Green-Mountain freeman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1844-1884, 1846-08-06

of receiving, could not resist the dictates of
my heart and try to alleviate their suferings.
arose uncertain how to act for the best, and bent
my steps towards their abode
found my patient even worse than | had
thought the night before. felt almost certain
a fortnight would terminate her life, l asked
Mary if they had no friends.
None, she replied. We were all to each
other, and never mixed in any society, After
my poor fathers death we came to live with a
poor maiden aunt in this city gained what
could by embro dery and painting; in this man.
ner we managed to make scanty livelihood for
some time. My aunt fell sick; it was long
and dangerous illness terminating fatally, We
were obliged to sell everything we possessed to
pay the doctors bill, our rent, and the funeral
expenses Emily was i'll, and our landlord see
ING las he said) we had no goods left, gave us
notice to quit These being the cheapest lodg
ings we could find, we took them; Emily got
worse; we sold everything but the easy chair
that we kept to the last, because she could sit
up in it but that will soon be useless she will
not sit up many times more, and the tears
streamed down her cheeks,
| asked if her sister wished for anything?
She said she has wished for some wine, but
it was out Of my power to get it for her
What would now have given for some of
that money | had so heedlessy squandered in
the former part ofmy life Oh! We thoughtesS
peasure-seekers, ye little think how many a
heartache ye might alleviate, how many souls
We might save from destruction for much less
sum than ye could expend on some bauble to
CRAFTY your vanity.
In the evening my patient seemed better she
spoke of her death with the utmost composure.
asked her if she would like a clergyman to Wis
it her?
She REPLIED No, it does me more good to
talk to Mary; she has always taught me what is
right
A week passed on; Emily sometimes suffer
ed much, and at others was able to converse
cheerfully One morning was rather later than
usual in paying my visit, and was surprised at
not meeting Mary on the stairs as usual. The
door of the apartment was open, and | walked
gently in Mary was supporting her sister il
her arms; instantly perceived great change
had taken place, and that death was coming in
its most gentle form,
She looked at me placidly smiled, and said -
You will take care of Mary Then point
ing TO the Bible, and turning to her sister, she
said You will not be without comfort, and W.
shall soon meet again
Her breathing now became very short, he
arms were casped around her sisters neck, he
head resting upon her bosom, she looked gentl
up in her face, faint smile, look Of unntter
able love, and her soul had departed to the Coz
who gave it, So gently had her spirit taken it
fight we scarcely thought life extinct; soilI
felt her pulse-a was still.
Mary said, but she did not speak. | at
tempted to unclasp the arms of her sister an
laid her gently on the bed ; | took hold of he
little hand-it was already stifening. Mary
| said, we cannot grieve for her
No., she replied, it is selfish to wish he
: back again The tears came to her relief
After seeing her rather more calm, and prom
isng to return soon, departed to visit my pa
TENTS, and procure coffin The ready mad
collins in London provided by the parishes ar
little more than few boards nailed together.
} procured man to convey one to the house, an
shortly after followed. Mary was on her knees
she had cut up the pillows and sheets-her las
and was endeayoring to line it.
Two o'clock of the day but one following, tn
funeral was to take place. got the Irish VIC
mans husband and one of her sons to carry tn
coffin Mary and followed 1t was dull
gloomy day. thick drizzling rain beat dow
the smoke, dense fog surrounded every obiec
: and the wind whistled mournfuy as orr lttl
procession turned the corner of the street M
: ry bore it better than had anticipated until W
returned to her room; there everything told {
one who would no more be seen. The cup sh
had last drank out Of part full ofmilk still stoo
by the bed the half-drty night-cap which ha
been removed for clean one neatly crnped, la
upon the table, her little slippers stood by tn
side felt the tear trickle down my cheek d
| looked upon them and Mary. All! who sha
describe the desolateness of that heart who's
every thought through life has been for the 10y
? ed one now no more
: She sat with her face buried in her hands.
pictured to myself the night she would pass il
the solitary chamber; turned to go hesita
, ted No, could not leave her all alone;
stood irresolute | could not take her to m
home What should do? AT length an de
crossed my mind,
! Mary | said, | cannot leave you here a
lone; there is poor Irish woman lower dow
the street; she is poor, but kind they have hat
the fever, but think there is no fear of infec
ton. Will you pass this night with her?
She REPLIED Do with me as you like
? The poor woman received her kindly, and
returned to my lodgings In the morning wa
met by the Irish woman, who told me that Mar,
was very i'll. fastened to the spot and founc
her attacked by the fever she must have beer
suffering from it on the preceding day, as per
ceiyed it had already made rapid strides. To