Pleasantville weekly press., 1898-02-16

6ll0Ib cuCOQutcI eLO AuO 4uQ WAe&A NAso
elements rushing up the steps from her
carriage, she threw herself into an easy
chair and proclaimed the horrors of the
outer world to be beyond description.
And even as we congratulated our
selves on the prospect of a delightful
day together there came the summons
for me to go to the humble funeral Of
the poor sewing woman's daughter.
turned the little tear blotted note over
and groaned.
"This is terrible, " said l. tits just
the one errand that could take me out
today, but must go. And then told
Parepa the circumstances and speculated
ON the length Of time / should be gone
and suggested means of amusement in
my absence.
"But shall go with you" said the
great, good hearted creature.
"Your throat and old Bateman and
your concert tonight?" pleaded.
eff get another 'froggy' note in my
voice, it won't matter much; I'm hoarse
Us raven now," she returned.
So she rewound her throat with the
long, white comforter, pulled on her
worsted gloves, and off in the storm we
went together. We climbed flight after
flight of narrow, dark stairs to the top
floor, where the widow dwelt in a mis-
erable little room not more than dozen
feet square. The canvasbaok hearse, Pc
culiar to the $25 funeral, stood in the
street below, and the awful cherry
stained box, with its ruffie of glazed
white muslin, stood on uncovered tres
ties in the center of the room above.
There was the mother, speechless in
her grief, before that box-a group Of
hard working, kindly hearted neighbors
sitting about 1t was useless to say the
poor woman was prepared for the in
evitable end-it was cold comfort to
speak to her Of the daughters release
from pain and suffering. The bereft
creature, in her utter loneliness, was
thinking of herself and the awful fate
of the approaching moment when
that box and its precious burden would
be taken away and leave her wholly
alone. So, therefore, with sympathiz-
ing grasp of the poor, worn, bony hand,
we sat silently down to "attend the
funeral"
The undertaker's man, with a screw
driver in his hand, jumped about in the
passage to keep warm. The creaky boots
of the minister belonging to the $25
funeral were heard on the stairs. There
was catarrhal conversation held out
side between them as to the enormity Of
the weather, and probably the bad taste
of the deceased in selecting such a bad
time to die was discussed. Then the
minister came in with pious sniff and
stood revealed, a regular Stiggins as to
get up-a dry, self sufficient man, icier
than the day and colder than the storm.
He deposited his hat and black gloves
and wet umbrella on the poor little bed
in the corner; he slapped his hands Wig
orously together; he took himself in
well merited fashion by the ears and
pulled them into the glowing sensation,
and after thawing out for a moment
he plunged into business.
He ratified merrily through some Sc
lected sentences from the Bible. He
gave us prayer that sounded like peas
in dried bladder, and he came to amen
with jerk that brought me up like q
patent snap. He pulled on his old gloves
and grabbed his rusty hat, and, with his
umbrella dripping inky tears over the
well scrubbed floor, he offered a set form
of coincidence to the broken hearted
mother. He told her of her sin in rebel
hing against the decree of Providence.
He assured her that nothing could bring
the dead back. He inveighed against the
folly of the world in general, and then
he made horrible blunder and showed
by saying, "He cannot come to you, but
you must go to him."
This was settler for Parepa and my
SELF We looked at the departing minis
ter in blank astonishment
The door swung wide; we saw the
screwdriver waving in the air as the
undertaker's man held converse with
the clergyman. A hush fell on every
y body gathered in the little room. Not
one word had been uttered of consola-
tion. 1t was the emptiest, hollowest,
most unsatisfactory moment I ever re-
member.
Then Parepa arose, her cloak falling
about her noble figure like mourning
drapery. She stood beside that miser-
able cherry wood box. She looked a
moment on the pinched, wasted, ashy
face upturned toward her from within
it. She laid her soft, white hand on the
discolored forehead of the dead girl,
and she lifted up that matchless voice
in the beautiful melody:
Angels, ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take her, to your care.
The screwdriver paused In describing
an airy circle. The wet umbrella stood
pointing down the stairs. The two men
with astonished faces were foremost in
crowd that instantly filed the passage.
The noble voice swelled toward heaven,
and if ever the choir of paradise paused
to listen to earth's music 1t was when
Parepa sang SO gloriously beside that
poor dead girl.
No words can describe its effect on
those gathered there. The sad mourner
sank on her knees, and with clasped
hands and streaming eyes the little band
stood reverently about her.
No queen ever went to her grave ac-
companied by grander ceremony. To
this day Parepa's glorious tribute Of
song rings with solemn melody In my
memory as the only real, impressive
funeral service ever heard. Planets
and People"
Remarkable Musical Memories.