Year: 1864

Out of my window tonight. see moth
ing but cold dreary world. lighted only
by the star, ,gemed armament above with
here and there glittering light issuing
from the habitation's of men," In all
see, | read only the language of the all
loving Father. saying, Il have drawn
these shadows over the works of my cre-
alton, that all my children may rest" :"
All know full we'll how welcome is the
approach of this hour. How our hearts
thrill with love and gratitude to the One
who caused US to realize SO many kind
blessings. Inquiries of why and how
things could and should be as they are.
so far beyond human power to answer,
throng my mind. turn away thinking
perhaps it is enough for me to know that
the Infinite Power that formed this nys-
terious world, still remembers to care for
it.


sit down by my table, where l find
subjects for other thoughts. take up
my journal, on its pages find recorded
the thoughts and events of the past year,
joyous and sad, all there. lay it aside
for something that is not so familiar. In
Laura Greenwood's "Boquct of Flowers" [
find nothing interesting but what have
read before. Fern-Leaves by my favorite
Fannie, seems like an old friend too.
turn to mothers gift, my Bible, there /
find an inexaustablc fountain of all that
is good and true. Contemplating its
precious pages, subdued quiet feeling
steals over me. Thought wanders away
to the saddencd home far up the beautiful
Lamoille, resting like all other homes in
the close embrace of mig ight--solemn night |!
But to me like no other home arc its asso-
Citations. My past all lies there. There
the, ,tottering step was taken; the first ac-
cent lisped. There my happy childhood
passed, too bright to tarry long-there
my first real sorrow broke over my fain
sky. How we'll do remember one bright
New Years morning, long time ago to
me, went to my mothers bedside there
she lay with eyes closed; never again
would they beam with love on her child.
Her weary hands lying listlcssly by her
side; they told me of last long sleep,
and that she, my mother aoas dead. How
little did l realize then the bitterness of
these words, no mother here. For seven
long years the tall grass has grown over
her grave. and now another is close beside
1t. Dear little sister, too, went home. ere
she had learned many of life's sad, stern
lessons. Tis but short time since she
bade the world and loved ones here, adieu.
We had nothing left but the .fraa dust,
nothing to do, save to deck the dear form
for the "narrow house," could only place
about her the flowers she loved so well,
press the last kiss on the marble brow,
and cold lips that would never again re-
turn the caress, and then she is lost to
our mortal gaze. Can this be. or am |
dreaming. No! no! again I stand by
the open grave-again hear the earth
falling on the coffn.lid. Once more l
hear the scbs Of those left to mourn her
loss, and see around me those who know
how to sympathize. Again turn and
90 to the home that shall never echo to
the music of her voice. With the out
ward world it is the same as ever. But
who shall tell how sad the hours appear
Who shall speak the sorrow that fills our
home, for the guileless heart of our little
one, has ceased to beat the pure spirit
has passed from its prison house of clay,
to meet those gone before, in world
, where sorrow and sin can never enter
All is well.


In the lone quiet cemetery the loved
ones are sleeping. Over them the cold
dreary winds sweep, chanting mournfully
Of the fair bright flowers that have faded


withered, and are buried there. How
/, strangely life seems when viewed from
this sad spot, to those unreconciled one'
who think only Of their affection, and SCI
: nothing of the great love which prompt
cd it. Who cannot look beyond the linn