A MINISTERING ANGEL.

Marlborough Daily Times, Volume II, Issue 142, 30 July 1880, Page 1 (Supplement)

A MINISTERING ANGEL.

M hen 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 and old and respected resident of the Thirteenth Ward, has been in a pretty hopeless condition, and the lawyers of the locality have been leaving their cards on the heirs, and intimating 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 cheerful conversation wore 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 : ‘ Boor critter, lie ain’t long for the pomps aud vanities of this wicked world ; however, I must cheer his dying couch.’ Then she began airily : ‘ Laws bless me, how well you do look ! And then toiling me all the time that you 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 colour 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 yon were sick. For instance, your old friend Mr. Flipkins, that used to live just round the corner, lie’s gone and laid away under the clods of the valley. Died of senile debility, the doctors said, and he was such a fine-looking man, and nine years younger than you. As the minister eloquently said when they were taking out the collin, it ought to teach us that our days arc like a weaver’s shuttlecock, and iu the midst of life we are in death. Do you feel any difficulty in breathing and see fireworks dancing before your eyes ? You do ! Why, that was just the way my poor husband used to feel during the last week or so of my married life, and the doctors thought he was getting better, but I knew better. I’d seen too many people die with just them symptoms, so I just went ahead and ordered my mourning, so’s to have it ready in time. You just tell your wife mourning goods is down—away down, just now, and, if the worst comes to the worst there’ll he a great saving in purchasing. She may not want ’m just now, for I’ve known people sick, like you to linger on for weeks, or may be months; but we all must fade as a leaf some time, and it’s best to he prepared, like a theif iu the night, for we know not the day nor the hour. Lovely weather we’re having to-dav—-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 you, being a thoughtful man, 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 wo don’t meet here again, may we meet on that beautiful shore, in the [sweet by-and-byo. ’ And the excellent lady departed, 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.