The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1885-01-29
A Lonely Death.

1t was here in Detroit at one of the
city hospitals that l saw the saddest
funeral ceremony ever witnessed.
1t was that of woman who had lit
orally died by inches. Poverty, sor-
row, and sickness had been her constant
companions for years, and when at
last on a hospital bed she drew her last
breath it seemed as if there could be
nothing left to feel the pang of dissolu-
tion-nothing but skin and bone.
She had been well cared for in her
last sickness by those who gave their
time and service to the work of chari-
ty, but it is doubtful if she knew it.
Her mind lived in the past, and she
murmured in delirium of happy home,
and seemed to be always caressing a
little child. Now she would talk to it
in sweet mother-tongue, using the
fond, endearing language of love to
call it to her again; she seemed to dread
some terrible fate for it, and besought
God to save it, even to take it away
from the evil to come. Always it was
the child that was present with her, so
that pain was naught-the child that
she continually addressed as Darling
Emma" and she died with that name
on her lips.
This was all there was of the dead
woman's history. The pail of a dark
past had fallen upon her. 1t was only
known that the child about whom she
had raved and prayed was still alive,
and somewhere in the city. But so
far all search had failed to find her.
The brief funeral ceremonies-at the
~ft . 10 g. L..
per burial-were held in the large par
lor of the hospital. A young clergy
man who had just entered upon his
work, the assistants of the hospital, the
undertaken, hat in hand, and one or
two strangers, were all who were pres
ent. The dead woman lay in a highly
vanished pine coffin, from which the
metal shells were already falling in a
shower of tawdry splendor, so imper-
fectly were they fastened on. Her face
was composed and peaceful. Life and
death had done their worst-the battle
was now over.
In the chill and the silence the voice
OF the young minister, cultured and
tuneful, sounded like strain of music.
All heads bowed as he recited:
am the resurrection and the life.
There was a Scream-a wall of heart
rending grief-and the service was in
terrupted, as a woman, young and hag-
gard, rushed into the room and threw
herself on the coffin: she was dressed
gaily in silk attire. A long feather
dangled from gaudy hat-everything
about her bespoke death saddcr than
the coffin.
Mother mother" she moaned,
''why did you you not let me know?
Oh, would have come to you and
worked my fingers to the bone to save
you! Oh, mother mother! come back
to me just to say that you forgive me.
Mother, it is your own little Emmy!
Do you hear me? 1t is Emmy! Oh,
my God! | am too late! She will nev-
er speak to me againr'
Plying friends drew the frenzied
woman away. In moment she had
dashed them aside, and leaning again
over the dead mother she pressed her
lips once-twice-thrice to the cold
lips of the dead. Then she clasped her
hands and lifted her eyes to heaven,
while her lips seemed to be recording a
vow. The wintry sun shone out at that
moment from the western sky, and
touched with golden finger the sad,
sad scene of death in life, and life in
death, and the minister resumed the
service where he had been interrupted:
l am the resurrection and the life.
Detroit Free Press.