I wish to relate to you a very affecting story about a good girl who died when she was thirteen years old. She was an interesting young girl, and possessed great intellectual powers. She was also very fond of the works of nature, especially of flowers, and would often say, “How good God is to make these beautiful flowers for us to enjoy.” Soon it was very evident to her friends that disease was preying on her delicate constitution. She bore all her sickness with calm submission, and when she died she appeared to all who knew her to be prepared for heaven. While she was sick, her parents did every thing to make her comfortable and happy. They had a dog which Lizzy set a great deal by, and with him she used to play in the house and in the garden. When Lizzy was so sick that she could not play with him, he would come and lay himself down at her bed side, and appeared to be very sad on her account. When she died and was buried, the dog followed with the parents in the funeral, to the grave yard where Lizzy was laid away. One day, about five months afterwards, I went with her father to see the grave of Lizzy. As we went into the grave yard, we walked slowly along, reading the names of persons buried there, while the dog followed us. We soon missed the dog, supposing he had wandered into some other part of the cemetery. But when we came within a few yards of Lizzy’s grave we saw him sitting at its head, leaning against the stone which was erected in memory of the lovely daughter. It was a very affecting scene—the attachment of the dog, as well as the power of his memory. Dogs are faithful creatures, and we can never bear to see them abused. Be kind to them and they will be kind to you.
It was a beautiful June day, just at the sun’s setting, when Julia Easworth went to visit the resting place of a dear grandmother. While she was in the grave-yard, meditating on the loss of one of her best earthly friends, she saw a lady dressed in mourning busily engaged in doing something near a rose bush that grew at the foot of a little mound, at a short distance from where she stood. Julia walked along and came near where she was, and laid her hand gently upon the woman and said, “Madam, is this your little mound?”
“Oh, no, my child; it is my dear Elise’s grave.”
“And is it long since you laid her here, ma’am,” said Julia.
“Only a few weeks,” was the reply; “there were buds on this rose bush when I brought it here.”
“And was it her’s,” asked Julia, as she stooped down to inhale the rich fragrance of the beautiful flower.
“Yes, my child, it was a dear treasure to her. My Elise was a good child, she was my Idol, but my Heavenly Father has seen best to remove her from me. I only cared to live that I might be useful to her in giving her such instructions as might be a blessing to her. I almost adored her, but she is gone from me, and I am alone. I know she is happy, because she was good.”