The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1897-05-05

complalned OF my lack OF splrlts. L
pleaded headache, and 80 escaped
going to see q popular play at the
theater. Tired and exhausted, went
at last alone TO my room. AS passed
florists brilliantly lighted windows,
l stepped in and bought costly white
camellia and some fragrant violets.
Iclimbed the five flights to the
home OF the poor woman. 1 found
the attic room unlocked. 1t was dim
ly lighted; small coffin stood in the
middle of the bare room, and the child
lay there in o white shroud. The rib
bon from the hat on the wall had been
worked over into two little bows; q
myrtle wreath rested on the fair hair,
and the geranium blossoms we're scat
tered over the body. On the table
near by ives lamp, and the open
hymn book was beside it.
1 laid the beautiful white blossom in
the stiff little hand and fastened o
bunch of violets on the breast of the
silent sleeper; then l looked at the
open book. 'I Joy to depart"-the
old hymn that 1 had learned at school
and half forgotten:
'To my dear ones who grieve,
Do not mourn for me now;
This last message l leave,
To Gods will you must bow"
laid the book away with sigh.
The words of the old hymn, the SOL
emn btillness, the peaceful little child
oppressed me. l went home, after
inquiring about the hour of the
burial.
Iretired carly. 1 was weary, and
all my unrest had gone. As, IF called
forth by power higher than my own,
the words of an earnest prayer came
to my lips, of the prayer that God
would bless me in my hard profession,
and would change my naughty self
confidence into humble trust in His
protection, wherever my small knowl-
edge and my faithful efforts would not
avail, when 1 must stand, as on the
day before, helpless to aid.
In the early morning l awaited the
little coffin at the door of the house.
A man bore it before him, and the
mother followed in her poor black
gown. She pressed my hand with
O grateful look, when she saw that l
had joined the little procession. The
way was not long, the streets were al
most empty, and the air was unusually
mild for November. When the iron
gate of the cemetery opened, the
weeping woman bowed her head still
lower. A young clergyman stood
beside the grave. 81 have undertaken,
as far as am able, to pronounce a
last blessing over oil the sleepers of
my congregation" he said, softly, as
he met my surprised look.
That evening l went to see my rela-
tives. L did not find the parents at
home. Only Cousin Mary was there
to receive me. We sat by the window
where the moonlight fell on us, and
then told her of my first patient, and
what l had learned from it. Mary
said nothing in answer to my confes.
sion; but suddenly 1 felt her arms
thrown around my neck. She looked
at me with wet eyes. Don't you see,
MAXI" she said, "now you know your
self what was lacking in your prepara-
tion for work; but, thank God, it has
come to you with your first patient.
Now 1 believe that you will make a
good physician who will bring help,
even where his own skill does not
work cure" kissed my dear one.
"And now, what do you thinkP" I
asked. "Have you the courage to
become the wife of such a doctor?"
She smiled through her happy tears.
And so at last we were betrothed.
AS it happened, the very next day,
was called to a child that was suf-
fering intensely with Group, and was
so happy as to be able to save it.
Since then God has shown much favor
to the sick and miserable through my
efforts, and my work has grown ever
aearer to me.
But the mother OF my first patient
moved into my house to be my house
keeper until my sweetheart became
the doctors wife. Even after the
she remained as cook, until
she decided later to make still another
,hange, and came to nurse our little
irst-born daughter, Mary. She wept
over our baby for Joy, and in thankful
of the little golden
haired girl who had found happy
home for her mother and had made a
loctor worthy of his high profession.
Translated for the Independent.