The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-01-24
THE LITTLE GRAVE.
IF. E. Huddle. in Through Mail.


 In the moody and gloomy world, there is one little spot on earth that is mine It is not large enough for garden, nor is it large enough for anything else ex- cept a grave. A stone post is set at either corner, and the grass grows green and luxuriant in summer, and in winter clings to the earth, half dead. That lit- tie spot is the home of all that is mortal of one of my own flesh and blood. A willow stands by the side of a small mound of earth, beneath which moulders flesh as beautiful as flesh ever was, and when its foliage is on, droops sadly above my babys tomb and weeps heavens own dew upon the grave of my darling boy.
 We laid him there in winter. The snow was lying deep upon the earth, and the shrill blasts from the north were blowing 6ercely when the frozen clods, mingled with the snow, fell heavily upon the coffin of our babe. He was our highest hope, and as the hollow sound of the earth fall ing upon his narrow shelter beat upon our ears, they seemed nuggets of lead falling from some great height to crush our poor. broken hearts.
 Spring came, and we planted our little plat with flowers and evergreens, and sodded the earth heaped above our baby's bosom The dews and the rain of heaven fell and nourished the emblems of our never-dying love, and now, when the sun shines brightly, there is no fairer spot on all the grateful earth. Years have come and gone since we lost our boy, but our love still lives, and once each year, we visit the little grave and weep with the willow upon its sods.
 No spot was ever dearer to man than that small plat of ground is to me. There, the heart-aches of life are melted into tears there the toll and worry of busi- ness cannot come, nor can any grief over- shadow that which sweetens the few mo. ments devote to happy memories of my dead and mellow thoughts of what might have been. 1t is a shrine where leave and receive the correlation that comes from an abiding faith that only the body, the beautiful tenement 1 SO loved, is dead--that the life and soul that so bound me to their frail home, are as en- during as time.
 Let the world go on with its mad race for honor and gold ; let men applaud and women praise and children revere, and let all the hosts that follow pomp and power bow to their poor idols of clay :: when stand hy my hahy's grave, .c: ears are closed to all the strife and con- tention for place and position-my eyes are blind to all the scenes of revelry and insignia of rank that so dazzle the world. All the confusion of eternal exertion is nothing to me then.
 When am there, there is but one face ] ever saw that claims my vision-a sweet, baby face-the face of one whom the world scarcely knew and for whom it never cared; its eyes arc the windows of the temple of innocence; its curly, silken locks are the threads of which the very mantle of purity is woven. see the beauties of that one life and forget the hypocrisy and deceit about me. hear the silver voice of my child prattling of love, full of endearing words and noble little thoughts, and all the wordy strife and argument of the wiser world pales into insignifcance and loses all its fierce. There, at my baby's grave, is relief from all my woes but one, and that is SO gentle in its influence, that it becomes almost the pain of pleasure. Avaunt, all evil thoughts and purposes for l am stand ing at the grave ot my dead in peace.