Clarksville weekly chronicle. (Clarksville, Tenn.) 1873-1890, 1880-03-06
IN MEMORIAM.
MRS. NJ. H. Plummer.


s'The arm of aid to the weak,
a friendly hand to the friendless,
Kind words, so short to speak,
But whose echO-is endless.
The world is wide, these things are small
They may be nothing, but they are all"
The praise of this Iove-written record is
not necessary to embalm the memory of
one who lived $50 long and so well" in the
city of GAINESVILLE. Nor was it necessary
thai; the weeping women should come with
sweet spices to that other tomb. 1t was a
D1eal0rtds deed, and its beauty and fragrance
have lived in freshness through all the ages
sinte.
Solomon, IN summing up the virtues of a
perfect woman, says, "Her price is above
rubies." So we may well say of our friend.
In the wisdom of God it was mercifnl
arrangement that calamity is so common.
Otherwise we would never learn LIES di-
vinest lesson, human sympathy; for hearts
are like wind-harps, responsive to the
gentlest gales that blow, or smitten into
silence when ruder tempests come I have
known few persons of more warmly SYM
pathetic nature than Mrs. Plummer. The
kind, earnest eyes, now forever closed to us,
looked lovingly upon the great sisterhood of
Sorrow. But plying tears, while they
soothe, do not always reEfepe. They are
often but the expression of a sort of maudlin
sentiment, which like the humid sirocco
exhausts that which it blows upon. Hers
was emphatfcally
s'An arm to aid Che weak,
a friendly hand to the friendleSs,
Kind words, so short to speak,
But whose echo is endless"
For one, accept in its fitness the lesson
of the echo. know nothing which more
beautifully illustrates the perpetuity of in
fuence, unless it be the flow of the river
ocean around the earth. The echoes of her
short, kind words win continue to bless the
world when she has been SO long dead that
her face and features have faded from the
memory of those who loved her most.
In the stir and strife for great things, we
are too apt to forget the small things by
which great things grow and yet, wide as
is the world, there are no small things. Still, !
the wide world itself grows strangely, sadly
small when the willing worker, the loving
mother, the affectionate sister, the sympa- |
thizing friend, the cheerful counselor, the
woman of integrity, upon whom all could |
rest without fear, is taken away; one in |
whom combined all the loving, gentle |
graces to make life thing of joy to others |
the death of such one gives a sense of loss |
not estimated in mere words. The friendly /
hand and kind words; "they may be moth
ing" nothing to those who still sun them
selves where laughing waters kiss the gay
gondola as it moves to melting music, "but /
they are alp to those whose boats have |
come to that desolate island where the soul |
bows in shadow and listens to the dip of the |
departing oar. We know, as we stand
ashore and watch it die in the distance, that
our priceless cargo can come back no more,
save in the Phantom Ship forever fitting.
The hot tears may well fall fast at the
thought that the ministry of such a woman
is ended, for the earth is not rich in rubies
Of her sort. Let us emulate her example.
then, and follow her as she followed Christ.
We will think of her at rest in land where
the lights do not fade, where what was lost
here is sweetly gathered up to be lost no
more forever. MRS. SUE f. MOONEY.
March 3, 1880.