Morning journal and courier., 1884-11-06
How My Baby Died.


 The doctor said it was a severe cold and prescribed for it. He went away and re- turned without being called: Then I knew my baby boy was more i'll than had thought, and when he went away followed him out of the house and into the snew-burdened air and said to him:
 Doctor, tell me the truth. Will my baby diep'
 ''It is very ill., he replied, 'Fbut there is yet little hope"
 Then returned and looked again on the sweet face of my little boy. Where dimples had been were hard lines of pain Where the nostrils had been such soft and velvety pink, you could see the light shine through their walls, and every hair-like vein was blue almost to blackness. The little hands which I was wont to feel batting my cheeks had lost their cunning, and were lying uselessly on it's heaving bosom, purple and clenched. I knew my baby was not for long. knew that even the angels, who loved it a little better than I, were waiting to take it away. I saw the death dew stand in diamond beads upon its alabaster brow and felt the dampen- ing curls, that clustered like falling sunshine where had been wont to kiss 1t. l heard the faint gurgling in my baby's throat and saw no recognition in its eyes, once soft and blue and laughing, but now glassy with the film of death. They were looking through the ceiling and roof of my humble cottage into the rooms where the recording angel sat with the book of life open before him, at page as white as snow, save where the name was written at the top-the name of my dar- ling boy.
 The snow-hakes ceased to fall and the glad sunshine from the west came in through the window and fell upon my baby's- bed, flood ing it with radiance and glory like that which trembles on the golden titles of heav en, and the sun then sank out of view, and in the twilight my baby lay, struggling body and soul, the one with the other, for the mastery. AS the shadows deepened I saw the bony hand of death reach out from among the pillows and clutch my baby by the throat. I tried to fight the monster back, but he would not loose his hold
 The lamps were lighted and l saw my baby smile. as if it saw a face more welcome, kind and sweet, than the face of her that bore it, bending over it's cradle-the face of him who said: "Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of God" and while it yet smiled the soul went out from the tabernacle of clay and left the temple tenantless and cold, but beautiful as life itself.
 My baby was dead and l was clasping to my heart only the clay image of it's soul, now winging its flight through the boundless depths of blue thnt lie between the grave and the throne of God. Is it q wonder that men worship idols of clay when clay is so o-en1ls kee..t.e--l kee...t.e-.l s-- ss.=.sT :.
 I slept and dreamed, and as 1 dreamed saw the poorly gstes swing GSe:: sn6 knew my baby had reached home. I caught a glimpse of heaven and saw it fly straight to the arms of him who died upon the cross, and ere the gates were closed the angel with the book drew his wand across the page and held if up to the others, and l saw that naught but the name of my darling boy was there, written in characters of shining gold; while all She rest was pure and white, and as the gates swnng shut the harps of millions sang a glad refrain.