The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1893-07-16

still accepted place in the -cpulchre,
Joseph of ArimathCa's own new tomb.
He had not whcrewith Go lay His head
living. and diving the body WAS cared for
by stranger hands. He who bore an our
iuirmities. who eNempliticd every phase
of suffering ia human life, clarifying pow
erty BY the birth In the manager. CunO-
bling toll in the carpenter shop, last,
greatest of all. teaching us to bear iguo-
miny, and dying and dead TO accept
charity
Humanity is on the Cross of the charity
ward of the hospital be tender and
thoughtful of the spirit as well as of the
body
/ have wearied you, and Justly;
but the heart of one who has walked in
the shadow. is ever full and vaiuiy striv-
ing to find alienation.
want 20 tell you now OF lch Diem Paw
oni nothing very interesting. only a tale
common enough only one OF the weavers
in the ''looms of God" and one whose
eyes were ever fastened upon the pattern
above.
The wards were very full at that time
and the only night nurse, could not rem
der to each the care and sympathy each
| needed with work for a dozen hands,
one pair was expected to do it all But
one night l came upon tall old woman,
pure white hair and eyes of which age
| and sickness and toll and poverty had
not quenched the light. Somehow
l knew at once that this was lch
Diem Pavoni Strength and soft
ness were so well combined the
| toil-stiffened hands, so helpless row,
| looked the service they had done, and
| done well the tongue, speaking its soft
! foreign words and but slightly faltering
English, well eXemplitied the brave,
! honest tones of life spent in helpful
ness Lies tragedy was almost over for
/ hoV, hrr+ b.a cd me "a Hy.i
with her armOr some. 1t was Oe time be-
| fore duty would allow me to crafty my
| craving to learn the history of
| this life, | knew had been
noble. But as the days, or rather the
| nights, went on, and the inmates of the
| cots were diminishing, Madame Pavoni,
! as she was called, still fingered, and in
| hours of restlessness she was glad to talk,
| and was only too pleased to listen.
Piece by piece l learned the outline of
| her history; nothing out of the common,
nothing particularly striking; only life
| of service service always, always, and
| duty well done, and life going out in
! hospital charity ward.
She came from the fair shores Of Malta,
sunny, golden shores, the home of the
knights of St. John, redolent with memo
ries Of the Sultan called the Magnificent,
with memories of knightly proves and
| deeds of chivalry; that rocky land, once
! bereft of all vegetation, but for long
! years a garden of gorgeous fruits and
! flowers, tree and shrub, grown on soil
! transported from fair Sicilian grounds.
There Ich Diem was born, and as her
story goes. some grand-parent in days
| gone by had been impressed with the le-
| gend Ich Diem. on the crest of the Prince
of Wales, and deeming it a name, had in
corporated it as such in his family, and
| those who know anything of the Euro
| pean peasant, must know that heredity
| in names, as well as other things, IS held
! to with great tenacity, not less than with
| them of noble blood hence Ich Diem des-
| cended to Madame Pavoni.
The child of British soldier, and a
mother, from the peculiar Maltese race
| she combined the amenities of both ma
| tions.
She could talk of her beloved Medi-
| terranean, the stern rocks of st. Angelo,
the walls of st. Pablo, could tell many
| legend of that mystic land.
All her people were lace makers; that
wOndrous Maltese lace, so rare, so costly,
never a superiority of it, the manufacture
| of it being CircumScribed to the few hun
| dred workers in Malta.
Dainty, wonderful lace; fit to adorn the
| babe in baptism, the bride at the altar,
! the queens coronation robes the priest
| at the sanctuary; frail as the frost in
! appearance, but well nigh imperishable;
| for see the old, old laces in palace, in
| church, in convent. Then the peculiar
| characteristic of being mended without
| betraying the old from the new. Deft
| fingers required to manufacture this.
But who thinks of those while we handle
| the priceless fabricl Do we think much
! of the workers any way2 Yet the world
| is upheld by the toiler. Who ploughs your
| fields, gamers your grain, turns your
| looms, tolls in your mines, Furnishes your
gold and silver, cuts and polish
es the precious stones, dives
for the pearls, labors on sea and land
Who brings the chemist herb and min
eral for his crucible and retOrt2 Astrono-
mer, who is it that cuts the glass, and
YIELDS the metal, and adjusts with such
nicely the intricacies of your telescope,
wherein you study the marveIs of the
worlds on high? Do you remember the
hands that did you such faithful
service2 Surgeon, who has wrought
the steel and fashioned your costly
tOols} You men of letters, whence come
your paper and pens Who manufactures
your printing presses, sets your type,
binds your boOks2 What would become
of all science, all art, all letters, all beau
ty OF form and color, in picture, palace,
statue, church, homes, but for the work
ersl Brain is much, but what is it with
out the muscle and nerve of the toller}
Leu US give DOllOE WntE6 uOuOT Is que,
and while the work remains long after
the hands are dust, let us give thanks.
DON'T suppose l am forgetting Ich
Dieu Pavoni She gave me many
thought might not else have had She
showed me many an intricate pattern in
the Maltese lace, could relate many
touching story, and if ever see piece of
Maltese lace again, I think it will have
the sacredness of a relic to me.
Don't be disappointed that I have so
little to tell about my heroine. Remem-
Der she was 81 years old when knew her,
and her mortal life was nearly over.
Upon the grave of most we can only in
scribe, Lived and died" for very few
have much to tell. Life though, is not a
ftful fever to the many; but an earnest
struggle, hand to hand contest with
poverty and pain and sorrow, and by
many, so many-the victory is won on the
other side, and to US on this side all is 81
lence.
Ich Diem Pavoni lived and loved had
her joys and sorrows Loved aud mar
ried dark haired Sicilian sailor, and
wept over his early grave. Then toiled
at her lace-making for bread and shelter
for her orphan children; closed the eyes
and laid to rest in sunny Malta several
childish forms; saw the two tall sons
grow to manhood, and heard of their fall
in ho a.