Spirit of Jefferson. [volume] (Charles Town, Va. [W. Va.]) 1844-1948, 1885-10-27
MISCELE.lA !. ] AINEoUS

Heart hin, heart vii lttnd . honiei
And an this dreary life VIII turn to SWEET
MISCELLANEOUS.
t'Yrlsten for the spirit ot JstfetsOnd
Two Graves.
A SHORT STORY POUNDED on Facts.
Island g'ill. my = sogl. Mi in tho silent dark
Alone in the SHADOW tlrcar and stark
IRhifie,.s
One summer evening, just as the
sun was sinking behind the distant
mountains of Virginia, an indescrib-
able wish to wander forth upon the
hills alone, came over me. That mys-
iterious longing to lift the soul above
the monotonous whirl of u arestless ex-
istence, and commune with nature
and with God.
Enveloped in hat and shawl, to
protect me from the dews then falling,
y passed dreamily alongside of a high
hill6overlookings n clear and murmur-
ing river, flowing on quietly through
the valley by mountains sublime aud
wonderful, whose pine-topped tips
seemed to touch the golden tinted
clouds above. Bydistant rural towns
and magnificent cities, ever onward, it
foUs in its course to the sea.s
From the craggy summit of cliff
far away, family echoed the weird
songof alone whipporwill blending its
notes with the voices of the evening.
followed the narrow foot-patL
that meanders round the ledges of
moss-grown rocks fringed with fern
leaves, the path that has been ira
yersed so oftby the inhabitants of the
village near by; the little children
with merry voices ramble DER it in
search of the violets, columbine and
honeysuckle, and the aged pass eau
tiously over it, now fearing to VEN
turc near the verge of the precipice
below,n doubt remembering the days
when feet-footed and free as the air
around them, they were able to climb
over the cliffs with the grace aud ease
of an antelope.
How hard it is to know and realize
these life changes. 10 be young,
free, useful and strong. Then to
grow old, decrepid and dependant,
even unable to be trusted alone. Obi
how we should pity, cheer and help
the aged, as they lingcr on the brink
of the eternal world, cast down by
the burdens of weary life.
By the time the twilight shadows
were lengthening and deepening in
the valley below and creeping up the
mountain side, found had reached
the old cemetery just above Jeffer-
sons rock, where sleep the dead that
have been gathered, one by one, for
years and years, from the happy
homes of the town near by. A fond
father is resting here, and kind
mother by his side. A fond brother,
a loving sister, a lovely babe, de-
voted husband and an afectionate
wife, are the inscriptions found upon
each sepulchre. Visit the homes Of
many and you will find vacant chnir
there, made so to ill grave on the
hillside. s.
The massive walls of stone enclos-
ing this old burial place are moss
covered and. old, here and there. We
find vine clinging to it. I have
often thought what magnificent sight
it will be, when the last trump shall
sound and Christ comes in the East,
and the dead shall beraised from this
old cemetery.
I climbed up the stepping-stones
projecting from the wall, and passed
from tomb to tomb, reading the ep-
itapbs written on each. At length
came to one which attracted my at
tention. II had all the appearances
of neglected grave. No flowers
bloomed upon it now, and the grass
growing over it was so tangled and
INTENDED, it was necessary TO pull it
aside to read the einscription. Itwas
a dark marble slab, with two hearts
chiseled on the top, and under them
these words:
g Sacred to the memory of Ju1ia
Little, who departed this life June the
oath, 1925. This tribute is raised by
those from whose affections she was
early torn, in the bloom of life and
loneliness.
't 'Herelet me wander at the close Of eve,
When sleep sits heavy on the Iaborer's eyes,
The world and all It's busy follies leave,
Aud talk with sorrow where my Julia lies.
Here let me rest my aching. feYerish head.
Upon this mound which all my joys contain
Here let me wall DER happiness that's fed,
All other soothing's idle, all Is yain.'"
1 read them and wondered; amin
voluntary feeling of sadness came
over me. / felt as if 1 stood upon
sacred ground. knew that the one
sleeping beneath this stone was the
loved and lost of some broken-hearted
one, who had given vent to his an
guish of soul in the words inscribed
upon it. Why is it that our nobIest
and purest feelings are always awal-
ened and enlisted, when the heart's
best hopes are crushed by death and
disappointment?
Seeing an old man sitting in the
shadow of a tree nearby, / ap.
preached and accosted him, besought
him to tell me of her who had beer
slumbering so long beneath the clods
of the valley. His manner was pleas.