News and citizen. [volume] (Morrisville, Vt. ;) 1881-current, 1882-11-16
The WIDOW AND HER Son.
BY WASHINGTON IRVING,

During my residence in the country
L used frequently to attend at the old
image church, which stood in a coun-
try filed with ancient families, and con-
tanned within its cold and silent aisles
the congregated dust of many noble
generations. Its shadowy aisles, it's
moidering monuments, its dark oaken
panelling- all reverend with the gloom
of departed years-seemed to fit it for
the haunt of solemn meditation, Sun
day, too, in the country, is so holy in
Its repose-such pens1ve quiet reigns
over the face of pa'ure-that every rest
less passion is charmed down, and we
feel all the natural religion of the soul
gently springing up within up:
Sweet day, 70 pure, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky
do not pretend to be what is called
a devout man but there are feelings
that visit me in country church, amid
the beautiful serenity of nature. which I
experience nowhere else; and if not
more religious, think I am q better
man on Sunday than on any other day of
the seven.
But in this church I felt myself con-
tinually thrown back upon the world,
by the frigidIty and pomp of the poor
worms around me. The only being that
seemed thoroughly to feel the humble
and PROSTATE piety of true Christian,
was poor decrepit old woman, bending
under the weight of years and infrmi-
ties. She bore the traces of something
better than abiect poverty. The linger.
ings of decent pride were visible in her
appearance. Her dress, though humble
IN the extreme, was scrupulously clean.
Some trivial respect, too, had been
awarded her for she did not take her
seat among the village poor, but sat
alone on the steps of the altar. She
seemed to have survived all love, ali
friendship, all society, and to have
nothing left her but the hopes of
heaven. When saw her feebly rising
and bending her aged form in prayer
habitually coming her prayer book,
which her palsied hand and failing eyes
would not permit her to read, but which
she evidently knew by heart-I felt per-
suaded that the faltering voice of that
poor woman arose to heaven far before
the responses of the clerk, the swell of
the organ, or the chanting of the choir.
| am fond of loiteting about country
churches, and this was 80 delightfully."-
situated that it frequently attracted me.
1t stood on knoll, round which
stream made beautiful bend, and then
wound its way through long reach of
soft meadow scenery. The church was
surrounded by yew-trees, which seemed
almost coeval with itself. Its tall Gothic
spire shot up lightly from among them,
with rocks and crows generally wheeling
about it. l was seated there one still,
sunny morning, watching two laborers
who were digging grave. They had
chosen one of the most remote and neg
lected corners of the churchyard, where,
from the number of nameless graves
around, it would appear that the indi-
gent and friendless were huddled into
the earth. was told that the new
made grave was for the only son of
poor widow.
While was meditating on the dis.
tinctions of worldly rank, which extend
thus down to the very dust, the toll of
the bell announced the appr oach of the
funeral. They were the obsequies of
poverty, with which pride had nothing
to do. A coffin of tine plainest material,
without pail or other covering, was
borne by some of the villagers. The
sexton walked before, with an air of
cold indifference. There we're no mock
mourDers in the trappings of affected
woe; bnt there was one real mourner
who feebly tottered after the corpse. 1t
was the aged mother of the deceased
the poor old woman whom l had
seen seated on the eteps of the altar.
She was supported by an humble friend
who was endeavoriDg to comfort her. A
few of the neighboring poor had joined
the train, and some children of the vii
lage were running hand in hand, now
shouting with unthinking mirth, and
now pausing to gaze, with childish Gu
riosity, on the grief of the mourner.
As the funeral train approached the
grave, the parson issued from the
church-porch, arrayed in the surplice,
with prayer book in hand, and attended
by the clerk. The service, however,
was mere act of charity. The deceased
had been destitute and the survivor was
penniless. IT was shuff1ed through.
therefore, in form, but coldly and un-