Morning journal and courier., 1891-08-12
COMMUNICATION.
A Country Funeral.

The people began to assemble long be- fore the hour appointed for the funeral. Those who lived within walking distance came singly or in groups, while those whose homes were farther away rode in wagons which came in every direction, for the country folk from different localities had gathered before the small yellow house that stood on a grassy bank by the roadside to pay their last tributes of re- spect to the young husband and father, who, in sunny front room, lay waiting burial.
 He had been cut down in his youth, and had left to mourn his loss a wife, but lit tie more than a child herself, with two small children, the youngest but six weeks old on the day the father died. They were very poor; he had been employed by the farmers to help through planting and hay ing and harvesting, working by the day whenever there was work to be done. It was all he could do. even in the busiest season, to provide his young family with the commonest necessaries of life, and when sickness came they were indeed des- titute.
 The doctor had been up every day from the city to attend him, and kind neighbors had done all they could to help, but much of the care devolved upon the young wife, who, weak and feeble herself, was almost as helpless as her babes.
 Some of the good people began to talk about their taxes being heavy another year; so many doctors visits to pay for and expensive medicines to buy, besides having the family to support; for the town officers were supplying their needs.
 One morning a neighbor called at farmhouse and, after knocking at the open door, went in and seated herself. Soon the farmers wife came in.
 "Why heow de du Mis- Brewer; I d'no you'se here," said she, q wuz eout a-feed- in the pigs.
 q thought likely ez not ye wuz, so I cum right in nd made myself tu hum," said the visitor.
 "Glad ye did, glad ye did," said the farmers wife, 'shev ye heerd heow Bowdy is t dayi" she continued.
 ''No haint heerd yit this mornin', !" said Mrs. Brewer, '"nd haint seeen the doctor goin' by yit."
 ''No haint nuther, but he might hev drove by a dozen times, nd I not known it. I've ben a workin' in the kitchen the hull mornin'."
 'fThey said he was dretful bad off las
 
 crazy ez a loon, nd he's pickin' of his bed clothes the hull time nd he's drivin' of the oxen, CT layin' stun wall, CT doin' suthin' every blessed mint, nd t'other day hetjumped right eout O bed nd run eout of doors, nd it took tu men tu hold him after thet"
 ''Yeou don't say," said the farmers wife, Che wont never git well then, fer it's a dretful bad sign when sick folks air 6 pickin' of bedclothes, he ain't 8 going to live lung. Hev ye heerd what his wife said t'other day!''
 "Not ez I knowns on; what wuz its" said Mrs. Brewer eagerly.
 "Why, they said that she said that she wished there want a man in the hull world; did ye ever hear sech 8 speech as thata Don't ye think she's a-gittin' her pay neowp said the farmers wife. "Well, neverl I should ha' thought she'd ben shamed O herself, replied Mrs. Brewer. "But like anutf she didn't never haps for the young wife.
 "Mebbe she didn't neow," replied the farmers wife, not to be outdone in sym pathy; "yeou can't tell nothin' tall by what ye hear meow days." The old farmer coming in joins in the conversation. 'T spect taxes'n be purty steep nex' year, psyin' eout so much as tuoy ar a-uuiu ne nhln SOt notniA 70 help himself with" he said; ''he want savin', nd never could lay up nothin'; he'd orter laid by suthin' fer a rainy day, but he alus spent all he got, nd he want no drinkin' man nuther. But landl 't'wont be no warnin' to nobody" he added, shak- ing his head emphatically; Eye can't learn some folks nothin'."
 Much sympathy was expressed for the unfortunate man and his family after his death, and do not believe those stalwart men had thought of the heavy taxes they small front yard on the day of the funeral. Eyes unused to weeping were moistened with sympathy, while down some rugged cheeks the tears were slowly falling. The women who sat in the house were all crying, as the widow sobbed aloud in her agony. A neighboring woman was | vainly trying too soothe the wailing babe, l while the little auburn haired girl not yet | three years of age, awed into silence by | the unusual scene, clung half frightened to her mother, her large blue eyes filled | with tears.
 One kind lady famed the sorrowing woman, batting her upon the shoulder as she softly whispered, "Don'ti don'tl It will make you sick to grieve so; think of | your little ones; try to live for their sakes." And 8 rich and naughty lady who lived near, and who had travelled in foreign countries, and was much looked np to in consequence thereof, cried as if her heart would break.
 | The minister's voice grew husky and tremulous as he read comforting passages l of scripture and spoke of that glorious country where sorrow and sickness and death do not come, and where partings are | unknown.
 It was a sad scene; the little house with its meager furniture; the open doors and curtainless windows, through which the hot August sunshine was pouring; with myriads of flies swarming in and out, lighting often on the uncovered face of the dead man in the room adjoining.
 Then, as is the custom in rural towns, a long procession of wagons filled with sym pathizing friends followed the hearse for many miles, over beautiful country roads leading through shady woods, over yer dant hills and fruitful valleys, passing many peaceful farmhouse, to the place of burial.
 There, beside his father, in a lonely graveyard on the green hillside, they left all that remained of poor Bowdy; and his wife, with her little ones, was carried back to her desolate home. RACHEL ROGERS.