The sea coast echo. [volume] (Bay Saint Louis, Miss.) 1892-current, 1907-01-05
in MEMORIAM.
Died On Last Saturday Afternoon, O'Clock,
James McGinn, Jr, Aged Twelve Years, Save
Two Days.

The above clause truly describes one
of the saddest tragedies IN the annals of
Bay St. Louis.
James was general favorite with all,
as he was the idol of the home and the
model boy at school, from which he was
never known to have been absent, and
at which he had only perfect record
for study and department. He was
never known to have infringed rule
there.
At home he was the mainstay of his
parents, whose fondest hopes were cen
tered in him, and, even though so young,
his counsel was frequently sought by
the others-he was devoted to all, and
all deferred to him,
On the previous night the writer was
Ginn's-around the Lares and Penates
of the hearthstone-where we, save one
of the family, were present. Little
James was there in the remotest corner
of the room (this was characteristic OF
him), and when asked about his holl-
days, all radiant with hope, a smile
beaming from his eye, with Joyous pratt
tie, he told of the glorious festivities OF
his Yuletide and spoke of the hope for
the morrow. On the morrow those
hopes had vanished, and the fondest
desires of parent and friend are now
laid away in the memory of the perfect
little man.
Kind hands and loving hearts of dear
est friends did all that grief could wish
to soothe the sorrowing family, and
many a wreath, and garlands and floral
offerings from friends and school COM
panions, spoke of the universal love.
The lesson is hard to learn. The lit
tie white fingers, closed to all that is
mortal here, are now doing the Masters
service in the great white city beyond.
He is the happy one, we are the mourn
crs,-we cannot understand the mystery
of life, nor can we comprehend the
Nemesis of death; yet we all know the
world is full of death; change and dis
solution are written on every leaf of the
forest, and the finger OF the angel OF
death is on every latch string; blossoms
and briars, roses and thorns-he gathers
them all. He strips ambition Of his
honor, and to love and misery alike he
giyeth pillow of autumn leaves. He
knows no difference between the king
and the peasant. He touches his dream
less slumbers to the eyelids Of both,
and they fall asleep, the one in the
midst of his marble throne, the other by
his furrow. Coffin lids are writ ali oyer
with mystic names that reason cannot
read. Reason understands not the palor
of that cheek that was once the home
of roses, she comprehends not the dim
ness of that eye that erstwhile reflected
the heavens above; yet God, who brings
rainbows from mists, humanity from
dust, ard Immortality from the shadows
of the tomb, has transplanted this per-
feet little man from the sin-cursed ways
of this earth, where his feet had never
learned to stray, up to the Paradise of
God, to be perpetually with Him.
They laid little James to sleep in the
beautiful Greenwood silent city Of
the dead-in the midst Of its marble
mountains, and by the tall, blanch,
moss = covered tombstones, that, like
silent sentinels, point eternally the soul
upward-but in our hearts there shall
always be the tenderest memories Of
that perfect little man-James McGinn.
''Not now, but in the coming years,
1t may be in better land,
We'Il read the meaning Of our tears;
And then, Oh, then, We'll understand!
God knows the way, He holds the key;
He guides US with unerring hand.
Sometimes with fearless eyes Well see,
Yes, there, up there, We'll understand"
r, L, TRAWICK.