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��REMINISCENCES.
��autumn day, went out from the little church; hut he returned not; he lay down to profound slumber among the silent sleepers.
I well recollect the time, and of being borne in the arms of a kindly man, a friend of my father's. I was too young then to realize what in these later years seems a sad dream. The many sorrow- ful hearts and sympathizing friends — I can see even now, the dark pall and tbe dusky coffin gloomily waiting be- neath the pulpit. I recall tbe sobbing of the loving wife as she gazed for the last time on earth upon the white cheek where hers so oft had rested, and kissed again those lips, no longer life-giving, but cold, so icy cold; I hear again the long-suppressed wail that went up as the strong soul yielded to the "• it must be so," and turned away as the closing lid went clown ; and then there was the long line of sad mourners gathered around the — as I thought — " dark, open door into the beyond;" the listless lingering as the sunlight disputed possession with each spadeful of earth from the sexton's blade until, driven to the surface, unyielding it rested, cleaving to the raised mound 'neath which they left him reposing in spite of the agonizing voices that would awaken him.
This is a mournful retrospect, and yet our thoughts would linger here, clinging like the ivy and ancient mosses upon old- time ruins. There were many other of those unforgotten ones, men and women whose places are vacant, save in memo- ory, who went out into the silent un- known never to return, after gathering about them, as a mantle, the dignities and honors and emoluments of years.
There were some, too, who in middle life went the dark road, gentle and loved ones who lay down the burden of their young lives, alas ! for us too soon ; whose future seemed full of hope and promise, whose early songs were of joy and glad- ness, and whose gay laugh and happy voices we sometimes hear even now, echoing from the damp earth through the lapse of hoarded years. See that long shadow where now the moonlight creeps ? Eyes are not yet dry since that grave was made, but the grasses grow and
��flowers are blooming above the place where " Angie " rests.
I meant to have spoken, among these memories, of the " Old Red School House," and who of the country does not know of one, and has not treasures from it to view in the " light of other days?" It stood just across the street from the " little church " of which you know. I say stood, for it, too, has passed away, like many of those who went out with us when school was last dismissed. Our play-ground, like all our lives, lay broad but direct from the school house door to the church-yard gate, and it was well beaten, too, with running feet. With all our love of mischief and roguish pranks, we were better boys and girls than we are men and women in these ma- turer years. Would that to-day we car- ried as pure and as loving hearts and as virtuous lives as we did in that primary ! Would we could run down to the clear brook before the Master calls and w r ash our soiled hands and bespattered faces ! We could make them clean in those days.
What an out-growth has there been from those dingy, whitewashed walls into the world of life. Some have toiled into wealth and fame, and others, alas ! are treading the well beaten path of pov- erty and sorrow ; and we are as scattered as the children of " the Prophet," on some of whose heads the sun ever shines.
Some, having completed their allotted task, have passed up above, there to re- ceive their diplomas. One, I remember, went out and returned not from recess at the master's rap ; his books were gath- ered up by one who came to tell us that " Will's " schooldays were done.
Those rosy-cheeked, romping girls, too, they are no longer girls, but have grown into happy wives and mothers. No, not all ; but of the few pale-faced and sad-eyed ones we would not speak to-night — those of the clouded lives and chilled hearts.
Our school time is all over, boys, and we are grown to be worldlings ; not rich, all of us, as the world counts riches, but have we not the gold of the glowing sun- set, and are not our clouds all lined with silver, and ours, too, this silvery moon- light and these starry diamonds, and
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