The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1898-11-16

goin' past, an oftentimes wishes they
was on 'em, an'is sorry enough they
ever give up the sea to start livin' on
bit O. rock. 1t may be as the ships
toss up an down bit, an some times
one on 'em goes down, an her lights
is dowsed; but It is ten times happier
work alvin on ship than it is on
lighthouse. An half the winter
through the lighthouse is in a fog,
Muster Reckitt-or, I beg pardon, Mr..
Cheer-and parson said as church
were lighthouse-eh?
"But / ask further, what do that
there light upon the lighthouse mean
when so be it does shine? What do
that there bell mean when they ring
it slow and solemn in a fog? Muster
Reckitt didn't tell we that. P'r'aps he
forgot. Well, I'll tell him, though
be only an outsider, so to speak. The
light an bell both do mean the same
thing. They say: Beware O. me;
there's danger here And Muster
Reckitt, e said as church were light
house-eh?"
Having fired this last gun over the
grave of an unhappy metaphor, Grad
dock smiled benignly on the audience,
wiped his forehead with the back Of
his hand, and, with final cluck of the
instrument in his throat, sat down
amid roars of general laughter.
Now it happened that about month
after this famous controversy, the
curate went to ST. Colam tc spend a
quiet Sunday with his friends. His
winter work had tired him out and,
brave as he was, he was beginning to
doubt if he could live through another
winter.
1t was day of ethereal brightness,
with suave and sparkling air, and in
the afternoon he was tempted to walk
along the cliffs toward little DESERT
ed church that stood on the cliffs edge
about midway between ST. Colam and
Barford.
1t was 20 years or more since it had
been used. It's graveyard hung for
lornly over the sea On a gentle slope,
and quiet sheep were feeding on the
grassy barrows of the dead. Reckitt
came softly over the crisp turf, and
was about to pass round the chancel
to the little graveyard, when he was
arrested by the sound of a voice. 1t
was speaking in low mon otone. Pres
emily it rose into a clear, mournful
cadence, and his ear recognized the
sublime phrases of the burial service:
"Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our
L. e1,, Eel
prayer; but spare us, Lord most holy, o
God most mighty, o holy and merciful
Saviour. Thou most worthy Judge eternal
suffer us not at our last hour for any pains
of death to fall from Thee"
There was long pause, and sky
lark could be heard singing over the
sea. Then the voice began again:
'.Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty
God of His great mercy to take unto Him
self the soul of our dead sister here de-
parted"
mo, no. Oh, my God, 1 can't say
that" the voice broke forth in sudden
agony. "Oh, Lizabeth, why did you
leave me?"
The curate knew not what to do. AT
first he had been ready to suppose that
an interment was going on, but that
thrilling cry: "Oh, 'Lizabeth," re-
vealed not the solemn priest, but the
human mourner.
He stepped softly out of the shadow
of the chancel, and looked over the
huddled stones. A man was kneeling
beside one of them which looked more
cared for than the rest. 1t was Grad
dock In the same instant the two
men recognized one another. The
curate was about to turn away, when
Craddock beckoned him.
Look" said Craddock, grimly.
The stone had been freshly scraped
and lettered 1t bore no memorial
verse-two names only and date: