Page:Peterson's Magazine 1842, Volume I.pdf/35

30 discovered a man laying prostrate upon his face. They turned him upon his back, and the red glare of light emitted from the lanterns discovered Master Joseph, pierced near the heart with a bullet. Life was not quite extinct, for upon raising him in their arms, he said with a faint voice, I am guilty—my mother!' and so expired.

"Oh, never shall I forget the day when the lifeless body of that unfortunate boy was brought to the dwelling of the poor widow, or the shriek of anguish that burst from her bosom when she beheld the pallid form of her son, who, notwithstanding his vices and the cruel treatment she had received from him, was still dear to her heart. Poor widow! She was now indeed desolate, for, while he lived, she cherished the hope that he might be reclaimed to virtue and honor and become the solace of her old age; but now that he was dead, what charms had life for her? She clung to the body and kissed its cold lips, then gazed upon its rigid features while smoothing the matted hair from its cold forehead, bedecking it with her scalding tears. She spoke to it with the most endearing expressions and pressed her lips to its mouth, as though her warm breath might bring it to life. We endeavored to force her from the body, but in vain, for she clung to it with a power of grasp that defied our exertions and continued to weep over it for some hours, refusing the consolation we offered. At length, she became exhausted and fell upon the body of her son in a state of insensibility. After she had remained in that apparent situation for a few moments, we ventured to gently remove her, but alas!—we found her dead. A small stream of black gore issued from her mouth, dappling the bosom of her son. Here, the old sexton's voice faltered and became almost inaudible, and he turned away his head and wept.

Shall I be accused of weakness when I confess that my eyes became dim with the tears of sympathy?

"She was buried," resumed the old sexton, drawing his hand across his eyes. "On the following day, beneath that mound, the tablet over her grave was erected by the Squire of the Manor, who, with his good dame, often pays a visit to that spot of earth to drop a tear of sorrow on her memory."

The old sexton having concluded his narrative, I arose and, pressing his hand with silent emotion, took my departure from the village churchyard, and I intend to visit it frequently in order that I may gaze in silence and in solitude upon THE WIDOW'S GRAVE.

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NEATNESS IN DRESS: It is part of a woman's duty to be neatly and becomingly dressed according to her station in life, and a clever woman who neglects this duty proves that her mind has been imperfectly cultivated.

PRAYER FOR AN ABSENT SISTER.

By M. A. Browne A prayer is throbbing in my inmost heart: It thrills each chord, and every pulse stirs. In my eyes, I feel the quick tears start. Breathing that prayer for her, Who has ever been faithful, gentle, and true? Who, by my side, a graceful woman grew, The sister of my love

Oh, that this prayer might reach the' Eternal's throne, Warm, as leaves my aching bosom here: Clothed with the same intense and earnest tone, Dewed with this loving tear Yet not for this deep affection's glow, But for His sake, who suffered here below, Shall it be heard above?

Be with her, Lord! be with my precious one. You know what voiceless sorrow fills the heart. Thou see'st the strife that common eyes doth shun, And though every smart Of that fair bosom, overwhelmed with grief. Be with her, Father! Grant her swift relief. Be with me, my precious one.

Be with her in her solitude. To thee, She may outpour her anguish; bid her bend. Before thy throne of grace, a trusting knee, Knowing thee for her friend: Nay, though she has not the strength to form a prayer, Its very attitude will soothe despair. While praying in heaven, your son

Be with her on the watches of the night. Let ministering spirits guard her rest. Instilling heavenly hope and heavenly might Into her slumbering breast. Let all her dreams of love and mercy come true. And when she wakes, let her be still with you. As thou with her hast been.

Or, if it be thy will, sleep should fly. And her sweet cheek a sleepless pillow press: How on the soul within, the inner eye, Thoughts that shall soothe and bless, Bring to mind the mercies of the past. How has your protection been around us? In many a trying scene.

Bless her and keep her. Let your countenance Be lifted up in love by that beloved: By the reflection of your searching glance Be her soul's radiance proved. Even yet on earth, thy will may be to make Her gentle heart of happy calm partake Teach her to trust in you.

Teach her to know the wisdom that afflicts: How mercy mingles with each trial sent: How all we suffer, feebly here depicts The Savior's punishment For sin he never knew, yet humbly, bare And that with his sufferings we may share, Oh, let us be thankful.