JOHN B. GOUGH'S MOTHER. THE summer of 1834 was exceedingly hot, and as our room was immediately under the roof, which had but one small window in it, the heat was almost intolerable, and my mother suffered much from this cause. On the 8th of July, a day more than usually warm, she complained of debility; but as she had before suffered from weakness, I was not apprehensive of danger, and saying I would go and bathe, asked her to provide me some rice and milk against seven or eight o'clock, when I should return. That day my spirits were unusually exuberant; I laughed and sang with my young companions, as if not a cloud was to be seen in all my sky, when one was then gathering which was shortly to burst in fatal thunder over my head. About eight o'clock I returned home, and was going up the steps, whistling as I went, when my sister met met me at the threshold, and, seizing me by the hand, exclaimed, John, mother's dead!" What I did, what I said, I cannot remember; but they told me afterwards that I grasped my sister's arm, laughed frantically in her face, and then for some minutes seemed stunned by the dreadful intelligence. As soon as they permitted me, I visited our garret-now a chamber of death-and there on the floor lay all that remained of her whom I had loved so well, and who had been a friend when all others had forsaken There she lay, her face tied up with a handkerchief: 66 me. "By foreign hands her aged eyes were closed, Oh! how vividly came then to my mind-as I took her cold hand in mine, and gazed earnestly in her quiet face-all her meek, enduring love, her uncomplaining spirit, her devotedness to her husband and children. All was now over; and yet, as through the livelong night I sat at her side a solitary watcher by the dead-I felt somewhat resigned to the dispensation of providence, and was almost thankful that she was taken from the "evil to come." Sorrow and suffering had been her lot through life; now she was freed from both; and, loving her as I did, I found consolation in thinking that she was "not lost but gone before." I have intimated that I sat all night, watching my mother's cold remains. Such was literally the fact. I held her dead hand in mine till it seemed almost to be growing warm, and none but myself and God can tell what a night of agony that was. The people JOHN B. GOUGH'S MOTHER. of the house accommodated my sister below. When the morning dawned in my desolate chamber, I tenderly placed the passive hand by my mother's side, and wandered out into the, as yet, almost quiet streets. I turned my face towards the wharf, and, arrived there, sat down by the dock, gazing with melancholy thoughts upon the glancing waters. All that had passed seemed to me like a fearful dream, and with difficulty could I, at certain intervals, convince myself that my mother's death was a fearful reality. An hour or two passed away in this dreamy, half-delirious state of mind, and then I involuntarily proceeded slowly toward my wretched home. I had eaten nothing since the preceding afternoon; but hunger seemed, like my other senses, to have become torpid. On my arrival at our lodgings, I found that a coroner's inquest had been held on my mother's corpse, and a note had been left by the official, which stated that it must be interred by noon of the following day. What was I to do? I had no money, no friends, and, what was perhaps worse than all, none to sympathize with myself and sister but the people about us, who could afford the occasional exclamation, "Poor things!" Again I wandered into the streets, without any definite object in view. I had a vague idea that my mother was dead and must be buried, and little feeling beyond that. At times I even forgot this sad reality. Weary and dispirited, I at last once more sought my lodgings, where my sister had been anxiously watching for me. I learned from her that, during my absence, some persons had brought a pine box to the house, into which they had placed my mother's body, and taken it off in a cart for interment. They had but just gone, she said. I told her that we must go and see mother buried; and we hastened after the vehicle, which we soon overtook. There was no "pomp and circumstance" about that humble funeral; but never went a mortal to the grave who had been more truly loved, and was then more sincerely lamented, than the silent traveller toward's Potter's Field, the place of her interment. Only two lacerated and bleeding hearts mourned for her. But, as the almost unnoticed procession passed through the streets, tears of more genuine sorrow were shed than frequently fall when "Some proud child of earth returns to dust." We soon reached the burying-ground. In the same cart with my mother, was another mortal whose spirit had put on immortality. A little child's coffin lay beside that of her who had been a sorrowful pilgrim for many years, and both how were about to A SHOWER OF SNAKES. lie side by side in the "narrow house." When the infant's coffin was taken from the cart, my sister burst into tears, and the driver, a rough looking fellow, with a kindness of manner that touched us, remarked to her, "Poor little thing; 'tis better off where 'tis." I undeceived him in his idea as to this supposed relationship of the child, and informed him that it was not a child, but our mother, for whom we mourned. My mother's coffin was then taken out and placed in a trench, and a little dirt was thinly sprinkled over it. So she was buried! without a shroud; her shoes on her feet. One of God's creatures-an affectionate wife, a devoted mother, a faithful friend, and a poor Christian; that's all. So there was no burial service read; into that trench she was thrown without a prayer; and that was the end, after a long life of faithful work for others-a life of patient struggle, fighting nobly, lovingly, and hopefully the battle of life. This was the end. No, no, thank God! no, not the end. Her worn body rests in hope, and he who wept at the grave of Lazarus watches the sleeping dust of His servant. Yes, life and immortality are brought to light through the gospel. My poor mother sleeps as sweetly as if entombed in a marble sarcophagus; and, thank God, she will rise as gloriously when "He who became the first-fruits of them that slept," shall call his humble disciples to come and "be for ever with the Lord.” A SHOWER OF SNAKES. THE great storm of last summer will be long remembered in Illinois. The storm burst in its full fury at Taylorville about dark, and the rain fell in torrents. The wind was violent, and with intermissions blew in great strength from every direction. Several buildings were damaged, and young hickory trees actually twisted off by the wind. The growing crops were prostrated_by the wind, and beaten into the ground by the rain and hail. But the most singular phenomenon, and one which was not vouchsafed to any other community, was a shower of snakes. We have heretofore read of showers of sand, of fish, and sometimes of flesh, but never before of a shower of snakes; and yet we are well assured that the phenomon which then occurred can be described in no more fitting terms. After the storm every ditch, brook, and pool on the prairie north of Taylorville were alive with nondescript creatures, which A SHOWER OF SNAKES. have been described as being from one and a half to two feet long, and from three-fourths of an inch to an inch in diameter. This diameter is very slightly lessened at the head and tail. The tail is flat, like that of an eel, but has no caudal fin; indeed there is no fin at all. The head is, in shape, that of an eel, but the mouth is that of a sucker. The eyes are small, and the ears are simply orifices. Immediately behind the head on each side, is a flipper, like that of a turtle, say three-fourths of an inch to an inch in length, including the limb, which has a perfectly developed joint. In colour, these snakes, or whatever they are, are a dark blue. The number of these creatures is beyond all estimate; as we mention above, they swim in every branch and puddle of water. Their mode of progression, in addition to the undulatory motion of a snake in the water, is by the use of the flippers described above, and they swim entirely under the water, or with the head and a few inches of the body above the surface, thus indicating that the flippers are not absolutely essential to motion. They are perfectly harmless. Boys and men take them from pools by hundreds, and they are brought to town for inspection. We are willing to admit that our knowledge of ichthyology is not sufficient to determine what they are. Eels have teeth, are carnivorus and belligerent. These creatures are of the genus cyclopterous, or suckers, having no teeth, and are evidently unprepared for attack, and, except by flight, are defenceless. Furthermore, they have no fins, and their flippers are only adjuncts, and not their principal means of progression. They are not serpents, as they want fangs, either hooded or naked, which invariably distinguished the order of ophidians. It is the universal testimony of all the people of the country that no creature anything like these was ever before seen by them. The size renders it certain that they have not been developed there, as it is practically impossible that they could have grown to that size without having been seen. It is quite certain they were never there before the storm, and it is almost equally certain the storm brought them there. This storm, which passed over so large an extent of country, and was so violent, undoubtedly gathered, as do most of such storms, in the vast plains of the north-west. It was a tornado, and in passing through the country disturbed the usual atmospheric and electrical conditions, so as to produce, in addition to the central tornado, a high wind, heavy rain, and an electric storm. The most plausible theory which occurs to us as ! |