The Rock Island Argus. (Rock Island, Ill.) 1877-1885, 1881-11-02
LAST LETTER.

All indications point to Eunice Lloyd as
the young woman who jumped from the
ferry boat last Monday night, and ended
her existence by drowning. II report
speaks truly of the deceased, her life has
been a chequered one, and it is but an ex-
emplifcation of the trials and temptations
that beset the life of a young girl away
from home and relatives. 1t is stated that
she lived in Milan after the death of her
father, and soon afterwards removed to
Davenport, where she secured work at the
Newcomb House. At the time that hotel
passed into the hands of the sheriff, the
proprietor owed her small amount for
wages, and it was to collect the amount
that she frequently passed over on the
ferry Last week she visited the home of
Mrs Crogan, on Second avenue, and asked
for shelter. Mrs. Crogan gave her shelter
secure another position. This she sue
ceeded in doing at the Kemball House, in
Davenport, and was to have gone to work
last Monday, as she conveyed her satchel
to that establishment on Monday, the day
on which her death occurred. The satchel
contained the following letter, which was
written in this city last Sunday:
DEAR Ma AND EMMA strive once
more to answer your kind and welcome
letter, and / hope / can get it started this
time, l am not at the Newcomb House
now; it closed up in short time after /
was out home; and l only got three dollars
after all my hard work, and it is all gone
now. had to get some shoes. | was
stopping with woman in Rock Island till
l could get place, and got place at
Frank Tindall's, and he took me in and
got my trunk-and l was going out on the
train-and l saw Simon and we were walk
ing and time passed before we knew it
and / missed the train-so l could not get
back that night, and stayed all night with
the woman I stopped with, and it
was raining in the morning-and l have
been here ever since. | am going to try
and work in the Kimball House, Daven-
port if / feel better tomorrow morning
than l do these few days; and if / don't |
shall go the Overseer of the Poor and get
help; don't like to, but am not able to
do anything, so must do the best 1 can
| am not able to be on my feet if I could
help it. l don't want you to WORRY about
me, MA. only buank NJOQ LOT open
ing my eyes to see where / am, and pray
to God for me to help me through and
make me different. ] never thought how
important it was to be careful with your
health as much as I do now. | think if
God spares my life and gives me strength
and health that / can live different, and
try and keep you from suffering, Well,
ma how is Emma by this time, and where
is John now? Please tell me, and may
God speed you all. / only wish l was a
free, happy girl. 10 years of age again,
and know as much as | do now, and
never would be such fool again as l have
been. No, ma, am not all right / only
wish to God l was. Ma, don't write to
me again until drop you card. l don't
know what III do, nor what viii become
of me, may be in the bottom of the
Mississippi river, where many poor
boat sunk in the night and |
most of the passengers We're
drowned. Well don't know what else
to write. Homeless and friendless, wait, |
dreaming of my good mother and brothers I
and sisters-wait till the time comes for |
US to meet each other again, and if we /
never meet again on EARTH I pray that we |
may meet our Heavenly Father above |
Ma, think things viii come out for the |
best after all. The time viii slip by before |
we are aware of it. Summer viii soon be |
here, and we will all be together again |
hope. Well, / hope you viii enjoy your
self and seek Gods help. You don't know |
how much / feel for you and think of you, |
and poor Emma and John. I know the /
rest are all right, and don't care for me, so |
can't care for them. Ma, / don't think |
that God has cast me away altogether yet |
But must now close thinking with my I
eyes full, of home and mother. How dear /
those two words should be to me-home /
and mother. Well, od-bve-kiss your
two children. John and Emma, for me. |
Tell them to try and love me. No more.
Your most affectionate daughter.
EUNICE. !