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

one last bitter drop remained Proud
Win the Jealous pride of the poor who
have hut tnaf 20 rail- their own. now SHE
must die on hospital bed in the charity
ward, must OF. paUper's grave From
this She had saved. 10y the toll OF her own
hands, all her children. bat must come Ia
10 herself Only once did She give cN-
preston 20 her sorrow. then rcpressed it.
conqucrering self dying as i'm living
Never once did she tell OF any in treat
ment or any err City; vet il was impossi-
bic that She had not borne much during
her long. long struggle Yet il was all in
the eternal past. and she had forgiven
even as eternal God forgiv,s, for il was
all blOttcd out
Once she said she would be glad if she
could be buried from the church. half
foreigner, she had been reared in the
English church and loved it, / grievcd
that could not promise it, for we'll
knew this was not To be. Do we bury
from the church the dead from the chart
ty wards of the hospitals
Once she asked if / could be allowed to
look through the clothing, and described
certain package. Being successful in
this, she unfolded piece of Maltese lace,
fashioned into a handkerchief, wonder
fully beautiful Silently she put it into
my hand, merely saying, it was all she
had to give Then she gave the history
of the costly fragment, interesting alone
to her and me, in that il had figured at
bridal and baptism in a Maltese PEASANTS
home; put | felt it a discretion to let it
pass into alien hands, and in my own
mind | dedicated the lace to the service
of the last one of her race.
The end came finally, and Ich Diem
PavOni's work was done.
All alone | closed the eyes and folded
I 10 lrnr
chief on her breast.
But n few moments and the body was
hurried into the mortuary chamber, oh,
dreary place, only the still forms from
the charity ward are carried there!
SOrrOwful and with a sore heart
walked out on the gallery; light was
breaking in the east; soon the heavenly
artists were at work, cOloring the sky
with tintS from the fountain of light /;
birds We're twittering in the BRANCHES,
the south wind, the wind of memory and
longing, was murmuring around me; all
was lovely, but l could only feel
"Oh, earth so full of dreary noises,
Oh, men, with wailing in your VoiceSl"
In the chamber of death lay the woman
| had learned TO love and honor in the
charity ward of a hospital, one who had
labored, and loved and toiled, suffered
and died, and heaven had forgotten her.
And yet know full well that if she
could speak she would tell me not So
Nothing is ever lost. We remember the
old German superstition that even a flow
er that has by its fragrance or beauty
cheered an earthly sufferer, is by the an
gels taken up to Heaven and is changed
into voice of praise around the throne
of God; and while to our mortal sight our
lives and deeds are forgotten, yet they
live forever; even IN this world an influ-
enCe is never lost
I knew that to my dying day l should
remember the patience, the self-abnega-
tion in the nobleness of the life l had
only known at its close ! could revere
the courage, the faith, the nobility of
work well done, even though it came in
the form Of purely manual labor
The voice had called, come up higher"
and the service on earth had only changed
to the service of the angels, who have
ministered, and yet do minister there
fore she serves serves forevermore.
S. l.. BECKwITH.