Democratic Sentinel, Volume 5, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 28 October 1881 — The Lime-Kiln Club. [ARTICLE]

The Lime-Kiln Club.

“Las' night a nay bur o’ mine passed down to de shores of de mystic river an’ crossed over wid de endless purceshun,” solemnly began the old man as the meeting was called to order. ‘‘He had money an’ property an’ poishun, but he drops outer dis lite like a stone tossed into no oshun. I sat down an’ thought an’ thought, bu£ I could not remember dat dis man had eber won a friend by his sympathies, warmed a heart by his chanty, or made any oue’s burden the lighter by a brotherly word. Ah do funeral goes past dar will be no sigh ; as de puroession turns iuto de cemetery men will hardly gib it a glance. Ho came on airth, libed out his time, and he passes away widout leavin a footprint behind. He was not a cull’d man. but if ho hail bin I should have felt all do worse. None of you am so poo’ dat you neber had calls to share wid some one more hungry; none ob you hab sich poo’ speech that you can’t stop to speak a few kind words to dose in sorrow. Dar am a show fur ebery human bein’ on airth to make his mark. When Uncle Belly Williams died, a hundred women shod tears, a hundred men had the heartache, and twice dat number of chill’en looked down on de face ob de dead, au’ turned away wid sobs in deir froats. Who was ho? Nuflin but a poo’ ole slave man. What was he worf ? Nuffin but do close on his back. But he made his mark. He had kind words fur achin’ hearts ; he had a willin’ han’ fur de weak an' helpless ; he had soft words fur men in passion, an’ strong words fur de cause of right. Ebery house had an open door fur him, an’ ebery chile met him wid a heart full of trust. He sleeps up dar in Potter’s field, widout a mark on his grave, but his deeds an’ his name are oftener spoken of don any of de hundreds who sleep beneath de big monuments. Make friends. Make ’em by deserving friendship. Lib to enjoy life, but live to leave behind you somethin’ better dan a name fur an epitaph cut in cold marble. One sigh of regret—one single tear—one sorrowin' word dat you called from airth away, will be a grander monument dan de hands of man eber yet put up.”— Detroit Free Press.