| Note: | Images of the original pages are available through the Wright American Fiction Project of the Library Electronic Text Service of Indiana University. |
WEALTHY, LOVELY, AND ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED, YET
THIS DEVOTED GIRL VOLUNTEERED TO GO AND
NURSE YELLOW FEVER PATIENTS AT
SHREVEPORT, LOUISIANA.
AFTER THREE WEEKS OF INCESSANT LABOR SHE MET WITH A
PAINFUL AND FATAL ACCIDENT.
SHE DIED IN THE HOPE OF A BLESSED IMMORTALITY.
HER INTENDED HUSBAND, WHO HAD FOLLOWED HER TO
SHREVEPORT, HAD ALREADY DIED, AND THE TWO
WERE BURIED SIDE BY SIDE.
ISSUED BY
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by C.W. Alexander, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D.C.
THEIR COMBINATION SOLO STOPS
are capable of the most beautiful musical effects.
| AEOLINE—A soft or breathing stop. VOX HUMANA—A baritone solo, not a fan or tremolo. PIANO—Which will never require tuning. |
Few are aware of the perfection the Parlor Organ has reached, the variety of musical effects of which it is capable, and how desirable an addition it is to the parlor. These instruments have created much interest and enthusiasm by reason of their quality of tone, elegance of finish and musical effects.
The Profession and Public generally are earnestly invited to examine these beautiful instruments at our own or agents' warerooms, and compare them with other instruments of their class.
Correspondence with the Trade and Profession solicited.
Agents wanted in every town. Circulars containing music free.
| WAREROOMS, | { | 66 & 68 Adams St., Chicago. |
|---|---|---|
| 33 King William St., London. | ||
| M.G. Bisbee, 920 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. |
IN REPLYING CUT OFF THIS ADDRESS AND ENCLOSE IN YOUR LETTER.
May God protect you, reader of this book, from all manner of sickness; but above all, from that thrice dreaded pestilence, yellow fever. Of all the scourge ever sent upon poor sinful man, none equals in horror and loathsomeness yellow fever. Strong fathers and husbands, sons and brothers, who would face the grape-shot battery in battle, have fled dismayed from the approach of yellow fever. They have even deserted those most dear to them. Courageous, enduring women, too, who feared hardly any other form of sickness, have been terrified into cowardice and flight when yellow fever announced its awful presence.
Such was the state of affairs when, a short time ago, the startling announcement was made that yellow fever had broken out in Shreveport, Louisiana, and that it was of the most malignant type. At once everybody who could do so left the stricken city for safer localities, and, with equal promptitude, other cities and towns quarantined themselves against Shreveport, for fear of the spread of the frightful contagion to their own homes and firesides.
Daily the telegraph flashed to all parts of the land the condition of Shreveport, until the operators themselves were cut down by the disease and carried to the graveyard. Volunteers were then called for from among operators in the places, and several of these, who came in response to the call, though acclimated, and fanciedly safe, took it and died. Then it was that terror really began to take hold of the people in earnest. A man was alive and well in the morning, and at night he was a horrible corpse. The fond mother who thanked heaven, as she put her children to bed, that she had no signs of the malady, and would be able to nurse them if they got sick, left those little ones orphans before another bedtime came around. In some cases even, the fell destroyer within forty-eight hours struck down whole families, leaving neither husband, mother nor orphans to mourn each other, but sweeping them all into eternity on one wave as it were.
Then it was that a great wail of mortal distress rose from Shreveport—a call for help from one end of the land to another. Business came to a stand-still, the ordinary avocations of life were suspended. No work! no money! no bread! Nothing but sickness! nothing but horror! nothing but despair! nothing but death! Alas! was there no help in this supreme moment? There was plenty of money forthcoming, but no nurses. Philanthropic men and women in near and also distant States, sent their dollars even by telegraph. But who would go thither and peril his or her life for the good of the city in sackcloth and ashes?
Praised be the name of that God who gave them their brave hearts, there were some who nobly volunteered for the deadly but loving task. To go was almost certain death to themselves—yet did they go. And most brave, most distinguished, most lovely among those devoted few, was Agnes Arnold, the subject of this little memoir.
We have on our title page called her "Angel Agnes." That was what many a burning lip named her in the unfortunate city of Shreveport, as with her low, kind, tender voice, she spoke words of pious comfort to the passing soul, and whispered religious consolation in the fast deafening ears of the dying. Many had called her Angel, because their dimming eyes had not beheld a friend's face since they took sick, till they saw hers. Let us not fill space, though, with encomiums, but let this noble Christian creature's deeds be recorded to speak for themselves. So shall you, reader, do justice to the lovely martyr, whose form, together with that of her intended husband, sleeps in the eternal slumber far away in Louisiana.
One day Mrs. Arnold, widow of the late well-known Samuel Arnold of this city, sat in the library of their elegant mansion up town, leading the daily papers.