The Seattle Republican. [volume] (Seattle, Wash.) 1???-1915, 1900-11-09
Pen PICTURES
By Susie RerelS CaWOn


ceiling IS a curtain Of white tulle,
which falls in many folds about the
table and its precious burden and
reaches the floor in piling waves-so
soft and f1uffy-harmoniously ming
ling with the great white hair rug
on which the table stands. On the
outside of the curtain, peeping up
here and there from the depths of
the rug, are flowers, bright and beau
tlful; here bunch Of sweet forget
me-nOts, there a cluster of lovely
daisies representatives from most
Of the Towering families, but chiefly
those not celebrated for the great
ness of their size or the brightness Of
their faces, but those known and
loved for the mOdesty Of their ap-
pearance and the sweet perfume
which they so freely proffer
Delicate indeed is the silk drapery
on the inside of the casket, so skill
fully and beautifully woven that it
partakes of the misty, webby ilIu-
sion, yet quite in keeping with the
little body which it envelopes-this
wee bit of human clay, with its tiny
hands folded upon its breast, its lit
tie face so sweet and passive; baby
who came to this home to brighten
it for few days only, ere sum-
mons called it Heavenward. 1t does
not occupy much space; the casket
is very short The little hands, the
delicate features, the contour Of the
entire body seem almost too fairy
like to have ever been classed among
the mortal; and yet, ere it lay there
in all its infantile purity, it was the
embodiment Of the highest parental
anticipations Of two fond hearts who
had planned and hoped and feared
as only two such hearts can plan and
hope and fear when looking forward
to the arrival Of the first baby in
their home. ''Only baby" says a
passer-by, as he observes the small
white wreath of flowers, with its mar
row ribbon streamers, tackled upon
the door. ''Only a baby" and yet to
those two bereaved ones, only baby,
and baby gone, means a grave dug
in their hearts, as it were, from
which wells up waves of grief so
mighty and so restless that they
seem to almost choke off their very
life's breath, fight it as they may.
And now the neighbors and
friends begin to pass into the room;
some take a hurried glance at the
sweet baby face, drop their cards
upon side table and depart, while
others linger, joining a group Of
friends scattered throughout the
rooms. Occasionally a mother lifts
her little one up to see baby, and the
tot looks and is filled
with awe, for, small as it is, it is con-
scious Of some great power-the
same great power that so manifests
itself to lis all that, regardless Of
surrounding circumstances, ''there is
naught that can make death other
than death" Many stages Of life
are represented by those who come
to pay their respects to the bereaved
couple, but Of them there is one
class which has an air about them
peculiar to themselves. They are
those who have watched their own
babies through an illness, whether
brief or lengthy; watched so hope
fully, fearfully and prayerfully, and
then after battling through dark
vale Of suspense, tossed and torn by
conflicting hopes and fears, have
crossed the tiny hands DER the stilled
bosoms, bowling their heads as best
they could in humble resignation.
Most likely they see the baby before
them for moment only, and then
the face and form of their own de-
parted returns to take its place, and
when kneeling for a moment to
place at its feet a floral tribute, the
tears that fall among the flowers are
none the less sincere because they
are twOfold in their mission.
Now the carriage containing the
minister has arrived. The father de-
scends the stairway and enters the
carriage, a friend Of the mothers
takes her place opposite the two, and
the tiny casket, which has been
lifted from amid its bevy Of flowers,
is placed across from the lady's lap
to the fathers. Even the weight of
the casket, light as it is, is dear to
that father. He feels much COM
fort in being near baby, as its
hours above earth are so rapidly les
sening. The flowers are placed be-
side the driver and the carriage
starts onward. In an upper chamber
the thoughtful nurse pulls back a
curtain, and the mother, raising her
self on her couch, supports her head
on her elbow and watches the reced-
ing carriage with eyes dark with
motherly yearning; watches until a
corner is turned and even the hind
wheels are hidden from her sight.
Wearily she lays her head down upon
her pillow and hides her face be-
meath the sheet. There is not a
sound in the room. Gently the
nurse lowers the curtains, hides from
view a tiny powder puff on the
dresser, and with mOtherly thought
fulness takes with her the baby
basket-a lovely creation Of creamy
lace and blue ribbons as she leaves
the room, in hopes that kindly sleep
may, for a time at least, bring for
getfulness to baby's mother.
In the Colonial block, Second and
Columbia, Irving & Cannon, the