The morning times., 1896-09-13
SHE HELPS PEOPLE TO DIE
That Is the Occupation OF a
Washington Woman.
TELLS HOW SHE DOES 1T
Lets Them Have Their Own Way
and Once Sang "Jim Crow
to a Dying Man.

There is a young woman in this town who
helps people to die.
To minister to the sick and teach them
salvation, is a mission as old as charity 1t
self, but the difference between TINS Young
woman and the many OF her KIND Hes IN the
fact she works. as she expresses IL, on
a less exalted plan.
She lives in one o. the historical houses NJ
Washington. and her fiat. like the spider :
is ND a winding stair Her door races the
top step AMI throlgI its p1rtiere OF bamb"o
and glass beads. the reporter Colld see
while rapping. a Young woman sewing at
wiudow. where there were rows OF plants
and a red bird whistling in big, WOODEN
cage In response TO an invitatio-. called
out with cheery hospitality, the reporter
entered and asked. with the Difference that
characterizes the guili. If it were really
true that the lady taught men and women
to die.
Not a word of it," she said. rising IN ner-
yous protest. with her sewing in brown,
biiowy heap between her arms. Az
neither clever nor good enough To teach
people to conquer death accordingto my own
lights. simply help them to die to suit
themselves
BIT If they suited themselves they would
keep on living, wouldn't they"
HOW PEoPLE DIE.
"You have a great deal to learn Of life if
YOU know So little of death" she ans wered.
resuming her rocker and motiCSing her
visitor to another why, have attended
people who have thanked God with thee
last breath for allowing them to die"
1t was an astonishing assertion, but re-
fleeing that the speaker must have a
strong underpinning of facts to base ii en-,
the reporter subsided into a chairand asked
for an illustration. She was diffident
person, however, and persuasion failed 10
convince her that her life work could be Of
interest to anyone outside OF her patients
and herself. Plainly, she was anxious to
finish the brown wrapper, for while listen
ing to her visitor she shipped knots. pulled
out bastipg threads and finally tackled on
ats white satin. quilted front spray of
artificial snowdreps.p
The reporter, as the Chronicier OF social
functions, has inventoried garments Of
every cut and fabric, from Partisan creations
by Felix to pegiiGe wrappers made athome,
but never in ballroom. theater or boudo1r
had she ever been called on to .horthan nd So
insane a combination as white satin, cotton
flowers and snuff brown wool.
Itwasnt q Mother Hubbard, because there
was no yoke; nor a Princess. for 1t had no
waist line, being guiltless of darts aud
curves. 1t was simply long brown bag,
with its little square of finery around tie
neck and sleeves. Across the breast was
laid n separate piece, shaped like priest S
stole, made of merino and bound with a
piping of the white. AS she folded it the
reporter caught hold of the hem to help.
What sort of a frock is this, anyhow?'
she asked.
why, cont YOU know shroud when
you see one?''
The reporter let itgo-quick-
IT WAS A SHROUD.
"a Catholic will wear tlis shroud. 1t is
the uniform of the brown scapular. All her
life she has worn the badge of the Virgin.
and it is her wish to be buried In it. Dear
soul, she will be so happy when take it to
her tonight
You don'tteIl me you are going to horrify
her with the sight of her own shroud? /
should become a maniac If saw mine"
Granted; but Bridget wants hers
Would it not be well to refuse to humor
so barbarous whim? 1t seems to ME l
would lead her thoughts to higher things
"That would be making her die your way
instead OF her own. You would be like the
girl who attended an old woman in jackson
alley last week. The poor soul asked for
one chapter in the Bible aud she insisted
upon reading another as fitting more appro-
priately to her condition. Perhaps it did,
but it wasn't what the old creature wanted. ="
'And do you always hunor their whims?'
when 1 don't it's because I can't.
honestly try to prepare my patients for
their coming journey, but do not con-
slider myself justified In making them
travel the same road that I myself hope to
60 by some day.
my last case was an old .old colored man,
whose dying wish was to hear again that
equally old, old ditty. Jim Crow sang