\^/'^: 
 
 mm 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 \S75 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
l^DER THH (iAS-Ll(;HT: 
 
 OR 
 
 LIGHTS AND SHADOWS 
 
 STATE CAPITAT. OF TI.LIXOFS. 
 
 n Y D . L E T B A M B R O S K , 
 
 (( ITV KDITOK SAXCAMO MO.MTOK.t 
 
 i .NoJ.S..klk 
 
 V> 
 
 SPRINGFIELD, ILL. 
 
 T. W. S. KTDD, PUBLIvSHER 
 1879. 
 
 r 
 

 Entered aocordiny- to act of Congress, in the vear 1S79, by D. Ltiii Ambrose, in the 
 office ot^ the Librarian of Congress, at \\ ashington. 
 
 II. \V. KOKKKK. HINDKK. 
 
]) E 1) 1 C A T 1 N 
 
 TO Till-: MEMOKV OF UKK WHO I\ I.IKI-: 
 
 WAS ins (;i iDixc; staij, 
 
 AM) WHO TO-DAV ^VEARS TH K KTERXAL 
 
 CROWX OF WOMANHOOD, 
 
 I'JIIS \ OEIME IS TENDERE\' IXSCRIHKI) 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR, 
 
Under the Gas-I^ighfs glare and sheeu^ 
 The Rambler rambled^ facts to glean. 
 He saw in the shades of the nighty 
 Pictures gloomy and pictures bright. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 This volume, as the reader beholds it, embraces the results 
 of a series of rambles in the vState Capital of Illinois, which 
 have appeared in the Monday morning^ issue of the Daily 
 Sangamo Monitor durino- the past vear. If there be found 
 one sentence that will create a cheerfid feeling, or swell the 
 soul to a loft^' sentiment, the rambler will feel rewarded for 
 his work. 
 
 Only a part of the rambles are presented — those which, in 
 humble judgment, were deemed the most worthv. Manv of 
 these have received additions suggested by further observa- 
 tion and thought. What you see before 3'ou is yours to ap- 
 prove or disapprove. The work, in the main, was accom- 
 plished in busy hours, and therefore in its perusal a generous 
 consideration is invoked. 
 
 i). L. A. 
 
 Springfield, 111., Nov. 14, 1879. 
 
UNDER THE GAS-LIGHT. 
 
 RAMBLE I. 
 
 "IjE pass along a prominent street. We see here a pal- 
 ace and there a cottage. There is an " Under the 
 Gas-light" in the one, but in the other a modest lamp 
 emits a modest light. Ingersoll says: "Burns was a cottage 
 and Shakespeare a palace, but about the cottage were more 
 flowers and of a sweeter perfume than about the palace." 
 
 From what we have observed in our life and in our ram- 
 bles may we not paraphrase and say, "Yonder is a cottage 
 and yonder is a palace, but in the cottage is more heart and 
 of sweeter perfume than in the palace;" yet we cannot do 
 without the one any more than we can do without the other. 
 From each come lessons telling many of life's stern and es- 
 sential duties. From each comes a hope. The cottager 
 hopes for a better condition in life, and through the inspira- 
 tion of that hope toils on in the even tenor of his way. The 
 man in the mansion, under the glare and glitter of the gas- 
 
lo Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 light may hope for that which the cottager possesses — health 
 and happiness. 
 
 It is now late. The man in the palace has a call for charity, 
 but the call is not heeded. The cottager has the same call; 
 he lends a listening ear. He had read in a book of Christian 
 cherishing, "the chiefest among these is charity." It was re- 
 membered that such was the teaching of Christ, and that the 
 fruit thereof was sunshine, not shadows; hope, not desolation; 
 affection, not bitterness; flowers, not thorns; and the suppliant 
 was put in a condition of thankfulness. There was more 
 heart in the cottage' antl of a sweeter perfume, than there was 
 in the palace, and all because there had not been as much 
 contact with the world, and as much hurtful friction. 
 
 An out-of-the-way place is entered, where is seen a justice 
 of the peace, a constable, and a candidate for office. Officials 
 in these times seem to take many official liberties, and candi- 
 dates hunt for votes in many strange places. The day pre- 
 ceding, these men had much to say about modern civil service 
 and its corruptions. 
 
 "Here's success to you," says one to the other, and up their 
 hands go. "The chiefest of these is charity," is the text of 
 the great gospel, and therefore we will say no more at this 
 time. 
 
 A stranger stands upon the post-office corner. A word or 
 two from him reveals the fact that he is an old soldier — a vet- 
 eran of '6 1. 
 
Under the Gas-Light. ii 
 
 "Can you tell me where Lincoln's old residence is?" 
 
 "Yes," was the reply, and then followed the directions. 
 
 "During the day I visited the Monument at Oak Ridge." 
 
 "xA-nd you found it a pleasant place?" 
 
 "Very pleasant, indeed." 
 
 "But before I leave on the midnight train I must see where 
 the martyred president lived ere he rose to fame, power and 
 immortality." 
 
 The man was cultured and appreciative. A guide con- 
 ducted him to the place where he desired to go, and gazing 
 for some time upon the house that will for ages be a historic 
 landmark, he turned away, saying: "A hundred years from 
 to-night the visitor and the pilgrim will see different sur- 
 roundings, and the then people of Springfield will appreci- 
 ate this place more than they of to-day do." 
 
 Sunday night and the rambles are resumed. 
 
 We take it that those out early this evening "under the 
 gas-lights" are church goers. There may be some excep- 
 tions, and more perhaps than there should be. 
 
 It is said that church goers are more numerous in this 
 country than in any other, owing perhaps to the more liberal 
 distribution of intelligence among the people. In fact, church 
 going has long been considered one of the requirements 
 of our civilization, and the requirement was well met by 
 our church people in this city yesterday and last night. 
 Standing under the gas-light, we saw pass, Methodists, Catho- 
 
 . 
 
12 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 lies, Presbyterians, Baptists, Lutherans, Congregationalists 
 and Christians. There was a pausing to reflect over the di- 
 versity of sects, and yet it is claimed that all sects preach 
 Christ, and in their efforts toward human salvation, and hu- 
 man elevation, promulgate alike the principles of mercy, 
 peace and love. Whatever may be said of other places, the 
 observation is that in Springfield there is a commendable 
 charity exhibited in religious things. A Methodist and a 
 Catholic pass along arm in arm, having come together in 
 returning from their places of worship. This suggested that 
 iron-bound creeds and rigid theology had spent their 
 exacting force before reaching our present civilization. 
 
 
Under the Gas-Light, 
 
 13 
 
 RAMBLE I I. 
 
 JN the heavens no stars are to be seen. Clouds hang low, 
 and a chill wind creeps about. Upon a quiet street the 
 5^ rambler rambles. Attention is directed to a house 
 humble in appearance. There is a light in the window, shin- 
 ing as brightly as though the clouds in the heavens did not hang 
 low^ and the winds were not chill. The curtain is not wholly 
 closed, and through the opening is seen a company of bright- 
 faced, and bright-eyed children, surrounding a mother. It is 
 a picture of love, and a scene of affection. There was matur- 
 ity in the midst of childhood, and it appeared that a blessing 
 was being imparted in the character of instructive lessons. 
 The impression obtained at once that this was a heart home. 
 While we paused a good strong man came down the street, 
 and, turning in at the gate, knocked for admittance. "Who's 
 there?" was the quick response. The reply was uttered in a 
 manly voice, in a tone that was familiar, and in a moment 
 the door was open, and the "tree a vine was clinging to," 
 passed in from the darkness and the chill wind. It was plain 
 that, in the best sense of the word, he was, in that home, the 
 defender of the faithful. From under the gas-light was 
 
14 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 heard the pattering of little feet, and the music of God's best 
 divinity as it existed in the heart and soul of childish inno- 
 cence. No matter now if in the outside world their raged a 
 tempest and existed a restless discontent. To this man at 
 this period such conditions were of no moment. He lived 
 now in a kingdom of his own, surrounded by an unlimited 
 loyalty, begotten in the secret chambers of the heart and soul. 
 
 The rambler w^raps his coat closer about him, and amid the 
 outward elements, fringed with discomfort, he passes on to 
 other points and other scenes. 
 
 On a southwest corner he pauses, and pausing, looks up, 
 and through the darkness, and the overhanging branches of a 
 tree, far above the earth where space is cheap, and where ex- 
 istance is less costly, a light is seen. It comes through a 
 window more modest than those below, but nearer the 
 clouds, and nearer the stars. The window has the character 
 of a door and is now slightly ajar. Through it comes a strain 
 of music floating as it were upon golden cords through the 
 air. The song was in the English mother tongue, and there- 
 fore English mothers' sons could appreciate it. It had a 
 sentiment — had a soul, and the beauty of that sentiment, and the 
 debth of that soul was easily comprehended. Its drapery 
 and finish was of a clear Saxon brand — a drapery and fin- 
 ish that surrounds the best songs and music, which, in all the 
 ages, has been developed in the human heart. The song that 
 came from that humble yet lofty window, or from the soul 
 
Under t/ic Gas- Light. 15 
 
 behind It, partook of divinity, and carried with it a melody 
 infinite in conception. A step or two below might have ex- 
 isted an infatuation for the artistic, combined with the grand 
 harmonies, but this infatuation would leave the soul in a con- 
 dition of barrenness, that is, the English speaking, and the 
 English understanding soul. After all there must be had a 
 charity for tastes, and be yielded a concession to diverse opin- 
 ions. This we have, and this we do, but under that gaslight 
 on that southwest corner there came to us from that attic 
 window, upon an angle of fortv-five degrees, the song and 
 the music bound to move a midniorht rambler: 
 
 "Rest for the weary hands is good 
 And love for hearts that pine, 
 But let the manly habitude 
 Of upright souls be mine." 
 
 These lines were the ones that had been wedded to music, 
 and the music did not lord it over the lines, nor did the lines 
 beat the music. 
 
 It is now past the midnight hour, and as we count time the 
 boundary 'twixt Saturday and Sunday has been passed. As 
 Christian civilization views it, a holier period in time has 
 been reached. We pass on within the shadow of a building 
 containingr a sanctuarv. The words of the song: that floated 
 from the attic window are still remembered, and the rambler 
 pauses to wonder if in that sanctuarv, or in anv sanctuarv in 
 this city, would be preached during the Sabbath a Gospel 
 more cheering:. 
 
i6 Undc7' the Gas-Light. 
 
 RAM BLE 1 I 1 
 
 '^'"iHE streets are crowded. It is the Saturday evening 
 before the election, and many men are exhibiting their 
 jLl interest. A large number are full of fire, and therefore 
 unbalanced. They congregrate in mobs and assume to ex- 
 pound economic principles; but the expounding soon merges 
 into an incoherency, and in many instances the incoherency 
 into an inextricable blindness. Now we hear a story, now an 
 insinuation, and then an imputation. To believe them all 
 would be to believe the worst possible things, and to have 
 one's faith in humanity reduced to a slender thread. The 
 gin-mills, the fountains of modern political inspiration, are 
 running at full blast, and the inveterate bummers and dead- 
 beats are clinging to candidates like Christian faith clings to 
 the hope of immortality. The scene repulses the senses and 
 sickens the heart, causing the sober, reflective citizen to 
 weaken in his admiration for the elective system in the ma- 
 chinery of republican government. Men are drunk to-night 
 who for many a day have stood aloof, and from under the gas- 
 lights we hear this expression : "Well, boys, here goes, 
 election times are not always with us." The reflection was. 
 
Under the Gas-Light. ■ 17 
 
 that if these times could not come and pass without being made 
 periods of beastliness, and without being embraced as opj^or- 
 tunities for wasting the best substance of human life, then it 
 would be better if they would never come. It points to no 
 purity in government, and tells of no condition, redeeming in 
 character, in the preliminary workings of our political system. 
 But enough of this. We will pass. 
 
 We hear a voice in Reform Club Hall. Ascending the 
 stairway we behold a man standing, in the attitude of a 
 speaker, on the platform. He speaks words of cheering im- 
 port. They are the words of kindness, and they flow with 
 an impetuous force, as the language of the heart always flows. 
 "O, friend ! strong in wealth for so much good, take my 
 counsel. In the name of the Saviour I charge you to be true 
 and tender to mankind." He would have all men come out 
 from Babylon into manhood, and love and labor for the fallen, 
 the neglected, the suffering, and the poor. He would bid the 
 lover of arts, customs, laws, institutions and forms of society, 
 love those things only as they help mankind, and despise 
 them when they cause a flowing of tears and a bleeding of 
 the soul. He would dra^v men to him and not repulse them; 
 he -would make friends and not enemies; would soften 
 the human heart instead of steeling it against the mollifying 
 influence of agencies, pure and saving in all their essential 
 forces. He tells us that he is a hater of evil, but not a hater 
 of men; that he is unfriendly to instrumentalities that lead 
 
i8 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 into thorny paths, but friendly to the humanity that 
 suffers thereby. He would battle temptation, but pause to 
 sympathize with, and to help the tempted, pointing him away 
 to a place, and a condition, where the eye never sees, the ear 
 never hears, the mind never knows, and the heart never feels 
 the form or voice, the thought or sense of any temptation. 
 Ere the rambler passed out into the open air his thought was 
 that it was a grand thing for man to be able to understand 
 man, and to adjust himself for a given time in another's place 
 — to stand as he stood, and feel as he felt. When judging a 
 friend or a brother it is a very good rule not to look simply 
 on one side. In the jostling headlong race of life man is 
 liable to be selfish in his views and judgments. We do not 
 always know how much this one or that one has "struggled, 
 and fought, and striven;" how much this man or that man 
 was tempted and tried, ere he was forced to embrace the 
 wrong that he did. 
 
 "There's many a man crushed down by shame, 
 
 Who blameless stands before God, 
 But whom his fellows have utterly scorned. 
 
 And made to "pass under the rod;" 
 Whose soul is unstained by the thought of sin. 
 
 Who will yet find saving grace, 
 And who would be praised where you now condemn. 
 
 If you would "put yourself in his place." 
 
 The closing day has been "All Souls Day," as indicated by 
 the command of an ancient church. Prayers have been offer- 
 ed for the alleviation of restless souls, and for their redemp- 
 tion from thralldom. There has been a looking away into 
 
Under the Gas-I^ight. 19 
 
 the realms of a spiritual existence. Contemplating the faith 
 that penetrates the darkness, and grasps the conditions beyond 
 the veil, the rambler is lost in the traditional mysteries. Round 
 about he is told that there are restless souls. Going his way 
 he meets those in thralldom, fit subjects for redemption. 
 Who prays for their alleviation to-night? It may be a mother, 
 a wife, or a sister, who comprehend not the established teach- 
 ing which comes up from the eighth century. "All Soul's 
 Day" sounds well. There is so much soul about it, is the 
 reason. Everything that tells of the soul, or even alludes to 
 the soul, calls for man's attention. Yonder sits a tramp on 
 the Court Park curbing. Has the day just passed been to 
 him a soul day ? Wonder if he went about during the day to 
 say, as did the village children during the middle ages: 
 
 "Pray, g^ood mistress, for a soul cake." 
 
 He may have gone about seeking food, but whether he ol)- 
 tained any "soul cake" is questionable. UjDon these points 
 the rambler cares not to interrogate him. To all appearance 
 his history is a sealed scrcfll, and what is contained therein is 
 his own. He has a soul, and the indications are that it has suf- 
 fered. He may have been repulsed from his home — a home 
 in which was taught an iron-hooped theology. Hismother, 
 good and true, may have gone to heaven years ago. Ser- 
 mons may have been preached to him from the words, "The 
 greatest of these is charity," and which was never made prac- 
 
20 Under the Gas-light. 
 
 tical. The boy may have wondered and doubted. He may 
 have met with struggles and temptations, and then the scorn 
 of the world, which conditions tended to the desolation of the 
 soul's sanctuary. And now, while he sits there within the 
 shadow of one of the Park trees, and while the moon's soft 
 beams fall through the over-hanging branches, he may be 
 plotting some transgression against society, from which he 
 may now be an outcast; and who knows but what a few 
 "soul cakes" might cause him to cease his plotting, and to 
 drop his hands, which may forsooth be raised against what 
 seems to him to be an exacting society. 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 21 
 
 RAMBLE IV. 
 
 jPjITHOUT faith in humanity there could be no such 
 
 thing as faith in God ; no such thing as a developed 
 Christian civilization, and no such thing as a crowning 
 glory of genius. There w^ould be no searching for heaven ; no 
 grasping for an eternal reward ; and no struggling to attain a 
 mastery and knowledge of all material forces. 
 
 Passing under an all-night gas-light we enter a narrow 
 way. There are bunks ranged about, which, here and there, 
 are occupied by men, who seem to have unfortunately drifted 
 to the losing side of the battle of life. For convenience sake 
 we will call this place "The City's Charity." Though 
 charity is counted the chiefest of virtues, this charity is not, 
 by a large degree, the chiefest of charities. However, it af- 
 fords a shelter and preserves life. There is no gas-light here, 
 for that has some how or other been decreed a luxury. The 
 dingy stove, and battered coal bucket, constitutes the furniture 
 of this retreat. A man rises from a bunk and sits upon the 
 outer edge. He looks contemplatively into the low burning 
 fire. There is something about the man that attracts the 
 rambler's attention. His eyes show a brilliancy, and his head 
 
22 Ufidcr the Gas-Light. 
 
 the marks of an intellectuality. He speaks little, and very 
 slowly. He shows that he has a memory, and that it is full. 
 Conversing with him the impression obtains that he has been 
 an observer of things. "My friend,", said he, "Want is a bit- 
 ter and a hateful thingv Its virtues are not understood; how- 
 ever, a condition of need has brought to a full perfection many 
 things, which could not have been done under other circum- 
 stances." Having listened to these words, the rambler fancied 
 that he saw the speaker in a better condition. Sure he was 
 that a scholar spoke — a man who had been cultured to the 
 better realities of life. For a moment he paused, for a mo- 
 ment he gazed at the old unsightly stove, and seemingly un- 
 conscious of the slow struggling fire within. He then, as if 
 in retrospect, quoted from Byron's Childe Harold: 
 
 Have I not suffered things to be forgiven ? 
 
 Have I not had my brain seared, my heart riven, 
 Hopes sapp'd, name blighted, life's life lied away' 
 
 And only not to desperation driven 
 Because not altogether of such clay 
 
 As rots into the souls of those whom I sway .'' 
 
 It was a sad sight. There was a man who deserved a bet- 
 ter fate. It was plain that he had seen better days, that he 
 had stood in the sunshine, that he had held up his head to 
 gaze at the stars in the heavens, and with a grasp of his intel- 
 lect had conceived what many of his fellows could not compre- 
 hend. "By what process have you reached a place like this.'*" 
 asks the rambler. There was a painful silence for a few mo- 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 23 
 
 ments, and then the man responded: "It would take hours 
 to tell you, but may it be sufficient to say that the starting 
 point was when I began to abuse my manhood, and neglected 
 to cherish my opportunities. I might say that on many an 
 occasion man has passed by on the other side, and then I 
 might add that I was first harsh to myself, and gave man a 
 reason for "passing by on the other side." 
 
 This character is not the only one which the rambler comes 
 in contact with in this place. There are others here, and each 
 with a history. There sits a young man who appears not to 
 have reached his majority. His clothes are rent in many places, 
 and generally his appearance is uninviting. He wasn't com- 
 municative, but enough was obtained for the basis of a con- 
 clusion that he was a prodigal ; and that he was feeding upon 
 the husks was plainly evident. He had ventured out to see 
 the world, to investigate its ways, and to find a better condi- 
 tion than he fancied he had previously enjoyed. It was clear 
 that he had found the ways of the world, and found them 
 rougher than he had anticipated, and that he had not reached 
 that better condition which he had hoped for. His inclina- 
 tion was to turn back and go to his father's house. A fatted 
 calf seemed to be his want. It was his need, and would claim 
 his attention more closely than would a disquisition on causes 
 and effects, or a sermon on the "Gospel plan of salvation." 
 To him "a prayer without some meat and corn" would be 
 as virtueless for good as would a morning vapor be powerless 
 
24 Under the Gas-I^ight. 
 
 to float an ocean steamer. Upon the floor was observed a 
 few tracts, dropped by some good man possessed of a good 
 heart. It was the preparing of the way to the life to come 
 the indexes pointing "tramps" to a tramping along the golden 
 streets of the New Jerusalem. It is well for these men's at- 
 tention to be thus directed, but what concerns them most now 
 was about the earthly way, and how the most successfully to 
 tramp the muddy streets of the planet earth. 
 
 The rambler has been in the city's charity hall long enough. 
 He seeks a change and flnds it. The contrast is wide. He 
 now sees a little three-year old girl dressed in white. It is 
 prettier than the brightest star that blazes in the heavens, be- 
 cause it is near the heart. It is as pretty as the prettiest angel 
 that ever moved through the atmosphere of immortal exist- 
 ence, because its ministrations reach living souls. It is the 
 beauty of childhood, of innocence, and of truth, and the heav- 
 ens can produce no better beauty. 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 25 
 
 RAMBLE \ .■ 
 
 WlXPERIENCE tells every man that associati(;ii tends to 
 llji make stronger and deeper our emotion for the beautiful. 
 5ij There has Just passed a man under the glare of the gas- 
 light, who, in his youth, ere he crossed the home threshold 
 to go out in the world, to be a struggler in its conflicts, gazed 
 upon a mother's miniature and thought it beautiful. He 
 passed out a wanderer; he battled and struggled for years; he 
 attained the strength of manhood, and combining his forces, 
 gained a victory. Pausing, he looks again upon the min- 
 iature. How emotions swell. That one who never wearied 
 in caring for him, and who never Altered in her ministry of 
 love and faith, now seems divinely beautiful. He drops a tear; 
 and \vhile the gas-lights continue to blaze their light for the 
 feet of the passing throng, memory's gallery is open, and 
 through its avenues our wanderer moves, with throbbing 
 heart and softened tread, as he beholds the beautiful jDictures 
 which are hung there, of mother and home, Avith their happv 
 light, guiding his footsteps down life's winding way. In this 
 man we see that which is noble, pleasing and beautiful. 
 
26 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 It is yet early in the evening. The streets are crowded 
 with a miscellaneous collection of the population. Standing 
 upon the corner one sees much that is beautiful, and much 
 that is repulsive. The tempters, who are passing to and fro, 
 would make a host if congregated. Here and there men 
 stand to make unseemly comments pertaining to their pres- 
 ence. Better than they are the frail sisters, but the world, in 
 its false vision, concedes it not. This city's best(?) society 
 pets many a viper, and, like a relentless fury, crowds into hell 
 their victims. This is not noble — it is not beautiful. Christ 
 in his earthly mission would not tolerate a practice so wither- 
 ing — so hurtful. He watered w^here w^atering w^as needed, 
 and calling for the gohlen of trust would not, by His vv^ill, per- 
 mit a single human soul to famish. It is sure He would not 
 drive a soiled existence quivering to the prey of the favorites 
 of a society that cherishes shoddy conditions, and exhibits a 
 coldness towards the unfortunates v^^ho are passing under the 
 rod. The Christly way is the way along which love's sooth- 
 ing dews are permitted to fall, to quicken to life the plants 
 upon which, in other days, had bloomed the fragrance and 
 innocence of beauty. 
 
 Did w^e but know the causes which have so many times 
 led virtue to sin, and made innocence a barren waste, we 
 would know more than we ever dreamed of knowing. Many 
 bright eys grow dim, and we know not the agency that rob- 
 bed them of their liofht. Man V soft and rosv cheeks grrow 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 27 
 
 pale, and the wonder is from whence came the bhght. In 
 the temples of humanity's best hopes comes a frailty, and 
 then a fading. Why it is, we are not permitted to know, and 
 maybe 'tis well. When the dove is wounded it clasps its 
 wings to hide its bleeding. The sighs that come from its 
 heart are breathed in solitude and silence. There is but little 
 upon which to base a judgment concerning the character of 
 the wound. However, conclusions are drawn, and they carry 
 with them, too often, the opposite of healing. 
 
 "Did you see them turn around the corner?" was a question 
 asked the rambler. "Yes," was the reply; and turning that 
 corner means the passing into a locality ^vhere hearts are fam- 
 ishing and souls perishing, and where is going to decay, tem- 
 ples of God's own building. Those who had just turned the 
 corner were young men — the children of fortune. Under the 
 wings of the night — the covers of many a sin — and by the 
 blinding glare of the gas-light they had gone their Avay for a 
 revel, and for a dance, with those w^hose hearts had not been 
 nurtured as they had craved to be. These young men had, a 
 while before, been seen in the presence of beauty and of vir- 
 tue. They had courted respect, and had obtained it; they 
 wanted the smiles of virtue, and the benefit of the fragrance 
 that comes from hearts, that gather well and wisely, from the 
 gardens of God's own planting, and ail these they had secur- 
 ed. They bowed themselves out, leaving the impression that 
 they w^ere models of young manhood's glory, and that they 
 
aS Under^ the Gas-light. 
 
 possessed as much virtue within as they exhibited without. 
 They were seen later, and with the tempter's coil wound 
 about them. The scene was a sad one. Good mothers, good 
 sisters, and good friends, dreamed not of their plight. "Where 
 ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise," but the knowledge 
 will come by and by, and with it tears and sorrow, and a deso- 
 lation of the soul's sanctuary. 
 
Under the Gas-L,iirkt. 
 
 RAMBLE VI. 
 
 """"llE enter a dark way from under the gas-light; pass from 
 the localities of the rich and opulent. The surround- 
 ings tell of no heart song, and of no soul growing. A 
 feeble voice is heard, giving out a music that is tremulous, re- 
 minding the rambler of some ancient harp, which once breath- 
 ed a strong and clear melody, but whose loosened strings now 
 reveal only plaintive quiverings. There has faded away the 
 fair morning, with its rose-tinted hours, which bore upon 
 its bosom the dew and freshness of childhood. When most 
 real and most earnest was life there came a blight. When 
 heart beat highest and warmest the golden power of trust was 
 riven. High built plans and purposes fell. The faithful 
 strivings for self, for man and for God, fled. The power of 
 evil had done its work, and left a heart blasted with the poi- 
 son of impurity, alone in the gathering darkness, without an 
 earthly friend, shut out from the ministry of love, and barred 
 from the ways of redemption. 
 
 To the rambler she said: "I was never trusted, was always 
 placed in the attitude of one whose honor was in defence. 
 
^o Under the Gas-Light, 
 
 My life took an early chill ; it was never led by songs of love ; 
 ill vs^inds blevv^ across my path; my father watched me as if I 
 was a being without a soul ; my heart wanted a feeding, but 
 it was never fed. Had I been trusted I might not have stray- 
 ed into the cruel, thorny path of sin. I was held by an 
 iron band away from my heart's best desires, and was, instead, 
 watched through summer bowers." 
 
 From this scene of evil blight, and of perishing, the rambler 
 passes to a more hopeful one. He enters a humble cottage 
 around which floods a light. It was not his first advent there. 
 The surroundings were not unfamiliar. It was a retreat 
 w^hich he had sought on many a former occasion, and where 
 he had found a joy, a peace, and a faith he could find nowhere 
 else among the habitations of men. Evidence of a visitation 
 to that cottage was apparent — a visitation from the skies, a 
 coming from the heart of the heavens — from the paradise of 
 divinity, of love and trust. It is a freshling of creation, with 
 a soul, breathed from the inward temble of the Infinite. To 
 the rambler's ears there comes an infant's voice, a voice not 
 heard before among the children of men. What tidings does 
 it bring, and upon what mission does it come? Those who 
 have developed into a mature and vitalized manhood would 
 love to know^, but are not permitted. It was Charles Lamb 
 who rushed across a London street and grasped an infant, 
 held in a mother's arms, and shaking it, cried : "O ! little one, 
 tell me of heaven." At this moment there are those who 
 
Undei' the Gas-Light. 31 
 
 would do likewise, would ask the infant about heaven, about 
 God, about the angels, and about the beauty and fragrance of 
 the flowers that bud and blossom along the golden streets of 
 that heaven, out from \vhich it passed for a home on the 
 earth. 
 
 Out on the still, chill air k^heard the solemn, thrilling notes 
 of the town clock, telling not of sorrow and neither of peace, 
 but of the ending of the night and the beginning of the morn- 
 ing, of rest receding and the duties of another day approach- 
 ing. When vvnll rest cease to recede and the hours of toil 
 cease their coming? was a question suggested to the rambler 
 as he passed out under the moonlight. The answer came: 
 "not until the last battle is fought, and the last triumph gain- 
 ed, will rest cease to do its soothing work, and toil cease to be 
 toil." The only gas-light blazing now is at police headquarters. 
 Pausing here is to see much of human frailty, and to have 
 brought to one's attention much of human bleeding, caused 
 by the piercing thorns along the pathway of many a life. A 
 woman at the hour of one o'clock comes to tell the story of 
 man's inhumanity, of his viciousness, and of his transformation 
 into a devil. She had been compelled to abandon her home. 
 The husband, w^ho, in a better period of his life, had vowed a 
 fealty, had upon this night w4iipped his wife. The very air 
 breathed invective, and seemed to invoke a visitation upon 
 that man of the vengeful scorpions of wrath. An ofiicer 
 speaks: "O, its no use. As has been the case heretofore, she 
 
32 Under the Gas-Llght. 
 
 wont appear against him." When he was sober she couldn't, 
 and \vouldn't stand before him in the attitude of a prosecutor. 
 There \vas a fidelity that w ould not break, a devotion that 
 failed not, and a hope that would not perish ; yet if that 
 woman had done the least fraction of what her husband had 
 done, she would have seen no fidelity, and no devotion like 
 unto her's, shown to call her back into life's peaceful ways. 
 She would have been driven out into the street, without a light, 
 without a ofuide. The crown of stars for womanhood would 
 have been for her turned into a crown of thorns. The man 
 the following day comes upon the street and is greeted by 
 friends, who say he is a good fellow, a clever man. Thus 
 day after day men are credited with qualities they possess not. 
 The qualities they do possess, the fiery viper in its liquid form 
 brings out when in the presence of the defenseless. In the 
 midst of strength and power their qualities are nursed into a 
 quietness. In fine they are a legion of cowards and never 
 take risks. 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 RAMBLE \' 1 I . 
 
 "' ""jORE and more, as the years go by upon their wing's of 
 joy and sorrow, do we reaHze that from life'>^ humblest 
 5-'Sj walks come the brightest rays of heart sunshine. In 
 the cottage there is not as many burnings as in the palace, 
 and not as much heart bleeding. In the one there glows into 
 beauty the gems of gratitude, but in the other selfishness 
 chokes gratitude to an untimely death. Just now a youth 
 strolls leisurely along with his companion. Their intellectual 
 trade inarks indicate a mediocrity. The Jove-like signs of 
 mentality are not prominent. One says "O, it was very se- 
 lect." "Select of what?" was the question that naturally in- 
 truded. "A select thanksgiving party." Was God there? 
 Were there any soul windows, with a bright redeeming light, 
 streaming through, seen on either side? Or was the select 
 thanksgiving party a party returning its thanks over a few 
 cans of select oysters? Selections are to be desired if they 
 are good, and contain qualities that exist within as well as 
 vs^ithout. A select company, selected from a brain and heart 
 stand point, a company that can see a soul through the rough. 
 
34 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 and a brain whenever it develops, is a grand company, and 
 w^e are glad that in the city of the Emancipator such compa- 
 nies hold communion. But how true it is that with many of 
 these modern "selections," a grandly magnificent thought 
 would be a stranger. To entertain it, many belonging there- 
 to, would be compelled to have clipped their feeble wings of 
 surface drapery. 
 
 Lay down the proposition that mind acts from reason, and 
 matter from cause, and you would be presented wnth a multi- 
 plicity of confused expressions. Propound the question. 
 What is the proper business of the intellect? and there \vill 
 follow an incoherency. In the humble cottages grandly mag- 
 nificent thougfhts are not alwavs strangfers. On the line of 
 mental vision those who are select are those who can give the 
 light, no matter how good or bad may be the clothes they 
 wear. The philosopher's lamp burned dimly in his chamber 
 while the select companv danced in the presence of the king. 
 The philosopher threw into the wor]'" a light that has illumi- 
 nated the centuries. The select company, who, in splendid 
 array, danced in the courtly presence, and felt themselves 
 honored, left no footprints as guides to the race; contributed 
 nothing toward showing the extent of intellectual develop- 
 ment in their period of life, and died as they had lived, with- 
 out an aim, and without a purpose. Standing at a distance, 
 there are manv pictures seen that look well and please the eye. 
 A closer inspection reveals defects. 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 35 
 
 "All thiit g^litters is not gold; 
 Gilded tombs do worms unfold." 
 
 In many a circle of modern society is seen a brilliant glitter, 
 and behind it all are hearts as cold as a polar wave, and as 
 pulseless for humanity as the beaten rock beneath the ram- 
 bler's feet. They never reach out for a generous thought, 
 never reach down to lift up a prostrate form, and never ram- 
 ble upon missions of mercy, never discover that 
 
 "The g-loomy outside, like a rusty chest, 
 Contains the shining- treasure ot a soul 
 Resolved and brave." 
 
 They never pnce seem to realize the truth that "the deep- 
 est ice that ever froze can only o'er the surface close." Be- 
 neath floats a current unchecked. Its force is a silent one, 
 and the world is fast coming to learn that these silent forces 
 are the forces that are moving the nations. Therefore, it is 
 well to respect the surface conditions when it is known that 
 beneath exists the great propelling powers around which are as- 
 pirations that grasp the heavens, and expectations that reach 
 the lines of eternal verities. Down a given street walks a 
 man quietly. Occasionly, as he passes within the gas-light, 
 he bows to a friend. He is a poor man and commonly clacj. 
 He is not bothered w^ith stocks, coupons and deeds, and is 
 never absorbed with the excitements incident to the rise and 
 fall of securities. Approaching, he hails the rambler and asks: 
 "My friend, isn't the sky beautiful to-night?" The question 
 suggested a looking away from amid the adverse gales of 
 
36 Vnder the Gas-JLight. 
 
 mortal existence. Though the moon was not full orbed, the 
 sky was beautiful; its face bore no trace of weariness, and let 
 fall no tears of sorrow. 
 
 Our friend had been in the chamber of grief, had seen tears 
 ebb and flow, and innocence pleading for comfort. There had 
 been a passage between the stars ; an angel had led the w*ay, 
 and coming to the temple of his affections had taken a treas- 
 ure and borne it above; and this is why he had raised his 
 head to look that way, and to admire the beauty of the heav- 
 ens. Could this man look up, and, surveying the starry re- 
 gions, feel surging through his soul a spirit of thankfulness, as 
 he remembered that during the year had been torn from his 
 life a budding fragrance that was making bright and happy 
 his existence? We simply wonder, if in his humanity he 
 could so triumph. We fancied that when he looked at the 
 sky and its glitter of stars, his thoughts dwelt more upon the 
 affectionate interest he had in the heavens than upon the ma- 
 jesty of that being who created them. And for this who 
 would chide him, when it is remembered that God made his I 
 
 soul, and made it to throb with love. i 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 37 
 
 RAMBLE VIII. 
 
 "All the world's a stjig-e. 
 And all the men and women are merely players; 
 They have their exits and their entrances ; 
 And one man in his time plays man\- parts, 
 His acts bein^ seven aj>-es." 
 
 ± 
 
 HE seven ages, or stages, are seen to-night, ranging from 
 infancy to second childhood. On and on goes the play. 
 fj The castes of character are varied. The streets are full of 
 life. There is music in the air, discordant though it may be. 
 There is a joy upon the road, but a shivering pain down the 
 by-way. On the highway is a bounding life, but aside a little 
 way is a cheerless condition. The windows glisten under the 
 sheen of the gas-light. We hear the sleigh-bells ring. The 
 north wind blows cold.^ The furs and robes are heaped about. 
 The midnight hour comes. The sleighs drop far apart. The 
 words of those within are soft and slow, and thus the game 
 of life goes on, either to lose or to win, to rise or to fall. To- 
 night, as we struggle to maintain our position upon the smooth 
 surface beneath our feet, much of sham, artifice, conceit and 
 hypocrisy are seen. Here and there is beheld that which is 
 natural, modest, frank and real. It is the outgrowth of a 
 
38 Under the Gas- Light. 
 
 right conception of God; the fruit of a teaching that tells 
 man that his duty embraces that which is the opposite of 
 harshness, and that his conception of eternity should not be 
 such as to make him a coward and a hypocrite. 
 
 A cynic stands upon a corner watching the play. He has 
 reached the shady side of life. He is given to moods of ab- 
 straction, and at this time is caustic but philosophic. Says he : 
 "My friend, I believe I have some respectable principles; at 
 any rate I have never meddled in any marriage or scandal. I 
 have never recommended a cook or a physician, and conse- 
 quently have never attempted the life of any one." "Then," 
 interposed the rambler, "it may be safe to say you never en- 
 gaged in journalism." "No, sir, never," was the quick reply. 
 "Have you any likes?" ventured the rambler. "Very few, I 
 assure you," was the response, and continuing, said: "My dis- 
 likes are in the majority. I have a dislike for sots, fops, and 
 intriguing women w^ho make a game of virtue. I have a dis- 
 gust for affectation. I have a pity for made-up men and wo- 
 men. I have an aversion to rats, liquors, metaphysics, and 
 rhubarb, and this continual changing of school books, and 
 have always had a terror for modern justice and wild beasts." 
 
 The rambler thinks this is not bad. A little hating now 
 and then is a good thing, in fact it is essential. We are avs^are 
 that there is a class of people in the world who preach univer- 
 sal love for everybody and everything. All great reformers 
 have been more or less great haters. The hearty detestation of 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 39 
 
 John Knox had a potential influence. In the infancy of this re- 
 public the bitter condemnations that found utterance, accom- 
 plished more for freedom and democracy, than all the "graceful 
 ulogiums could have done in a thousand years. Walter Scott, 
 the genius of good nature, never could have aroused a nation 
 up to revolution. The seals of injustice cannot be broken bv 
 gentle nursing. The Shylocks of the world, laugh at water 
 gruel and mock at man's splendid heroics. Men who would be 
 masters on the earth mu^t steer from expediencies and cramp- 
 ing policies, must deal indignant blows against manifest evils. 
 
 The cynic to whom we allude accords w^ith these views. 
 There is a sympathv so to speak, and he becomes still further 
 communicative. Says he: "I am like the French count. T 
 was taught all sorts of things, and learned all sorts of lan- 
 guage. By dint of impudence and quackery I sometimes pass- 
 ed for a savant. I await death without fear, and without impa- 
 tience. My life has been a bad melodrama on a grand stage, 
 and I have played the hero, the tvrant, the lover, the noble- 
 man, but never the valet." 
 
 That is to say he had been a rnmi — a proud inan. He had 
 combined his soul forces, and had dropped into an incisive 
 analysis of men and things. He had looked through surfaces 
 into debths, and therefrom draw^n deductions. He had no use 
 for a material and spiritual thinness; had no liking for mush, 
 and never had much time to spend with the striplings, who 
 lived onlv to be seen. 
 
4*0 Under the Gas- Light. 
 
 This man possessed a strange yet forceful character. Upon 
 the world's stage he had appeared in many scenes, and mark- 
 ed and energetic in all. Soon the end will come, ^vhen he 
 will have put aside his armor to seek a repose w^here hypo- 
 crisy, cant and seeming will not comfront him, and where the 
 soul will not be hidden. 
 
Under the Gas-Li ght. 4! 
 
 RAMBLE IX. 
 
 m|HERE are many persons in the world of a cvnical, 
 Tp gloomy cast of mind, who are wont to groan over the 
 ft degeneracy of the age. Now" it is confined to one thing 
 and at another time to something else. Standing in a public 
 place, where all the surroundings show" a bounding activity, 
 we behold a monster of pungent characteristics. "That is a 
 prompting of selfishness," was a sample of his wording. 
 "My dear sir, do I address a pessimistic theorist?" interposed 
 a bystander. The reply was indirect. "Will you buy a tick- 
 et?" questioned a bright-eyed maiden. "It's for sweet char- 
 ity's sake," she continued. Our cynical theorist began at once 
 to criticise the character of these continuous appeals. The 
 fair pleader interjected a few words and was gone: "We will 
 know more about it later," was the utterance. This was a 
 reply that was verv suggestive, and it met with no re- 
 tort. There seeiTied to be no bracing up against its influence. 
 The fact was plain that there was an increase of philanthropic 
 work in the world, which, with a resistless power, was being 
 forced upon the mind and into the soul. Religious people 
 
42 Unde7' the Gas-Llght. 
 
 may, if they will, imagine a lack of spirituality, and skepti- 
 cal scientists may tell us that Christianity is dying out, but 
 there never was a time in the history of the world when there 
 was more blessing flowing from as many unseen sources than 
 there is to-day. We look out upon the night and behold a 
 ministration, the like of which could not have been seen a 
 hundred years ago. It is the outflowing of a creed per- 
 meated with universal love, and based upon elements of a 
 broad Catholicy, and from under the gas-lights' glare the 
 rambler \i wont to say that never were there so many peo- 
 on the earth as now, who could be called "Blessed of the 
 Father and heirs of the kingdom of heaven." 
 
 From these reflections we pass. 
 
 The Capitol gas-lights were unusually brilliant. Beneath 
 them moved an anxious, enthusiastic concourse of people. 
 Among them were representative men, men of culture and 
 intellectual force, men who had done service in both civil and 
 turbulent fields. The caucus door was slightly ajar, and 
 through the opening it was uttered, "eighty to twenty-six". 
 A soldier boy, a member of the Tennessee legion, heard the an- 
 nouncement and yelled, "Another march to the sea!" 
 That shout called up the memory of the heroic days of the 
 republic, when courage was the proud trade-mark of man. 
 Presently there was a gathering under a medley of gas-lights. 
 The rambler hears a voice. It comes through a condition of 
 silence : "Time is the vindicator of man, and to-night I ha\'e 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 43 
 
 been vindicated." In this world of conflict and battle, of 
 goodness and evil, and of thorns and flowers, it is pleasant to 
 realize a vindication, and a satisfaction to know that reverses 
 can be outlived. A pair of keen, black eyes flash with mar- 
 velous brilliancv; not as roused by an inward passion, but by 
 the promptings of a worthy pride. There was a time when 
 those eyes exhibited a blackness more piercing than they 
 ever exhibited before or since, and that was when the army 
 courier rode to his side in North Carolina and told him of the 
 assassination of Abraham Lincoln. At that hour he was 
 the strongest and most restless soldier in the Republic. Man 
 never saw blacker eyes and of such a vigorous flashing. 
 Said he to Sherman : "Say the word and I will wipe the 
 rebel army in our front, from the face of the earth in three 
 hours." The rambler passes to another scene. Strong men, 
 men of public station, of political action, and of political 
 calculation, are hurrying to and fro. In an upper parlor is a 
 little woman with a head covered with hair that is silver-tint- 
 ed. She has lived an active life. She has come in contact 
 with the best minds of the earth. She is strong-minded, but 
 not in the common-parlance sense, for in all these latter years 
 of the Republic's most marked and eventful history, she has 
 clung to a man in whom she has ever had the strongest faith. 
 In his conflicts she has stood by his side with a zeal that was 
 tireless, and with a confidence that was as firm as it was 
 beautiful. Her heart is as strong as is her mind, and as sue- 
 
44 Undei- the Gas-Light. 
 
 cessful in producing results. She knows men, and compre- 
 hends their characteristics with a remarkable intelligence. 
 Disorganized forces she can organize, and discordant elements 
 she can readily mollify, and with an ease of grace that com- 
 mands respect. Under the parlor gas-lights these qualities 
 are seldom seen in a developed form. There are but few wo- 
 men who can meet a vigorous commanding manhood in the 
 arena of political conflict, without, at least, an apparent de- 
 traction from the lofty plane w^here W'Oman is queen, and 
 where her influence is potent, in making grand the inner life, 
 from whence comes the inspiration that gives man his best 
 resources and most forceful power. The wife of John Adams 
 had such a power, and in the first American cabinets she con- 
 centrated an influence which the nation felt, and which was 
 crystalized into policies which propelled the republic onward 
 in the. march of governmental civilization. Upon the night 
 referred to, the rambler beheld a little woman who possesses 
 a similar powder. In advance of time she had been a vindica- 
 tor of the man in vs^hom she had an abiding interest. True, 
 it was a selfish vindication, but none the less commendable. 
 "Eighty to twenty-six" was borne to her ears, and a happy 
 smile beamed upon a face modestly traced with the lines of 
 anxiety and care, and with a brightness that hid those lines 
 from the casual glance. The triumph of the black-eyed citi- 
 zen soldier ^vas her triumph, and his honor and glory was her 
 honor and glory, and all the strong men who ranged about 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 45 
 
 under the gas-lights conceded it, and further that she was one 
 of the most remarkable women of the century. 
 
46 Under the Gas- Light. 
 
 RAMBLE X. 
 
 "'Ij did n't think that he was so weak," was an utterance heard 
 in the midst of a happy throng. The man had said : "My 
 Bj children will read your names and say they are our fa- 
 ther's friends." iVnd over his cheeks coursed big tears. He 
 could say no more. He may have been unnerved, but by no 
 law^ of human ethics could the conclusion be reached that he 
 was unmanned. Neither \vas it an evidence of weakness. A 
 man may conquer his soul, and drive back the rising emotions 
 in his heart, and it may be said of him, he is a man of strength, 
 a man of power, and a man of nerve; but in the world of 
 humanity it is a strength that fails to produce good results. 
 It is the exhibition of a nerve that is not responsive when 
 touched by the hand of need, and a power that is powerless 
 to supply when the soul is hungering and thirsting for a great 
 good, a sweet fragrance. The man vs^hose eyes are never 
 moistened with tears may be termed a strong-minded inan, 
 but the man who can sv^ell from his heart under the gas-light, 
 in the midst of a brilliant throng, is a strong-hearted man — 
 strong in all the elements that point to a crowning success. 
 "I am a man and will not shed a tear," is the language of 
 
Vnder the ijas-Light. ^j 
 
 weakness. It is to assail the glitter of the best charm of life. 
 It is to discourage the best impulses of the soul. It is to chill 
 the \vorthy aspirations of manhood and wreck the best con- 
 struction of heart and soul. "I did n't think he was so weak," 
 was met with "I didn't think he was so strong." The one 
 speaker conceived the strength of mind to be the whole of 
 man's commanding force ; the other believed that the heart of 
 man in its best condition was the throne of an agency that was 
 paving better ways and grasping sweeter fruits. Not, how- 
 ever, independent of mind, but in conjunction therewith. The 
 force of the one falls short without the force of the other. A 
 tear in all its sentient elements, is the most forceful of human 
 agencies 
 
 A tear, following a reference to the idols of the heart, shows 
 that the heart is big, and he who possesses it is a strong man. 
 In the arena of human action he is a central power, a magnet- 
 ic influence, giving point and vigor to all the arteries of hu- 
 man progress. Lincoln dropped a tear at Gettysburg, which 
 moved the nation into a mastery of strength. Such examples 
 of impulsive power have thrown their light all along the 
 path of the ages. Such formations from the seat of the soul 
 have made statesmen strong in the forum and cabinet, and 
 soldiers powerful in campaign and battle. The affections 
 yield man his best resources, and drawing therefrom he makes 
 himself a controling power among men. He reaches out 
 and grasps conditions of disorganization to con\'ert them into 
 
48 Under the Gas-Llght, 
 
 conditions of harmony. The scene was a pleasant one. The 
 sweUing of the soul and the reference to the loves of the 
 heart were what made it pleasant. It was to remind those 
 who stood about the room that the tree had clinging to it 
 tendrils, and that about it were being nurtured "buds to flow- 
 ers." 
 
 The rambler passes out. The night wind chants a mourn- 
 ful dirge as if passing humanity was keeping step to a tiine 
 that was muffled. "For the sake of Sangamon county's hon- 
 or maintain a silence." It was the pleading of a man of 
 pride, the pleading of a man having a knowledge of a shaded 
 life and a crippled manhood. Having a respect for the honor 
 that would be affected if silence is maintained, the curtains are 
 permitted to hang suspended with no fold ajar. 
 
 "He's worth a half million," is an utterance inade by an 
 observer near by. The man referred to was recognized as 
 one who had made a few forward steps during the past fif- 
 teen vears. He was remembered as a man who, vears as"o 
 came to the capital, but not as he comes to-day. Then he 
 was ranked w'ith the common herd, to-dav his presence is 
 courted by those who had no use for him then. Then he was 
 poor, now he is rich. He had no influence then that was 
 commanding, but with success and wealth, that has been add- 
 ed. Aforetime he w^as a mechanic, and therefore in a me- 
 chanical w^ay, carved out his fortune. He stepped from a me- 
 chanic to a legislator; from a common walk to the walk of a 
 
Under the Gas-I^igJit. 49 
 
 solon. It's an example of the fruit of a bounding democracy. 
 To-day one mav be groping^ along, to-morrow he may be a 
 forceful power. To-day one mav be mingling with inordin- 
 ate conditions; to-morrow he mav be crowding the stars, and 
 wishingf that he had better eves with which to battle their 
 blinding glare. The Hon. John ^Mulligan has toiled faith- 
 fully. He obseryed closely passing things. He struck tl.c 
 rising tide, and met friendly gales, which gave him nought 
 but a cheerful fanning. If he floated into rough waters and 
 among breakers, his powders were such, and sufiicient to save 
 him from any serious disaster. When he first turned the 
 grindstone to sharpen dull tools, he did it well, and told his 
 fellows that his business was to turn the crank. There was 
 no terming it "a circular work." He contented himself with 
 waiting patiently for the time to come when more high- 
 sounding titles would be his right. He had proper sense and 
 using it to advantage, w^on in the battle. 
 
Under the Gas-Lis^ht. 
 
 RAMBLE XI. 
 
 MI'jRY a tear here and another sparkles there. Carry sun- 
 ijly shine to a home on tenth street, and the while a home 
 5R' on first street is being mantled with gloom. Plant a 
 flower on north grand avenue, watered well with the dew^s 
 of the inward fountain, and while it is growing into vigor and 
 beauty, a thorn is peering to pierce and pain on south grand 
 avenue. But shall there be a cessation, a withholding of 
 ministrations, w^hen around about us in palace and cottage, 
 cruel invasions are being made, and the hearts of the fairest 
 flowers are being pierced. "I am tired of this work" were ill 
 words to utter vv^hile beyond so many thresholds exists so 
 much of blight, so much of sorrow — so much of that \vhich is 
 perishing for want of love and a soul benediction. If there be 
 a withholding, maybe in the after <iawn, the flowers that have 
 been pierced all along the way of life will cry out reproach- 
 fully: "Why are we permitted to suffer?" and then the re- 
 cord will be made, and the upper and nether stones will press 
 and grind harshly. 
 
 In a quiet retreat, in from the surrounding chill borne upon 
 
Under the Gas-Llght. ^ i 
 
 the moaning wind, the rambler comes in contact with a teach- 
 er and a child. The teaching- is from the \vord of the living 
 God, teaching the right way of living, practical lessons of life; 
 pointing out the beautiful and the unseemly, the noble and the 
 ignoble conditions which light and shade the earth. It is the 
 noblest \vork upon which mind and heart was ever concen- 
 trated. 
 
 The rambler has been told that children cannot understand 
 grave questions of theology. No doubt there are complex 
 questions of Christian ethics upon which men prate and wran- 
 gle, and which moral philosophers and religious teachers have 
 for eighteen hundred years been unable to settle, which little 
 children cannot fathom, and 'tis well that thev cannot; hut 
 there are matters allied to theologv and moral teaching which 
 they can and do understand. For instance: A little Sabbath 
 school girl was asked what faith was? Her answer was this: 
 *'Doing what God says without asking anv questions." The 
 rambler believes that there has never lived a docter of divini- 
 ty who could give a more lucid definition. True, this may 
 have been her mother's teaching; but it was a teaching that 
 was understood, and that was sufficient. 
 
 Nothing could have been more impressive than the little 
 girl's reply to the infidel, who had promised to reward her if she 
 would tell him where God was. "Sir, I will do better if you 
 will tell me where God is not." 
 
 Bishop Butler might have run off into a learned disquisition 
 
52 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 about the immensity of infinity, and entered the reahiis of na- 
 ture with a mind crowded with deductive thought. The poet 
 might have said : 
 
 "God moves in a mysterious waj', 
 His wonders to perform; 
 - _ And plants his footsteps in the sea, 
 
 And rides upon the storm." 
 
 But the Httle girl beat all the philosophers, all the men of 
 learning .and intellectual force, in her simple reply, "Tell me 
 where God is not." 
 
 A little girl stood by a flowery heath one summer day, gaz- 
 ing intentl}^ upon a cluster of roses. In the cluster w^as a 
 flower that had lived its time and w^as dying. Close by was 
 an infant flower, just budding into life and beauty. The little 
 girl with her eyes beaming like brilliant stars, and with her 
 soul aflame with enthusiasm, turned to her mother and said ; 
 "Ma! oh, ma! just come and see this little baby flower, rais- 
 ing its head to kiss its mother before she dies." No poetical • 
 fancy was ever more charming, and no conception more beau- 
 tifully clothed. 
 
 In the quiet retreats lit up by all kinds of light, the ram- 
 bler now and then finds those of slow understanding. He 
 would counsel a patience with them. It is a scene of unpleas- 
 antness to see one fret at the little child that fails to keep pace 
 with his or her thought. 
 
 The injunction is, "Line upon line, precept upon precept, here 
 a little and there a little," By and by there will be a raising, 
 
Undei' the Gas-Light. ^3 
 
 a bounding, an expansion, and down the years the world will 
 be enriched by the solution of unsolved problems. To-day 
 there is an untutored pleading for care and cultivation. It is 
 the voice of a spirit of free inquiry, which ever demands a 
 kindly and respectful attention. The endless questioning of 
 embryo man and womanhood is but the sequence of the soul's 
 expansiveness, and the struggling to enter upon the mission 
 of a vigorously developing immortality. 
 
 
 4 ¥ 
 
54x Under the Gas-Llght. 
 
 RAMBLE XII. 
 
 PMjHE ^veek past has been one of toil. The physical condi- 
 'xf tion of the rambler, upon the night set apart for his gas- 
 Bi light review, is one of weariness. Under the glare of the 
 jets he sees no attraction. Over a stretch of intervening 
 time he is moved to dwell upon a court scene, local in its char- 
 acter. The impressions made in connection therewith will 
 ever have a hold upon the inner spiritual penetralia. The 
 scene refered to, and ^vhich we propose to picture, tends to fix 
 as a fact, that it makes no difference how low we may get, or 
 how degraded Ave become, there Avill be found existing some- 
 where an affection for us in some shape or other. 
 
 A mother and her daughter, two women, Avho at one time 
 in their life were among the favored children of fortune, sur- 
 rounded by all that luxury could lavish, attracts the rambler's 
 attention. Thev are clothed in mourninof. Death had enter- 
 ed the household and taken from the familv their onlv sup- 
 port. One b}' one downward steps had been made, and 
 continued, until a level was reached from which that widowed 
 mother and affectionate daughter would have turned in dis- 
 
Onder the (jas-Light. 5:5 
 
 limy earlier in life. They were poor and had come into court 
 to plead for one dear to them, the widow's son and sister's 
 hrother — the grown hahe from the luxurious surroundings, 
 now clad in rags and in a condition of hunger. The most 
 painful feature \vas in the fact that this child of motherly and 
 sisterly affection, was on the record as a thief. He had stolen 
 some article, enough to constitute grand larceny, if he had 
 heen old enough. The mother and sister had secured consent 
 of the attorney, and the court had ordered the recoofnizance 
 of the three to be taken. The Sheriff departed for the son and 
 hrother — the grrown baby boy. The mother and daug-hter sit 
 together, the picture of dispair, waiting for the officer's return. 
 Close by was little dog Tray, the only pet of the kind left in 
 the family to remind its members of former and better days. 
 Tray looked as only a dog can look Ayhen instinctiyely he 
 discoyers that "all is not well" in the home. The mother 
 seemed to be catechising God to know \\\v\ it was thus \yith 
 her. The little black and tan presented a mournful look. 
 Just then there was a rustling noise. The officer and the boy 
 had appeared. Both of the females began to weep when 
 they beheld him with his liberty not his o\yn, marched along 
 like a felon, and presenting a scene of distress. The mother 
 could scarcely stand. The inward fountain of grief had swell- 
 ed to an oyerflowing. Until novy the little dog had betrayed 
 only the same brute instinct of a knowledge that something out 
 of the usual order yv^as going on. As the boy approached, the 
 
56 Under the Gas-Llght. 
 
 dog who had not been near him for some time, because of his 
 imprisonment, gave a jump toward him, and in the wildest de- 
 monstration of gladness, huddled up, placing his head against 
 the boy's tattered pants and looking as if to say : '"' Your friend 
 still recognizes you." The action of the dog seemed to give 
 new courage to the hearts of mother and sister, and as the 
 trio of poor humanity walked forth from the court room, the 
 dog continued his exhibition of joy and gladness. He was 
 not afraid of the boy's rent and worn garments. He knew 
 him not as a thief. It was the boy he had loved and romped 
 w^ith, and no courts of justice could shake his affection, no 
 matter what might be their decrees. The dog comprehended 
 no sin and no shame. These caused no detraction. His faith 
 was the same and his love and confidence as ever abiding. 
 
Uiider the Gas-Light. 57 
 
 RAMBLE X 1 1 I 
 
 yjT is now evening. The twilight hours have come. Night 
 T? with its sable wings is approaching. All is quiet within 
 'Jj and without. Life is but a dream. The years are fleet in 
 their going. Man aspires, climbs and reaches his end. He 
 moves and wields his powder, then closes his eyes, and if he 
 has done well his part in the battle, a cenotaph is reared to tell 
 the place where he sleeps. Just in from under the gas-light. 
 On the corner the rambler met an aged pilgrim. "Nearing 
 the end, but still looking up," was his refrain. Life to him 
 has been one of ceaseless activity and he is now patiently 
 waiting for an era of rest, an era that will span the eternal 
 vears. "Looking up;" there's a virtue in doing that. It sug- 
 gests a hope, a great expectation. It is an evidence of confi- 
 dence. Looking up is to look toward better things. There 
 is more purity above the head of man than beneath his feet; 
 more li^ht beamino: from the stars than can be seen alon^" the 
 bvways of mortal existence. In the spiritual sense, man sel- 
 
58 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 dom falls when he is looking up. He finds himself braced 
 bv an inspiration that flows from the Divine Heart. 
 
 What is life? — a dream. 
 \\'hat is hope ? — a beam . 
 Now a happy "[^leani. 
 Now a downward stream. 
 
 Yes, life is but a dream. The years roll on, the insatiate 
 archer comes and man leaves the stage. And this is life. We 
 look around us and behold monuments here and there that 
 will not perish. Mental abstractions, works of masters, fruits 
 of genius. Under the gas-light sheen, as move bv the sover- 
 eign constituency of a republican commonwealth, we pause 
 t(> look at the picture of the martvred Lincoln. An unthink- 
 ing: inan standino; bv savs: "Oh, he was onlv a man.*" The 
 words were spoken lightly as if to convey a rebuke to those 
 who, standing in such a presence, should indicate bv their man- 
 ner a condition of hero-worship. In all the ages of human 
 history men have worshiped the divine principle; have wor- 
 shiped lofty characters and the great throbbing and redeem- 
 ing elements of the human heart. God can be worshiped 
 in the human soul with as contrite a devotion as he can be 
 thouofh he were alone in the heavens. Close bv is "The Star 
 of Bethlehem," a picture of holiness, telling of the birth of a 
 great soul. There is "The Angel of Peace" — a picture of 
 hope — passing in midnight darkness over a deserted citv with 
 an infant in its arms and a bunch of flowers in its hand. 
 
Under the Gas-JLight. 59 
 
 There is gloom behind but light before; below there are tears 
 above there is joy; beneath the feet there is pain; above the 
 head there is comfort and peace, and to that condition the 
 angel is passing, and through a halo of spiritual glory. 
 
 "I saw you then through political glasses, and the impres- 
 sions formed were not honestly made," was the language 
 heaixl by the rambler after he had ceased his rambling. It 
 was in the days of the Union League 'that the impressions re- 
 ferred to had been formed. A stretch of years intervene since 
 then, and men have become more philosophic. In this era of 
 moderate conservatism political conviction is not taken as an 
 Judication of character. The creed of party and the policies 
 outlined in platforms do not lower or raise character. "He is 
 an honest democrat, an honest republican, or an honest social- 
 ist" is not as good a thing to say as: "He is an honest man," 
 for it hath been written "an honest man is the noblest work 
 of God," but nowhere that an honest democrat, an honest re- 
 publican, or an honest socialist vs^as "the noblest w^ork of 
 God." Had this been know^n in the davs to which allusion is 
 made, the knowledge w^ould have been helpful in many ways. 
 There would not have been so many faulty deductions from 
 unwarranted premises. Human hearts would not have en- 
 gendered so much of bitterness to be sweetened in the after 
 years of life. "Those days have passed, and the events which 
 were crowded into them have gone to historv, and I am glad 
 of it," \\^as an utterance which was interjected. Thev were 
 
6o Under the Gas- Light. 
 
 stormy days — days of a fully developed vigor, and vs^hich 
 tried men's souls, bringing them to their best force. 'Tis well 
 that men's souls are tried. They need trying now and then. 
 Periodical soul testing is essential for a happy and successful 
 life. There are a number being tested in Springfield to-da} , 
 tested, as it were, in an ordeal of fire. 
 
Undei' the Gas-Light. 61 
 
 RAMBLE XIV. 
 
 MlHE wheathercook, and sea wave, and the capricious vapors 
 T^ of the mountains, we must all confess, are no more vari- 
 BU able than man and his moods. So delicately are some 
 nerves strung that a damp day, or the east wind, or a few 
 eddying hours of snow or rain, will make to them all the dif- 
 ference between heaven and some dread inquisitorial hall. 
 Some look out upon winter and grow pale and shiver, not for 
 lack of the fireside and luxury, but because the leafless spec- 
 tacle suggests cold hearthstones and cries of agony, and frosted 
 hopes and thoughts that take the hue of the dull, gray dome 
 of the sky that hangs now over us all. Others are so in love 
 with the sleighbells and moonlight that even the first snow- 
 flake that blossoms and falls they will greet with a kiss. But 
 with the up-springing grass, and bloom, and bird song of 
 spring-time, we will all bud, and laugh, and sing again, save 
 those whose months have become bleak Decembers, made so 
 by misfortune, age, or the world's wrong. 
 
 While the thermometer gauges the physical temperature, 
 it can also be made to measure the soul's mental and moral 
 seasons from the point of zero all the way w\^ to fever heat. 
 
62 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 All the influences that captivate us, whether they draw us up 
 and on in the shape of a book, an art, a poem, or a great per- 
 sonage, will, for the time being, at least, lift us into the state 
 of a beautiful frenzy. We turn whichever way the wind of 
 inspiration happens to blow the strongest. Perhaps we hear 
 Wendell Phillips, and as long as the enthusiasm lasts we will 
 try to win the charm of the silver tongue, or we hear Miss 
 Kellogg, and for a while we have a passion to breed and train 
 up in our throats a nest full of larks and nightingales. Some- 
 times a circumstance, light as a feather, will determine the 
 direction of thoughts and feelings, and give to a moment all 
 the dramatic effect of a great turn-point in life. The sight of 
 a beautiful face or a bit of heroic action would decide whether 
 the production be a piece of music, a cartoon, or an exquisite 
 portrait; so the rambler, fresh from the gilded court room or 
 the halls of legislation, as he stepped on the grand stair wa\' 
 of the capital under the glare of gas-lights, was led to gaze 
 upon the graceful pillows of the portico, and to think of 
 Zeno's porch of philosophy, and the garden of Epicurus, and 
 the groves of the academv. Then it came to pass that his 
 thoughts took some^vhat of a philosophic turn from the sight 
 of fluted columns and grand proportions. Glancing over the 
 citv's mansions and cottao["es, and bevond where in summer 
 wave the golden grain, and hang the soft white blossoms or 
 God's own planting, and \vhere live men of strong and sturdy 
 mould, we asked ourselves what were the subtle physical in- 
 
Under the (jasrLlght. 63 
 
 Alienees that are at work in shaping the destiny of our peo- 
 ple? It is not hard for the statesman and thinker to trace in 
 a dewless atmosphere, the mystic dreams of Egypt, or to see 
 the Greek passion for intellect and beauty in the grand lines 
 of sea coast and in the azure overhead. 
 
 If it be true that mists, and snowy winds, and marshes, and 
 thunderstorms, and good soil cultivate in men endurance and 
 thrift, and noble endeavor, then can we see how the earlv 
 pioneer with his log hut and strip of clearing has become the 
 man of wealth and culture, with a garden and a palace home. 
 
 But after all, there is an ideal religion stepping along in our 
 midst, and leading us out of the narrow little schools of sect 
 into the gfrand concert hall of Christiantv, where all the 
 instruments play together on the all embracing theme of the 
 Cross. If the gospel chimes break into silvery peals everv 
 time a sinner repents, then for the three weeks past on some 
 nio^hts the belfries of heaven shook out among: the stars 
 and angels a storm of jubilant bells. The grand spectacle of 
 the masses streaming into one church of union service, and 
 commingling all creeds into harmonv, like the notes of a beau- 
 tiful chord, or the seven colors of the prism blending into one, 
 is enough to relieve the old sneer of the skeptic about the lack 
 of Christian brotherhood. By slow degrees w^e are getting 
 the intellectual power, and more insight into wdiat is really 
 great and what is reallv small. We see the mockery of the 
 anise and begin to cling to mercy, justice, and truth. The 
 
64 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 divine Jesus passing by in stately indifference, is coming along 
 with arms of affection outstretched to all the race, and so we 
 see fetters breaking, and the rage of persecution giving place 
 to brotherly love, and the fear of hell changing into unfalter- 
 ing attachment to the infinite Father, and the intoxication of 
 the senses flowing before spiritual pleasures, and as the theme 
 in the symphony of a Beethoven, guides and melts into har- 
 mony all the parts, so will the loving Master bring into sub- 
 lime control all sects and states, and symbols of power, until 
 home, and school, and temple, and throne, shall acknowledge 
 every woman a possible queen, and shall see in every child a 
 member of the invincible kingdom. 
 
 Not a bit of lio^ht that we let shine out into the dark is ever 
 lost, and God is surely as kind as nature in her conservation 
 of forces. We are all aware that we are pretty correct in say- 
 ing that every gas-light that gleams out into the mystery of 
 night is a ten or hundred thousand year old spark of the sun, 
 which the gigantic tree ferns of long ago, secretly laid away 
 in the coal beds for our use. All the dealings of Providence 
 teach us that we are in the tender hand of the Father, and 
 Ave may safely throw into the future an unmeasurable trust 
 and hope. All over blasted orange blossoms, and black 
 plumes, and the thorny paths of life, like the starry heavens, 
 bending in smiles over fields of carnage, bends down upon us, 
 with the siu'e promise that God will keep his word and will 
 lead us into a ]^ri<rhter and holier future. 
 
Under the Gas-J^ight. 65 
 
 RAMBLE X \' 
 
 "^jWO weeks have passed since the rambler rambled, ard 
 for him, in this period of time, has come much of ^.orrow. 
 \\ The soul has been convulsed, and through its chambers 
 has rushed a flood of tears. Round about its seat has settled 
 a deep shadow, blinding the weakness of human vision, and 
 disturbing the convictions of human reason. When last the 
 rambler rambled and closed his chapter, ere the sorrow came, 
 with its ministry of tears, he used these w^ords: "All tl c 
 dealings of Providence teach us that we are in the tender hand 
 of the Father, and we may safely thrown into the future unmeas- 
 urable trust and hope. All over blasted orange blossoms, and 
 black plumes, and the thorny paths of life, like the starry heav- 
 ens, hanging in smiles over fields of carnage, bend down up- 
 on us all, with the sure promise that God will keep his word, 
 and will lead us into a brighter and holier future." When 
 these words were written the rambler little dreamed that over 
 his soul would droop an orange blossom, and that around his 
 head w^ould flutter a black plume. There was a wounding to 
 cure, a fading away to bloom in a brighter glory and a falling 
 
66 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 to rise In a spiritual reign. Under the gleam of a light that 
 never faltered, the rambler paused to see a soul spring from 
 its mortal existence to its heritage in the skies. Blooming- 
 Eden may wither from our sight; but through the air there 
 comes a voice telling earth's weary souls that there the King 
 of Terror is the Prince of Peace. 
 
 "Death lies on her like an untimely frost 
 Il'pon the s\vee*:est flower of ail the field," 
 
 was the language that came to the rambler's heart through 
 the shadow of its gloom. It w^as in the early morning, Avhen 
 the angels passed out from their heavenly home, and entered 
 the chamber of the rambler's best life, and where in the pres- 
 ence of God, was ebbing away the object of his most ardent 
 hope. Through an open window came light from distant 
 stars, as if to guide the way for the inessengers out froin Par- 
 adise. The soul, which for weary hours had been fluttering 
 for freedom from its mortal palace, had sw^eetly whispered : 
 "Lo! peace is here." "Safe in the arms of Jesus" was the 
 melody that floated back. It was the sweetest song the ram- 
 bler ever heard, a song that will crowd its notes out through 
 the windows of heaven as long as flowers bloom, to express the 
 lanofuao-e of the heart's love and affection. Safe in the arms 
 of the crucified one is the best and happiest end of life. The 
 soul breathed the song, and the rambler through the gather- 
 ing gloom, when the gas-lights were low, and the stars in the 
 
 1 
 
Under the Gas-Light, 67 
 
 heavens were bright, fancied he saw the gates placed ajar by 
 one who held in his hand a crown of immortal life. 
 
 There comes another scene: The parting. Flowers of 
 God's own planting, arranged by God's own children, came 
 to breathe a w^ealth of aifection. The rambler pauses to con- 
 template them in their fragrance, but beyond on the further 
 bank of the river, he sees a flower, which God loved, and 
 wanted, and carried away. Can we say that God did well, 
 that he did right, when we look near about and see the inno- 
 cent tendrils that were clinging to that flower for protection, 
 for love, and for sympathy — a mother's sympathy? The 
 mortal stands still in a maze of reflection. He is surrounded 
 with mysterv. He is met with presentments he does not 
 understand. A flower is made to fade in its early blooming? 
 and is not permitted to reach its full maturity. Mortality fails 
 to understand it. Philosophy, in its mystery, fails to give any 
 light. The rambler is told that hence in the future life all 
 will be made clear, and that he will then know why this and 
 that flow^er were wanted so earlv for the g-arden of God. 
 However, there is a shadow which the philosophies of life 
 cannot dispel, but through it comes a light, a soul light, telling 
 the story of redemption and of a glorified life, where the in- 
 stincts, and hopes, and loves of the soul are as sure to be met 
 as the need for life is met. Standing alongside these shadowy 
 curtains the rambler looks away to whither has gone the light 
 of a life. When he tries to realize how he shall live in the 
 
68 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 life to come, the future is -hidden by impenetrable walls, 
 but when he tries to realize that he shall live, it is radiant 
 with immortal light; and when he advances from that point 
 to particulars, he is inclined to keep in the track of this assur- 
 ance. Love, truth, and goodness are not transient things. 
 They are eternal because God is. Alone under the gas light 
 the rambler thinks of nothing but the loves which he has 
 found his soul cleaving to. As he looks at the stars he prays 
 that these loves may be given him again, and about him falls 
 a sw^eet suggestive silence. It is a silence which he would 
 trust, in that it rests in the honor of God. It was Jean Paul 
 who wrote : "Our life departs not from the soul, but into the 
 soul." That is to say, it lays the scepter of its organism 
 <iown and dismisses the world that has served it, that God 
 may satisfy its hunger and thirst after the bread and w^ater of 
 eternal life. 
 
Under the Gas-JLigkt. 69 
 
 RAMBLE XVI 
 
 jO W many inner existences there are wrapped up in them- 
 selves with histories written upon a scroll not permitted 
 ^5lj to be unrolled. There is a passing up a stairway, and 
 looking above, a light is seen through a third story win- 
 dow. A reader of books, and a skimmer of surface present- 
 ments, imparted the information that in that retreat had been 
 instituted "an arena of risks." It being ascertained who its 
 patrons were, a conclusion was reached that they came from 
 that class of humanity possessed of more money than brains. 
 
 Candidates for political preferment will operate " under the 
 gas-light." With them exists a desire to interview all shades 
 and conditions of the population. 
 
 " Mv friend," asks a sovereign of the commonwealth, " how- 
 do you stand with the workingmen?" "Well," said the 
 friend, " I have been out to ascertain a ^ to that." 
 
 A man of a reflective bent of mind, standing near by wants 
 to know" what is meant by " workingmen." The sovereign, 
 with a mind somewhat narrow, and a conception of limited 
 extension, replied : 
 
yo Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 '•'■ Those who earn their bread by the sweat of their brow." 
 
 "' And who are thev ?" 
 
 ''Those who labor in the held, in the factory, and in the 
 shop." 
 
 "And these are the workingmen, these the brow-sweating 
 toilers ?" 
 
 The man with the reflective mind, philosophic and con- 
 ceptive, paused a moment, and then to the sovereign said : 
 
 "My friend, you have a wrong conception. Your classifi- 
 cation is faulty. There are men in this city who toil when 
 you are asleep, and cease not when you are awake, whom 
 you imagine are idlers in the vineyard. The theory of repub- 
 lican government is that all men are workingmen, and those 
 who fail to conform to the theory generally land in the jails 
 and penitentiaries." 
 
 At this moment there passes a man hurriedly. He is re- 
 spectably clad. For the past tw^elve hours he is known to 
 have been toiling. He has been through the state house, 
 the United States building, the court house, the hotels. 
 Where he is eoino- now we know not. It mav be to north 
 grand avenue. Ten hours is counted a "workingman's" dav 
 of toil, but this man m addition to his twelve hours of labor 
 already performed has three or four more to add before he 
 can seek his rest, and then, after all, come the shriveled-souled 
 ones refusing to classify him as a w^orkingman. 
 
 Here comes a sister of charity, and unattended. It is a 
 
 \ 
 
Under the ijas-Light. y i 
 
 late hour for a female to be upon the street, but her appear- 
 ance suggests no impropriety. Her relationship attaches to 
 an idealtv that outranks faith and hope, for it hath been writ- 
 ten: "And now, abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but 
 the greatest of these is charity," and to the "greatest of these" 
 this ^voman is a sister. Under the gas-lights she passes, heed- 
 ing not their glitter and glare. It would be all the same to 
 her should these lights cease to perform their functions, for 
 bevond these earthly conditions she looks to a lisfht flashino- 
 out from an eternal existence. "Charity suffereth long:, and 
 is kind," and "charity neyer faileth," \yere words uttered in 
 the redemption period, and through all the ages these truths 
 haye been seen and felt. Vile men turn aside to let her pass, 
 and they turn not about to see whither she goes. They con- 
 cede her path to be the path of purity, and her mission to be 
 one of charity. From their lips come no inuendoes. The 
 signs w^ere the Cross and the Graces, and these suggested no 
 unseemly stain. Her guiding directed to realizations above 
 and beyond earthly frailties and earthly passions. Her min- 
 istrations were nourished by inspirations flowing from the 
 heart of the heayens, and therefore along her pathway are 
 seen buds of blessing blooming into flowers of reward, and 
 at her feet jewels of gratitude, to appeal in crown: of rejoic- 
 ing where scourge and pestilence come not to blast and 
 wither. 
 
 Into a by-way we now enter. The gras-liorhts arc left be- 
 
72 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 hind. The surroundings are cheerless. Gloom \valks about 
 as if it knew no master. Here a ray of sunlight would have 
 trembled and the voice of humanity faltered unattended by 
 an angel of charity. From a lowlv bed draped with the 
 shreds of poverty coines a voice weak in expression. The 
 story told is the old, old one, and then comes in a sadly pa- 
 thetic tone, the words : "I want to go home." The heart 
 with such a desire is not lost. Though it throbs wildly in its 
 beatings, there liveth a hope \vhen home is remembered. 
 Such remembrance tells of a soul longing for rest, of a life 
 that would pray to be caressed. 
 
 At home is the best place under the sun, especially for a 
 w^oman. There is her realm of undisputed supremacy; there 
 she can be gueen without a rival. There she can educate, and 
 govern, and therebv do grander work than he vc^ho writes 
 epics, discovers planets, or holds in his hand a scepter. And 
 why upon a given night, in a bywav in this city, and within 
 a shadow of gloom should be heard a voice : "I want to go 
 home," and from one seemingly not knowing how to get there 
 is a mystery to which the passing moments bring no solution, 
 and charity, which is kind, institutes and presses no investi- 
 gation. 
 
Uri^der the Gas-Light. 73 
 
 RAMBLE X \' I I 
 
 There came sweet music throug-h the air; 
 We looked up and saw that there 
 In mirth and spirit was human ware. 
 
 In a maze of intemperate life 
 'With a mixture of bitter strife, 
 Chilling- the heart like a pointed knife. 
 
 The human soul had lost its place. 
 B'rom mental work to g^ilded g^race — 
 Xo work of thought was there a trace. 
 
 The town clock tolled the midnig-ht hour, 
 Tolled the dicay of some bright flower, 
 Losing its bloom, losing its power. 
 
 Out walked a 3 outh all alone — 
 
 A way from mother, out from home : 
 
 Losing his vigor, losing his tone. 
 
 "Only wild oats," and that is all. 
 But an aged one who paced the hall, 
 Shook his head as he heard the call. 
 
 The past was fresh — had told its tale 
 How youth from there had met the gale — 
 Full of wrath and of sweeping hail. 
 
 How orphans cried when shadows fell. 
 How they cried when they heard the bell, 
 How they cried when they heard the knell. 
 
 "\Vilri oats" when sown never came 
 From seed to life, a golden grain; 
 Its fruit is tears, to heart a pain. 
 
74 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 The company is a mixed one, containing many elements. 
 It shows a representation of the low and high ranks of life. 
 It is a traveling assembly. One night it is on north fifth 
 street, one night on east Washington street, and another 
 night it is hid away beyond the open glare of the gas-lights. 
 This "wild oats" is not only being sown, but it is growing. By 
 and by the grain will show itself. In fact it is showing itself 
 to-night. A Avoman drunk is a sight painful to dwell upon. 
 Man never looked upon a sadder scene, especially when can 
 be traced the marks of a faded beauty, and the battered points 
 of an intelligence. There are those seen to-night behind 
 these particular screens to which we refer, who would not 
 wish "to be known in the case." They are objects of an un- 
 usual affection, the apples of love-lit eyes, and the scions of 
 good houses. They give it out that they are just there to be- 
 hold; and what do they behold? Not anything beautiful, for 
 that is not there save in a faded condition. Not anything ele- 
 vating in virtue, for that has been smothered. Not anything 
 musical, for the surroundings have turned the music into an 
 inharmonious discord. They see naught but a vivid intoxi- 
 cation. 
 
 There is a rap upon the door. "Who's there?" came the 
 question from an inward recess. "It's me!" "And who is 
 me?" It was a trifle; it all happened in an instant, but it 
 haunted the rambler for an hour or more. "It's me," and 
 who is me? The pride of a heart's life, no doubt; the tree a 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 75 
 
 vine was clinging to. Defender of the faithful, in the best 
 sense of the word. Many there be abroad to-night who 
 would give their hearts and all there is in them for one such 
 recognition. It is the recognition of faith, the music of love, 
 and the well measured poetry of an inner life. Out upon the 
 street, on change, in the marts of trade, in the assembly and 
 in the lobby, it is simply Mr. B., but at this hour, within the 
 silence of the night, and under the gleam of the stars, it is 
 plain " It's me;" and there is one who knows who "me" is. 
 Others might not know, and many do not know, but this dees 
 not matter, for at this hour, the hour when the rambler ram- 
 bles there is but one who has any right to know who " me" 
 is; and such a recognition as that just given, is of the kind 
 that makes men masters and giants in the world. 
 
 We enter a room in a locality of respectable surroundings. 
 The conversation going on suggests to the rambler that he is 
 in the midst of school men. They, too, have been ranging 
 under the gas-light, but we attribute nothing to them damag- 
 ing since they assume to be looking after the youth of the 
 commonwealth. But what a wonderful amount of theory do 
 we find here. All seem to be theoretical and deductive johil- 
 osophers. However, one who has been silent all the while, 
 but a close listener, speaks, without being asked, saying: 
 "Gi\e us something practical." With him it was of but lit- 
 tle consequence whether or not Hezekiah w^as King of Israel. 
 He did n't deem it of much moment to know how long to 
 
7^ Under the Gas-Light, 
 
 a foot the river Jordan was, or the exact geographical posi- 
 tion of Ephesus. He did consider it of great importance in 
 all teaching to emphasize that which tells of the right way of 
 living, and which points out the beautiful and the unseemly, 
 the noble and the ignoble. His inclmation was to ask for a 
 teaching that was practical; that would move the heart and 
 brain to essentials, and which, from amoral stand-point, would 
 cause a lifting up of the soul ; a teaching the heeding of which 
 will bring man nearer the goodness of life ; that will hold 
 back the young from quick-sandy places, and point them to a 
 condition, and to a realization above and beyond the heartless 
 vanities of life. 
 
 The rambler passes, and as he does so everybody whom he 
 meets honored with his acquaintance, informs him that the 
 weather is cold. With so much testimony he could have no 
 doubt about it. A dog howls as if in pain. A gentleman 
 had stepped upon one of his feet. The dog pauses and looks 
 up, as if to say : "A little sympathy, if you please, sir." The 
 dog won. Calling him, the gentleman stepped into a butcher 
 shop near by and bought for him a pound of meat. The dog 
 took it and eating looked up as if to say: "The injury has 
 received a healing balm, we are friends." There may be 
 some who think this incident of no moment, but the rambler 
 notes it as worthy of contemplation and of remembrance. It 
 was the indication of a soul that had an unbounded compass. 
 The cry of the dog reached his heart and called for a sympa- 
 
Under the Gas-JLight. ' yy 
 
 thy that was readily given. It was the exhibition of a trait 
 of character redeeming in all essential ways. Other men 
 would have passed on and let the dog howl, but this man did 
 not. It was sufficient for him to know that there was a pain, 
 and that he was the cause thereof. Had it been a man with 
 a mind possessing immortal attributes an apology would have 
 sufficed, but the dog had no mind stored with a responsive 
 intelligence, and no soul filled with a conception of duty. His 
 powers were instinctive, and therefore, for his solace, a pound 
 of flesh was required, and it was kindly given. With that 
 man this act was the result of a conception of a duty. It \vas 
 the dropping of a ray of saving light from the effulgence of 
 his heart which made himself and the dog feel better and hap- 
 pier. This man was no Shylock ; no grinding usurer. He 
 despised contraction and hated narrow grooves. He had no 
 love for a strength that would oppress the weak, and would not 
 be drawn to a heart that could not be moved to a ministration 
 of mercy, even to the lowest of animal life. 
 
yS ' Under the Gas-Lighi. 
 
 RAMBLE XV 111. 
 
 Ml'] EAR love-lit eyes may seem extinguished in the sleep of 
 T/|7 death, but still do we somehow knovs^ that they are yet 
 ^W beaming upon us with the same tender look. All the 
 pall-bearers do is but to carry out of the home the shattered 
 chrysalis shell out of which has fled the bright immortal spirit 
 to the pearly gate. Soon we shall have woven in our hair 
 the frost of the silver years, and we'll gladly join the great 
 caravan. A few more aches, and tears, and heartbreaks, 
 and then the long dark nights will be over-past, and the gas- 
 lights w^ill be turned down, and the golden splendor of 
 Heaven will kindle over the precious dust of our graves, and 
 the dead winter of life will break into the eternal spring of 
 the new Eden. 
 
 To-night, as we move under the familiar gas-lights, we are, 
 as ever, impressed that still "the earth moves;" at least we 
 may not torture ourselves into the belief that the age is at a 
 standstill, nor that it is going backw^ard. The fresh, startling 
 facts of to-day are sounding loud and clear in our ear that 
 the world is moving on and making immense strides of pro- 
 
Under the (jas-Light. yp 
 
 gress. Already we can analyze the sim-ftame millions of 
 leagues away, and inspect the craters and valleys of the moon, 
 and catch in the spectrum the rings of Saturn, and whisper 
 across continents and seas electric words, and perform in con- 
 cert to an audience a hundred miles distant, and read and 
 know all the great facts of yesterday in this morning's news- 
 paper; but all these creative energies and products of inven- 
 tion are small compared to the colossal hunger the race is 
 feeling for a new freedom and power. The old regime of 
 kings and queens, and glittering w^ardrobes, is slowlv dying 
 out, and the unescutcheoned many are stepping into the fore- 
 ground, so that now we are having written histories of the 
 people instead of the chronicles of court and crown. 
 
 Two representatives of the people pass by. Says one : 
 " Who would have thought, tw^enty, yea, ten years ago, that 
 a committee in an Illinois legislative body w^ould have re- 
 ported favorably upon a proposition to grant an elective voice 
 to women in this state upon a question of vital interest?" Says 
 tlie other : " The committee could n't resist the pressure." 
 
 "Just so," uttered the rambler as he went his way. We 
 are getting to see things and events in their real perspective 
 and proportions, and equal rights are rapidly being accorded 
 to all who are deemed worthy. Merit always wins its full 
 share of recognition, for the slow but sure justice of the years 
 never fails to weave for the noble brow the wreath of laurel 
 it deserves; and so the Greek slave poetess, Sappho, and a 
 
^^ Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 Mrs. Browning, or an authoress in the shape of a queen, have 
 all had their works take an honored place amid the aristoc- 
 racy, of letters. 
 
 Long made the plaything of the palace, or the drudge of 
 field and kitchen, or the slave of the barbarian, woman,''per- 
 ceiving more and more clearly that fashion and beauty are 
 mere baubles, as over against intellect, and virtue, and far- 
 seeing moral aims, now steps to the front and thrills, like an 
 inspiration, the tender nerves of all by her lyrical tones. If 
 she had rushed into the halls of legislation in a hurricane iuid 
 clamored for rights with a brazen tongue she would have 
 seen her cause doomed to a forlorn hope; but she comes to 
 the law makers with the inspiration of prayer and with a tear- 
 stirring voice, and as she points above the glare of the chan- 
 deliers to the graceful festoonry on the fretted ceiling, of over 
 one hundred thousand names, she simply pleads for the rio-ht 
 of protecting her darling boys, and who can resist the charms 
 of an oratory upon such a theme? Every word beats with 
 the fervent pulses of the heart. We must all admit her to be 
 a vast and increasing force in art and literature, in public 
 charities and education, and it is no longer a misty problem 
 that her intellectual and moral persistence in the good, true 
 and beautiful will carve out for her a great future as a factor 
 in popular government. The plea of these women is: Give 
 us the power by an elective voice to protect our darling boys. 
 
Under the Gas-/^i<>/iL 8i 
 
 1*5 
 
 iiiul the result will be seen upon the statesmanship of the fu- 
 ture, and upon the let^islation of a<4"es to come. 
 
 After all there is not as much protection in the ministry of 
 law as in the ministry of love. A mother's prayer is a (greater 
 shield for her darling boy than all the \otes of a common- 
 wealth can afford. A long time ago the idea cropped out 
 in the civilization of the centuries that law was not man's 
 redeemer; in fact it was an idea that obtained with the divine 
 council, and the storv of the manger, of Bethlehem, and of 
 Calvary followed. The principle that love was the crowning- 
 force essential for the protection of all the darling boys of the 
 race, early gleamed and flashed forth. The boys met under 
 the street gas-light by the rambler are not the ones who have 
 been blessed to its full inspiration with a mother's love, else 
 they would be held away from the presence of temptation. 
 
Sz 
 
 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 RAMBLE XIX 
 
 JOURS ago the book of day was bound and closed by the 
 golden clasp of sundown. The hot fever-pulses of busi- 
 ij ness are cooling under the balmy hand of sleep. The 
 roar of wheels is hushed. Merchant prince, and pauper 
 
 alike are sunk into for«:etfulness of crown and rags. 
 
 'Old 
 
 and yet ever new is the night," muses the rambler, as he 
 glances up and down the long glimmering files of street 
 lamps, and looks overhead into the pomp and silence of the 
 spangled heavens. Every gas-light is a bit of primeval sun- 
 shine kindled out of the coal urn, and awakened from the 
 slumber of a million vears which carries us back of weird 
 periods of antiquity, and to times which left on the face of 
 stone the delicate footprints of wind and rain, and of creatures 
 long extinct before ever the race of man came on the theatre 
 of action. If God so carefully preserv ed the ripple marks of 
 long vanished seas, and made so indellibly a record of rock, 
 and fossil, and shell, and stores away so richly for man's use 
 and comfort immense coal fields, surely, as we sit by the cos}' 
 fireside, or meditate beneath the gas-light, we cannot help 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 83 
 
 lint believe that He will regard most kindly the aspirations of 
 the soul for heaven and immortality, and \vill never forget to 
 provide for the ideal hunger and the ideal Eden. But whilst 
 a gas jet may be quite suggestive, the twinkling of amethys- 
 tine ether is so immeasurablv g^rand that the mind falls short 
 in its effort to survey and to span. We cannot look up and 
 study the illuminated scroll without feeling more or less the 
 mvstic chain ^voven about the stars bv classic legend and 
 mvtholoorical fable; and manv of us fancv we see bevond a 
 soul light that beamed with such controlling poAver along our 
 earthly pathw^ays. There was a fluttering at a window of 
 paradise, and through was handed a crown of stars. To-night 
 those stars in that crown are seen through the agency of a 
 spiritual vision. From their setting comes a ministration to 
 bless and to cheer. 
 
 "Angels attend thee I May their winsfs 
 
 Fan every shudo\\- from thy brow— 
 For only bright and lovely things 
 
 Should wait on one so good as thou."' 
 
 The rambler \vanders aw^ay from the city's limit; seeks 
 communion with the spirits that are in the air, and listens to 
 the voices that come from the formations of art and nature. 
 
 "Hide not thy tears; weep boldly, and be proud," 
 
 wrote Shirley long years ago, and to-night from shrub, and 
 leaf, and flower, and grave comes the same voice. The ram- 
 bler thinks of the beautiful drama of Ion, in which the in- 
 stinct of immortalitv> so eloquentlv uttered bv the dcath-de- 
 
84 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 voted Greek, finds a deep response in every human soul. It 
 Is nature's propheev of the hfe to tome. When about to 
 yield his young existence as a sacrifice . o fate, his betrothed 
 Clcnianthe asks if thev shall ever meet again, to which he 
 replies : "I have asked that dreadful question of the hills 
 that look eternal ; of the flowing streams that flow forever; 
 of the stars among whose fields my mind-spirit hath walked 
 in glory. All were dumb. But while I gaze upon thv living 
 face I feel there's something in thv love which mantles 
 through its beauty that cannot wholly perish. We shall meet 
 again, Clemanthe." 
 
 Nature was silent. The stars whispered nothing. The 
 eternal hills imparted no information, and the music of the 
 streams that flowed therefrom did not settle the question. It 
 remained for a human soul in its throbbings, in its swellings 
 and in its flowings, to tell what would be beyond the years of 
 earthly life; to tell that the soul on earth is but an immortal 
 guest, a spark which nature's force is pressing upward. As 
 the rambler in his abstractions to-night contemplates the soul, 
 he concludes that it is a pilgrim panting for the rest to come, 
 and in its sentient existence an exile on the shores of time, 
 anxiously \vaiting to be borne away to its native home. 
 
 The church had been full. Those who had occupied the 
 pews had heard words about the religion of love, of brother- 
 hood, and of charity. Passing from the sanctuary, an aged 
 one, on the side of life nearest heaven, takes the rambler liy 
 
Under the Gas-Lio/it. 85 
 
 the hand and assures him that this hfc is but a span reaching 
 tVom inortahtv to immortality, from fountains that fail to foun- 
 tains that ever flow, and from flowers that fade to flowers 
 that bloom always. Said she: '*•! have given the earth my 
 tears; I ha\e passed throuf>h the shadows; I ha\"e felt the 
 weii^ht ot weariness; I ha\e seenmy jewels pass from me; I 
 ha\e looked at the heavens when the clouds seemed unvield- 
 ing, and when songs of rejoicing had no charms for me; l)ut 
 as these latter vears have gone bv, ^^■ith their record of sow- 
 ing and reaping, I have come to look bevond this life with a 
 greater interest. In the ever-blooming Eden I see more than 
 I saw in mv earlier years. Time has brought with it lessons 
 which I have learned well, and thev tell me that hope does 
 not perish when the flowers of life fade from mortal \ ision. 
 
 Tramp, tramp, go the hurrying feet. The choir music has 
 been hushed, and the rambler goes his ^vav to contemplate 
 the developing realizations of life. Here and there are har- 
 monies never before beheld; here and there are gleams of 
 heart sunshine never before felt. 
 
86 Under the Gas- Light. 
 
 RAMBLE XX. 
 
 ^^|HE o-lare of the gas-light; viewing the horrors of a pent 
 up city, full of strifes and crimes; of heated wretchedness 
 iJ and feverish pauperism ; of woes of wine and women, 
 and ^vhisky-wrought wrecks, with the destruction consequent 
 upon vice, had wearied the rambler, and he concluded to steal 
 away from the city and recuperate in the breezes of the purer 
 atmosphere outside, on a bright morning of a new born dav ; 
 to refresh his tired nature and throw off for the time his sad- 
 dened reflections. But like the ghost of the departed Dane, 
 
 "Doomed for a certain time to walk the night, 
 And for the day confined to fast in fire." 
 
 The rambler had not selected for his rambles, fields which 
 were to prove unfruitful of "food for thought." 
 
 June never looked more beautiful. She had just risen from 
 her rose-clad couch on the morn of the twelfth diurnal re- 
 turn of her birth. The God of day smiled sweetly upon this 
 first-born of summer, had kissed the dews from her brow? 
 perfumed her floral wardrobe with the fragrant odors of the 
 buttercup and tulip, of the magnolia and tuberose, of the 
 wealth-laden shrub and the lieautlful lilac. All nature joined 
 
Unde7' the Gas-Light. 87 
 
 in the smile, and glad hands, reaching from the great unseen, 
 seemed to weave into the lovely month's garments of green, 
 throw^n over her handsome form, all the new-born beauties 
 gathered from her garden. The rambler experienced the 
 joys of a new life, as he stood and listened to the chorus 
 of welcome which greeted loveh June as she stepped 
 forth to sins: anthems of ofladness to her surroundin^-s, 
 and found himself, Hervy-like, in the "city of the silent," and 
 in reverie among the highest monitors denoting the last 
 mile stone reached bv the restino; ones in their travels on the 
 highway of life. 
 
 Here he had gone to "meditate among the tombs," to read 
 the indented history of loved ones, graven in the pure emblem 
 of constancy. Here he had gone to see the resting place o{ 
 many whom he had painted in other chapters of his rambles, 
 when they were struggling with the realities of earth, full of 
 life, of faith, and of hopes; some of increasing pleasures, and 
 others of pleasures which had been denied. 
 
 Wearied by the gas-light, the sun- light of such a morn as 
 we have described was a delightful chano^e. It had brouofht 
 in its train, thoughts of the "sweet bye and bye," thoughts of 
 the "home over there," and the air seemed ladened with the 
 sweet accents of song, wafted in upon the bosom of the 
 breeze, assuring the rambler that 
 
 "'riicTc is w land tliat is fairer than ilav," 
 
 and a rest remaining for life's weary ones, when the earthen 
 
S8 Under the Gas-Li irht. 
 
 caskets have pillowed their heads beneath the mounds, and 
 the echoing sounds of the clods of the valley have died away. 
 Thoughts like these had possessed the rambler and wrapt 
 him in a revery, making him oblivious to the unexpected hu- 
 man form which ^vakened him to a realization of the fact, 
 that even at that earlv hour, surrounded as he was by onlv 
 the emblems of departed loves, with the air bearing upon the 
 gentle zephers, the bird songs and mingling odors of a balmy 
 s\veetncss, gathered from the thousand rose-tinted tributes, 
 planted by the hand of affection on the tomb of buried links 
 of loveliness once joined to human hearts on earth. While 
 thus engaged, the rambler was reminded that there was 
 another human being who, like himself, had chosen a mission 
 of mingled pain and pleasure. But, 
 
 "What do w c sec lictorc us?" 
 
 It was one who seemed to have a strange history, and who 
 happened to be only intent on the discovery of the something 
 wdiich, no doubt, had contributed largely in bending his form, 
 and matting the hair, hanging in a strange disheveled order 
 over features still retaining the stamp of the God-like. His 
 face had been moulded in one of nature's handsomest forms. 
 
 "The front of Jove himself; 
 An eye like Mars, to threaten and coniinand: 
 A station like the herald Mercury 
 New-lig'hted on a lieaven-kissin$>f liill; 
 A combination and a form, indeed. 
 Where every God did set his seal, 
 To yive the world assurance of a man.'" 
 
Under the Gas-I^igJit. 89 
 
 The rambler sauntered on after the bent form and watched 
 the wild-eved hitruder. With that anxious gaze resting on 
 a row of Httle graves, and Hfting the fallen locks from before 
 the eye of wrinkled and decrepit age, this old man sat down 
 at the root of a tree. As we passed, his eyes moistened with 
 sorrow, turned to those of the rambler. "How," said 
 the rambler, "are these little mounds related to thine own 
 history?" Ah, triend !" said the old man, in a husky and 
 tremulous \()icc, "this is a pilgrimage just ended, which I fear 
 will never be rejDcated by me. There is a historic ^•olume in 
 those few chapters vou see spread out before us, tlie narration 
 of which would fill other and larger books than either of us 
 will e\er li\ e to peruse, and I scarce have time to index, al- 
 though familiar, ■ adly familiar, with ever}' page." 
 
 There was a sad something stealing over the rand:)ler, ex- 
 acting a deep interest to know the history of the old man\^ 
 bliirhted life. How the rambler induced him to o-ive it in 
 brief he will ne\cr di\ ulge, but here it is, in a nutshell. 
 
 These little mounds had been made b^' the demands of 
 death upon the domestic hearth. When the lo\ed forms they 
 contain had been laid there, crazed with grief, after the hopes 
 l)uilt in their futm^e had been shattered and scattered, he 
 sought ease to a troubled mind and worn bodv in the glass. 
 It was not a grievous departure from the path of rectitude, 
 but it served as a text for repeated upbraidings instead of per- 
 suadings; of taunts instead of tenderness; of a driving off 
 
90 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 instead of a drawing towards the erring one. Like the wear 
 of the constant drop on the stone, it wore away the stout 
 heart and made inroads on its affections, until the httle cloud 
 of domestic trouble grew large and overhung the household 
 in a grief greater than that made through death. Bickerings 
 had been buoyed to the harbor of a home by busy tongues, 
 until distrust had displaced constancy. The motives of a 
 kindly nature had been impugned and blackened by the finger- 
 marks of envy; and the purest emotions of universal brother- 
 hood toward the distressed had been poisoned in the imagina- 
 tion of her who should have been the last to believe the 
 breathings of distrust. What a sad lesson of life to learn by 
 the rambler in a grave yard. 
 
 "On him, on him! look \o\\ 
 JIow palu lie glares! 
 His form and cause conjoined, 
 Preaching- to stones, 
 Would make them capable." 
 
Undei- the Gas-Ught. 
 
 RAMBLE XXI. 
 
 "Why is it that the sweetest song-s 
 
 Must ever have a mournful strain, 
 And music's tones to touch the heart 
 
 Must echo with a sad refrain? 
 
 Why is it when our loved ones g-o 
 
 Reluctant, to a world unseen, 
 Xo message comes to us who wait, 
 
 This side the g^rave that lies between? 
 
 Why do we ask ? The Gods are dumb ; 
 
 And in our lives such mysteries lie, 
 That blindly stumble through the years, 
 
 AVe wondering live and wondering die." 
 
 M|HROUGH the air comes a sad refrain. The tones of a 
 t)" spiritual music touch the heart. They issue from a 
 ffj throne of love, and fall amid a group of shadows. 'Tis 
 midnight's holy hour, and round ahout hovers a pulseless 
 silence. The ramhler gazes upon a hud of the morning that 
 has heen struggling to hloom. In this hud is a fragrance of 
 houndless scope, but it will not tarry amid the thorns that 
 have existence here and there alongside the rocks and oaks of 
 earth. Its perfume is too gentle, too delicately sweet to attain 
 to a force amid the storms of life. There is a love for that 
 bud and a desire in a human heart to see it open into vigor 
 and heautv, to see its progress extend and permeate through 
 
93 Under the Gas-Llght. 
 
 the avenues of the affections, but those desires are not to be 
 attained. The Court of the skies, whose wisdom is as bound- 
 less as the universe, whispers along the path of perishing- life : 
 "It is not well that every bud should open to bloom.'"' From 
 the inward temple there \vas a brief looking-out. The win- 
 dows of the soul threw forth a light but for a brief period' 
 The hand of an eternal ministry beckoned, and along the path- 
 way of the stars there came an angel and gathered it up and 
 carried it away. 
 
 "May be these earthly loves are too fervent; that they too 
 much divert the heart from the Eternal majesty," were the 
 words that fell upon the rambler's ears as he stood gazing into 
 distance and vacancy. "No, that cannot be." The rambler 
 had been taught by the masters of the world's most profound 
 philosophy that the affections of the human heart could not 
 be too strong. Man loves a flower, but it does not fade be- 
 cause of that love. The power of affection rests upon a ten' 
 dril, and avoids the rugged conditions of creation, and for 
 this God does not become angry. Moral teaching points to 
 God as a God of love, and profound philosophv would sav 
 that God was best adored when the teachings of his creati\ e 
 hand ^vere followed dy a deep devotion. 
 
 "Where are now tlic flowers we 'tended: 
 Withered, hroken, branch and stem." 
 
 These loves are robed in everlasting beautv, and hM\e gath- 
 ered about them a liifht that will ne\xr wane. 
 
Under the (jas-Llght. 9 
 
 < 
 What mean those tears? No answer comes. In lookinj^ 
 
 on the autumn fields of hfe tears rise in the heart, thinking- of 
 
 the days that are no more, and throu<^*h these are traced a 
 
 smooth ascent from earth to heaven. Tears are tlie commas 
 
 of the soul. The}^ beautify its language and make powerful 
 
 the expression. Analyze them and vou ha^'e a poem ; a 
 
 beam ; a flower. 
 
 N. P. Willis said of Tom. Moore, "the light that surrounds 
 him is all from within." Such light is the best in the world. 
 It has in it the radiance of immortality, the gleam of a soul 
 that will not die. Through an open window the rambler 
 beheld such a light a while ago. It wasn't the light that 
 flashes from a mind of genius, or that rises from the incense 
 of philosophy, but the light of a soul, full of worship for jus- 
 tice, full of adoration for mercy, and full of love for lo\e. 
 Music and song came through and filled the evening breezes 
 with a harmony, and told the rambler that the best condition 
 of human life was when the soul could throw a stream of 
 light from within, and could appear as a flower bathed in a 
 sunbeam, and with the freshness of a lilv watered with 
 morning dew. 
 
 "My son, let your sympathies always go out to the man or 
 boy who is down. Help the weak against the strong." The 
 words were full of the soul of humanitv. It was the express- 
 ion of a nourished goodness, the outflowing of the best re- 
 lii>ion known to human thousfht and affection. "Pit\- the lit- 
 
94 Under the Gas-J^lght. 
 
 tie birds that flutter in distress, and waste not vour affections 
 on the eagle who sweeps in his ro\al power above moun- 
 tain cliff; and be tender to the vines and flowers twining and 
 blooming along the pathways of nature's garden ; and trouble 
 not about the oak that can defy the storm and the elemental fu- 
 ries." These \vere the admonitions, and then the heart swell- 
 ed into a melodv : 
 
 ''Oh child, .sweet child, how hap|)y I'll lie 
 
 If the g;ood God let thee stay with me, 
 
 Till later on in life's evening- hour 
 
 Tliy streng-th shall by inv strenij-th and tower." 
 
 Here Avas an expression of solicitude; a mature life longing 
 
 for the growth and developement of "a twig in infant rig" to 
 a strength and po^ver. It was the breathing of a soul upon a 
 
 plant and flower of life and light. The scene was that of a 
 happy home. It was the shelter of infancy, the playground 
 of childhood, the dwelling-place of manhood, the abode of 
 pleasure, the temple of peace, and the nursery and «;tronghold 
 of \irtue. Here was the inspiration of courage, the s^velling 
 of a heart that possessed power and comprehension. 
 
 "Let every fello^v look out for himself!" is an expression 
 the sound of \vhich falls upon the rambler's ears. Reflecting, 
 the conclusion is reached that these were harsh words. Look- 
 ing out for oneself, rugged paths are found. A long time ago 
 when the race was but in its infancy this question was asked : 
 "Am I my brother's keeper?" From that morning of human 
 existence down across the asfcs the answer has been <>iyen : 
 
Under the Gas-LigJit. 95 
 
 ''You arc vour brother's keeper." Deep down in the soiiFs 
 sanctuary man finds the ans\\cr, and as a result many a <i^loom 
 has been dispelled, and many a shadow driven away. The 
 consciousness man has that he is his brother's keeper, is 
 the inspiration of a di^-ine impulse, and the outgrowth of an 
 innnortal principle. In it is centered the blossom of hope 
 and the spring of charity. Negative the question, and the 
 world would become a wilderness, peopled with a selfish bar- 
 barism. 
 
 "Its none of your business what course 1 pursue," says a 
 voung man, and then hurries on his way. He had not grasp- 
 ed and comprehended the philosophies of life : had not an- 
 alyzed its warp and woof. How few reach the solution of the 
 problem. Man courts the ministries of a large humanity and 
 vet forgets that he is a dependent being. Sympathy is a solace 
 when distress comes, and a song of redeeming love is a healing 
 benediction when the inward affections are in tumult, and yet 
 man continues to sa}' : "Let every fellow take care of him- 
 self," and to ask the question: "Am I my brother's keeper?" 
 
9^ Under the Gas-Llght. 
 
 RAMBLE XXII 
 
 '* What is time -" 
 1 ask of an at^ed man with hoary hairs. 
 ^VrinkIed and curved with worldly cares; 
 "Time is the warp of life," said he. "(), tell 
 The yoiina;-, the fair the i^ay, to \\ea\e it well."' 
 
 I asked the ancient, venerable dead. 
 Sages who wrote, and warriors who bled : 
 From the cold grave a hollow murmur flowed. 
 "Time sowed the seed we reap in this abode." 
 
 ± 
 
 THE' rambler, through shadow and glare, since last he was 
 under the gaslight, has seen much of the weaving of the 
 \\ warp of life — some with care, and some with indiffer- 
 ence. Golden threads gilded with the tears from an inward 
 altar ha\'e been utilized, and time in its passing has gathered 
 the incense, bearing it away to the heaven of eternal love. 
 
 It was on the night before decoration dav. The rambler, 
 under the power of an invisible influence, entered the location 
 from where go up the fragrance of flowers; where beam the 
 soul's best light, and from where emanates the heart's best 
 ministry of love. There was witnessed a gathering of the 
 testimonials of affection to be strewn upon the graves of the 
 men who sacrificed their lives that a nation might live; wlio 
 
Under the Gas-JLlght. 97 
 
 jDoured out their life-blood, all warm from the heart, that de- 
 mocracy might be established as the governmental philoso- 
 phy of modern civilization, and who, a^- the\» went down, 
 preached each in his death : 
 
 "My iinsfel — his name is Freedom . 
 
 Choose him to be your king^; 
 He shall cut pathways East and West, 
 
 And fend you with his wins^- — " 
 
 and who, profiting b\ the past condition of the race, said in 
 their sacrifice : 
 
 '•\\"e will have never a noble, 
 
 Xo lineage coimted great : 
 Fishers, and choppers, and plouglunen, 
 
 Shall constitute a State." 
 
 Maidens with llowers, when associated in the mind with 
 heroes and heroic memories, form a worth} picture. P'ifteen, 
 sixteen and seventeen vears ago the men whom they would 
 honor passed from human presence. Those who to-night 
 are arranging the flowers to carry as offerings to their graves, 
 many of them God breathed into the world since that period. 
 They comprehend not the magnitude of that struggle, nor 
 the vitalized issues invohed ; yet they know that these men 
 acted a grandly heroic part in their time of life, and that their 
 spirits left their bodies in a brilliant blaze of glory. 
 
 An old soldier approaches a maiden fair, and as she stoops 
 over a bed of May flowers, he says : '' Bright face, when }ou 
 was a baby girl (I remember it well) your father was a sol- 
 
98 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 dier in the Tennessee legion. The battle came, and then he 
 marched and fought, and bravely died." 
 
 "Yes; and J'll kneel at his grave to-morrow, and offer a 
 flowery incense to his name and to his memory, mingled with 
 the tears of love and affection." 
 
 How happy the reflection that memory does not grow old, 
 and that tears do not cease their flowing when linked with 
 the heroic periods of human life. Valor is not forgotten. It 
 is the essence of our civilization, our Christianity and our de- 
 mocracy. 
 
 Had these men faltered, the republic would have declined, 
 and the flag — emblem of political unity — would have been 
 rent to extinction. They were brave. Their fibres were of 
 Anglo-Saxon quality, and their blood the most royal of the 
 earth, and up went civilization — up went Christianity. Those 
 who handle flowers are at the farthest extreme from barbar- 
 is?Ti. They possess the soul of deity. Select a jury from 
 them, and mercy and salvation will characterize their verdict. 
 The hand that guards and cares for them will never be raised 
 in malice against either friend or foe. The offices of flowers 
 are the most graceful in the economy of nature. They go 
 with us from the cradle to the orrave. They crown the mar- 
 riage altar and adorn its feasts. They bloom around the si- 
 lent tomb, and smile upon the angels out from Heaven. Their 
 ■^reath is of a magical perfume, and recalls, in the hours 
 of weariness, long past memories. A withered rose, a 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 99 
 
 pressed bud, or leaf of a lily saved from a casket, is a connect- 
 xw^ link which makes life more beautiful, recalling the "ten- 
 der grace of a day that is dead," and of a memory that will 
 not perish, and these arc the golden threads in the warp of 
 life. 
 
 A churl — a cold-blooded exhibition of creation — passing by 
 wants to know what good those flow'ers will do? He fails 
 to comprehend their tender agency. If he had been called to 
 see a baby flower kiss its mother ere she died he would have 
 laughed derisively. To him the thought would not have 
 suggested a poetical gem, but, on the other hand, a cold ma- 
 terialism. His warp of life is taking in threads that yield no 
 harmony. The combination is composed of rigidly abstract 
 elements. He reads no language on the leaves of the lily, 
 and recognizes no soul in nature. To him it is a blank, devoid 
 of a n)ission and without a ministry. Over him tears have no 
 influence, and the power of love fails to obtain in his life a 
 jurisdiction. These are comprehended as elements of weak- 
 ness. 
 
 When the little child of fragile form watched the dew 
 drops on a cluster of roses, and asked from whence they came, 
 it was told that they came from heaven, and then the ques- 
 tion was : " Will they ever die ? " Even then these dew 
 drops from the fountains of paradise were being lost in the 
 vitalization of the flo^vers. Ere the answer was i^iven, the 
 
loo 
 
 Under the Gas- flight. 
 
 spirit of the child was in heaven. The chnrl would sav here 
 was a false education and perverted imagination — the spirit- 
 ual lingering of the child to dwell upon dew drops and flow- 
 ers; but the student of the ^vorld's best philosophv will bear 
 evidence that this child's \varp of life was golden-threaded, 
 and happilv commenced in the ^veaving. 
 
 '•^mw' 
 
Under the Gas- Light. loi 
 
 RAMBLE X X 1 I I . 
 
 " Only waitintJ till the shadows 
 Are a little lonit»-cr afrown, 
 Only \vaitint>' till the i>^liminer 
 Of the day's last beam is flown. 
 
 Till the nig-ht of earth is faded 
 
 From the heart once full of day, 
 Till the stars of heaven are breaking" 
 
 Throug-h the twilight soft and s?ray . 
 
 Then from out the g-athered darkness, 
 Holy, deathless stars shall rise, 
 • Bv whose light m\^ soul shall gladly 
 
 Tread its jiatiiway to the skies." 
 
 P|"|NLY waiting," were the words that fell upon the ram- 
 |7f' bier's ear as the evening shadows w^ere falling. It w^as 
 ^ the utterance of an aged pilgrim on the decline side of 
 life. He was looking aw^ay to see if he could catch a glimpse 
 of the reapers coming to reap the last ripe fruits of his heart. 
 The suinmer time of his life had faded, and round about him 
 were blowing the soul's autumn winds. He seemed eager to 
 hear the rustle of wings, and to commune with spiritual min- 
 istries. He had fought his fight, had struggled his struggle, 
 had acted his act, and played his play. " The yesterdays of 
 life seem now to have passed rapidly," observed the aged 
 
I02 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 pilgrim. " The to-morrows will be but few." '^ The after- 
 dawn will soon be reached, and then the yesterdays and the 
 to-morrows will never more be considered." The morning, 
 the noon, and the evening will be a blended unity. The day 
 will be an endless scroll, encircling an eternity of vears filled 
 with an eternity of stars. Old age I the evening of life, the 
 setting of the sun ()^■cr a plain that has been traversed, the 
 gleaming of the stars over the twilight of a mortal existence 
 causes the rambler to pause and contemplate the scene. Four 
 score years of life are 'rare in these latter davs. Along 
 the line of the generations such a span of time rests upon 
 marked characters. One would scarcely look under the 
 gleam of the gas-light, at the midnight hour, for an existence 
 of physical and mental power that had struggled and con- 
 tended with opposing forces for eighty vears. The rambler 
 finds such an one, and 'tis he who under the eternal empire 
 of the stars breathes the language : 
 
 " Only waiting- till the shadows 
 .Vre a little Innyer o'own,"' 
 
 " then I will enter the eternal morning amid the music of 
 larks and the perfume of flowers." 
 
 "Why are you out upon the streets at such an hour as 
 this?" was asked this hmdmark of the centurv. "I love to 
 roam amid silence. I love to commune where T can hear 
 notliing but the flutter of a leaf," was his reply. He was a 
 man who had heard the great noises of two venerations. 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 103 
 
 The hum of a nation's civihzation had been parallel with his 
 lite. The roar of battle from the fields of three wars had 
 fallen upon his ears. When he was born thunderbolts played in 
 the heavens uncontrolled. He had seen them snatched from 
 the skies and tamed. He had seen them converted into an 
 agencv reaching forth to rather up the scattered records of 
 the world's civilization. He lived when philosophy was 
 chained, and has lived to see it unfettered. He lived when 
 man \\ as confined to restricted lines, and has lived to see him 
 leap across them. He lived when the defenders of creeds 
 said to brain and genius. '' curb thvself," and has lived to see 
 brain and genius looking into the ^ ast future to tell the mo- 
 tion of the heavenlv bodies for a thousand vears, and to enter 
 a drop of water to behold a mvriad of created things with a 
 throbbing life. He has lived to see this same brain-power 
 penetrate the invisible and mvsterious to reveal more of God, 
 more of His majestv, goodness and merc\' than independent 
 ironclad theolosfv has revealed since time be^an. He had 
 lived when defenders of creeds, backed bv an imperial power, 
 said to man, "-think as we think," and has lived to hear imperial 
 man say, "■ I will think as I please.'' He had heard the creed 
 worshippers say, "bow beneath this iron rod," and has lived 
 to see those same iron rods superseded b\ the cords of love 
 and brotherhood; has seen them taken away, and round 
 about them twine the ivv of affection and grace, and over 
 them bloom the fiowers of love and peace. The \ eteran of 
 
1 04 Undei' the Gas-Light . 
 
 mail}' years and the victor of man\' a roval battle, from his 
 position under the awning, gazes quietly upward through the 
 overhanging branches of a shade tree. The tramp of feet 
 along the walk makes him restless. His wish is to be alone. 
 To the rambler he said : " My friend, there is a memory that 
 is not dead. I behold with a sentient power a picture that is 
 beautiful. It was for years as fresh and bright as a morning 
 rose bathed in morning dew. Then one dreary morning the 
 picture faded. It had a spirit which passed away, a soul 
 which went to God. The memory of that beauty has, since 
 that morning, been regal in its dominion. The influence of 
 that spirit, so sweet, so gentle, so strong, has been felt 
 through all the passing years. The soul of that beauty had 
 a wondrous scope." It knew no creed, no lines of demarka- 
 tion, and no class ; it reckoned no nobility save the nobility of 
 virtue, no prince save the prince of manhood, and no queen 
 save the queen of womanhood. It was a fountain of inspira- 
 tion, a well-spring of lo\ e, ever flowing, bearing cheer and 
 benediction. Looking at a distant star, he seemed to say: 
 "• This memory long past comes crowding over my aged 
 brain." Though many years had flown with their lights and 
 shadows, the recollection of that heart, which had, in the 
 early spring time of young life, been called to assume a con- 
 dition of immortality, still haunted him, but like some glad 
 melody. His memory, as a tomb-searcher, swept through 
 the avenues of the past, and lifted here and there a shroud 
 
Under the Gas- Light. 105 
 
 which had been thrown over buried hopes. Into the vases 
 where the roses of Hfe and love had been distilled, he pene- 
 trated to find that there still lingered a fragrance. 
 
 " Let lute do her worst, there are moments of joy, 
 Brig-ht dreams of the past which she cannot destroy; 
 Wliich come in the nig^ht time of sorrow and care. 
 And bring- back the features that joy used to wear." 
 
 And now he was only waiting for the shadows to become 
 a little longer grown, that he might bid them adieu and fol- 
 low that star and go to that picture, that beauty, that heart, 
 that soul, that love- -that inspiration of his summer years. 
 
 i^^^> 
 
io6 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 RAMBLE XXIV. 
 
 ^jIGHT has tar advanced. The noise comin<^ from the 
 tramp of feet has receded, and yet the gas-light gleams 
 and glitters. In an out-of-the-way retreat, far removed 
 from the presence of faith, and hope, and charity, the rambler 
 finds his way. Looking up from the dismal scene he be- 
 holds the light from distant stars flowing that way as freely 
 as along the path that leads to the center of thought, of 
 wealth, and of power. It is a place out of the range of cas- 
 ual observation. Round about appear ruins, ruins of decayed 
 life, blasted hopes, and troubled and restless spirits. The 
 social philosopher could not enter here without finding prob- 
 lems for solution. The Christian would contemplate with 
 dismay, and faith be put into a condition of trembling, and the 
 call would be made foi' labor and for prayer. The sinner 
 would stand in dread and look out and wonder in his soul 
 where linger the forces -of salvation, the followers of the Re- 
 deemer. Want is regal in its sway, and the spirit of desper- 
 ation the permeating influence. That there may be freedom 
 from care and the responsibilities of life, deliverance from 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 107 
 
 thought and the monitions of an inward agency, drunkenness, 
 debauch and reveh'y, arc made to sweep with a relentless 
 fury through the shattered frames of mortaHty. Here, for 
 the intoxication of the sentient powers, maji gives the body 
 of his wife and child for defilement. And this in a Christian 
 community. While these things go on, " in tasseled pulpits 
 gay and fine," men combat the growing developments of 
 modern rationalism. While in yonder haunt is being accumu- 
 lated dead matter from bones that have become powerless 
 for action, the doctors of divinity charge forth into the realm 
 of the great philosophies, where the fountains of tears do not 
 flow for the lowlv ones who are famishing, and passing 
 away under the shadow of blight, and whose hopes and ex- 
 pectations have been wrecked into lifelessness. The rambler 
 beholds a scene of impurity, riot, comfortless shelter, and evil 
 in its lowest and most degraded form. Here comes no joyous 
 day of labor, or night of peaceful rest, and no expectations of a 
 better time. Here move in the deadness of reality those who 
 have been pushed to the wall by the pomp and pride of the 
 rich, who have been tempted to ruin by the splendors of folly, 
 and who have been seared and maimed by the \vheel of 
 the idol's car, beneath which they had fallen under the 
 weight, maybe, of the imperious and cruel hand of power. 
 Gazing at life they grew desperate, and settled into a cold, 
 cheerless infidelity, around which no flowers bloom and no 
 mercies of the soul shine. It is a sad fate — a bitter expcri- 
 
lo8 Under the Gas- Light. 
 
 ence. Thoughts of God, of Heaven, of home and its best 
 and purest reaHties — of its buds, and blooms, and stars, have 
 gone out into the ray less and cheerless shadows of oblivion. 
 Here vv^ere being enacted tragedies in which life was fading, 
 and love, with all its holy offices, was perishing. Violations 
 were seen on every hand, closelv followed by penalties severe 
 and dire. The ruling king was want and woe, and life un- 
 der the ban of such a power, with love crucified upon the al- 
 tar of sin, beneath which slumber the fires of a consuming 
 wrath, must be short and desperate to the terrible end. Such 
 battles and such crucifixions are not confined alone to the ob- 
 scure retreats, but in the localities where gleam the gas-light, 
 is as much perishing. The music is more harmonious and 
 the presentments more gilded, but beneath exists a cruelly 
 relentless fury. There is here no blooming of the soul, no 
 visible heart jewels. There is no child presence. The buds 
 and flowers of affection have been blasted. The names of 
 mother and wife are not uttered. These, the sweetest words 
 of the heart and tongue, are eminently Christian, and gladly 
 do we note, are not profaned in ungodly temples. Their ut- 
 terance suggests a condition of elevation, and a surrounding 
 not composed of the fiery weapons of destruction. Turning 
 away, the rambler concluded that here should be elevated the 
 cross, and the gospel of redemption preached. Passing from 
 the dismal, heartless presentment, the gas-light region is 
 reached. Though the midnight hour has far passed, silence 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 109 
 
 is not maintained. Slumber has not embraced all of life. 
 
 Behind a curtain ajar there burns a light. Near by are 
 seen two sleepless eyes. There is a soul in them that has be- 
 come wearv — not dead, but only weary. 
 
 " We part — no matter liow we j>art. 
 
 There are some thoiiji-hts we utter not; 
 Deep treasured in our inmost heart, 
 Never revealed and ne'er foroot." 
 
 It contained a volume, and may be of soul tragedy. Deep 
 do the philosophies of life carry us all if we but follow them. 
 Lest we become bewildered we will pass to a place of security. 
 Two little faces meet the rambler's gaze, and the influence 
 that comes from them causes him to forget the rocks upon 
 which men perish, and to throw aside the infidelities which 
 rise to trouble and darken the soul, and to dwell alone upon 
 the faiths and hopes, as seen in the couch of nestling inno- 
 cence. Here is no wreck and ruin. Round about this pres- 
 ence lingers no consuming fire, no devouring force, nothing- 
 hut radiant hope and comfort. 
 
no. Under the Gas-J^ight. 
 
 RAMBLE XXV 
 
 """HE (lauofhter was struo-Gflino- in the battle of life. For 
 
 J^ 
 
 1 
 
 |j> some time she had been contending with adverse winds. 
 
 5u Along her pathway had seemed to be more rough places 
 than smooth ones. From the skies, above where she had 
 been walking, there appeared to fall less star-light than at 
 other places of human activity. Her language seemed to be 
 
 •• I will bear it with all the tender sufferance of a friend, 
 As calmly as the wounded patient bears 
 The artist's hand that ministers his cares." 
 
 It did not make her cold as a cathedral tower upon a Jan- 
 uary night. Her heart was a flame of love and filial affection, 
 breathing, as became a child, the incense of duty. In her 
 young life there appeared before her one whose name she 
 bore saying with Milton : 
 
 "O dark, dark, dark^ amid the blaze of noon; 
 Irrevocably dark ! total eclipse. 
 Without all hope of day," 
 
 But while he could not see a light she made him feel that 
 there was one near about him. While he could not behold 
 the flowers of the warden and field she made him know that 
 
Under t/ic Gas-Liisht. 1 1 1 
 
 near at hand was ever breathing; a flowerv frairrance, and 
 until he passed over the river into that reahn where no eyes 
 are ever covered with a cloud, she made his pathway smooth 
 by the friction of her heart against his as he passed along, 
 bound for the country where all eyes see the flowers, behold 
 the rustle of the leaves, and can view the birds flutterin"- 
 their wings in the midst of their concerts of song. When 
 this dut}- was ended, when she had done what she could, 
 prompted by a child's affection, she continued in the battle of 
 life, where she is an actor to-dav. By her energy she suc- 
 ceeded in gaining a title to an earthly portion. Through the 
 force of circumstances she had to borrow two hundred and 
 fifty dollars to meet a claim. To secure this money she un- 
 fortunately came in contact with a Shylock, a beast in human 
 form, a grasping, soulless ghoul — one who sneered at the vir- 
 tue of charity, and was utterly pow^erless to comprehend anv- 
 thin<j^ redeemino^ in lieroic strus^ofle. A beins: flutterinsT in 
 distress was unable to awaken in his breast a feelinof of svm- 
 pathy. The chirp of a bird with wounded wing could not 
 attract his attention — could not toucli a heart string. Tears 
 to him were material only, and in them he was utterlv inca- 
 pable of beholding a soul. In fact, he knew nothing about a 
 soul. Possessing a credit that was false, and sailing under 
 colors not his right, he said to the child of struggle: "Give 
 me twenty-five dollars and I will secure vou a loan of two 
 hundred and fifty dollars at ten per cent." The demand was 
 
112 Under the Gas-LlgJit. 
 
 complied with, and the loan, defended by a cut-throat mort- 
 gage, was secured. Time went on, and the man from whom 
 the money had been obtained expressed a willingness to let 
 the loan continue as long as desired. By and by there came 
 to the half-orphaned girl a notice that Mr. A. wanted his 
 money by such a time. Then followed distress. A hard 
 place in the battle of life had bean reached; but, undaunted, 
 the ill-blowing tempest was faced. The " cut-throat " must 
 be mastered, was the decision. The " earthly portion," with 
 its shelter and defense, must be retained, no matter how se- 
 vere was the tempest surging round about it. Out into the 
 street, in the midst of business action and commercial con- 
 flict, our heroine passes. Presently the man w^ho had given 
 the loan learns of the girl's effort to raise the money. He 
 meets her and asks her what it means. She replies: "I 
 have been notified that you want the money." The money- 
 lender, exhibiting a surprise, says: "It is not so. 1 do not 
 want the money. You can have it as long as you desire." 
 The hellishness was seen at a glance. The Shylock, the 
 heartless grinder of defenselessness, with the brazen front of a 
 flend, had sought to distress the girl in the expectation that 
 he might wring from the fruit of her struggle another twen- 
 ty-flve dollars for the securing of another loan, and had, un- 
 authorized, sent her the notice. Away from the light of 
 heaven, under the gas-light, this scheme was devised, and the 
 devisor was extending his fangs of ruthlessness to prey upon 
 
Under the Gas- Light. 113 
 
 what had been gathered through heroic struggle, and by a 
 girl who had been true to every duty, who had dropped her 
 tears of womanhood where tears of womanhood were need- 
 ed; who had planted flow^ers where flowers were needed, 
 and who had breathed fragrance where fragrance was needed. 
 Pausing to contemplate the incident, as it came to us under 
 the gas-light, we concluded that the exercise of a scorpion 
 lash upon such fiends would be healthful. They should have 
 no right to the chambers of mercy, and no permission to beds 
 of rest. A being who would see an orphan girl in this world 
 of sin fight her battle and win her right to a crown of stars 
 for virtue and for womanhood, and then assume the character 
 of a thief, to crowd her into a condition of despair, by at- 
 tempting to make her his victim, deserves piercing with the 
 prongs of vengeful wrath. He should be driven from the 
 localities where flowers bloom into the localities where 
 naught but thorns and thistles grow. Where the song of 
 birds sw^ell into a heavenh^ music, he should not be allowed 
 to walk, but instead, be driven into a path along which only 
 harsh, grating noises are heard. He should not be permitted 
 to come where the souls of virtue and innocence emit the best 
 of life, lest he chill and paralyze them with his presence. 
 
*i4 Under the Gas-JLight. 
 
 RAMBLE XXVI 
 
 ■' I'll be ;it the window as he gfoes by, 
 
 As he ^oes by — 
 He'll lift his head to look at the sky, 
 
 The western sky . 
 To see if the sun has set for fair — 
 
 And suddenly there 
 Aijainst the sky in the g-olden air 
 
 He'll see a pair 
 Of familiar eyes." * * * * 
 
 I\ SCENE like these lines foretold has long since passed. 
 |J|y It was in the early evening, ere the vigils of the night 
 '*''' threw their watchful light upon the race peopling this 
 planet. He did lift his head and look at the sky — the beauti- 
 ful sky, inlaid with crimson and gold. He saw the sun set 
 for fair, and in the golden air he saw the familiar eyes. That 
 was all. What was within was as a sealed scroll, and no spir- 
 itual agency was there to reveal. The evening shadows 
 soon came on apace, bringing with them a sweet ministry. 
 In these shadows were heard the voices that once were the 
 music of morning hours. Then came the whisper, " They 
 have flown, not died, and in fairer climes, and with nobler 
 voices they wait your coming, singing the song that shall 
 
Under the Gas- Light. 115 
 
 have no ending/' What a comprehension! Only they are 
 alive that are dead. Only they are fairly ours that are im- 
 mortal. And this we learn within these shadows. The 
 leaves go; the grasses wither; the hirds fly upward and are 
 out of sight; and the years are soon covered and gone in na- 
 ture. But there sweeps into the soul the hope which is faith, 
 that hevond the realm of stars, and the golden crimso)i of the 
 horizon of life, is an eternal existence, full of song and hloom- 
 ing. Did not this feeling spring up there would settle round 
 ahout man an undefined eonditiori . 
 
 There passes a woman — a mother, bearing a heavy bur- 
 den, not upon her shoulders, but upon her heart. It is eleven 
 o'clock. She wheels, in a little carriage, an infant, and bv her 
 side walks a six-year-old bov. Before every screened door 
 she pauses and says to the little boy, " Go in here and see." 
 The sentence failed f)f being completed. The bo\' under- 
 stood the want, and bounded quietly awav ""to see."" It was not 
 difficult for the rambler to conclude what the desire was to 
 see. There was a mother out with her children upon the 
 street visiting the saloons. It was strongly suggestive that 
 somewhere in the city was a home wherein gloom had 
 crowded — where hope had been wounded, where tears of jov 
 had been turned to tears of weariness, and where the hand of 
 fate had pressed heavih'. What was once a strength and 
 
Ii6 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 tower in that home was now a shattered column — an exhibi- 
 tion of weakness. Yet there existed a love for him — a long- 
 ing to bring him back. Around that tower, once so strong, 
 still twined the ivy of affection, as if to repair and strengthen 
 its riven and broken condition. Woman's faith and woman's 
 love is here presented in its full force and power. Where 
 man would falter, woman is an army with banners; where 
 man would let go, woman would hold with a mountain-mov- 
 ing faith; where man would curse, woman would pray with 
 an assurance of victory; where man would desert, woman 
 would plant a rose and bathe it w^ith her tears. The mother 
 and wife said to her child, " Go in here and see ; " but it was 
 not that he might be censured. The prompting was to call 
 him back under the dominion of a faith that was abiding, and 
 into the atmosphere of a love that was ever holding its fra- 
 grance. Man would not have paused before these screened 
 doors and said, " Go in here and see ;" nor would he have gone 
 in to see. His faith and his love would have broken ere he 
 reached such a point; and yet how often man frowns upon 
 and rejects the faith that he beholds swelling up to his breast 
 and around the throne of his intelligence. He should not do 
 it, for by and by, as the stars shine, and as the angels sing, 
 that faith will be transferred to other fields, and then its 
 graspings and clingings will not affect the mortal life save in 
 a spiritual sense. 
 
Under the Gas-Light. ■ 1 1 y 
 
 '"' Isn't that an outrage upon decency ? " was a question 
 asked with much feeling, and prompted by seeing a man who 
 had reached the noon of life — a sovereign of a family, the 
 head of a household and the father of children — ridins" boldly 
 along a public street with a blighted life, an ill-fated star, a 
 forced amiability and a false devotion. 
 
 " That man," said an observer, " once asked the people for 
 political confidence. He has since forgotten that modern so- 
 ciety claims to be a society of decency. He has lost sight of 
 the fact that dirt does not harmonize with the component 
 parts of our civilization. It is plain that his brain is gone — 
 has been paralyzed to an extinctioii." 
 
 It h a sad contemplation. Should he be stopped ninv, and 
 be shown a picture of innocent virtue, he would leer at it and 
 call it a fraud. The viper-life, possessed of a power that 
 poisons, and infatuates his being. Man is a beast when he lets 
 himself down. He profanes everything holy and curses every 
 virtue found about and in the temple of the soul. He would 
 feast on corruption, and ignore a garden of productive nour- 
 ishment. He would jump into an abyss while round about 
 were the paths of safety inviting his footsteps. The abyss 
 may be one of sin, and the paths of safety those of virtue; 
 but where sin is he loves the best to go, and like an unbridled 
 force he rushes forw^ard. The fragrance of home virtue he 
 tramples under his feet, but, having lost his brain functions, 
 and being barren of intelligent conception, he knows it not. 
 
1 1 8 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 RAMBLE X X \' 1 I . 
 
 M|^0 you see those loafers on yonder corner?" questioned 
 T|7 one who for some time had been sitting within the shad- 
 QP/ ow of a Court Square tree, and continuing, said : " For 
 the last hour I have been watching them." The rambler was 
 inclined to know^ what opinions had been made by the observ- 
 er, and what the reflections of his mind. '•'•I believe," said 
 he, " that no lady has passed by since I have been sitting here, 
 who has not been followed by leering eyes, and been the sub- 
 ject of some unseemly speech." That band of loafers on yon- 
 der hotel corner seem to have no admiration for virtue. In 
 the breast of none does there swell an emotion of love for ele- 
 vated character. Their range of vision is upon the lowest 
 level. Upon the plane of loft}' conceptions they will 
 not feast. To them nothing responsive comes from that 
 higher elevation. In its soil grows nothing w'hich they would 
 care to pluck, because for the fruit thereof they haye no long- 
 ing. Like vandals, they trod it all beneath their feet. '' Who 
 is this, and isn't she gay?" falls upon the ear, followed by 
 wicked surmisings. The very air in this locality is filled with 
 
Under the Gas-Light. ^ 119 
 
 poison. There is not from this congregation of vileness any 
 looking into fair faces to study the graces of the beauty of a 
 divine creation; no looking into eyes to conceive them as 
 windows to souls whose mission it is to carrv light where 
 light is the need. Their gaze causes virtue to quiver and in- 
 nocence to hasten its steps. Were a sweet ministry to pause 
 here to sing a sweet song of love, of home and heaven, it 
 would receive no approbation. Tt would be compelled to go 
 away, and may be to weep over wounds received in the 
 heart; and going, who would follow to say — 
 
 •■ M:iy the snowy winj^s of innocence and love protect thee I " 
 
 Not one from this corner of depraAed life. Vipers are in- 
 capable of invoking love to enter upon a mission of j^rotec- 
 tion. Love to them does not appear as an agency of con- 
 trolling power. Animal perfection is the scope of their men- 
 tal dominion. They comprehend no harmonies of life. They 
 would delight most in wreck and ruin. Blasted hopes would 
 bring to them contentment. Bleeding heart strings w'cxdd 
 afford them satisfaction. Shattered home temples would be 
 their glory. Severed unions would bring food for their am- 
 bition. Now and then one pours his intellectual animalism 
 over a Police Gazette or a dime novel. These contain the 
 acme of their ambition. Beyond such presentments their 
 brain force has never been trained to reach. In physical base- 
 ness their contents are digested. Did they contain a thought 
 here and there, grand in its beauty, suggesting an eternity ot 
 
1 30 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 depth and an immortality of existence, they would be 
 dropped, to be pronounced vague matter. Anything treat- 
 ing upon powers of intellectual development and philosophic 
 force would, by them, be discarded. Ask them questions con- 
 cerning elucidations in scientific fields, and thev would stare 
 at you like idiots. Mention a fact as expounded bv Draper 
 and Tame and Huxley, and with the iinbecility of a louse 
 the\ will ask: "What kind of taft'y are you giving us?" 
 Vulgarity is their creed and animal baseness their ethics. In 
 the presence of a masterpiece of art they would exhibit 
 coarseness. The voice of music in the air would prompt in 
 them no lofty sentiment. They would turn their eyes from 
 the matchless grace of a rainbow to look at a dog-fight, and 
 would flee from a temple of virtue to revel among blunted 
 sensibilities and deadened souls. The sister of a man of char- 
 acter, refinement and heart-wealth goes by and through that 
 atmosphere. An insinuation falls, base and ugly. "Do you 
 know of \vhom you speak?" is a question quickly interposed. 
 Then follow^s a trembling. Depravity is a coward, and the 
 reply is confused. " That w'oman is the light of a home, the 
 object of a large affection, and the pride of a devoted circle," 
 spoke the first speaker. The coward hung his head and 
 walked away. An eulogy upon virtuous character was a pun- 
 ishment for him to hear. The brother of this woman, pass- 
 ing, heard a few words and came to a pause. He heard them 
 repeated, which roused him up to an angry passion. While 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 121 
 
 the gentle evening breezes were playing through the leaves 
 of the overhanging trees, and while the stars gleamed purity 
 from the heavens, there came a torrent of invective. A pain- 
 ful silence intervened, when he said, " Cursed be the city upon 
 the streets of which a woman of virtue, of grace and affec- 
 tion, cannot walk in a twilight hour wnthout being an object 
 of hurtful criticism, and the subject of a defiled speech." 
 Must it be that when the evening shadows fall, w'hen the 
 heavens beam with light and glory, and when the air is full 
 of spiritual life, the queens of our earthly temples must cloister 
 themselves — must veil their faces to avoid a vulgar street in- 
 spection? Are there no scorpion lashes that could be used 
 upon the backs of these vulgar animals? no brands of infamy 
 to press upon their debased frontlets, that they may be avoid- 
 ed where virtue is worshipped and where innocence is cher- 
 ished as a cardinal grace? 
 
 Poison in the air does not tarry. It meets with no barrier. 
 Temple walls fail to hold it in check. Beyond them it reach- 
 es to perform its withering work. Plaintive cries of inno- 
 cence are passed unheeded. It hushes the voice of song and 
 pales the flush of health and beauty. A surmising of laxitv 
 and weakness, expressed, is baneful poison, and as quick to go 
 as a flash of flame, and it goes to ruin cherished hopes and 
 open up a flood of tears where before was all cheer and joy 
 and sunshine. 
 
122 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 RAMBLE X X V 1 I I 
 
 "Ah I brandy! brandy I banc of lit'i;, 
 Spring^ of tumult, source of strife, 
 Could I but half thy curses tell, 
 The ^vise would wish thee safe in hull . 
 
 |0 wrote a poet years ago, prompted by observation and 
 experience under the~gas-light of the period. The ram- 
 bler of to-day, passing within the shades of night, is 
 prompted by his observation to give utterance to a similar ex- 
 pression. Down a by-w^ay is heard a tiunult — a strife. The 
 cause thereof is easily defined. The vile bane of life has 
 been at work, and as a result humanity has been transformed 
 into a condition of beastliness. In the confusion is heard an 
 incoherent speech, suggesting forcibly that a brain had been 
 diverted from its legitimate function. Cruelty follows the 
 strife. It had been forecast as its sure sequence and it came. 
 Then there was crying. Innocence had been trodden upon 
 and wounded. The vases that in a happier hour contained 
 the flow^ers of a sweet existence lav shattered upon the floor. 
 The vine that had twined about the window lav prostrate, 
 having been bereft of life and nourishment. From this scene 
 the rambler passes. The thoroughfare is crowded. The 
 
Under the Gas- Light. 123 
 
 men of fortune and power are passin^^. The gleam of a gas- 
 light reveals the face of one whose name is on a church hook 
 — one who professes to adhere to the Christ doctrine, the 
 Christ grace and the Christ charity; hut, tracing him to his 
 place of husiness, the rambler finds that he is a wholesale 
 dealer, and that within his house is in store the — 
 
 " Sprin<»' of tumult, soiu'ce of stvifc." 
 
 Is his the Christianity that is redeeming? Is it the kind 
 that flows from the heart of the heavens? Is it the kind that 
 takes a bee-line from earthly vales to the eternal throne? The 
 rambler w^ill not pause for an answer. Hark ! He prays : 
 " Bless suffering humanity. Alleviate the distesses of the 
 widows and orphans." Good prayer — very good prayer, but 
 how about that 
 
 " Sprinfif of tumult, source of strife.-' " 
 
 Pressing for information, the rambler's faith in what he 
 had looked u^^on as the personification of Christian grace and 
 force is weakened. In his rambles he has seen what the 
 spring of tumult was, and what the source of strife. It was 
 a spring around which there could be no growing but that of 
 thorns, a source from which could be developed naught but 
 vileness, bitterness and tears. How a reputed child of God 
 can nurture such "spring" and "source" is not clear, and the 
 inability to make it clear is causing much unrest and much 
 distrust where should exist tranquility and faith. 
 
 " There goes my teacher!" utters a l)ounding vouth. " Let's 
 
124 Under the Gas- Light, 
 
 see where he goes." These words prompted a flood of sug- 
 gestions. There was a seeking of precedent from which to 
 argue, and an example to follow. The seeking was done by 
 those of a young and active life, with habits yet unformed. 
 The teacher passed hurriedly along under the gleam of the 
 gas-light. No^v he drops into a book-store to scan the latest 
 issues of current thous"ht and make a selection. This bein"- 
 (lone, he pursues his journey, with the young hunters for prec- 
 edent and example following closely behind him. Now he 
 ascends a stairway and enters a brilliantly lighted room. It 
 ^vas not a club room, nor a gambling hell, for in the com- 
 pany, seated in earnest, thoughtful silence, were ladies. 
 Ranged about upon the walls Avere the treasured voices of the 
 past — historic voices — voices of philosophy, of speculation, 
 and of religfious truth. Lookino- at one locality was to fancy 
 the hearing of the voices of song; at another, the hearing of 
 noise coming from conditions disturbed by innovation ; and at 
 another, the hearing of the thrill of genius along the line of the 
 world's developing civilization; and at another, the hearing 
 of a voice proclaiming the fitness of the human soul to be 
 the unit and measure of all institutions — the epitome and micro- 
 cosm of the universe ; and at another, " Hear ye the gospel " 
 — a voice teaching that God moves In the highway, not upon 
 a j^i^liice carpet; goes with the multitude, not with self-elect- 
 ed experts; runs amid-channel, not in the eddy — teaching 
 that the world forces, the world faiths, aiul tlie great relig- 
 
Under the (jas-Light. i 35 
 
 ions arc iK^t pii\ ate, select — up this man's lane and down that 
 man's spinal cord. But the ramhler is. truly ramhling. He 
 must not lose sight of the teacher and those who are look- 
 ing for precedent and example. The conclusion is that thev 
 have found enough. Will they profit hy it? Possihly the\- 
 are disappointed. Had the teacher entered doubtful localities; 
 had he entered this and that way, which lead to where souls 
 are being wrecked, the example might have been more satis- 
 factory to our young friends, and, as experience teaches, would 
 have been followed more readily. But the example was 
 good. Where he went were places of safety. The young 
 man can go there always and never suffer. Under the gas- 
 lights that gleam in those localities are found no pitfalls, no 
 lurking, devouring evil, and no poison to wither the \ital en- 
 ergies. Among the flood of suggestions referred to was one 
 pointing to the teacher. The thought was : " What a re- 
 sponsibility is his!" A walk here and a walk there; passing 
 under this gas-light or under that one; entering this door or 
 that door, may cause a thorny path to be made for a score ; 
 may cast down brilliant brains, and hedge the ways of the 
 forces of genius that otherwise might expand into agencies of 
 mastering power. 
 
 Byron expressed the correct idea in these lines: 
 
 " Tis thus the spirit of a sinj^le mind 
 
 Makes that of multitudes take one direction. 
 As roll the waters to the breathinjf wind, 
 Or roam the herd beneath the Chief's protection." 
 
126 Under the Gas-I^ight. 
 
 The teacher is taken as an ideal character. His deeds are 
 mirrors unto the young. This was Goldsmith's conception 
 when he wrote of the village schoolmaster: 
 
 " Full well thev laug'h'd with counterfeited g'lee 
 At all his jokes, for many a joke had he." 
 
 Had the teacher in question so elected he could have set an 
 example pointing to scenes and conditions of moral disaster. 
 He might have led from light to darkness, and from flowers 
 to thorns. But through the ministrv of some treasured ex- 
 perience, and from the planting of seed that attained to 
 growth and development, the example was redeeming, and 
 the leading was from light to light, from flowers to flowers, 
 and from "^ood to gfood. 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 127 
 
 RA'MBLE XXIX. 
 
 iNE thing- can be truthfully said, and that is this, that our 
 [?!? Aniericau life is an active life. This industry every- 
 where visibb — •from the cries in front of a side-show to 
 the management of a great agricultural and mechanical ex- 
 hibition — indicates that there is a struggle to better conditions. 
 The rambler, though weary from the duties that had been 
 his to j^erform in preceding hours, nerves himself to the con- 
 clusions that industry is the only safe agrarian law of society; 
 that it is ever elevating the laboring classes and reducing the 
 idle; that it \^ a universal duty, in that it fosters health, con- 
 tentment, virtue and happiness, as well as competence and af- 
 fluence. The mind desiring a condition free from the neces- 
 sity of labor is deceived. 
 
 "A want of occupation is not rest; 
 A mind quite vacant is a inind distressed. " 
 
 The man who does not labor, and who does not walk in 
 the royal paths of industry, is an incubus and a burden. It is 
 surprising to see so much false aristocracy extant. This mo- 
 ment there brushes by a man expressing a dissatisfaction over 
 
128 Under the Gas-Light . 
 
 the fact that s^o many toilers are in his way. His brain is too 
 hmited to comprehend the simplest economic principle. He 
 forgets that without a base there could be no tower. These 
 men are the foundation rocks of the state, of society, and of 
 the world's civilization. Paralyze the functions of these base 
 rocks, and soon tower and crown would lay in the dust. 
 
 A prelate, an assumed priestly dignitary of the church of 
 England, was surprised to see Dr. Johnson, one of the grand 
 royal princes of English literature, speak to Robert Burns, a 
 man dressed in coarse attire, and to the doctor expressed his 
 surprise. Dr. Johnson replied : " I spoke not to the boots, 
 but to the man who stands in them." That prelate's name 
 has long since been forgotten, but the name of Robert Burns 
 will be remembered as long as there is any civilization in the 
 world. Dr. Johnson did justice to the great soul of Burns 
 ere Burns became immortal, and thereby convinced the brain-i 
 less forces of his time and the soft shells of the English church 
 that he (Dr. Johnson) had the courage to revere divinity in 
 humanity, and the ability to comprehend a great brain, a 
 great soul and a great heart. 
 
 "A man's a man for a' that'" 
 
 was a gospel never excelled by any titled prelate of the En- 
 glish church. It touched the great heart of humanity, and 
 clinging to it through a natural adhesiveness, has been re- 
 membered by succeeding generations, while down went titled 
 conditions and princely powders. 
 
Unde7' the Gas-Light. 129 
 
 111 another place and under other circumstances, the ram- 
 bler hears a man say: "I conceive it to be mv duty to pa\ 
 the most attention to that part of humanity which has In it 
 the most soul." The speaker wa*^ a man who f)cciipies a high 
 position. He had come in contact with all conditions of life. 
 He had been in the cottage and in the palace, in the valley 
 and upon the momitain-top. Around him had fluttered but- 
 terflies and eagles. In his presence had stood plumed 
 knights with brains and plumed knights without brains, but 
 over them all he was disposed to look, and to pay attention to 
 that part of the race which developed the most heart, and as 
 a consequence he looked nu:)st into the faces of the best forces 
 of civilization, and paid most attention to those who were the 
 bed-rocks of home, of church and of state. From under the 
 gas-light there emerged a princess. vShe entered a cottage 
 with a royal ti'ead. She was angry, for in her family the line 
 of royal caste had been, in one instance, disrec^arded. There 
 was an interchange, fierce and fiery, and when the climax was 
 reached it was rounded oft' in this wise: " Remember that I 
 am a lady ! " 
 
 ''And I a mother I" was the retort. 
 
 It was the retort of a heart that had been wounded, the 
 outflow of a soul cherishing the broad divinity found in the 
 nobility of man and womanhood. Hefore it the cham- 
 pions of a cold philosophy could not stand. ''And I a 
 mother" was a voice that lingered in the air. It tarried amid 
 
130 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 the \ ines and flowers, and then rolled up against spangled 
 walls and exalted towers. "And I a mother " was a music 
 that commanded incense and obtained it. It had meaning, 
 and hence the force to carrv inspiration where inspiration 
 was needed — to the cottage or to " Estwick Hall;" to the val- 
 ley or to the mountain -crest ; to the chambers of poverty or 
 to the chambers of plenty. It was the breath of a soul tem- 
 pest, and knew no fear. It was the announcement of a con- 
 dition and a position titled by the edict of the eternal majesty, 
 and therefore above all conditions and positions. The dream 
 of the poet was: 
 
 " Sweet is the iiuat^e ot" the brooding^ dove; — 
 Holy as heaven a mother's tender love;" 
 The love of many prayers, and many tears, 
 Which change not with dim declining^ yeirs, — 
 The only love, which, on this teeming earth, 
 Asks no return for passion's wav\vard hirth." 
 
 Truly the rambler rambles. It is now past the midnight 
 hour. "Watchman, what of the night?" goes over the tele- 
 phone. "All is well," comes back; voice to voice, each far 
 away. Triumph of genius, of brain, and of industi*}-. Look- 
 ing at the stars that gleam in the heavens, over nation, and 
 city, and gas-light, the rambler calls along the path of future 
 development: "What will be added to the civilization of the 
 next decade?" No responsive echo comes back over the 
 track of the years. All is silent — all is sealed ; but we know 
 that what will be given will be given bv the roval sons of toil 
 — God's nobility. 
 
Under the Gas- Light. 131 
 
 RAMBLE XXX. 
 
 4- 
 
 fERE and there a gas-light gleamed on South Second 
 street, and under them the rambler passed unconscious of 
 -^ ^ how life was being lived there. The State House pre- 
 sented a dark picture, with here and there a light streaming 
 through the windows, revealing the fact that while others 
 slept somebody was toiling. From leaf to leaf and from 
 branch to branch, as the corners are passed, comes a silent 
 voice. Here a melody, and there a plaintive fluttering. 
 Shadows are passing, which are now and then traced with 
 beams of light. Here a song is sung, and there a petition of- 
 fered. Under a benediction one home rears around man a 
 defense, and under a curse another scatters thorns. South 
 Second street is very beautiful under the power of refine- 
 ment. Its sides are fringed with attractive habitations, 
 in which are budding and blooming flowers of intelligent 
 conception. All about can be seen ornamentation, evidences 
 of Christian culture and the better civilization. The paths 
 that \vind beneath overhanging branches arc covered with 
 withered leaves, reminding the rambler of the changes in na- 
 ture as the vears t>o b\-. 
 
1^2 
 
 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 Out throuorh a brilliantly lis^hted hall comes a strain of 
 music. The notes are sweet. They create a spell before 
 which language is powerless. It is a music sweetly sooth- 
 ing. It betrays no faith- -no trust. There is harmony with 
 the dying night breezes harping through the seared leaves, 
 trembling upon limb and bush. The soul, commingling with 
 the melody, reaches forth to muse with the sentient ministries 
 in the air. The man who would pause here would soon be 
 made unfit for " treason, stratagem and spoils," else he would 
 be speedily rated " an ignorant, noteless, timeless, tuneless fel- 
 low." The rambler paused and admired. He saw the dark- 
 ness melt as before a ray, and the half veiled face of heaven 
 throw a stream of light, with a beam of comfort to direct his 
 way. It was evident that beyond that threshold had never 
 passed a viper to sting and poison. Virtue stood full crowmed, 
 and round about, in battle array, ranged the angels of defense. 
 Their presence has been courted, their service cherished, 
 therefore the breath of divinity breathed in the music, and in 
 the rustling leaves, which the rambler caught that autumn 
 evening. 
 
 Life has its contrasts — its lights and shadows. The ram- 
 bler passes from the one into the other. 
 
 " Do you see yonder cottage, out from which comes but a 
 faint light ? " asked a resident of the street. 
 
 The rambler paused, saying: "I do now since you have 
 directed mv attention thither." 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 133 
 
 From our tricnd wc sfathered substantiallv these facts: 
 Beneath that roof exists a viper — a female viper. She is a 
 motlier. Her life to-day is black with sin. A few years ago, 
 when she was purer, God gave to her two baby girls — 
 
 " Two fair little creatures, with shining eyes, 
 That seemed to have taken their radiant lijfht 
 From the fairest hue of the summer skies." 
 
 Ere thev sfrew into voung- maidenhood their inother 
 strayed into a thornv path — she, who for their sake, should 
 have clung to the sheet anchor of virtue and besought defense 
 "froin the beautiful city with gates of pearl," and have 
 prayed the angels, with " sounding harps and gleaming 
 crowns," to woo her girls into the paths of purity. By and 
 bv there came two himian fiends seeking prey — two high- 
 stepping young men of the town. They bid for these two 
 voung girls, and the mother, in her abandonment, sold them 
 — permitted them to be sacrificed upon the altar of a terrible 
 fatality. She bid them follow the path which she had chosen 
 to follow, and to feel the thorns which she, in her vileness, 
 was bein«r made to feel. The rambler looked awav to 
 behold the stars that gleamed through the drifting clouds, 
 and to wonder why there was so much merc}^ in the heavens. 
 Here were two girls not long from babyhood being deliber- 
 ately educated to a deadly vice, having been heartlessly sold 
 by a heartless mother to the merchants of hell. It is passing 
 strange that mercy should continue to be mercy when such a 
 
134 Under the Gas-L.ight. 
 
 crime is being enacted. The being that would be instrumen- 
 tal in blasting an innocent life, in turning purity to impurity, 
 in chilling a flower just blooming, and in directing a guileless 
 heart into guile, should have no peace and joy in the midst of 
 a Christian and civilized life. Through the air should come 
 vengeful arrows of wrath to such an one. But these mur- 
 derers of maiden life, these poisoners of purity, these blasters 
 of childhood's fragrance, are permitted to hold up their heads 
 within the light of the city's best homes, and in the presence 
 of virtue that has received a cherishing fervent and strong. 
 The defenseless may only know that in the afterda\\ni it will 
 not be all mercy, but with it will be seen the flashings of jus- 
 tice for the beings who outraged buds and blossoms, and inno- 
 cent hearts, when there vs'as no defense — no one to smite 
 down the beasts as they preyed like vampires upon the all of 
 life — its virtue, its orlorv and Its crown. 
 
Under the Gas-J^ighl. 135 
 
 RAMBLE XXXI. 
 
 PjN a quiet and humble retreat, removed from the gas-h<(ht's 
 *} ghtter and <^lare, Hves a widowed mother, and with her 
 5j two Httle boys yet in the spring of Hfe. How and why 
 thev had been left alone to struggle for existence was not re- 
 vealed, and lest a sanctuary of sacred silence should be invad- 
 ed, no intelligence was sought in that direction. Little Joe, 
 the eldest, during the past few months, had sold flowers and 
 button-hole bouquets. When the seared leaves began to tall 
 and north winds to blow flowers were less in demand. An 
 ofHce-hoider, and occupant of one of the state-rooms of the 
 Capitol, had not been too much engaged to observe his com- 
 ing and going, and, being attracted bv the boy ^s manner, had 
 on many a summer da}' purchased from him a cluster of 
 flowers. One day when he came, his friend, realizing that 
 " leaves have their time to fall, and flowers to fade," suggest- 
 ed the selling of matches. Little Joe, having confidence, 
 concluded to follow his suggestion. His good friend ad- 
 vanced him the money with which to purchase a stock. 
 When the matches were obtained he was given this advice: 
 
136 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 " You go south on Second street, and then back on Fourth 
 street. Little Joe looked up in astonishment, and to exclaim : 
 " What! go among those big houses? I can't sell anything 
 there. The people who live in those houses look so cross 
 and mad at me. I would sooner go among the little houses. 
 The people who live in them appear more friendly. I al- 
 ways sell more to them." 
 
 His exclamation and reply opened up a train of reflection. 
 It was an experience revealing a contrast between two con- 
 ditions of life. Little Joe was confronted in the one localitv 
 with comfortless shadows, and in the other with the gleams 
 of sunshine. His recollection of the one condition will be 
 the recollection of hours which had in thtm more of coldness 
 than of warmth, and of the other condition the recollection of 
 hours which had in them more of warmth than of coldness. 
 
 Upon the night when the rambler was abroad the mother 
 was passing under the rod of affliction, and it was plain to be 
 seen that but a little while would she be permitted to remain 
 upon the earth. Little Joe had just come in from his wan- 
 derings. He had sold his last paper of matches. The meet- 
 ino- of mother and son revealed a warm affection — a fervent 
 love. Some how or other the little fellow realized that in a 
 short time the best and truest friend he ever knew would 
 leave him for a journey through the valley, and that then he 
 would be alone in the world — alone to struggle — alone to 
 achieve. " Mother," said he, " I will do all I can for vou." 
 
Under the Gas-Light. 137 
 
 The expression came up from a great soul, though possessed 
 by a little boy. Little by little he had saved his money. He 
 thought of no one but his mother; he knew no one but her, 
 and cared for no one but her. Her pain was his pain, her 
 sorrow his sorrow, and her joy his joy. At last the angel of 
 death came and took from the boy his mother. He looked 
 into her gentle face, traced by the weight of care, and with 
 his little hand moistened with his tears he closed her eyes — 
 eyes that had followed his footsteps many a weary day, and 
 had watched his comino- when the eveniu": shadows were 
 creeping over cottage and palace. 
 
 The scene here depicted was presented a week or more 
 ago. To-night — night upon which the rambler rambles — 
 little Joe is found alone in the world — alone, an orphan child. 
 
 Engaging him in conversation, he says, presenting a pic- 
 ture of manly pride: "I have buried my mother;" and then 
 his eyes sparkled with soul dew. " How could you do such 
 a thing when so young— so small." Answering, he revealed 
 the fact that he had gone to the man who makes coffins, and 
 told him that his mother had died, and that he wanted one in 
 which to bury her. The undertaker, judging from his ap- 
 pearance that he could not pay for a finished coffin, gave di- 
 rections in regard to a box. The bov looked up, and asked : 
 " Can I not have a nice coffin in which to put my mother? 
 I w^ill pay for it. I have some money now, and will sell 
 more matches and pay for it." Satisfied that the boy was 
 
138 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 honest and would do what he said he would, the undertaker 
 directed that a nice coffin be furnished. " Then you will 
 want a wagon ? " asked the undertaker. Looking into the 
 man's face, with his eyes full, as was his heart, he asked: 
 "Cannot my mother be taken to the grave in the hearse? 
 She is as good as any other boy's mother. I will pay for it 
 all. I promised my mother when she died that I would do 
 it, and I will do it." It was not hard to detect in the boy a 
 purpose that was earnest, and it was easy to conclude that in 
 this matter, and in fact in all other matters, he would be true. 
 
 All he desired was furnished, and he went to his lonely 
 home feeling glad that he was able to fulfill the promise he 
 had made his mother ere her spirit left its mortal home for a 
 home in the skies. The boy knew that his mother was a 
 good inother, and in his soul he felt the impress of her char- 
 acter; and happy was he to know that from care and toil he 
 could see her conveyed to a quiet rest in a way that would re- 
 flect honor upon his name. While yet a boy his manhood 
 developed. In the spring-time of his life the autumn wealth 
 showe<l itself. He determined that the beauty and taste inci- 
 dent to Christian civilization should surround her in the pas- 
 sage to the tomb. Over her grave will bloom flowers, and it 
 is sure that through the years they will be well watered by 
 little Joe. 
 
 When the grave was closed and the little boys found their 
 way to the city, a couple of ladies met them at their dreary 
 
Unde7' the Gas- Light. 139 
 
 and desolate habitation. Looking at the younger of the two, 
 it was suggested that he be sent to the Home of the Friend- 
 less. Little Joe turned his head, and soon his eyes were filled 
 with tears. Said he to the ladies: "I don't want my little 
 brother sent to the Home, for if he goes there somebody will 
 take him away, and I will never see him again." Looking 
 up into the face of one of the ladies, he continued : " Won't 
 you take him? If you do I will pay for his board and cloth- 
 ing." The plea was the eloquence of child-faith, and could 
 not be resisted. 
 
 Standing in this little man's presence, the rambler was 
 wont to say : Here we see a great force — a combination of 
 heroic elements, in the midst of which is a soul-fountain 
 containing everything that is sweet and beautiful. Little 
 Joe loved his mother — loved her living and loved her dead, 
 and in the boy swelled and sprung forth a manhood that 
 would not say less than this when her spirit went home to 
 God : " Here lies the best woman, in my judgment, I ever 
 knew — she was my mother, and she shall be buried and laid 
 away to rest." From a chamber of poverty the boy walked 
 forth, and in the manhood which he developed showed that 
 he bore as proud a name as was borne anywhere among the 
 race. In the street he had been crowded to one side because 
 of the clothes he wore and the work he did, and by those 
 who would have been slow to believe that in the domain of 
 the affections, and round the sanctuarv of the best conditions 
 
140 Under the Gas-Light. 
 
 of life, he was gathering a royal strength. It is the strength 
 that makes manhood grand and powerful in the mastery of 
 contending forces. Little Joe gave all he had that his mother 
 might be honored, and the act and the knowledge thereof 
 will serve him well all along his journey of life. 
 
 In this little boy the rambler beholds all the elements for a 
 crowning success. A diamond that gleams to-day gleams 
 to-morrow and will glow with beauty always. The soul 
 that expands largely in the morning of life will show its full- 
 ness when the twilight, creeping about, tells that the evening 
 has come. A memory that is cherished in the summer years 
 will never grow old, and will form a vivid picture when the 
 frosts of autumn and the winter winds come. How refresh- 
 ing these soul-lights, which are led now and then to scatter 
 their effulgence. We see one to-day, and know not what is 
 beneath; to-morrow it may be touched to a development, and 
 to an agency that will rear an altar for the sublimest devo- 
 tion. If this light flashes from a youthful life it will reveal 
 the cast of manhood, and dov^^n the years will point to victory 
 and glory. 
 
Under the Gas-Light, 141 
 
 TRUST 
 
 Lines suggested to the mind and heart of the Rambler bv 
 a ramble made at an earlier period of his life: 
 
 " Trust me," so said a little girl, 
 While toving with a gfolden curl. 
 
 •'/ wilt, my bird," for there was truth 
 In the two orbs — the eyes of Ruth . 
 
 In youthful trxist she stood a queen 
 In beauty, hope and g-raceful mien. 
 
 Her heart was glad, a joy was there. 
 Her way was bright, the future fair. 
 
 *■ You trusted me, I trusted you. 
 And sin was hid from mortal view. 
 
 I sat within the sunset gold, 
 
 And knew your heart was warm, not cold. 
 
 Thus spoke the maiden in her joy, 
 In words that came without allov : 
 
 "You gave me scope in fields of lore: 
 And as I thirsted gave me more. 
 
 You trusted me— I did not stray 
 Along a rough and thorny Avay. 
 
 You trusted me — I did not fall 
 
 From light and hope — beyond your call. 
 
 You trusted me upon my word. 
 And called me your little bird : 
 
 You pointed me where angels stood, 
 With crowns of stars for womanhood. 
 
142 Under the Gas-JLight. 
 
 I left my home, was gone for aj-e, 
 But visions of a g^olden day, 
 
 Like rays of light fell by my side, 
 While clinging to mj' trusted guide. 
 
 Had you lost faith in me, your cliild. 
 I might have left the angel guild : 
 
 I might have gone a gloom)" way. 
 The path of sin without a ray, 
 
 I might have rode a phantom barque. 
 And lost rs)- anchor in the dnrk. 
 
 And cried for help- a friendly oar. 
 To row me back safe to the shore. 
 
 I might have gone without a chart, 
 In gloom been cast with weary heart— 
 
 I might have stood without a stjir 
 To light to golden gates ajar. 
 
 You said to me the world was cold ; 
 That every glitter was not gold: 
 
 And bid me go and take a look 
 Through nature's wide xinwritten book." 
 
 I looked and saw a pilgrim pale, 
 Who faced a strong contending gale. 
 
 Without a guide, without a light — 
 It was a wild — a fearful night, 
 
 I saw a wreck, a stranded life, 
 W^ho might have been a happy wite. 
 
 Had she been loved and not been sold 
 For lands and checks, coupons ayid g'old , 
 
 She might have been a central light 
 For God, for truth — the cause of right. 
 
 Had she received a gentle hand — 
 Not been held by an iron band, 
 
 She might have stood with men of thought: 
 The soul and mind she might have taught. 
 
 Had she been nursed like buds to flowers, 
 And not been watched thro' summer bowers. 
 
Under the Gas- Light. 1 45 
 
 A guide, a light, a strength, a tower- 
 Man's rest and joy, a lonely hour, 
 
 Had she been led by songs of love, 
 Had she been called a little dove. 
 
 But ill-winds blew across her path — 
 Blew with an angry, fearful wrath. 
 
 The bud had taken an early chill. 
 And to a flower did not fill. 
 
 It fell, it died in fertile soil. 
 
 To bloom and grace it could not toil — 
 
 It drooped and died — it cried — the heart — 
 For soothing dew to make it start. 
 
 " Oh I that my father would trust me: 
 And why he won't I cannot see. 
 
 My honor, would not that sufliice, 
 With volumes of his good advice ? " 
 
 These were the words she often said! 
 They told of a heart poorly fed — 
 
 Told of a soul that wanted rest — 
 Of love that cried to be caressed. 
 
 " I cannot trust you from the hearth," 
 Were words that brought a fatal dearth — 
 
 To heart and soul a hungry thirst — 
 To cry " why should I thus be cursed? " 
 
 The night was cold — the heart had cried. 
 In angry storm it had been tried. 
 
 There came a hush ; the soul had fled. 
 And he who was stern bowed his head. 
 
 And said, " Oh God! forgive the sin, 
 For with more love it had not been 
 
 As seen to-night by those with tears — 
 As seen to-night by those of years. 
 
 Why did I chill the lovely flower 
 As cold as some cathedral tower ? 
 
 Why did I drive my child away — 
 Away from my heart. Oh! fatal day. 
 
144 Undei' the Gas-Light. 
 
 Why was I so cold and stern 
 That I \vould not her trust return. 
 
 For wliich she sought — for which she plead. 
 That hee huno^ry soul might be fed?'" 
 
 I turned, 1 saw a happy home; 
 
 From keys — from heart — a gentle tone. 
 
 " Had we ne'er met " was not the song 
 That told to me of inward wrong. \ 
 
 Here love doth dwell ; 1 knew it well, 
 That this was not a household hell. 
 
 The words of love, the gold of trust 
 Had saved a flower from the dust. 
 
 For she was loved in early years. 
 And told to staj' her falling tears — 
 
 Was told to wander on the main, 
 Was told to ramble down the lane. 
 
 Her heart was full, devoid of gloom; 
 A joj' had come — a happy boon; 
 
 A manh' strength, a manly voice, 
 'Twas all to her, the heart's own choice. 
 
 A little one, a biud, a twig, 
 Of love — of trust, in infant rig, 
 
 As love had taught began to say, 
 •' Ma, please, may I go out to play? " 
 
 My life, mj' light, my hope and pride. 
 More beautiful than when a bride, 
 
 "// came throiigh trust," was what was said. 
 As the tired boy was put to bed. 
 
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