The Pulaski citizen. [volume] (Pulaski, Tenn.) 1866-current, 1871-04-27
INV portable box of medicines.

In advance Of the woman, I en-
tered the house of poverty. It was
about seven O'Clock. Up, up I sped,
passing into the room of my prodi-
gy without any prelude. The man
was not there; but the mother sat up
in bed, and with wild eyes and loos-
ened hair, her nightrobe still on,
while beside her lay Gretchen very
still. Ipressed to the bedside and
took the little sufferers hand, ex-
pecting to find it burning with fe-
yer. no sooner touched it than [
started back with horror. It was
cold and stiff in death. I could not
mistake that icy pressure; and yet
I threw aside the covering that
partly concealed the face and put
my ear to the heart IN the vague
hope that was mistaken. But no,
she passed from this world, beyond
pain, beyond recall. Congestion of
the brain. I had not been prepared
for this; and, strong physically and
mentally as I was, Twas obliged to
take chair and bow my head upon
my hands for several moments, to
regain my self-possession.
Then, for the first time, the mo-
ther spoke. Iraised my head and
watched her, as she smoothed the
hair from her child's brow, and
looked down smilingly into her
child's face, saying, "Poor little
Gretchen! how long she sleeps
She is tired, very tired. She said
Good night, mamma, and then she
went to sleep on my arm and has
slept so nice ever since. lly poor,
tired little Gretchen
Then, after a pause, she said in a
tender voice, "Gretchen, dear, faith
er will come soon and beat you if
you amt up. Gretchen, Gretchen
then with a shrek of frenzied ag-
ony, she threw up her arms, crying,
'She's deadi She's dead! Oh,
Gretchenl Gretchen
And then she took the lifeless
clay, pressed it close to her, and
covered the cold, still face with
burning kisses, in the frantic hope
that she could wake her child to
life.
The woman was crazed by this
new sorrow and required my most
active attention for the next hour.
I had her removed to my own house
and, after giving directions for her
comfort, went again to the little
room where lay the corpse, watched
by my little boy. The father had
not yet returned, and, with the as
sistance of the landlady, 1 got the
child into a pretty coffin, which
was also conveyed to my house and
set in the parlor.
saw plainly the child had been
dead for some hours; in fact, she
must have died about one o'clock
that morning, and the poor mother
had slept since that time with this
precious clay upon her heart never
dreaming but that the pulse beat as
regularly as in days past.
I avoided an inquest and had the
child buried quietly in the church
yard. The father had been dumb
with awe and anger when he stood
beside the bier of his little daught-
er, and raved like a madman be
cause she could no longer be a
source of profit to him. Then 1
turned and told him if he did not
leave the house and city immediate
ly would deliver him to the author
tiles as the murderer of the child.
He skunk away without a word and
I never saw him again.
The mother lived three days, new
er once having a lucid moment;
then, with the name of "Gretchen"
upon her lips, she died, and we laid
her beside her child.
I lifted my head and saw that part
of the ground in. which I sat was
nearly deserted. A full hour had
passed amid these terrible scenes of
memory. The scene had lost its
charm. I shuddered as I passed
the coil of rope that had so recent
ly supported 4 human being, and
as soon as possible left the park,
with a heart made heavy with the
sufferings of others.