Grant County herald. [volume] (Lancaster, Wis.) 1850-1968, 1879-04-03

4
within its haunts, each imparts TIT
leven of his own vile nature, till al
within it's influence become one sod
Gen and corrupt mass of loathing hu
mainly.
English Johnny, with his Bible and
classic volumes forgotten-all swee.
memories of the past buried in the
deep grave OF oblivion-all ties oil
friendship and kindred long since lost
all hopes Of happiness and almost
heaven forever shut out-without one
lingering wish of the prodigal to arise
and go to his Father house-became
what he was-the sojourner-I will
not say companion-with the scoffer
and tenant in common with the evil.
doer. Yet,there was that within him
told of better days, of higher aspira-
tons and more exalted sentiments.
He was not what he seemed, and still
in his fallen state was he not able to
rise again to the rank Of his former
position among men. And, thus, be
YEARLY plodded on through long
years of loneliness and privation that
made the heart bleed to witness, and
one could not but bless the angel oil
Mercy which should come to convey
him TO the land of rest. His beset-
ting sin-the sin that lures its victims
like the charmed bird to the serpent's
fangs-was overcome at last; and the
shadow that his declining years cast
far into the East, was again erect,
and he could say with Solomon: 81
have tarned my eyes to behold folly
and Madness" henceforth will live
the life of the righteous and my last
end shall be like his Faithfully and
well the old man kept his VOW, and
for many years his life, though spent
alone in his solitary cabin, was
that of the true Notwithstanding the
blessed promises to fallen man, and
patiently awaiting the time, when,
laying aside the pick and the shovel,
the ak and the wood-saw and these
worn and tattered garments of NOR
tally, he should put on the robes of
immortality and resume his native
place in those beautiful mansions
"where the weary are at rest" 1t
came. No marble marks the grass
grown mound where they have laid
him. In the green graves around his
lowly bed the birds of summer sweetly
sing-the wild flowers bloom and shed
their fragrant breath-the wintry
winds sigh their solemn dirge and
spread their dismal pail DER fallen
leaves and withered verdure-but,
warbling birds and springing flowers
or wintry blasts no more disturb his
last repose From the haunts of men
and the howell of suffering he has gone
where
"There is calm for those who weep
A rest for weary mortals found;
They softly lie and sweetly sleep,
Low in the ground"
broken doors, it's rayless windows,
open to the rude winds of heaven--its
falling roof, the shelter OF some nightly
wandering beast, all betoken the abb
sence Of its former tenant. Sad yet
silent monuments of him who has gone
out from it's presence forever There,
with his own hands he prepared and
partook of his frugal meal-there, on
his pallet of straw, covered with rags.
in deep oblivion of sleep-twin sister
of death-he saw the patriarch's Wis.
ion and the patriarch's home-wan
dered in dreams back to
'sThe pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's merry morn when his bosom vas young u
and, waking, read and thonght-what
sad and yearning thoughts no pen can
tell. Then, for many years, he dwelt
in his poverty, scorning IN all its va
ried forms, the hand of charity. To
his proud, unbroken spirit suffering
and death might come, but the name
and disgrace of public pauperism-
never. Kind friends and neighbors
cheered his later years with offerings
Of Christmas dinners which he re-
ceived with silent thanks, but they
yentured no farther upon the sanctity
of his feelings. Now and then the
curious school children would venture
within his door and he met them with
kindly words; but there was that
within his presence that forbade ia
miliarity, and they turned quietly
away with sadness in their young
hearts for the forlorn condition of the
poor old man. He was the janitor oil
the public school and in this capacity
they learned to know him and to love
him well. Such was the respect and
reverence entertained for his manly
bearing and intelligence, that none
ever thought to indulge in the rude
jest or unkindly remarks at the ex-
pense of his peculiarities. Should you
ever come to Potosi, in the winter
season. you will find the wreck of his
old cabin standing on a bench oil
rocks, half way up the Lewis hill
where the boys-and girls too-with
boisterous mirth and reckless speed
coast along its icy brow-but, no more
its "blazing hearth" invites the noisy
rogues within to warm their freezing
feet--no more they see his totterine
steps around the dingy place-cold
cneerless, tenantless and ruined now
it stands, but the boys forget not the
sacredness of the place, and approach
with quiet mien and gentle steps, fol
the spirit OF him they well remember
dwells around that hallowed spot.
Potosi, April 2, 1879.
Poisonous Wallpaper.