The Wilmington daily Republican. (Wilmington, Del.) 1890-1902, 1898-01-28
A TRIBUTE OF SONG.

There is no place on earth where ut
ter helplessness comes out so strongly
where the ceremonies in human use fal
so powerless before the majesty of th.
occasion, AZ at funeral. It need not b.
that ones heart shall be interested. The
obsequies Of a stranger conducted with
all the pomp and vanity Of church and
state, with the melancholy rolling drum
of the military funeral, or the gorgeous.
ness of the Masonic regalia apron-all
are alike inadequate and unavailing.
But once in my life have witnessed
Q ceremony that was SO grand, impress.
i've and appropriate to the silent. awful
occasion.
h, Twill tell you of funeral which
fingers in my memory as the grandest,
most solemn and befitting ceremony that
was ever given to the dead.
1t was rumored many years ago that
a poor widowed woman, leading hard
life Of unending labor, was called to
part with the one thing dear to her-her
only child. Mother and daughter had
toiled together for Is years, and the
only bit of sunshine falling into their
dark lives was that shed by their loving
companionship. But the girl had al.
ways been siokly. Under the heart
broken mothers eyes she had faded and
wasted away with consumption, and at
last the day came when the wan face
failed to answer with its CHASTITY smile
the anxious, tear blinded eyes of the
mother.
The poor young creature was dead.
For many months the pair had been sup
ported by the elder woman's sewing,
and it was in the character of employer
I had become acquainted with Mrs.
Cramp and her story. By an occasional
visit to the awful heights of an east side
tenement where they lived, by few
books and with some comforting words,
/ had won the love Of the dying girl.
Her grateful thoughts turned in her last
hours to the small number of friends
she possessed, and she besought her
mother to notify me of the day of her
funeral and ask me to attend.
The summons reached me upon one
Of the widest days Of winter. A sleet
that was not rain and rain that was
not snow came pelting from all points
Of the compass A wind that walled in
! the chimney and howled in the street
told how truly dreadful for outdoor pur.
poses was the weather Of the day. Ipiled
the glowing CRATES, drew closer the
curtains and shut out the gloom Of the
December afternoon. I turned on the
gas and sat down, devoutly thankful
that ! had cut all connection with the
witched weather, when an installment
Of it burst in on me in the shape Of
Parepa Rosa. She was Euphrosyne
Parepa at that time, and the operatic
idol Of the city. Muffled with tippets,
feoked with snow, glowing with the
short encounter she had had with the
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 delightful
day together there came the summons
for me to go to the humble funeral of
the poor sewing woman's daughter. I
turned the little tear plotted note over
and groaned.
''This is terrible, said ]. "It's just
the one errand that could take me out
today, but must CO." And then told
Parepa the circumstances and specialized
on the length Of time I should be gone
and suggested means Of amusement in
my absence.
"But I shall 80 with you," said the
great, good hearted creature.
"Your throat and old Bateman and
your concert tonight" I pleaded.
IF get another froggy' note in my
voice, it won't matter much; Pm hoarse
as raven now," she returned.
So she rewound her throat with the
long, white comforter, pulled on her
worsted gloves, and of in the storm we |
went together We climbed fight after
fight Of narrow, dark stairs to the top
floor, where the widow dwelt in mis-
cradle little room not more than dozen
feet square. The canvasback hearse, Pc
culiar to the sa5 funeral, stood in the
street below, and the awful cherry
stained box, with its ruffe 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. It was useless to say the
poor woman was prepared for the in
svitable 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
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
Hone. 40, therefore, with sympathiz-
Ing grasp Of the poor, worn, bony hand,
we sat silently down to "attend the
funeral"
The undertaker's man, with screw
lriver in his hand, jumped about in the
passage to keep warm. The oreaky boots
If the minister belonging to the $25
'uneral were heard ON the stairs. There
vas catarrhal conversation held out.
,ide between them as to the enormity Of
he weather, and probably the bad taste
# the deceased in selecting such a bad
lime to die was discussed. Then the
minister came in with pious sniff and
TODD revealed, regular Stiggins as to
yet up-a dry, self sufficient man, icier
han the day and colder than the storm.
He deposited his hat and black gloves
nd wet umbrella on the poor little bed
n the corner; he slapped his hands Wig
rously together; he took himself in
veil merited fashion by the ears and
ulled them into the glowing sensation,
nd after thawing out for moment
10 plunged into business.
He ratified merrily through some Sc
ected sentences from the Bible He
ave us prayer that sounded like peas
D a dried bladder, and be came to amen
nth jerk that brought me up like
atent snap. He pulled on hisold gloves
nd grabbed his rusty hat, and, with his
- III - 4