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Literary
December 19, 1846
Arkansas State Gazette
Little Rock, Pulaski County, Arkansas
What is this article about?
An anecdote from a traveler's journal, reprinted in the Brooklyn Eagle, describes a young girl visiting her sister's grave in Smyrna's American burial ground. She plants seeds for birds to sing to her deceased sister and places flowers, expressing innocent faith in reunion in heaven.
Clipping
OCR Quality
95%
Excellent
Full Text
The Child At The Tomb.—The Brooklyn Eagle found the following eloquent anecdote in the journal of a traveler in the East:
—A little child
That lightly draws its breath
Down little in life yet—
What should it know of death?
At Smyrna, the burial ground of the American, like that of the Moslem, is removed a short distance from the town, is sprinkled with green trees, and is a favorite resort, not only with the bereaved, but with those whose feelings are not thus darkly overcast.
I met there one morning a little girl, with a half-playful countenance, busy blue eye and sunny locks, bearing in one hand a small cup of china, in the other wreath of flowers. Feeling a very natural curiosity to know what she could do with these bright things in place that seemed to partake so much of sadness, I watched her light motions. Reaching a retired grave, covered with a plain marble slab, she emptied the seeds—which it appeared the cup contained, into the slight cavities which had been scooped out in the corner of the level tablet, and laid the wreaths on its pure face.
"And why," I inquired, "my sweet girl do you put seeds into those little holes there?"
"It is to bring the birds here," she replied, with a half-wondering look; "they will light on this tree," pointing to the cypress above, "when they have eaten the seed, and sing."
"To whom do they sing?" I asked. "to you or to each other?"
"Oh no!" she quickly replied, "to my sister—she sleeps here."
"But your sister is dead."
"Oh, yes, sir! but she hears all the birds sing."
"Well, if she does hear the birds sing, she cannot see that wreath of flowers."
"But she knows I put it there: I told her before they took her away from our house, I would come and see her every morning."
"You must," I continued, "have loved that sister very much, but you will never talk with her any more—never see her again."
"Yes, sir," she replied, with a brightened look, "I shall see her in heaven."
"But she has gone there already, I trust"
"No; she stops under this tree till they bring me here, and then we are going to heaven together."
—A little child
That lightly draws its breath
Down little in life yet—
What should it know of death?
At Smyrna, the burial ground of the American, like that of the Moslem, is removed a short distance from the town, is sprinkled with green trees, and is a favorite resort, not only with the bereaved, but with those whose feelings are not thus darkly overcast.
I met there one morning a little girl, with a half-playful countenance, busy blue eye and sunny locks, bearing in one hand a small cup of china, in the other wreath of flowers. Feeling a very natural curiosity to know what she could do with these bright things in place that seemed to partake so much of sadness, I watched her light motions. Reaching a retired grave, covered with a plain marble slab, she emptied the seeds—which it appeared the cup contained, into the slight cavities which had been scooped out in the corner of the level tablet, and laid the wreaths on its pure face.
"And why," I inquired, "my sweet girl do you put seeds into those little holes there?"
"It is to bring the birds here," she replied, with a half-wondering look; "they will light on this tree," pointing to the cypress above, "when they have eaten the seed, and sing."
"To whom do they sing?" I asked. "to you or to each other?"
"Oh no!" she quickly replied, "to my sister—she sleeps here."
"But your sister is dead."
"Oh, yes, sir! but she hears all the birds sing."
"Well, if she does hear the birds sing, she cannot see that wreath of flowers."
"But she knows I put it there: I told her before they took her away from our house, I would come and see her every morning."
"You must," I continued, "have loved that sister very much, but you will never talk with her any more—never see her again."
"Yes, sir," she replied, with a brightened look, "I shall see her in heaven."
"But she has gone there already, I trust"
"No; she stops under this tree till they bring me here, and then we are going to heaven together."
What sub-type of article is it?
Prose Fiction
Poem
What themes does it cover?
Death Mortality
Religious
What keywords are associated?
Child At Tomb
Sister Grave
Innocence Death
Birds Singing
Heaven Reunion
Smyrna Burial
Traveler Anecdote
What entities or persons were involved?
From The Journal Of A Traveler In The East, As Found In The Brooklyn Eagle
Literary Details
Title
The Child At The Tomb.
Author
From The Journal Of A Traveler In The East, As Found In The Brooklyn Eagle
Subject
A Child Visiting Her Sister's Grave In Smyrna
Form / Style
Narrative Anecdote With Introductory Verse
Key Lines
—A Little Child
That Lightly Draws Its Breath
Down Little In Life Yet—
What Should It Know Of Death?
"It Is To Bring The Birds Here," She Replied, With A Half Wondering Look; "They Will Light On This Tree," Pointing To The Cypress Above, "When They Have Eaten The Seed, And Sing."
"Oh No!" She Quickly Replied, "To My Sister—She Sleeps Here."
"Yes, Sir," She Replied, With A Brightened Look, "I Shall See Her In Heaven."
"No; She Stops Under This Tree Till They Bring Me Here, And Then We Are Going To Heaven Together."