Connecticut western news., 1882-08-16
AND !" WAS NOT.1

ever died with them and was buried. They laid their dear one away, and when they spoke of them said they had "passed over," or "gone home." There was Jamie, with the blue eyes and golden hair when they alluded@o the time of his death they said, When our boy was called" and in running over the names of their little flock the mother would gay, "Jamie and Nellie are sleeping" It seemed so strange to the people about them, for they were not Quakers or soul-sleepers, nor did they belong to any se,t. It was just their own quaint way. For they were the worlds people after all, dressed as others did, all but the dear old grand mother, who had so nearly finished her Feartaly pilgrimage, and went to the pleasure resorts with as much zest for enjoyment as the most trihing world ing; nay, more, for under it all they had concealed 8 freshnesss and goodness that kept the arid desert of fashion green with it's own up-springing. They never became world-wise or world-weary, but looked on with shining eyes and saw the pictures of life grouped about them and were content with their own.
 1t was to these people, making a pic ture of peace and beauty, that all loved to look at in that reflex light, by the seaside, that sudden call came-a message over the wires and as others gathered about with blanched faces and whispered one solemn word-death- they looked up with tear-wet lashes and echoed softly and with trembling lips, "Life," and passed away from among us in gentle, noiseless haste.
 For this is what had como to them : The old grand-dame, with her feeble step and silver hair, had "passed away in the morning watch; gone so swiftly and peacefully that
 "They thought her dying when she slept, And sleeping when she died"
 And when they laid her away in the clove-t tufted lot, by the side of the com panion of her youth, they found the last words she had written, with tremulous hand-just a verse, which showed them where she had been in spirit:
 < They are all gone into the world of light, And alone sit lingering here.
 Their very memory is fair and bright, < And my sad thoughts doth clear"
 Then they laid aside the few posses sions she had left, and underneath her last writing they added this:
 "Not dead, not sleeping, not even gone,
 But present still,
 And waiting for the coming hour
 Of Gods sweet will !" And when they speak of her it is to say she has gone to the next country, and they smile to themselves as they try to picture what she is doing, to fol low her in that white world, whose crys. tai promise glitters in every sky. "Eye hath not seen, neither hath ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man to conceive'' of it's beauty.
 Far out of sight while yet the flesh enfolds ut
 Lies the fair country where our hearts abide And of its bliss is naught more wondrous told ui
 Than these few words; "I shall be satisfied.
 There is tender and true story ot Walt Whitman at the funeral of lit tie child, nephew, the poet sat neal the white coffin, and held on his knee { beautiful little girl she looked il childish wonder on the paraphernali' of death, and then inquiringly gazee nto the old mans face. "You dom know what it is, my dear, do you ?" sait the poet gently; then he added, re fectively : "Neither do we" "Nothing is known; but believe That God is overhead, And as life is to the living,
 | So death is to the dead"
 Detroit Free Press.