Stamp Creek Dots.

It is with a sad heart that we chronicle the death of that noble Christian and devoted wife and mother, Mrs. ___ Boston, Sr., whose long, gentle and faithful life ebbed out in the still watches of the night which just preceded the dawn, and the glorious sunlight of last Sabbath morning.  Oh, what a quiet tranquil hour in which to die!  All nature was wrapped in repose, preparatory to the pleasures, realities and religious celebration of another Sabbath on earth, whose waking at its dawn would make the atmosphere musical with glad songs of praise to Him whose heavenly choristers thrilled all nature with that hope-inspiring song, “Peace on earth; good will to men.”  While it was not her privilege to spend another Sabbath in prayer and praise to her Redeemer, on earth, who can doubt that Sister Boston’s spirit, when liberated from its tenement of suffering flesh, was ushered into the glories and bright realities of that never ending Sabbath, where she might enjoy the continual presence of Him whom she had found an ever present help in every time of need, and who had so often shared with her the burdens of life and comforted her with the promise of that rest into which, we rejoice to believe, she has entered upon.

I never had the pleasure of meeting Sister Boston but once, but she impressed me most favorably, and the anxious solicitude manifested by her venerable husband, worthy sons and daughters, and many neighbors present, attested the affectionate regard she inspired in all about her.  She ordered her house aright and trained her sons and daughters for lives of usefulness and honor here and for heaven hereafter, and future generations will rise up to bless her memory.  She was a member of the Cumberland Presbyterian church.  She was buried and her funeral preached by Rev. Mr. Sullivan, of the Methodist church, at Stamp Creek Union church last Monday at noon.  The funeral was attended by a vast concourse of sympathizing neighbors and friends.  May God’s richest blessings ever rest upon the bereaved husband, and comfort and sustain him in his loneliness, and may the sweet, tender memories of their good old mother inspire the children with a determination, by God’s help, to meet her in heaven.  Many of us have mothers there, some of whom died when we were too young to remember them, but oh, how fondly does imagination hover around visions of sweet angel mother, when sweet dreams have brought her to me!  How bitter the awakening!  And in childish faith I have prayed: “Dear Father, let me dream of her again.”

Oh, motherless children, my heart grieves for you.  Your life at its outset is marked with care and sorrow.  You grow old beyond your years, thoughtful and reserved.  The pathetic mouth, the sad, wistful eye – how plainly they say: “I have no mother.”  Who will guide?  In whom can you confide?  In vain do you seek that love elsewhere on earth.  None soften your way as a mother can.

Pity the orphans.  If fallen be lenient.  There was no pure, tender love to watch over and warn them; no mother’s prayer to uphold.  Treat them kindly.  They have enough to suffer.  Oh mother, may thy memory keep me in the right, and the hope of meeting thee lead my footsteps heavenward!