Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1875-03-08
A STORY OF A LIFE.
From Opnlence to POrerty.--A Touch
ina .Story.

'O"s O<-s'e'''No " 4 VIZ ty---]A LOtctH-
ing Story.
She died on Thursday night. says
city paper. and on Friday afternoon she
was carried from the fourth story back
of a cheap tenement house in stained
pine coffin. 1t must have been relief
to die, for after death there is at least
no hunger; and so 1t would have been
but for the two children who leaned on
her as on reed that breaks beneath the
weight Naturally she was anxious for
them. and it is hot strange that, while
she lay in her muslin shroud, the four
strangers besides the clergyman who at
tended her funeral remarked lingering
careworn expression. as though the last
sleep, which is said to smooth out ali
wrinkles. had been powerless to efface
her solicitude. 1t was hard to leave
those little ones to the uncertain charity
of tickle world, but doubtless the sis
tiers who supplied the slender wants of
the invalid will see to it that they have
some roof to cover them and clothing to
keep them from the pinching cold.
The story goes that she has seen bet
ter days. She could hardly have seen
worse. Only ten years ago she was mis-
tress of freestone front, admired for
her grace and beauty, and courted for
her wealth. Her husband was success
full dealer in stocks. When the war
broke out he had little or nothing
When Lee gave bis sword to the victor
he counted his wealth by millions, and
was generous to fault. But who can
tell what changes may occur in the mer-
camille life of New York in the course of
a few years? We are like huge cal
dron of water kept at the bubbling,
boiling point all the time. The hurry
ing drops which are at the bottom to-
day rise to the top tomorrow, while
those which to-day fondly dream that
they are permanently secure at the top
suddenly begin to sink. and do not rest
till they touch the bottom. So this
mans hundreds of thousands faded
away into mere thousands, and his thou
sands. as though saturated with the de-
mOniac spirit of i'll luck, became paltry
hundreds, which melted like snowfakes
when they fall on the river. He could
not endure the shock, and his end was
chronicled in an obscure corner of the
daily paper, under the heading of pain
full suicide.
The mother was horror-struck as she
folded her babes to her bosom and stared
the world in the face. The old acquaint-
ances ? They were as though they lad
never been. They huttered past her on
the December sidewalk with their silks
and furs, but they neither knew her nor
cared to remember her. She had drop
ped from 1.-THE set, and that was enough.
She sewed with bleeding fingers and
broken heart, and somehow the tears un-
hidden fell on her pale cheeks as she
thought of the past and sighed at the
frailty of human friendship. She could
just pay the rent of two dingy rooms on
the fourth story back in dark and un-
wholesome alley by working fourteen
hours day. But unfortunately, poor
people have nervous systems, and four
teen hours work, with insufficient food
and broken rest, brought her to the edge
of the grave. Just then the friendly
knock of charity was heard. the few
wants of the broken.hearted we're sup
piled, and. with last, long, agonlzed
look-a look and prayer in one-she
was lifted out of her rags and out of the
pestilence of that dark alley into heav-
en-. What a change
This is but single illustration of the
vicissitudes and the sadness which are
occurring every day, and which are in
evitahly connected with the life of
great city.