The Russellville Democrat., 1880-07-15
spirit home shall be always watching

| but for a long time it seemed as though the violet eyes were vailed forever, the feble voice forever silent After some time the heavy fringes were again lifted, and again the look of intimate sadness 1 was turned to the .child. Her lips moved, as if in silent prayer.
 God keep my child, and give her safe to a fathers care." The wasted hands were then out stretched, as if to draw the little form to a close embrace, the pallid lips mur- mured once more, "God bless my little Coral, and then then all was still. Into the room had stolen the dread angel; over the closed eyes bent the tender face of Shanatos: and on the the midnight air there rang out the passionate sobbing of young girl.
 An, little child, it is hard, hard for you to know she has gone from the beauty of sea and sky, but it will be harder for you after you have tested of life's weary, monotonous travail; then you will call her back more passionately, and want more than ever the love YOU know will never deceive, and never swerve or falter in allegiance to you. Well for us if we could only see the ex- ceeding joy upon which our dear ones enter; if wesremembered that they had but cast off this coil of mortality in yon fair, slnless world, to shine new Mem nons." Should we pray them, then, to take up the tolls of earth that we may be happy? An, no! But to the child who knows naught of earth's drearyi bivouac, and who, consequently, cannot understand that to the toiler rest is sweet, and that after the burning heat of the day the traveller reioices in the cool, sequestered shadow he finds that side the border lands, there is nothing to break the poignancy of grief 7fl,,5
 The child's grief spent itself at last, and she slept-slept beside her dead until morning; and then she was reused by the woman to whom their room belonged, entering to see why her knocking at the door had been disre7 garded. .. t.- U. -. 7 "Poor child" she murmured, as she saw the change which the hours of night had brought; "poor, motherless child" 9 si 4 ..e9 .EmstaaalX is .sas
 Latter in the day there, called at the house one of the revelers who had been startled by the appearance of Corail on the previous night. He had felt so strange an inclination to learn more of this little girl, whose voice had such a mournful music, that he determined to call and apologize for his thoughtless- ness. The woman, Jessa, met him with the news of the lady's death. Cues toned as to their history, she knew little. Madame Galba came there eight years ago. She lived alone, worked beautiful flowers on lace, painted on velvet when she was well. She had no letters, and no friends but q great singer, who, was kind to the Signora Corail. When he asked for the child, she said she was by her mother, and they could not prevail upon her to leave the room CT to take food. tfg He left, promising to call again, and at the close of the week he kept his word. This time, the child was gone to the graveyard, and thither he followed her. He found her sitting quite still, her eyes dark with unshed tears. She started as his footfall fell on her ear, and looked in surprise as a stranger halted beside her. The face appeared familiar. Where had she seen it2 Across her mind came the vision of a calm night, when into the chamber of death stole thoughtless, merry Voices, singing catches of Les Chansons de Beranger." Henry Aylton stepped forward. and ad- dressed her in Italian. fti
 "Signora, can be of use to you? 1 am so sorry sang those songs; but I did not know" .tr+
 "You were good to go," she said, simply.
 Again he asked:
 "Can help you at sll?"
 She shook her head .tr "
 "No; am waiting for letter from England. My mother said should be sem for and they would take care of me, but it is so long coming"
 "Have you friends in England?"
 'I don't know; 1 believe so.'
 "Poor child! is your father dead?"
 "No, I don't think he is, because mother spoke of him just before she died"
 He looked at her with fresh interest. She was of good family doubtless; the clear profile, the supple limbs, the free grace of her movements, all told of aris- tocratic lineage: and what fate WAS her'sl alone among str ingers.
 He drew nearer and went on.
 "Wlll you tell me yourhame? l may be able to find your English friends. 1 am going to England in week or two."
 My name? Coral de Galba. I must wait for my letter. l can only find them in that way. The letter must come soon, it has been so long. Don't you think it will2"
 He shook his head.
 q cannot say, my child. Have you no friends in Naples"
 "None but Jesse and Angelo Viccola, who teaches me to sing. He says one day my voice will make me great"
 Long he talked with the child of her life in Naples, and, when she rose to go home, he walked with her to the quay. For weeks did the child and Jessa look for the letter, winch never came; and when the question was mooted as to what should become of the delicately natured girl, old Angelo Viccola offered to train her voice.
 "She may make her fortune on the stage" he said. And Jessa promised to let her remain in the room she had occupied so iong.
 Henry Aylton fingered ins Naples till all these arrangements were made, and the last sight he had of the girl was by her mothers grave, as, looking up Tn his face, she said:s &fN3tnames
 "Corail will never forget you; and she will work so hard to be great singeE then she will find her father" feHI
 Next day he left Naples; and for years his life and that of Coral de Galba were spent in scenes so far apart that in time her name almost ceased to be with him a memory. tH i' "
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