The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1892-07-22
BIS pARL1Na,s GRAVE
He Wanted to See It Once More Before
He Went Back Home.

He was an old man, bent and worn and
wrinkled from q 20 years battle with the
world; but in his kindly eyes shone light
which told Of the faith be had in the prou-
| Use of an everlasting reward for those who
persevere in the right path to the end. On
his coat was pinned badge OF the Christian
Endeavor Society, which informed those
| who read as he ran that he hailed from
Kansas.
He sat next me In Court street car and
as we started up Fulton street he moved
over and inquired anxiously:
"Does this car go to Greenwood, misterF'
l answered in the affirmative and he thanked
me for relieving his mind of doubt which
| bad bothered him ever since he lcts the
bridge.
"You see" he said, II used to live In
Brooklyn great many years ago, but the
| towns changed so much that wouldn't
| know q bit of it. l moved out to Kansas
when Brooklyn wasn't more than good
sized village, an now | hnd she's right
smart city. It's wonderful, wonderfulw He
| looked at all the tall buildings and found
great pleasure in noting the changes which
| had taken place in the neighborhood OF the
city hall When we had reached the unin-
teresting part Of Court street he leaned over
| aud asked slowly: "Is--is there much
change in the cemeteryT
answered that as the population Of the
city had increased the changes in Green
wood had been corrsspondiugly great, and
L tried TO describe some of the new monu-
| ments which dot the sloping hillaides OF the
garden of the dead, thinking that the old
man was about TO visit the cemetery out OF
| curiosity.
"WeIi. it must be very pretty" ne re-
marked, when l had finished, 'but them
| there monuments don't interest me; didns
| travel all the way from home TO look at no
1 IL - ~s,1k Gx-an
| wood to look for my little Jenuie'S grave"
| His voice trembled as he spoke, tear
| stood in bis eye and a food Of recollections
seemed to conVulse his whole form as he
| continued:
| Eyes, me an my wife was married here
In Brooklyn forty-tiVe years ago, an lived
as happy as two people could for long
| time. The only thing on earth we wished
| for was that God would send us a child to
| cheer an comfort us in our old age. We
prayed an prayed. Finally our prayer was
ans wered, an one day the sweetest, pootiest
| little golden haired girl came into our home
and hearts, and as | held my wife's hand
while she lay on the bed, 80 pale an weak
lookin', l felt that my cup O. happiness was
| jest about flowin' over.
ave called her Jennie. after her mother
an she grew up day by bay into the pootiest
kind OF girl Why, when | used to look
| at her, with her long, brown ringlets flowin'
down her back. and her angel face all
smiles, / used to kinder tremble at the
awful responsibility that rested upon me
an mother Ia carin' for such perfect piece
o. God's work; aud then when she'd put her
little arms around my neck an call me the
pet names she'd learn from mother l used
to fold her in TO my heart an let oub my
very soul in thanksslvin' to God for blessin'
me with such chIld,n
The old man paused he gazed in vacant
1 - IaA
| along and after short time resumed:
but it seems as though Sich happiness
was too perfect to last; for one day in the
early summer the awful messenger came
an took our little darlin' back TO heaven. an
when the cruel grave closed over her little
| body, 1t shut out the light from mothers
heart an mine forever"
The poor old man buried his face in his
hands and a sudden gust Of wind neceSsi-
tated the use Of my handkerchief for the
removal Of some dust from my eye.
1--WE buried her In Greenwood" he con-
| tinued, when he had re covered himself; ''in
q simple little grave, in an out o the way
| part o. the cemetery; an a week afterward
4 We moved out west SOS to be as far away as
| possible from the place where we bad kno wn
our bitterest grief, an Pve never been back
| here since then until now. There was cheap
| rates on the railroads for this Christian
Epdeavor convention, an mother says to
| me, Jim, WOULDN'T you ike 20 pay one Visit
to Brooklyn before you die, to see Jennie's
gravep / said l thought l would, If she'd
come along; but she was too feeble to
come, 80 l bad to come alone. Do you think
I'll have very much trouble findin' my little
girls grave, sirl There was wooden cross
over it with her name on it when we went
away, but s'pose that's all rotted away by
this time"
/ told him as gently as 1 could that he
would hardly be able to find the grave among
the thousands and thousands in the public
plot and he said softly:
"Well, never mind, I'll walk around a
little an even if don't find the spot where
all our hopes were buried twenty years ago,
I'll lay these flowers on some child's grave
an offer up prayer that the time may be-
shortened when mother an I'll be called TO
meet our little girl in the land where death
never comes, an where happiness is etern al. "
The car stopped at the cemetery gate; the
old man babe me Rood-by and walked up
under the magnificent brown stone arch and
into the city of the dead, to begin what
must have proved fruitless Fearch for his
little daughters grave, his only clew to the
location Of which was the rude cross he had
placed over it SO many years before, with
the simple inscription, "Our JENNA"