A MINISTERING ANGEL.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1990, 10 July 1880, Page 2

A MINISTERING ANGEL.

When Sir Walter Scott said that woman was a ministering angel, when pain and sickness wrung the brow, he stated an undeniable truth. For some time past an old and re- ,

specked resident of the Thirteenth Ward haa been in a pretty hopeless condition, and the the locality have been leaving their cards on the heirs, and intimating as a sort of delicate attention that they were prepared to break wills on the shortest notice, in the most approved style, and on the most reasonable terms. A few days ago a lady of the neighbourhood, an old friend of the family, said she thought she would go in and brisk him up a bit ; that sociability and aheerfnl conversation were worth more to a sick man than all the medicine in the world, and so on. Accordingly she was ushered into the patient’s presence, and seating herself by the bedside, she said in a stage aside that might have been heard in the next room : “ Poor critter, ho ain’t long for the pomps and vanities of this world; however, I must cheer his dying couch.” Then she began airily: “Laws bless me, how well you do look! And them telling me all the time that yon was at the last gasp ! Why, Ido declare, that I never see a sick man look so well as you,unless it was my own husband two days before he passed away; his eyes were so bright, and his color so rosy that he looked as if he might live for ten years longer, but next day but one we laid him out; it was a sort of expiring rally, the doctors said. It’s real mean nobody came in to tell you the news and cheer ye up a bit. There’s been real lots of news since you were sick. For instance, your old friend Mr Flipkins, that used to live just round the corner, he’s gone and laid away under the clods of the valley. Died of senile debility, the doctors said, and he was such a fine strong looking man, and nine years younger than you. As the minister eloquently said when they were taking out the coffin, it ought to teach us that our days are like a weaver’s shuttlecock, and. in the midst of life we are in death. Do you feel any difficulty in breathing and see fireworks dancing before your eyes ? You do I Why that was just the way my poor husband used to feel during tbe last week or so of my married life, and the doctors thought he was getting better, but I knew better. I’d seen seen too many people die with just them symptoms, so I just went ahead and ordered my mourning bo’s to have it ready in time. You just tell your wife mourning goods is down—away down, just now, and, if tbe worst comes to the worst, there’ll be a great saving in purchasing. She may not want ’em just now, for I’ve known people sick like you to linger on for weeks, or may be months i but we all must fade as a leaf some time, and it’s best to be prepared, like a thief in the night, for we know not the day nor the hour. Lovely weather we’re having to-day—mild and balmy as spring. In such weather as this a man needn’t feel at all dismayed at the prospect of dying and being laid away in the earth, all is so bright and pleasant. Of course yon, being a thoughtful ma, have made all provisions ; but if you haven’t—for in their last hours people are apt sometimes to overlook these precautions—you ought to, while your mind is clear. The surviving friends are so likely to be overwhelmed with grief, and a little slip makes a funeral go off so badly, and it isn’t a thing you can have over again. Well, I must be going. Good bye ; if we don’t meet here again, may we meet on that beautiful shore, in the sweet by-and-bye.” And the excellent lady depaited, and the sick man told his attendants, if ever they let her in again, he’d break his will, and leave the whole estate to a public charity.—“ Chicago Tribune.”