The Birmingham age-herald., 1911-12-10


 She was dead. Upon her little bed she lay at rest No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God. and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death
 Her little bird-a poor slight thing, the pressure, of a finger would have crushed was stirring nmbly in its cage; and the strong heart of it's child mistress was mute and motonless forever.
 Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings and fatigues? All gone. was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect happiness were born, imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose. So shall we know the ankes in their maj esty, after death
 They dressed her couch with some wln- ter berries and green leaves gathered in spot she had been used to favor. When die,' she had said put near me some- thing that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always
 The child that had been her friend came early in the morning with dried flowers
  breast. He had been under her window over night, for they saw in the snow the traces of small feet; and he said, on being questioned, that he had had a fancy they hal left her alone, and he could not bear the thought.
 Soon the bell-that she had heard SO, often and listened to with solemn pleas- ilre as if it were a living voice-rang 1ts remorseless toll for her, so young, sol beautiful, so good.
 Along the crowded path they bore her. pure as the new fallen snow that covered it, whose day on earth had been as feet ing Under the porch, where she sat SO often, she passed again; and the old church received her into it's quiet shade. They carried her to one old nook, where she had sat many and many time, and laid their burden softly on the pavement. The light streamed on it through the col- ored window. With every breath of air | that stirred outside, some trembling, changing light would fall upon her grave. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Many young hand dropped it's wreath, many sti1ed sob was heard. The service done, the mouffiefs stoou aparot and the villagers closed around to | look into the grave before the stone | should be replaced. One called to mind l how he had seen her sitting in that very l spot, and how her book had fallen on her lap, and she was gazing with a pensive face into the sky. Another told how he | had wondered much that one so delicate as she should be so bold; how she had never feared to enter the church alone, at night, but had loved to finger there when all was quiet.
 | A whisper went about among the old est there that she had seen and talked with angels, and when they called to mind how she had looked and spoken, and her early death, some thought it might be so. | indeed.
 l They saw the vault covered and the stone fixed down. Then, when the dusk | of evening had come on, and not sound disturbed the sacred stiffness of the place when the moon poured her light on tomb and monument, on pillar, wall and arch' and most of all Git seemed to them) upon her quiet grave-then they turned away and left the child with God. Copyright, 1911, by J. w. Muller) | Title of next Sundays article: sydhey Carton, Dickens most Tragic Character.