Essex County herald. [volume] (Guildhall, Vt.) 1873-1964, 1875-02-27
THE STORY OF A LIFE.
From Opulence TO POyerty---A Teaching
Story.

From Opulence to POyerty---A Touching
Story.
She died on Thursday night says a
city paper, and on Friday afternoon she
was carried from the fourth story back of
q cheap tenement house in stained pine
coffin. 1t must have been a relief to die,
for after death there is at least no hun
ger; and so it would have been but for
the two children who leaned on her as on
a reed that breaks beneath the weight
Naturally she was anxious for them, and
it is not strange that, while she lay in
her muslin shroud, the four strangers
besides the clergyman who attended her
funeral remarked a lingering careworn
expression, as though the last sleep,
which is said to smooth out all wrinkles,
had been powerless to efface her solici-
tude. 1t was hard to leave those little
ones to the uncertain charity of tickle
world but doubtless the sisters who sup
piled the slender wants of the invalid
will see to it that they have some rosf to
cover them and clothing to keep them
from the pinching cold. ---
The story goes that she has seen better
days. She could hardly have seen
worse. Only ten years ago she was the
mistress of freestone front, admired for
her grace and beauty and courted for
her wealth. Her husband was a success
full dealer in stocks. When the war
broke out he had little or nothing.
When Lee gave his sword to the victor
he counted his wealth by millions, and
was generous to a fault. But who can
tell what changes may occur in the mer-
camille life of New York i'll the course of
few years3 We are like a huge cal
dron of water kept at the bubbEng, boil
ing point all the time. The hurrying
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 until they
touch the bottom So this mans hun
dreds of thousands faded away into mere
thousands, and his thousands, as though
saturated with the demoniac 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 painful suicide"
The mother was horror-struck as she
folded her babes to her bosom and
stared the world iii the face. The old
acquaintances2 They We're as though
they had never heen. They futtered
past her on the December sidewalk with
their silks and furs, but they neither
knew her nor cared to remember her.
She had dropped from "the set,' and
that was enough. She sewed with
bleeding fingers and broken heart, and
somehow the tears 1nbidden fell on her
pale cheeks as she thought Of the past
and sighed at the fralty of human
friendship. She could just pay the rent
of two dingy rooms on the fourth story
back in dark and unwholesome alley
by working fourteen hours day. But,
unfortunately, poor people have nervous
systems, and fourteen 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 were supplied, and, with a last,
long, agonized look-alook and a prayer
in one-she was lifted out of her rags
and out of the pestilence of that dark
alley into heaven. What change
This is but a single illustration Of the
vicissitudes and the sadness which are
occurring every day, and which are
inevitably connected with the life of a
great city.