It was a sad day in autumn, pale,
withering autumn, when a little group of friends collected
round the cradle of an infant of a few weeks, who
had tasted the cup of life, and now was turning seemingly
disappointed away from the bitter portion. The
mild blue eyes were raised to heaven, and that heavenly
angelic expression, so peculiar to expiring infancy
rested upon his face, which was lovely in the extreme,
though wasted by disease. He was tenacious of
life, and lingered long in the embrace of the pale
messenger, although the eye was dim and the wrist
pulseless.
The father, mother, sister, and brother,
and grandmother, sat watching the quivering flame
that would rally for a few moments, then wane again.
Near by sat the nurse, bearing upon her lap the little
twin sister, who had her birth at the same hour with
him, and who, like him too, was passing away.
How soon they wearied of life, those
frail, gentle ones, and the angel came to bear them
to a brighter, holier world, where the purity of their
sinless spirits should remain untarnished by the blight
and pollutions of earth.
We watched till the sun went down
in the western sky, dim and shadowy, enshrined long
before his setting by a yellow autumnal haze, that
cast a melancholy subduing shade over the face of
decaying nature that hung out her fading flowers and
withered leaves, as a token of the sad change that
was passing in her realm, while the evening breeze,
as it swayed the branches of the trees, bearing many
a leaf to the ground, and drifting them before his
melancholy breath, seemed sighing a sad requiem over
departed glory.
Such a scene, at such an hour, spoke
forcibly of the varied changes and uncertainties of
life, and as we looked upon the marble paleness of
the dear children, and compared them with the withering
flowers beneath the window, we felt that human life
is but a flower that perisheth.
In this instance, the worm had sapped
the bud ere the brighter tints were developed.
As we stood in that chamber of death, we felt that
God was present, that He who had given life was about
to take it back to reign with Him, and though the
deep fountains of grief were stirred, there came a
“still, small voice,” heard through the
silence of that lone room, “Be still, and know
that I am God,” and we bowed in submission to
the Divine will.
The mist broke from the face of the
sun, and his last setting beams looked forth clear
and bright upon the earth, tinging the fleecy clouds
with gold and purple, and they looked like gorgeous
piles of molten gold, over hung with crimson purple
curtains, forming a sumptuous canopy to decorate the
heavens.
Even so with the babe, life’s
feeble taper seemed to revive and emit a brilliant
glare for a moment, the lips parted, the eyes wandered
from object to object, and seemed to survey all the
room contained, gazing most earnestly upon the face
of the little sister, so soon to follow him, then
wearily closing them with a slight struggle, the spirit
passed away.
As we folded him in the vestments
of the grave and laid him into the silent halls of
death, hope whispered of a glorious resurrection morn,
when those blue orbs should again awake from that long
peaceful sleep, and look out upon the beauties of
the upper world.
They placed his little form in a wide
coffin, and laid it in the tomb to await the coming
of his little sister.
A week passed away, a week of weary
watchfulness and anxiety, of pain, suffering and distress,
and the angel returned again for the twin spirit.
It was at the deep midnight hour when
he announced his mysterious presence, by laying his
icy hand and spreading his marble paleness over the
form of the departing sister. The little frame
was convulsed, and writhed beneath the grasp of the
pale visitant, but he pitied not, relented not, but
steady to his purpose, snapped the brittle thread of
life, performed the task he had been commissioned with,
and hurried away from that place of tears to cast
his deep shadow over the sun light of other homes,
and fill other hearts with grief, and cause other
eyes to look red with weeping, “because death
has come into the world,” and the children of
men must fall before his withering blight.
Already had decomposition commenced
its repulsive work in the form of the little son,
and he was laid away, while the coffin returned for
the other dear one, who was to moulder with him in
its narrow confines.
Deposited in the same tomb, was a
coffin covered with mould, and just ready to drop
from the shelf upon which it was placed, and the shrunken
boards had separated, and it was perforated with large
cracks where it had been joined together. The
lid was always unscrewed, and was often raised by
the hand of a fond mother, who looked upon the dust
of an only daughter, who had been the idol of her heart.
She had spared no pains in educating her, and she
had well repaid the labor bestowed upon her in the
acquisition of knowledge.
She was beautiful in person, amiable
in disposition, and was beloved by a large circle
of acquaintances. She was married early, to the
companion of her choice, who had been attentive to
her from childhood, declaring the first time he saw
her, he never saw such beautiful curls in his life,
as Annie Grey’s.
She had two little sons, and all looked
bright and prosperous; Annie was happy in the affection
of her husband, her children and her friends, but
death lingered not for these things; he came, a most
unwelcome visitant, and bore his unwilling victim from
the presence of her agonized mother, “to join
the pale nations of the dead.”
She dressed her in the gilded trappings
of life, bolstered her up in bed, and curling her
beautiful hair in glossy ringlets over her pale face,
had her likeness taken as large as life, and touched
with natural coloring, thus preserving the form and
features of her child, upon the senseless canvass,
which was kept hung up in her room, covered with black
crape, during her life time.
Annie ever expressed repugnance at
the idea of being deposited in the ground, and her
mother had this tomb built that she might there repose,
and she could watch her sleeping dust as it crumbled
to decay.
Who that looked in upon that mouldering
mass of blackened dust, and contrasted it with the
beautiful form that moved in life, but learned an
impressive lesson of the change that death makes upon
the form of youth and beauty? She had slept there
many years, and the mother felt the time was approaching,
when she must take the last look of those dear remains,
and have them removed to the second vault, or buried
beneath the grassy turf; but ere the time arrived,
the great reaper gathered father and mother into his
abundant harvest, and laid them by her side.
Her husband, many years before, had
passed from life’s busy scenes, and closed his
eyes forever upon earth.
The little girl was placed in a coffin,
and borne by weeping friends to the burial place,
and with her dead brother, lay side by side, beautiful
in death.
Fresh buds were placed in the hands
of each, as they lay, with their little arms entwined
around each other, and their white marble faces, looking
up to the pure sky above, while their half-open lids
displaying their blue orbs, seemed looking out beneath
the drooping fringes, to take a last farewell of earth,
sun, sky, friends, and all the endearing associations
of life.
A little mound was raised beside the
grave of the maternal grandfather, who had fallen
suddenly, in the meridian of life, while the strength
of manhood was yet upon him. As the aged grandmother
turned from the grave of the little ones, she gave
one lingering glance to her husband’s grave,
and removing her glove from her hand, pressed the
marble slab, that stood at the head of it, and passed
on, with a sigh and a tear, to fulfil the remaining
duties that awaited her in life.
She had parted from him, many long
years before, and now she had lived her threescore
years and ten, and her head was whitened with passing
years; but the infant of a few days had gone before
her. But a few more years passed, and you looked
in vain upon earth for that weary voyager,