stern features. In Il few
days he was able to converse a little though
he was evidently disiuclined to talk. The
| doctor was encouraged, but still pro-
lounced the case a very critical one.
some one. mother or Cousin Patience,
spoke To the sick man about his recovery,
AT which he closed his eyes, and a tender
smile played about his mouth
Alice sat by his side one afternoon while
her mother took little rest For an hour
or more he seemed 10 sleep. Then he
turned his eyes toward Alice and said, in
clear, calm tones:
My daughter, call thy mother and broth
ers.and thy aunts. Catherine and Patience
80 calm, 50 strong was his tone. that
Alice went joyou>y TO de- his bidding
They came, aud Aunt Madelinc's heart al
most ceased its beating at the uudrtiuahl-
change she perceived IN his face. She
gave an easy chair TO totteriGg Cousin Pa
tlcncr, pressed mothers hand, then sat
quietly down by the bed and took Uucle
Joscph's hand N hers.
Friends, he began in the same calm,
clear tones, lit has been borne in upon my
mind that my earthly pilgrimage Is draw
Ing TO close; and as the last moments . t
mems lives are sometimes clouded. and
| they are unable TO express what they wish
nave thought 1t best 10 say few words
to you now while my mind Is clear. Know
ing the uncertainty OF human life made
my Will some years ago, soon after the
|
voice trembled a little-"and | have no
hesitation in saying that after few per-
sonal bequests, have left the bulk of my
property to my beloved wife Madeline
~. S~;,"fdepce have in her worth and
integrity. My suu-, fe- you ara nina ~
love, be as | can only bid you be, as goou
as your father was, as cons,derate Of your
mothers feelings. And 10 thee. my daugh-
ter. what shall | say?I see thee now as |
first saw thy mother. Be like ner in spirit
as thou art like her outwardly. and thou
shalt hear the blessed words '.WelI done
thou good and faithful servant"
And now, Madeline, my wife nv be-
loVed wife nay, weep not, my darling"
for Aunt Madeine's tears were dropping
last upon the hand she 30 often pressed to
her iips; weep not for me. Would heav-
en- these were the only tears had ever
caused thee she'd. But Madeline, my wife.
have loved thee longer than thou hast
known. Even while thou vert the witr of
another, my heart 80 Went out to thee that
had struggle to still its wild beatings:
and tor SIX long years | lett thee a lonely
widow. And yet, though | loved thee 50
iondly, | have caused thee pain Nav
Madeline, for she had fondy kissed his
hand and was about TO speak; death
clears away the mists of time, and the eve
about to look upon the solemn truths of
the other world sees more clearly the er-
rors OF this; tor, touched by the angers of
the Lord Jesus. the scales d. op off, and
whereas | was blind, now see ="
Bear witness, friends, that with my dy-
Ing words declare that Madeline Moore
IS the and truest friend ever man had
Madeline, | beg thy forgivness. have
made thee bear a cross. Let me, in my dy-
ing hour, remove it as much as possible
Take from the money thee will find in the
black pocket-book in the upper lett hand
corner OF my desk, enough to furnish a
stone for the graves of thy children-thine
and mlne,-for the graves of any OF thy
dear ones. | say 1t in your presence, friends
] so you may bear testimony, that after my
death, as do, that during my lite this
faithful wife never crossed my wishes.
And sometimes, my Madeline, when thy
tears fall on the graves of thy Frederick
and thy children, let one or two drop for
the later husband who pyed thee he some
times feared almost to idolatry
Sobs broke upon the solemn quiet of the
room.
BE calm" he said. ''When the mes
senger comes let us br ready to hear the
Masters will. And one word more"
Here a breeze shook the petals of the
sweet briar under the window, aud swept
| them across the room. while bird on
tree near by broke into rich carol.
If we are too strict in rejecting outward
ornaments may the Lord make US rich in
spiritual graces. The Father decks the
the lilies, and gives voice to the little birds
so Alice, my daughter, be not too grave
when thy father is no more. The last
words OF my little Eunice were. that she
would lend me her harp to come over to
her. Now, friends, let us have season of
| solemn silence"
The house of mourning was house of
chastened resignation. The sun slanted
his setting rays into the room, and touched
with rosy light the white face OF Uncle
Joseph. His lips moved feebly. and Aunt
Madeline bent down and kissed him.
Madeline, my beloved wife. say with
me, Not my will, but thine, o God, be
done!'
She bent over him moment. .then turned
and clasped her daughter in her arms and
for the second time, Madeline Moore was