The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1886-03-25
BILL. ARP.
He Writes of the Death of his Mother
Dying Bedside Scenes.
atlanta Constitution.

so 1 opened my table drawer and drew
from it some OF the treasures that keep
in store for such occasions. II was not
the "Tale of Two Cities" by Dickens for
that would bring no comfort now, but it
was the two cities that Bleckley wrote
about-the city of A and the city Of B, a
beautiful little poem of thought that no
one could have written 80 we'll as Logan
E. Bleckley. 1t begins in this way:
"Tho one is city of life,
OF labor and loye-of anger and strife,
OF weeping and laughter and jest,
The other host without breath,
A city of silence and death,
city in peace and at rest"
"Vast cities are these-and the reason they
lie
To each other SO ngh-the sole reason why
Is, the people of A are destined to die
And the people of B await them hard by"
The learned judge, the counsellor, the
lover of nature, the hermit of the noun
tains, the philosopher, the poet, the friend
of humanity, who always meets you with
a kindly smile, still finds time and incli-
nation to ponder the poetry of life and
of death and to teach US lessons we
should learn but fain would not.
Our mother is dead and know your
readers will forgive me for paying tribute
to her who gave me birth, and has loved
and cherished me all the days of my life.
For many days we have fingered and
waited and watched. 1t seems now like
she has gone on long journey, and her
farewell was sad and solemn and sweet.
The last head of our house has gone
the good shepherdess whose flock have so
long loved to hear her voice and listen
to her counsels. Three score descendants
live to call her blessed, and most Of
them were near to comfort her in the
last hours. AS they gathered around her
bedside how lovingly she whispered,
"good children, dear children, how good
you have all been to me" and then her
lips moved in silent prayer for the bless
ing of God upon her offspring. Fltfully
her mind wandered from earth to heaven
and heaven to earth. One time we heard
her as in whispered dream repeating
the Lords prayer. "Our Father which
art in heaven"-with trembling utterance
she recited the familiar words, and her
voice weakened and fingered as she said,
"forgiye US, forgive us OUR trespasses,"
and then for a moment paused and began
again, "forgive-us-our-trespa
Too weak, too faint, she seemed to wait
for help, and the prayer was finished for
her.
What mystery is memory. When on
the very verge of death how proudly it
returns to the joys and the loves Of youth
full days. The aged one becomes young
again. Our good mother would some
times forget that we we're near and
thought she was once again young and
happy mother with an infant at her
breast-a child she lost near sixty years
ago. Gently would she talk to her babe
and nestle it to her bosom and soothe it
to sleep. Her eyes were closed, but pet
haps she saw her child-who knows? /?
Again, she saw, or thought she saw, a
little grandchild by her bed, another
infant from the spirit land, and called
her with loving names. She communed
with the loved ones who had gone before,
and they comforted her. And 80 from
day to day, and night to night, she ling
cred between the living and the dead.
If mortals are ever ministered unto as
they near the dark river; if angels meet
them at the shore if such an escort
such comfort-is vouchsafed to any, it
is to the loving, long faithful mothers,
whose children have gone before. Faith.
ers may forget and the love of brothers
and sisters grow cold to the dead, but a
mothers never. Her offspring is part Of
her life, and by day and by night when
no one knoNeth sweet memory steals
away to the child that once nestled in
her bosom and looked lovingly in her
bosom and looked lovingly in her eyes.
Blessings on the good mothers Of the land,
for there are thousands of them, thou
sands who live and love and cherish,
who have suffered and wept and still
were strong-strong in faith and hope
and charity. When great soldier dies
eloquent voices from thousand pulpits
sound his praises, and the text is, "Know
ye not that good man and prince hath
this day fallen in Israeli" David said
this Of Abner, his enemy, but our moth
ers are our dearest friend, and their VIC
tories are won every day for years and
years, and are clean Of blood. Patiently
the good mother suffers and endures.
Sometimes she dies that her child may
live. She wecps and smiles. Her love
is constant and unchanging; beginning
with our life and ending with her own.
Times without number, in all ages, has
the world paid tribute to her devotion,
and times without number let mankind
continue To bring tribute. 1t is her due,
but cannot pay the debt. Let us do
what we can-burn incense upon her al.
tars and strew flowers upon her grave.
How the lines of life diverge from o
single pair of aged parents. Here are
children and grandchildren and great
grandchildren, and every year brings new
lives as the generations mate and marry.
All of them have a common blood that
came down from the same fountain and
they should have a common reverence for
their ancestors. If the spirits of father
and mother do watch over their children,
how it must grieve them to see alienation
and discord. What miserable spectacle
when they wraug'e over the perishing
property that was left, aud dishonor the
4.