The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1891-06-06
HER FATAL SCRUPLES.

who lies at the Alorgue this morning
would be glad to have it told, would be
glad to have people know that she was
not always poor and friendless and
wrctcbed, that she made n bray fight
and, to a certain extent, is victorious
even in death.
There is a little attic room high up in
the building No. III Fast Twelfth street.
If you stepped in to-day you would find
it unoccupied, save by a lonely cut that
moves restlcssly along and listens for q
familiar foot step that never comes.
But in glancing round the little place,
5ssfG and uni III IiisiIcd as It Is; y5d
would somehow form the impression
that the former occupant had been O
gentlewoman. There is cleanliness and
brightness everywhere. There are flut-
tering white curtains at the window, n
few tiny flowers on the sill, books on all
sides, and pictures that cover the walls
from ceiling to floor. The books are
old, torn, paper-covered volumes that
would not bring two cents at sale;
that is why they have been retained.
But 1t is q strange collection for little
attic room. The poets, the great novel
lists, the essayists are here, and in sew
eral languages,
The unframed pictures are cheap, too
illustrations which have been cut
from magazines and journals and pin
ned or tackled to the wall. You will
notice two peculiarities about them;
they are copies OF the work of good art
lists, and ahere is a woman's draped fig
ure in each one-always the same-and
n remarkably beautiful, graceful figure.
Then it would occur to you that per-
haps the occupant of the room had been
ian artists model, and you would be
right.
Aside from the books and the pictures
there isan atmosphere of poverty about
the place. There is q rickety sofh- bed,
u solitary chair, and the most primitive
dishes on the little table. There is a
needle in bit OF sewing, a book turned
face downward to mark certain place
and tiny kettle which looks as if it
would bubble over at the slightest en-
enlargement. And ii you are ut all
sympathetic, there is sadness in the
thought that the Swing will never be
finished, the beck never read, and that
strange hands will pack away the few
household goods, while the owner OF
them lies ut the Morgue, unmatched,
uncared for and unmourned.
Almost all the artists in the city
knew Mrs. Hattie Monroe. She had
posed for them every winter for several
years, She was regular visitor to the
studios; she knew as much about the
work and their plans as they did, and
to some OF them, by virtue OF her sym
patty and her tifty-four years. of age, she
was almost mother. They knew little
about her past. They only knew that
she was a cultivated, well-read, we'll
bred woman OF the world; that she was
charming in appearance and manner;
that she had Travelled all over the
world; that her character was above re-
proaCh.
They surmised that she was poor
how poor they did not dream-so they
had her in whenever they could and
recommended her to their friends.
During the winter she was kept fairly
busy; how she got on in the summer
when they were out OF the city they did
not know. Nobody knew but herself,
and it was only n few weeks before her
death that her condition was discovered
by friend, who, unfortunately, was
almost as helpless as the model herself.
Twelve years ago Mrs. Monroe was a
very happy woman. She had no near
relatives, but she Ind n devoted hus-
band, comfortable income and more
than pleasant home. Mr.. Monroe's
health failed, however, and after two
years Of travel and treatment he died.
His income had stopped with his ILL
ness; the principal was eaten into be-
fore his death. Five years ngo Mrs.
Monroe found herself absolutely penni-
less, and her life since then has been
one constant struggle for the barest
necessitiesof life.
1t is not easy for those who are we'll
clothed, well.sheltered and wcll-fed to
put themselves in the place OF such a
woman us this. Loving beautiful things
as she did life itself, she yet lived in
attic rooms amid the barest surround
ings. Music and books were almost a
necessity to such nature as hers, yet
she never heard note except the
dreary wheeling of some hahd.organ
and never saw Il volume except those
that age and bad usage had made value.
less. Night after night she went to bed
hungry and week after week she paid
hor pittnnce for rent, feeling hat the
coming OF the next week would see her
in the streets homeless.
No ono suspected this. She always
looked well.dressed, for she sewed and
darned and mended far into the night.
In the winter she was fairly comforta-
Bile. She had several engagements n
week in the studios, and she managed
to keep sheltered and warmed and fed.
But in the summer When the long,
warm days came and the pictures We're
finished, her friends, the artists, left for
the seaside and the mountains, and the
studios were closed Then came the
days OF agony. Nobody seemed to need
the services of woman tifty-four, who
only asked to be allowed to help her.
self. No avenue opened, nobody was
interested, all were full of their own
affairs. For time she collected bills
that wore due the artists and re-
ceived small commission. But it is
not easy to collect money from some
people, and after one or two fruit
less calls and talks she found the
doors closed and the people who owed
the money mot ut home" She directed
envelopes, acted as nurse, did canvass
ing, mending, everything her hands
could find to do--and yet many n night
she went to bed hungry. "She was u
good woman" They al say that about
her. Ii she had not been a good woman,
and q conscientious woman, she would
g.. l. L.,