Ballou's Monthly Magazine, Vol. XXVII, No. 1 — page 53: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

After Death. for the bear’s eyes met mine, and I was saluted with a low growl, as I ventured to look out. “With something of desperation at my heart, I replenished my fire, fed plentifully, and supplied with water my fellow-prisoners, prepared breakfast and ate it with my boys. “Again I looked forth. The bear appeared to be dead. I threw the shutters and window open wide—I hurled a hammer with all my force at the brute, but she stirred not. A smooth, round stone served the purpose of holding the door open in warm weather— there it lays. It followed the hammer—no motion—the bear was dead. 57 “T sank down in my chair, and what hap- pened for a short time I know not. Soona neighbor came in, and kindly attended to the cattle and still unmended fence. “Father came home soon after noon, and he never left me alone over night again, till many years after the last bear had disappeared from the country.” Mother ceased speaking, took up her for- gotten knitting, and the click of her needles was the only sound within the room for some moments, then she said quietly: “Come, father, it is bedtime, let us have prayers.” $A AFTER DEATH. BY MARGARET VERNE. Lying here dead in this shaded room, Madeira blossoms twined in my hair,— Shrouded in silence and in gloom, The scent of death in the unstirred air; With my hands stiff-clasped on my silent breast, Fixed for God's great eternal rest,— Waiekiny waxen lids pressed to my cheek, I know strange things,—but I may not speak. There’s a pearly tear caught fast in the lace That around my throat lies fold on fold; So pure and warm it fell to my face, Then down to my husband’s tribute rolled,— The costly robe, better fitted by far For the graceful form of some Fashion’s star, Than the stark, cold clay in wait for the tomb,— Lying here by itself in this sumptuous room! Three hours ago, in his fine cloth dressed, His diamonds as bright as his unwet eyes, My husband came,—his gloved hands pressed On a heart that shook with suppressed sighs! Placing his walking-stick there by the door, He tiptoed over the tapestried floor Softly, so softly, as if in fear Of waking his bride fast sleeping here. Not even once did he touch my hand, Nor let my name from his calm lips fall; But he glanced me over, complacently bland, Then turned to his portrait on the wall! His kerchief, white, like scented snow, The costly companion of his great woe, Fluttered down like a flower at my side,— The same he held when he called me bride. That was all. He slowly turned away, Leaving me here in this chilling gloom, Shut in from the bright and sunny day, In my pictured, carpeted tomb. But by-and-by another step came, And a low voice softly whispered my name; The heavy curtains of silk and lace Were folded back, and across my face The September sunlight warmly lay; He knelt by my side, smoothed back my hair, Caressed my hands in the old fond way, And brokenly sobbing forth a prayer, Let fall on my cheek a pearly tear,— In the face of death there could be no fear. The heart’s rich jewel that he then gave, Seals me to him beyond the grave. 99? “My darling!” he said, “ my little love, Torn from me here by a cruel fate, You will be all mine in the home above, God give me patience to live—to wait!” Slow covering my face, he turned away, And my cold lips could not softly say, “ Beloved, contentedly I lie here, Holding highest heaven in that one tear!” comiclooolks.corm