The weekly clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1863-1882, 1877-12-26

on the tender little cheek that the poor
mother was bathing with her pitynG
tears.
''Oh, my baby, my poor little baby
Does it hurt so bad, my precious littl
lamb" moaned the heart broken moth
err, as, with a convulsive tremor, the
child sobbed and Strengthened itself il
her arms.
at does not hurt her now, Betsy.
nothing will ever hurt her any more.
Little Beth is dead"
All ! there are many sorrowful sights
in the world Sorrow is woman's herit
age. Tears are the pearls she wears Of
tenest, and the keen pick ak of pain can
cut our hearts TO the quick in many
nothing so pitiful in Gods beautiful
world as the sight of a mother over her
dead baby; and no paDg so full of quv
ering anguish as the mother feels when
the coffin lid hides the little white face OF
her darling from her longing eyes forev-
er. God help you, poor mothers! God
be very tender and pitiful to you, and
God comfort you as He did, at the
last, comfort the mother of little Beth.
/ could never remember how l per-
suaded the poor woman to cease her fran
tic cry of my baby, my poor little muir
dered baby!" and lay the little one in
my arms. God helped me at first, and
then the arrival of neighbors awakened
that sensitive pride which dwells in the
heart of every true wife-that no matter
what the fault of the husband may be,
prevents her speaking of it to others.
"Do you think that bruised spot will
be noticed ?" she whispered to me as
was washing and dressing the little one
for the last time.
'"No, Betsy, it will not be noticed" |
answered, thinking to myself-she will
forgive him.
The poor have no chest ROOM" The
mother of little Beth was put to bed by
kind hands, and the little one-robed in
her dainty Christmas dress, with little
feet that would dance no more at my
coming, encased in the pretty Christmas
stockings, and little white hands folded
over her innocent bosom laid in
her cradle beside her.
This was the first time that the dark
cloud of death had foated over the May
sky of my life Since then the cloud has
hidden the blue from me for many long,
long days, and have lifted up eyes blind
with tears and cried out: There is no
more sunlight! But shall never forget
my first Observation-Disclosures forget that
first night watch with the dead.
Country people of the lower class
shrink from sitting up with dead folks,
and three kind but superstitious women
who hal assisted me in 'laying out" the
baby was glad to retire to the kitchen and
gossip over their pot of coffee by the blaz-
ing kitchen fire.
Slowly the hours of Christmas Eve in
which l had expected to be so merry wore
away and at last the hands of my watch
pointed to 2 o'clock The sacred still
ness of the room was broken only by the
chirS of a cricket, the cheerful little COM
panion of every country fireplace. lhad
Just looked at the mother and found her
sleeping, had passed my hands caressing-
ly over the little dead body and thought
lovingly of the little life whose home it
had been, and was standing at the win
dow watching the stars that the angels
had let out of the gates of heaven like
~ In..L.y 1:+tl~ ---L:4~ -~nnla tn wa tni ----
us at night, when the door that led into
the next room was hurriedly opened and
Steve, with wild blood shot eyes and
look of mingled fear and stupor on his
face, as though he he'd just wakened
from some horrible dream, strobe into the
room.
"What's up? Where's Betsy? Where's
Beth?"
"There," answered, pointing to the
little white robed figure in the cradle;
"there, and you struck her while she was
dying" :. m
God forgive me for my cruelty!" The
groan with which the man answered me
as he staggered to the cradle will ring In
my ears until my dying day.
Don't touch her, don't dare to touch
my baby; l will kill you if you do !"
screamed the mother, sprlnging from her
bed and grasping his hands as he knelt
by the cradle and attempted to raise the
little head from its pillow.
Kill me, Betsy! Would to God you
could; but let me kiss the place where l
struck her. Oh, my little Beth; oh, my
baby, my beautiful pitcher-plant; God
palsy the hand that struck you f! Where
did hit her, Betsy? Show me the
place quick that l may wash it out with
my tears. Oh, how it hurt. See how
black it is. Oh, Betsy, it will stay there
forever if you do not help me to wash it
out. My God! Forever, forever!"
Oh the beautiful spirit of forgiveness
that God has put into the heart of wo-
man! The sight of her wretched and
penitent husbands terrible grief and de-
spair was more than the true wife could
bear, and with one great sob she threw
herself in his arms, crying QUIT will
help you to wash it out, Steve. God help
us both y
The sight was too sacred for mortal
eyes to- behold, and there, kneeling be
side the dead baby, with arms clasped
around each other, and the beautiful
Christmas stars shining down on them as
they shone ON the shepherds, when the
angels sang ''peace on earth, good wilt to
man." / left them alone together.
A child's humble funeral procession
wound its way through the village streets
on Christmas evening. A little grave,
with a marble slab at its head, bearing
the inscription ''Baby Beth, l year
and 5 months old'-is always kept green
and beautiful with flowers in the village
graveyard.
A pretty new house has sprung up in
place of the log cabin-new children
dance over its floors, peep out of its win
dows, and call happy woman mother.
and of the master of the new house and
the father of the new children it is always
said-"Steve is a good man and hard
worker" but never ''hard drinker" any
more.
All, little Beth, beautiful little pitcher
plant, you poured the Christmas gift of
love and repentance into your fathers
bosom on the night that the angels carried
YOU away from earth as Christmas gift
to Christ in heaven!