The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1894-01-03
Our Dear Ones Gone.

If our dear ones could speak to US
from the silence into which they have
passed, I think they would sometimes
reproach US for our avoidance of their
names, for our dropping them out Of
the household speech, for our tacit
accepting Of them as dead and, there
fore, gone. The common and often
cowardly way Of treating those who
have left.this world sometimes fills us
who are yet here with sort Of wist-
full, prophetic sadness. "Shall the
day dawn" we whisper to ourselves,
"when to all the bright stir and happy
hustle Of this dear home, in which We
are now so important, we shall be as
less than nothing and vanity, as alien
and apart as though nothing here had
ever been ours to handle, ours to
direct, ours to love and to care for 2"
The thought brings chill upon the
wsrmest summer day, for there is an
instructive jealously for our own
rights, feeling, God-implanted, that
we do not want to be forgotten when
we are no more upon the earth.
In multitude of cases it is an in
stinct of self f-protection which prompts
to this silence where the beloved dead
are concerned. We miss them so
acutely, the wound is so fresh, the
ache is so poignant, that we cannot
bear to speak Of them; we shudder az
doing so to the indifferent t. who may
be bored, or who may NOT understand,
and we fear equally by speech or allu-
sion to awaken slumbering pain in
in the. heart of some other as loving
and as Loyalty regretful as, we. know
that we are.
So it comes to pass. gradually. or at
once, that the little child who sleeps
iu. the narrow bed under the daisies is
never mentioned in the home. Her
brothers and sisters seldom think of
her, nor is heaven any nearer or more
real to them because she is there. The
dear mother ceases to be an influence
with her sons and daughters, because
nobody repeats her words and her ways
are no longer the law Of the house.
The young brother, whose sun went
down before it had climbed past the
morning. has name starred on the
college roll and inscribed on marble
tablet, but be is not "Joe" or Char
ry" to anybody in the home that was
so proud of him. Neighbors notice
how rapidly his parents have aged
since he died, but that is all. Per-
haps a young heart somewhere grieves
for him in reyerent silence, too, but
she cannot speak.
Would it not be far better to do as
here and there a woman does, or a
family. does, and keep naturally and
as matter Of course the household
names in use after the darlings who
bore them have gone? l know one or
two homes where it is the custom to
do this, where ''Dave" and "Mattie"
and "John" are often quoted and
mentioned, and are as familiar in the
current speech Of the house as if they
had only gone to Egypt or to switzer-
land instead Of to heaven, which may
be SO much nearer, which, indeed,
being our Fathers house and the
abiding-place Of thousands Of our
kindred, is not far from every one Of
us.
To keep our dear ones gone in ten
der recollection there seem1 nothing
more appropriate than the carrying on
of whatever work they loved. If they
took an interest in philanthropy or
charity, in missions, in hospital or a
school. we may plan and give and
l.bo, personally and steadily, just as
they would have done had they been
spared, and every kind word spoken,
every dollar contributed, every loving
act Of service on our part, will be their
best and most enduring memorial
Margaret E. Sangster, in Congrega-
tionalist.
Dn&%o,, m, ,ar T1uhf Toc1OO