I 
 
 I 
 
 # LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.! 
 
 ||l'«P-'^ fw'#t I'o I 
 
 I UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.^ 
 
POPULAM BOOKS 
 
 BY 
 
 •'brick pomeroy.* 
 
 L — SKNSa 
 n.— NONSENSK. 
 m. — SATCIIDAY SIQHTS. 
 
 IV. — GOLD-DUST. 
 
 V. — BRICK DUST. 
 
 VI. — HOME HARMONIES. 
 
 'tte Tcrsatility of genius exhibited by this anthor has won 
 
 bim % world-wifie reputation aa a facetious and a Btn^lg 
 
 writer. One moment replete with the most 
 
 touching pathos, and the next full of 
 
 fni, frolic, and sarcasm." 
 
 AS imbUahed nnlform with this volume, at $1.50, and sent bj 
 free qf postage, on receipt of price, 
 
 W. CARLETON & CO., Publlshen^ 
 New York. 
 
//oW / UY Afe Dow/ To j^liTy:-:p. ss9 
 
HOME HARMONIES. 
 
 A COLLECTION OF 
 
 SATURDAY NIGHT REFLECTIONS FOR 
 HOjVIE CORNERS. 
 
 MAKK M. POMEROY, 
 
 •% [" BRICK POMEROY,"] 
 
 AUTHOB OF 
 "sense," "NONSEMSE," "our SATURDAY NIGHTS,' 
 
 "gold dust," "brick dust," etc., etc. 
 
 ■'^ aV '^^ ^'^'V'^-^ 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 
 G. W. Carleto7i &" Co., P2tblishers. 
 
 london: s. low & co. 
 
 mdccclxxvi. 
 

 Copyright by 
 G. W. CARLETON & CO., 
 1876. 
 
 John F. Trow & Son, 
 
 Printeks and Stkrkotypers, 
 
 205-213 Kast i2//i St., 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
®o tljost n)l)o arc goolr to ttjemecbea, 
 
 AND 
 
 To every person who has a load to carry, and whose soul 
 is sometimes very sad ; whose way is at times over rough 
 places with little to encourage, these chapters of heart- 
 whispered sunshine are dedicated. They are planks of a 
 bridge I am trying to build, over which those who have souls 
 can walk safely, as I have walked, from darkness to light, 
 from sorrow to serenity, from mental unrest to that strength 
 and comfort which awaits every brave, patient, honest man, 
 woman and child in the Land of the Leal, where all is like 
 the morning of endless life, and where there are no weary 
 days or despondent Saturday Nights. By the lamp that 
 lights the way as above I have walked to contentment, and 
 now would hold the light for others. 
 
 With good wishes to all. 
 
 M. M, POMEKOT. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. — Home, Happiness, and Heaven 13 
 
 II.—" Darling, I Love You " 24 
 
 III.— Leaving the Old Rubbish 40 
 
 IV. — "Now the Seed-time — then the Harvest 51 
 
 v.— How the Builders Build 60 
 
 VI.— The Homeless Child 67 
 
 VII.— Wanting too Much 73 
 
 VIII.— The Wants of the Released Convict 81 
 
 IX.— Having a Good Time 93 
 
 X.— What a Selfish Mother Did 103 
 
 XI.— Why not Try to be a Man ? 113 
 
 XII.— A True Philosopher 124 
 
 XIII. — How the Poor Boy came to be Rich 131 
 
 XIV. — Seeking the Sunshine 141 
 
 XV.— The Orphan Girl and Her Friends 154 
 
 XVL— Baby and Her Kisses 163 
 
 XVII. — Helping the Industrious 174 
 
 XVIU.— The Children and their Trees 183 
 
Yiii Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGR 
 
 XIX,— The Drunken Mother Murderer 193 
 
 XX. — How a Newsboy kept the Wolf Away 201 
 
 XXI.— The Mansion and the Man , 207 
 
 XXII. —Papa Has Gone Home 220 
 
 XXIII.— Making Play-houses 228 
 
 XXIV.— The Wming Workers and their Reward 236 
 
 XXV.— Our Beautiful Darlings 251 
 
 XXVI.— Five Little Chickens 207 
 
PKEFACE. 
 
 One hundred years ago ! 
 
 One liiindred years hence ! 
 
 One hundred years, since the men, women and 
 children of this country first felt that they had a 
 home worth striving for. Now, in this Centennial 
 Year, there comes to our shores, to the city of 
 Brotherly Love, men from all climes and nations, 
 representatives of all people, and of thousands of 
 industries, to exhibit proofs of their handiwork, that 
 the world may know, on this beginning of a new 
 era, of the progress made by those who have worked 
 to a purpose. 
 
 There are patterns and ideas to be copied after, 
 accepted, or rejected. Thousands of things to mark 
 
X Preface. 
 
 onr progress as a nation and to signify our wants 
 in the future. There are inventions and improve, 
 ments, themselves so full of suggestions as thought 
 crowds to the front to open paths for progress that 
 men may work, and women may wait, easier and in 
 better conditions to accomplish and to bring forth 
 the new, be it of ideas or of humanity. How the 
 people have imj)roved during the hundred years 
 just agone ! How homes have grown more in num- 
 ber and in beauty, as from the thought-work of the 
 thinkers results have been reached and comforts have 
 increased ! 
 
 An hundred yea/rs hence ! 
 
 Who will think back to the date we now mark ? 
 How many of us will be remembered ? How many 
 of VIS will deserve mention on the pages of history an 
 hundred years from now? Long "before that time 
 the writer hereof will have passed on to the Thought- 
 land, Over There. Before he goes, he would bring 
 an offering to the young and to the old, this year 
 Centennial— would do something for ilie future — 
 
Preface. xi 
 
 would plant seed to bring forth good fruit, not only 
 for an hundred years, but forever ; would help men 
 and women not only to beautify homes, but to mel- 
 low hearts and open lives to the beautiful new light 
 that comes from the breath of Him who preached 
 •peace on earth and good loili to men. 
 
 "While the farmers are ploughing the fields, the 
 children are waiting the morrow, the inventors are 
 at work on their improvements, the laborers strug- 
 gle to overcome their tasks, and homes are rising 
 to greater attractiveness, we would ask a place in 
 Home Corners, for these our well-wished chapters. 
 Perhaps they will help boys to be real men ; girls 
 real women ; men to be better and broader in their 
 yiews, and more liberal in their lives. Perhaps, and 
 we pray God they will, help to cheer the lives and 
 lighten the loads and labors, and to lift the sorrows 
 that are in the hearts of thousands of overworked 
 wives and mothers. It may be that we can assist 
 to buUd and to round out good thoughts, to help 
 comfort souls and beautify homes with harmonies 
 
xii Preface. 
 
 and happiness for the many years to come. There- 
 fore "we try, in our way, to live and to labor cheer- 
 fully to this purpose ; and if work of ours be worthy 
 as our wishes are pure and earnest, our life will not 
 have been spent in vain. 
 
 Therefore, to men who have hopes — to women wh» 
 have hearts — to children who have souls — to homes 
 where there are loved ones to assemble — to all who 
 are on the way to the Golden Gardens in the Land of 
 the Leal — this unpretending volume of good inten- 
 tions, life experiences and home- written chapters, are 
 by their author respectfully dedicated in the desire 
 to be uaeful. 
 
 MARK M. POMEROY. 
 
 CmoAGO, Sept., 1876. 
 
Home Harmonies. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HOME, HAPPINESS AND HEAVEN, 
 
 OME again ! Another Saturday night. 
 Another resting in the bower of con- 
 tent with the dear ones and the loved 
 ones of the heart, the hearth and the fender. 
 Tlie hands on the face of the watch before us 
 tell a tale of flying time — that in one short hour 
 the day and the week will have gone and that 
 the midnight which separates us from the morrow, 
 as death separates us from the beautiful life to 
 come, will be here with its fleeting shadow. 
 
14 Home, Hajypiness and Heaven. 
 
 Then, in the twinkling of an eye will begin the 
 new day. Its new duties rising from the wreck 
 of the week as man shall rise after death to con- 
 tinue the work carried on or neglected by us as 
 day follows day — as opportunity follows oppor- 
 tunity down the hill into the deepening valley of 
 receding time. 
 
 The wife who waits with her heart in her 
 throat to hear the faint cry of new-born human- 
 ity that proves her indeed a mother, has prepared 
 for the coming of that which is, albeit humanity, 
 still a change. Every golden moment of time 
 ^was utilized as it flew by. The farmer who fills 
 the earth with seeds, works when comes the hour 
 and the time. With his work done, he rests, and 
 Our Father decrees that the silent influences of 
 nature shall, once the seeds be planted, bring 
 tliem to fullest fruition of fruit and flower ; 
 that the childreu of him M'ho planted and the 
 friends who might come to sup at his board 
 sliould be fed and strengthened against their 
 
Home^ Happiness and Heaven. 15 
 
 work on the morrow. So it is that to-night, 
 while sleep sits so serenely on the eyelids of 
 those we love and labor for as they rest jnst in 
 there so near to our study, we would plant good 
 seeds, and pray God that they may fall, not by 
 the way side, but in the hearts of men, that love 
 and kindness, and those heart flowers which 
 beautify life, may follow. The man who dare 
 be pure, loving and honest, fills the soil which 
 shall cover his coffin with seeds which will bear 
 beautiful flowers to mark where he sleeps. The 
 man who is ashamed to be child-like, loving and 
 kind, lest he be not dignified, digs his grave in 
 the sand on which the heat shall settle and sear 
 and blister. The man who shuts up his heart 
 lives for selfish purposes and builds not himself 
 into the quiet happiness of a mellow Home 
 Corner, will never know happiness or its rela- 
 tions to heaven, but will plant seeds which will 
 bring forth but thorns, thistles, nettles and 
 noxious weeds. 
 
16 Home, Ha'pjpiness and Heaven. 
 
 How much may a man plant in an hour — in 
 three-quarters of an hour? How much may a 
 man do for good or for evil, even in the few 
 moments before the week shall have fled with ils 
 record? How much may we do to plant good 
 seeds in hearts before we put aside the pen, 
 finish the labor of the week, and seek rest, re- 
 pose and the breath of angels on the couch so 
 near by % Perhaps we can do more good in the 
 hour than we have done in all the week. 
 
 To-day there came a letter from a good friend. 
 A busy man of business. A man whose heart is 
 BO full of ambition we fear he is not on the road 
 to happiness, therefore not living to benefit hu- 
 manity. He asks ns to tell him how to be 
 happy. 
 
 To answer, the pen must be guided by the 
 heart as by the hand. We must throw aside the 
 corsets and the stilted wrapping of dignified 
 writing and dip the pen into the heart, even as 
 
Home, Happiness and Heaven. 17 
 
 mau must throw off clumsy garments when he 
 BOWS good seed. 
 
 First of all, to be happy you must deserve to 
 be. Tliere is a law of exact recompense. There 
 is a road to follow. A road this way and a road 
 that way. Of a truth doth a man, a woman, a 
 child gather as the day is spent in planting. We 
 believe that all men can be happy if they will. 
 As time passes on, we learn lessons. We have 
 learned to keep away from contact with iron 
 that burns — from ice that freezes — from waters 
 that poison — from temptations tliat weaken — 
 from vice that scars — from resorts that shame — 
 from liabits that hurt us — from draughts that 
 poison — from hearts that are selfish — from asso- 
 ciations that degrade — from all that would lower 
 our manhood, weaken our influence for good, 
 warp our judgment, and decrease the talent 
 given us for a purpose, no matter whether that 
 talent be little or much. This lesson must be 
 learned by all. This seed must be planted deep 
 
18 Home^ Haziness and Heaven. 
 
 in the heart. A man can make of himself what- 
 soever he win. If he wishes to be happy, he 
 can be happy — he will le hajpiyy ! If he wishes 
 to be loved he will so live as to make himself 
 lovable. If he wishes to be pure, and good, and 
 noble ; to walk in that line of sunlight to the 
 soul which is harmony, he will guide his steps 
 away from vice, from temptations and into those 
 paths and ways which lead to home, to loving 
 hearts, to happiness, and Heaven. Men pray to 
 be delivered from temptation, but try not to de- 
 liver themselves. They pray to God for happi- 
 ness, and expect their . prayer to be answered 
 simply because God has the power to answer 
 prayer. Men walk in evil ways — they follow 
 slippery paths — they rest themselves in slime, 
 then expect to be pure and to stand ei*ect and 
 clean in their moral apparel. 
 
 The man who will not take care of himself 
 must blame no one for his fall. The man who 
 does not live to make his home ones Irappy must 
 
Home, Happiness and Heaven. 19 
 
 not expect to be happy in his home. Roses do 
 not cling to icebergs. Little children do not 
 romp and laugh around a church because it is a 
 high, hard, grim old building, but because they 
 find little flowers and something beautiful crop- 
 ping out from its foundations. If a man would 
 be loved by his wife and worshipped by his little 
 ones, he must live for them as for himself and 
 come as does the morn of May, with that genial, 
 pleasant atmosphere of which good intentions, 
 life flowers and eternity's fruits, are born. Frost 
 kills and blasts. The warm sun brings life. So 
 does kindness bring love and then conies trust, 
 faith, home, happiness] Heaven. 
 
 To be happy, a man must look well to himself 
 in his mating and in his life. If he dissipates, 
 there is a piper and then a penalty to pay. 
 Always two prices for each indulgence. If the 
 husband loves not his home and seeks the society 
 of other women for that spice, social life and lift- 
 ing up he claims he cannot find at home, he is 
 
20 Home, Ha'pjpineiss and Heaven. 
 
 already on the road that leads to sorrow, and 
 nnist not expect to be happy till that road be for- 
 saken. 
 
 The man who neglects his home will find his 
 home ones neglecting him sooner or later. If 
 he lives at his club, spends his nights here and 
 there in excitement, he is wearing away, neglect- 
 ing his family and throwing ice upon the garden 
 in which he looks for flowers. No man, we care 
 not who he may be, can be away from his home 
 night after night, or away on journeys, long 
 absent from his family, except at his peril. No 
 wife can expect to be here, there, everywhere, 
 trotting about to visit, gossip and be amused, and 
 expect her husband to remain virtuous, except 
 he be a walking skeleton, not subject to those 
 influences which affect all who are human. No 
 man ever yet was absent a week from his home 
 and returned to find his loved ones as he left 
 them. There has been a change for better or 
 worse — a natural seeking: for somethino- new — 
 
Some, Hajypiness and Heaven. 21 
 
 an advance up liill or down that be must catch 
 up with. 
 
 The man who makes money gives his attention 
 to finances. He who becomes an artist must 
 study, must make and continue making efforts. 
 The merchant who sells goods is ever on the 
 alert for something new and attractive. He 
 actually courts his business till he falls in love 
 therewith, often to the neglect of his family, 
 then wonders why payments are not made from 
 hearts not in the least his debtor ! 
 
 The way to be happy is to be happy. Leave 
 the smell of money in the shop, store or office, 
 as much as possible. When the work of the day 
 is ended go home. It is the only safe place in 
 all the world. Make love to your wife. Romp 
 with your babies. Entertain and instruct your 
 family. Make calls with her who is your wife. 
 Take your wife and children to places of amuse- 
 ment — to lectures, to places of recreation. Al- 
 ways have some new pleasure ahead, in which 
 
22 Home, Hajpjpiness and Heaven. 
 
 all cau share. Hours spent pleasantly at home 
 brine; rest and strength for the heart. Hours 
 spent in excitement from home unfits a man for 
 the business of the morrow, and plants burning 
 fevers in the soul of her who waits and wonders 
 in whoso company her husband wastes the hours 
 to which she is in truth entitled. 
 
 There is no hell here or hereafter like that 
 raging in the soul of a wife who is doomed to 
 wait in silent sadness for the coming of her 
 night-wandering husband. He may be sick. 
 He may be drunk. He may be squandering his 
 earnings, to which she is in j^art entitled, in 
 dissipation. He may be pillowing his head on 
 the bosom of some other woman. He may be — 
 and this to a good woman is enough of hell to 
 drive her mad. In view of the rambling of so 
 many men, we do wonder that more women are 
 not driven to desperation and to ruin. 
 
 Let a wife know she is loved and respected, 
 and home is happy. Let a husband know that 
 
Home, Ha^^iness and Heaven. 23 
 
 liis is the onlj arm, the only heart on which his 
 wife will lean, and the veriest ruffian in the 
 world will sooner or later be in love with his 
 home and those who there, at the close of daj, 
 await his coming and the joy it brings. 
 
 ]^ot for all the world would we exchange the 
 wealth that is found at home. Here we live. 
 Here we are safe from the tempest. Here we 
 form good resolutions and gain the strength to 
 carry them out. Here we rest, develop man- 
 hood, study life, read books, write letters, live 
 for those who are dear to us, and day by day see 
 what a man can do to help make his home happy 
 and life a success. Thus every night is given to 
 good, to some useful recreation, study or 
 entertainment, and every night becomes an oasis 
 in the desert of strife, as we find ourselves at 
 home, happy and striving for that Heaven tliere 
 is for all who dare to be good to themselves and 
 to their home ones, as we journey on toward our 
 final Saturday Night, 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 '* DARLING, I LOVE YOU. 
 
 OW the rain beats against the glass 
 that protects us from the storm rag- 
 ing without. The clouds are heavy. 
 The air is damp. The ' autumn winds pipe 
 coldly as they tell us that winter is coming, and 
 that before it comes we must prepare for the 
 spring that will follow. 
 
 Beautiful spring ! The joyous time when 
 warm zephyrs, gentle rains and fragrant flowers 
 will send out their perfume to make the air re- 
 dolent; to waken life and nature to love and 
 love's renewals. 
 
 The winter approaches. Soon it will be here, 
 
" Darling, I Love You." 25 
 
 and then, very soon, will it be gone. The rain 
 that now beats spitefully against the panes will 
 soon have spent its force. In a little while the 
 snow V\'il] fall. It will cover the ground and 
 hide from view many a rough place ; many a 
 misfortune ; many a foundation of foolish un- 
 dertaking ; many a little grave and many a large 
 one into which some dearly loved form has been 
 gently laid away, now that the spirit has no far- 
 ther need of its prison-house. 
 
 To-night we have been visiting with an old 
 friend who is even dearer than a brother. If 
 3"0u have time to listen, we will tell you of him. 
 A truthful story of a patient life. Of a brave 
 patient man whose life has been to a purpose — 
 who has lived; been happy; has suffered and 
 who still suffers, Ijut who has never lost his man- 
 hood. A little story for boys and for girls ; for 
 young men and young women ; for husbands and 
 wives — for those who dare be good to themselves 
 
 and to their loved ones. 
 
 2 
 
26 ^^ DarU%, I Love You:' 
 
 "We knew him years ago. A young man in 
 the flush of life. A bold, gentle, loving mar/, 
 A man who could stoop to no wrong. A man 
 who loved his honor ; who early promised to 
 himself that he would live to develop the highest 
 possible order of manhood. One who grew 
 from boyhood's estate, inanly, prudent, generous, 
 forgiving, patient, hopeful, self-reliant, positive 
 in his strength, and always jealous of all tliat 
 might spot, mar or tarnish his good name. 
 lie began life poor. His boyhood was spent on 
 the hillsides of the Emph-e State. When came 
 the years for labor, he went to the West and 
 struck into the future there in a great city on the 
 prairies and in tune with the thousands of glo- 
 rious young workers in the sundown land who 
 are so rapidly coming to be the dictators of 
 America. 
 
 By attention to business and care of himself 
 that no bad habits should weaken his life, he 
 came to be the owner of a business that he had 
 
"Barling, I Love TouJ^ 27 
 
 created, just as God from nothing made the 
 World. Then he came to be the head of a pros- 
 perous business firm, and all because he had ever 
 tried to be a man and to accumulate all he could 
 of good qualities, intelligence and information 
 that might be of use mstead of a detriment to 
 him. 
 
 In his days of youth he was no loafer, profane 
 or Yulgar user of indecent language. He was 
 not a whinmg, puling saint, but a man in all the 
 word implies of the good and the manly. So we 
 came years ago to love him, never asking his 
 politics or religion ; of his business or private 
 affairs ; never seeking to meddle with that which 
 was none of our business ; never knowing of his 
 griefs, temptations, heart struggles or inner life 
 except as he opened the blinds and invited us to 
 look in upon the soul machinery every man and 
 woman does well to guard and to improve. One 
 day, about five years ago, our friend took to 
 himself a wife. A pure, sweet, loving girl. A 
 
28 " Darling^ I Love Yoxir 
 
 young woman whose form and whose life was 
 ever lovely. From the East to the West she 
 went with him as his wife. They soon came to 
 own a beautiful home. These two who loved 
 each other lived for each other. Our friend was 
 never found in haunts of dissipation whetting 
 his life away to sharpen appetites that so rapidly 
 devour all those who tamper too much with in- 
 dulgence. His home was his Heaven. His wife 
 was his wisdom. His love was his life. He 
 worked day after day for the beautiful woman 
 whose life had so blended with his own. "We 
 have seen them in their home. We have seen 
 them in their beautiful surroundings, where the 
 elegant furniture, the adornments of room after 
 room were as nothing in comparison to the sweet 
 atmosphere of harmony that pervaded their liv- 
 ing place and shone like a halo over their every- 
 day lives. 
 
 She who was his wife had fullest confidence 
 in her husband. She knew him to be the soul 
 
" Darling^ I Love YouP 29 
 
 of honor. She was content to live to make theirs 
 a beautiful, charming, happy home. With his 
 little faults she kept up no continual quarrel, and 
 so thej all died out. The world was beautiful 
 to her, when it used her husband well. "When he 
 returned from the brain-racking duties of the 
 business office and the feverish labor of the 
 think-shop, how her kiss captured him at the 
 threshold ; how her smile Ijound him to another 
 than a business life ; how her soft hand drew 
 the thorns of care from his brain as her fingers 
 followed themselves down over brow and cheek 
 till his very life was mellowed anew by the mag- 
 netism of her love and the caressing touch of 
 loving, wifely gentleness. Do you wonder that 
 this strong man lived for this pure, loving, gentle 
 woman ? Why ! In all the world is no power 
 save death that can unweld hearts thus mated. 
 When he came home, her mantle of love was 
 wrapped about him. Sh& was not ashamed to 
 be known as a wife who loved her husband. He 
 
30 ''Darling, I Love You:' 
 
 was not ashamed to be known as a man who 
 adored his wife. 
 
 Thus they grew into the most harmonious 
 relationship. They struggled not for wealth nor 
 fretted themselves to death at the door-sill of 
 hollow, frivolous, fashionable society which meas- 
 ures men by their dollars and women by the 
 fripperies of that extravagance which excites 
 envy. They grew into each other's life. His 
 touch was ever gentle. His voice was ever low 
 and sweet to her, though in the rattle of business 
 and on the platform defending his principles it 
 was loud, sharp, clear, cutting, and ever pointed 
 to the centre of the target. He never laded his 
 breath with poison, nor was other than a sober, 
 gentle man in all that was for his wife, his home, 
 his life. 
 
 The better we knew this man the more we 
 loved him, and the less we wondered that his 
 wife loved him so. The more we knew- of them 
 in their beautiful home, basking in the sunshine 
 
 >t 
 
" Darling, I Love YouP 31 
 
 of God, the better we understood how and why 
 he adored the woman who was leading her hus- 
 band to Heayen ; who was making his life 
 liapi:)y ; who was developing his strength and 
 endurance and was hedging him all in and about 
 with those soul-lighting, protecting influences so 
 many wives and husbands affect to despise as 
 beneath the cold-blooded forms of that dignity 
 which follows ignorance, selfishness, carelessness, 
 and mismating. 
 
 One day our friend went to his home to find 
 her whom he had kissed " good-by " so lovingly 
 in the morning, very ill. Iler face was flushed. 
 Her eyes were kindling to a look of pain. Her 
 breath was hot and indicated fever. Her beauti- 
 ful forehead was not as cool as usual. The 
 smile came slowly to her face as she met her 
 husband at the door of their charmino; house. 
 She laid her hands in his. She pillowed her 
 head on his breast as he tenderly kissed her lips, 
 her eyes, her forehead. He felt at once the 
 
32 ''Darling, I Love You^ 
 
 presence of an enemy, and asked her lie loved so 
 well, " What of the hour." 
 
 " Merely a trifle ill, my darling." 
 
 Then she kissed him again and again. Her 
 head sank to his breast as his arms were so lov- 
 ingly folded around the one who to him and his 
 life was so sweet and so precions. Never did a 
 mother handle more tenderly her first-born than 
 did he who was and who is onr dearly loved 
 friend, lead her to a sofa and there composed her 
 to rest. 
 
 Physicians were summoned. The angels of 
 sympathy came into the house and possessed it. 
 The loved wife grew weaker and weaker. It 
 was not like a bold enemy that death came, but 
 like a sneak thief, ashamed to rob the loving 
 man who never did him harm. Perhaps death 
 had pity and stayed his hand longer than his 
 wont ! Days faded into weeks and weeks into 
 months. Slowly the loved one we Dt down over 
 the sands that border the wondrous river. Gen- 
 
^^ Darling, I Love You?' 33 
 
 tly, sweetly, lovingly, mournfully, heroically, 
 patiently, caressingly, did the husband keep her 
 company. By day and by night he held her on 
 his breast tenderly in his perfect love. He gave 
 her life from his magnetism ; but alas ! alas ! 
 the beckoning hand of God that came like a 
 feeble shadow, grew more and more distinct. 
 Human skill, patient care, gentlest nursing, 
 sweetest love and purest affections were as noth- 
 ing against the inevitable. The shadows grew 
 deeper in the home, the smiles went out from 
 the heart of our friend and left lines of care in 
 their place. 
 
 One night she bade father, mother, relatives, 
 all a last "good-by," then she motioned them 
 all away from her presence. Standing there on 
 the threshold of Our Father in Heaven, her soul 
 being filled with melody from the unseen, she 
 reached out her bloodless hand to him who was 
 her life, her husband. She turned her eyes into 
 
 his with volumes of love in every glance — in one 
 2* 
 
34 " Darling^ I Love YouP 
 
 long loving look. Her head rested on his breast 
 where so often she had slept to sweetest dream- 
 ing. She put away from her all of home ; all 
 of beautiful things ; all of life but her loved 
 husband. She turned her face up to meet his. 
 Their eyes met, were drowned in tears. She 
 whispered so low and yet so distinct — 
 
 " Darling, I love you." 
 
 And tlius — and thus : with a smile on the lips 
 of the patient woman who for months and 
 months had suffered with no complaining voice, 
 look or act, did this loved, loving, lovely wife bid 
 her husband good-by to join the angel hosts in 
 the Land of the Leal. 
 
 " Darling, I love you ! " 
 
 O ! what a beautiful legacy ! IIow like a 
 sweet solace — like a poem — lilce a promise for 
 the future did that expression of a life take and 
 make a home in the grief-laden heart of him 
 who heard its just understood whisper. Li life 
 they were togethci'. In death they were not — 
 
" Darling^ I Love You^ 35 
 
 they will not be divided. There are crowns of 
 laurels and of gold stndded with diamonds ; 
 there have been songs and prose written as tri- 
 butes to loving, devoted manhood. Monuments 
 have been built, begun and left unfinished in 
 honor of men who achieved greatness. But 
 there never was sweeter, greater, purer tribute 
 than this. Never a crown of brighter lustre. 
 Never a reward for a life of honor, probity and 
 constancy sweeter than the circlet of words 
 breathed over the face and after-life of a hus- 
 band as his wife stood in the Gateway of God, 
 when forgetting all of life — with no dread of 
 the future, she whispered, 
 
 " Darling, I love you." 
 
 When so pure a love speaks in this presence it 
 is a tribute to worth. It is a reward for well 
 living. It is a God-whispered promise for the 
 future 1 How much better for men to Kve to 
 be thus breathed upon by one who stands in the 
 presence of God than to live only to develop the 
 
36 ''Darling, 1 Love YouP 
 
 low, the coarse, the brutal, the vulgar, the cruel, 
 the abusive and the destructive. There are those 
 who live only to gratify animal passion, to please 
 themselves. To bring out the coarser pictures. 
 There are women who are cold, heartless, selfish ; 
 who love the world more than home ; who do not 
 realize that the mission of a wife and of a mother 
 is to bring her loved ones to Heaven. There are 
 those who say that love is foolishness ; that 
 affection is weakness ; that the rifting frost and 
 the blighting chill that forms the stately iceberg 
 is better than the sun and gentle warmth that 
 covers the earth with beauty. But God does not 
 think so ! Angels do not think so ! Those who 
 love us here, and whom we love, do not think so ! 
 Those to whom we give our lives should not 
 think so — they will not if they are right of heart. 
 
 " Darling, I love you." 
 
 What a volume of reward and promise is this ! 
 The winter is now upon us, but the gates will 
 soon be opened. The workers in the garden of 
 
" Darling, I Love YouP 37 
 
 God are preparing homes for us, they are doing 
 there for us as we strive to do for them here. The 
 good seeds we plant here will all bloom. Ovei 
 There. In a few days we too can go home. In 
 a few days we can cross the river to be welcomed 
 by those who have gone before us, and who will 
 await us to fling their arras about our necks, to 
 pillow our aching heads on their bosoms and to 
 gently whisper as did the lovely wife of whom 
 we write. With our friend and brother we have 
 stood before the word of God — under the mellow 
 light in the East. With him we have walked in 
 sweet companionship over many a thorny road. 
 Have seen the dead raised to life, and have 
 found shelter from many a storm. With him 
 we have rejoiced in the possession of the beauti- 
 ful, and have learned how to think. With him 
 we have mourned under the sorrows that have 
 swept over his soul to darken his life— with him 
 we again approach the East. See there! Look 
 you out from the Chamber of Meditation ! Look 
 
38 ^^ Darling, I Love You:' 
 
 up ! See the temple, the lights, the loving ones. 
 Over Yonder. In that Golden Land, under the 
 gleaming of mellow lights stands waiting the 
 one who so loved yon and whom yon so loved. 
 There is no look of pain on her face. The roses 
 have come to her cheeks once more. She points 
 to the fruits and flowers you have for years been 
 planting in this life, all of which are living and 
 beautiful Over There. She points in triumph 
 tinted by love unutterable to her home — to your 
 home in the Gardens of God. How can you 
 i-each her ? Look you ! From your feet to hers 
 — from your life to hers is a bridge. " Darling 
 I love yoity See how it reaches from shore to 
 shore ! Dry your tears. Follow the line — walk 
 tlie bridge, fearing nothing, and soon will the 
 hands you now miss touch you so gently again. 
 Soon will yon feel her loving presence. Soou 
 will her eyes be the light of your life again. 
 Soon will life rest in life, and the home she will 
 welcome you to will be a million times more 
 
" Darling, I Love You^'' 39 
 
 beautiful than the one you gave her on earth. 
 Gird up your heart. Bear yourself bravely. 
 The bridge will not break I Walk it from this 
 shore to that one, and soon the feet now encased 
 in sandals will be slippered in the daisies of Heav- 
 en, and He whose hand is Open to all who trust 
 in Him will smile and gently say : " Well done ! " 
 and well done on Earth is to be well done forever. 
 How our heart goes out in sympathy with, to 
 and for those who mourn for their loved ones. 
 To the parents who have lost the children they 
 lo\'ed. To the young hearts from whom death 
 lias taken the support to which their souls had 
 'i(:^'un to cling, for none can cross the stormy 
 ocean so well alone ! To the children who ha ve 
 iost their loved parents, but more than all to the 
 loving wife, and the manly husband whom death 
 iias bereft, not to make us sad, but to give us 
 waiters, watchers, and welcome so sweet in the 
 (jolden Gardens where there is no grief, no soi'- 
 i-ow, no mourning, as on earth this thoughtful 
 Saturday !Night. 
 
CIIAPTEE III. 
 
 LEAVING THE OLD EUBBISH. 
 
 [IIS afternoon, perhaps two hours be- 
 fore sunset, tired and head-weary 
 after several hours' continued labor 
 at the desk, reading letters and newspapers from 
 different parts of the country, studying the 
 Avants and sentiments of the people in different^ 
 localities, and writing now and then an item, wc 
 left the office and started for a walk in a distant 
 part of the citj^, to see something new. Would 
 any of our young friends have been afiaid to 
 have gone where they never were before l 
 Would any of them be afraid to leave their 
 
Leaving the Old Rubhish. 41 
 
 homes in the country and come to New York 
 to visit us ; to tell of the incidents of the trip ? 
 Perhaps you may say you do not know how 
 to reach the great city, where are thousands 
 of people, and great buildings, and stores full 
 of beautiful things, and articles you never saw 
 and never will see till you come here. Still you 
 could come. Even the smallest of all our little 
 friends could come. Every day thousands of 
 T'eople come here, and after we have told you 
 the way, and who to come with, or have sent a 
 silent discreet messenger for you, surely you 
 could come with him and not be afraid, for all 
 S(()me people may say there are dangers along the 
 road, and it is hard to leave friends, who soon 
 Would follow you, glad — Oh ! so glad to have a 
 rtist and to see with their own eyes beauties 
 htiard of, but never fully realiz;ed. 
 
 ' We want some of our little friends to write 
 aikd tell us if they would be afraid to come here 
 t'^ - - us. Then we can write another chapter 
 
42 Leaving the Old liuNnsh. 
 
 on purpose for tlie little folks, and try to tell 
 them something they can try to remember. 
 
 Walking along, two or three miles from the 
 office, we came to a man who was piling a lot of 
 household goods on a wagon. Beside the wagon 
 were ever so many different articles he seemed 
 disposed to leave for some one else. There were 
 old boots and shoes, old rags, old tin-ware, old 
 chairs, cheap, rotten and broken, and many old 
 trinkets of no use to any one. As he was trying 
 to fasten his load together and seemed to need 
 help, it was easy to stop and assist him. 
 
 " Thank you, sir, very much," said he, as he 
 lifted his hat to wipe the perspiration from hi:s 
 brow. j 
 
 " You are very welcome, sir. No doubt yoi|. 
 have helped others who needed help, and will do 
 so again ; so it is a pleasure to assist you," 
 
 " True, sir. I always like to lend a helping 
 hand. Many is the bit of good one does in tha^t 
 way and is none the poorer from it." 
 
Leaving the Old Hiibhish. 43 
 
 " That seems to be in accordance with the 
 religion of the One who was not understood 
 while on earth, but whew lives even after they 
 crucified Him. Are you moving from here ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir. I am going with my family to a 
 new house up-town." 
 
 " Accept congratulations on your good for- 
 tune Going into a better house than this one, 
 we presume ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir, much better, and in a much better 
 neighborhood. I am going where I shall not 
 liave to work so hard, and to act as superinten- 
 dent of a large establishment in which a num- 
 ber of brotlier workmen are employed." 
 
 " That indicates that you have been a good 
 workman, and have good recommends." 
 
 " Yes, sir. I have. Several men who used to 
 work down here with me have gone up there 
 and have given testimony in my favor, and some 
 of the firm have been down here to see my 
 work, and have offered me a good place." 
 
44 Leaving the Old Rubbish. 
 
 " What church do you belong to ? " 
 
 " Not any, sir. They did not ask me. All 
 they seemed to want jyas an honest man, who 
 was a good workman, able to understand some- 
 thing of their plans." 
 
 " Are you not afraid to leave this situation 
 here, and go there ? " 
 
 " No, sir. There is more room up there than 
 here. A larger shop. Better workmen. Better 
 machinery than here. A great many tools and 
 appliances invented and discovered by work- 
 men who went there before I was called. I 
 think the place so much better that I am going 
 soon as possible." 
 
 "Do you intend to leave these old articles 
 behind you — these things you seem to have 
 thrown into the street ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. They are but old rul)bish, of no 
 use to me. I have been foolish — have squan- 
 dered money to buy many and many an article 
 of no use to me. I shall leave all the old i-ub- 
 
I 
 
 Leaving the Old Bubhish. 45 
 
 bisli behind me, and take only the best, and 
 there is not so much of it as I wisli there was, 
 or so much as I might have had, but that I was 
 too thoughtless and careless. But I must be 
 going. If you ever come up town I will be 
 glad to see you, for you have been kind, and 
 given me a little help in a friendly way." 
 
 " Good day, and good luck." 
 
 " Thank you, sir. Good day." 
 
 All the way home we thought of that man, 
 and of the rubbish he has left behind. 
 
 To-night we have thought of the rubbish we 
 have accumulated in life. Some of these days all 
 of us will be helped into the carriage that will 
 take us to the new residence — to the purer coun- 
 try and the companionship of better workmen. 
 How many of us will have much to move? 
 How many of us will have to leave behind more 
 than we can take with us to be of use in the new 
 workshop ? 
 
 Some of these days a messenger will come and 
 
46 Leaving the Old Eubhish. 
 
 say we are wanted elsewhere. Then we will be 
 advanced. That is, if we are good workmen. 
 If not, we may be compelled to remain here till 
 the master tears down the building, and we are 
 thrown out of employ, to wait around and wan- 
 der and seek for labor of any kind, when, had 
 we taken care of ourselves, a situation at better 
 wages were ours to count on for a certainty. 
 
 Look out for the rubbish, boys. That is what 
 loads the wagon, and when it is all brought out 
 to the street, the people will know how we spent 
 our earnings. The habits of life count for or 
 against us. Men learn to lie, and to clieat, and 
 to become selfish, grasping and avaricious. 
 They often live only to accumulate wealth. But 
 gold will some day be nothing but rubbish. In 
 the new shop, in the East, under the smile of the 
 Great Worker and Architect, whose helpers all 
 honest men are, there is no rubbish. All tliat 
 must be left behind when we go from school here 
 to our Home in the golden-hued Eternal, where 
 
Leaving the Old Riibbish. 47 
 
 good actions, pure lives, honest motives and ear- 
 nest striving to live to a good purpose while on 
 earth, are the credits passed to our credit after 
 the chemical change we call death shall have 
 come, and we go learn of our Treasures where 
 God of Love and the Master Mind of All is the 
 Banker who every day we live here puts our 
 good deeds out to abundant interest. 
 
 Then the question will be, what have you done 
 to help others ? To lighten hearts % To lift the 
 loads of care that come like shadows of the night 
 to weigh down men and women and children all 
 over the land as here we work — not waiting so 
 much to be saved as to save ourselves here, that 
 we have rewards of our own to enjo}^ Over 
 There. 
 
 To-night we have been thinking of two 
 brothers. One of thein is rich as they count 
 wealth in gold. But he is not rich in that senti- 
 ment of truth and honor, and fearless disposition 
 to do rio-ht which will count to his credit in the 
 
4:8 Leaving the Old Ruhhish. 
 
 Eternal existence. He is cold, selfish, avaricious. 
 We never knew him to give even one little 
 penny to the poor. He has no charity for 
 others. He is almost brutal to his family, and 
 lives only to demand homage from those he can 
 make to fear him. 
 
 The other brother is a mechanic. A Tubal 
 Cain. He works by a forge and sings as he toils. 
 His wife is proud of him and of his noble, 
 loving heart. His little ones, three in number, 
 watch for his coming each night, and every 
 Saturday night, and romp with him after the 
 work of the day is done, till he says he is rested. 
 He rolls them on the floor, and he stands them 
 on their heads, till father, mother and little ones 
 laugh with delight and are envied by many a rich 
 man and woman, who put corsets on their hearts 
 and stifle affection in order to be fashionable. 
 
 He works in a blacksmith-shop. He heats 
 great bars of iron, and lays them on the anvil^ 
 and rains upon them titanic blows till the sparks 
 
Leaving the Old Ruhhish. 49 
 
 play and dance around his shop after the echoes 
 as they roll out upon the street. His hand, when 
 it grasps the hammer, is hard and strong — his 
 muscles are brawny, and his strength like that of 
 a giant, as he is, for he asks odds of no man, and 
 believes in that Heaven which is reached by the 
 door of honesty, framed in Divine love for all 
 who love themselves enough to keep their hearts 
 pure. Now he strikes hard, powerful blows till 
 the whipped metal becomes obedient to mind, 
 and matter and manner of direct application. 
 Then the blows are lighter than the love taps on 
 the cheek of an affianced, for he is a master 
 workman, who knows what, and when, and how 
 to strike, making of his life a roundelay of 
 •mechanical song — a cadence of music, ever in 
 iiarmony with the Great Maestro who gives us 
 Work and gives rewards only to those who do it 
 "willingly and well. 
 
 t This one of the brothers will have but little 
 f ubbish when he moves. He will go to his new 
 
50 Leaving the Old Huljhish. 
 
 home and to his labor in the Eternal Pattern 
 shop, where God is Designer, and where millions 
 of those who were once of earth are His Assist- 
 ants, with a strong heart, a well-directed life and 
 the loved ones of Home to bear him company 
 and testify to his worth as a man and a citizen, 
 as he is now a happy, loving, deserving hnsband 
 and father, resting with his loved ones at Home, 
 where he is making others happy this, to them 
 all, blessed Saturday Night. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NOW THE SEED-TIME THEN THE HARVEST. 
 
 OT far from this great city is a street 
 lined with gardens and houses. Small 
 houses wherein live men and women 
 and children who work. Homes of the gar- 
 deners. To-day, when walking along by these 
 little homes, looking at the workers, we ventm^ed 
 to stop in front of a garden wherein a man, a 
 woman, and three children were engaged in pre- 
 paring to plant. The man was a philosopher. 
 After a pleasant good-morning, he lifted from 
 his head an old cap, wiped with his hand the 
 perspiration from his brow, and answered : 
 
 " Come in ? Certainly, if you wish to, and 
 you may spade all day if you want to ! " 
 
52 Now the Seed-Time — then the Harvest. 
 
 It was fun. Working in the garden as when 
 a boy, years and years ago. The boys were 
 gathering the straws, and sticks, and asparagus 
 stalks into piles and burning them. The good 
 wife and mother was working among the rose- 
 bushes and other light shrubbery, cutting, clip- 
 ping, thinning and trimming. All were busy. 
 Some way, it always did seem easier to do chores 
 for neighbors than to work for ourself. That is 
 a sort of " play work," perhaps because it is 
 more social, therefore more enjoyable. We 
 spaded and raked — raked and spaded till both 
 palms were blistered. Then the man laughed, 
 and said we could rest. The woman brought 
 out a bowl of delicious buttermilk, while the 
 boys were proud as little kings to think their 
 hands were not so tender as ours. All right, 
 boys. But sometimes, when you are soundly 
 sleeping, with head and hands at rest, we would 
 give much to sleep and to rest as you can, and to 
 have a play spell from the work of the desk and 
 
Now the Seed-Time — then the Harvest. 53 
 
 the sanctum. In the winter you can rest. All 
 night yon can sleep. When it rains, you can go 
 a-fishing. When the harvest is over you can 
 rest for awhile. But all these days and times 
 the work of a writer is never ended. For the 
 editor of a paper there is but little rest. Like a 
 woman, his work is never finished. 
 
 Sitting on the bench by the side of the snug 
 cottage home, the gardener said : 
 
 " Yes, that is the way. Put your spade down 
 straight and deep ! Cut the weeds ; cut the 
 roots ; go deep as you can ; then you will have a 
 good garden and fine crops. Nine years ago, 
 when I came here, this was a patch of weeds. 
 It was an old, worn-out pasture-field. Here are 
 two acres of ground. Now look at it, ready for 
 the seed. It is all we can cultivate, and that is 
 enough. When a man has all he can do, what 
 more can he do? The man who does a little 
 well, does more than he who attempts much and 
 but partly succeeds. My boys are regular 
 
64 l^ow the Seed- Time — then the Harvest. 
 
 workers, and their mother is another one. We 
 are a worliing family, and as we are always 
 busy, we are always contented and happy. In a 
 few weeks yon may see her rosebushes covered 
 with flowers. She cuts and trims dead twigs 
 and useless branches now, and by-and-by she will 
 clip thousands of roses and rosebuds from those 
 bushes, and the rich people who would not 
 notice us to-day will pay large prices for our 
 flowers, and wear the result of om- labor when 
 they would appear in extra dress. Out there 
 where the boys are burning trash will soon be 
 early plants, and they will bring the money 
 to save or invest. After awhile we will have 
 a beautiful home here — beautiful flowers and 
 time to rest. People will stop to admire and to 
 ask who did all this work, and I'll tell them that 
 my wife and the children and I did it. Come, 
 boj'S, let us finish this job before noon." 
 
 The gardener resumed his spading. The boys 
 continued picking up all the little bits of rub- 
 
Now the Seed-Time — then the Harvest. 55 
 
 bish and burning it, while the cheery woman, 
 with her knife and big shears, went to work 
 again to trim and to educate her roses. Now 
 that the work of the week is ended, and the ones 
 who live in their cottage home are at rest, we 
 must work, nor sleep till this chapter of social 
 talk with our friends be finished. 
 
 The man was right. There is but one way. 
 Put the spade down straight and deep. Cut 
 clear through the roots. Bring the bottom to 
 the top. Let light and air and new life into the 
 soil. Plant good seeds instead of weeds, that the 
 yield may be to save, not to be destroyed. Little 
 by little, and all at last is turned. So it is in 
 life. Little by little we live, and make a good 
 name, of property, of influence, of reputation. 
 So, too, must we cut deep and true to the line, 
 no matter what mass of bones, or bits of rubbish, 
 or useless matter be brought to light, exposed 
 to view and then burned. In the religious 
 world there is need of better spading. In the 
 
56 Now the Seed-Time — then the Uavoest. 
 
 political world there is still more need of deep 
 cutting and of exposing the r^^bbish to the light 
 that human interests may be the better cared 
 for. 
 
 The woman was right. She cut and pruned, 
 and trimmed ; she educated her plants to bear 
 beautiful flowers. With those she loved slie 
 labored. What belonged to them also belonged 
 to her. That made their place a home. And 
 that is the only way to make a home. Give 
 each and all a sliare of the work, and let all 
 enjoy the reward. Man, woman and children 
 conferred with each other. They assisted each 
 other. The woman did not use the heavy spade, 
 or gather rubbish for the fires, but with steady 
 hand she pruned, and suggested, and kindled life 
 into her taste, and thus to the work of the 
 others gave beauty, as the flower by contrast haj 
 its own beauty and adds to that of the plant 
 which bore it. 
 
 Now we have a lesson in all this. The walk 
 
Now the Seed- Time — then the Harvest. 57 
 
 of the morning gave ns food for thought. The 
 lesson is not for others, but the worker who 
 writes this. We must cut deep and fear not. 
 Plant good seed — honest thoughts, and prune our 
 labor. Life is but a field — a desert — a barren 
 plain — a morass or a garden, as we will it. The 
 boy who reads this can, if he will, make his life 
 beautiful. It is for him to say whether he will 
 or not. In the abstract it is none of our busi- 
 ness if the gardener plant weeds or flowers — 
 the reward will be his. But the road on which 
 he lives is the more beautiful — his home the more 
 attractive — the suburbs of the city are more 
 charming with his garden filled with flowers 
 than with ugly, poisonous vines and weeds. If 
 we could only live our lives over again how much 
 deep cutting and pruning there would be. Much 
 tliat has been done would be left undone. We 
 should strive to plant only seeds — such seeds as 
 would bring forth the best of fruit. The boy who 
 would live to useful manhood, has much pruning 
 
58 Now the 8eed- Time— then the Harvest. 
 
 to do. He must be careful lest lie sow uettles 
 instead of pinks. Therefore it is well that he 
 take the advice of those who for years have 
 worked in the garden, and who have come 
 to know the good seeds and the good fruit from 
 the poor. We should all cultivate the flower of 
 kindness — the, vine of patience; should plant 
 good thoughts and set out early in life the hedge 
 of honor. Once this hedge gains life and begins 
 a growth about the heart, a man's life puts forth 
 good fruit continually. But if the boy plant his 
 mind to hate, envy, deceit, ill-temper, reckless- 
 ness, selfishness, base passions and all those vines 
 which strangle and destroy, when comes the seed- 
 time, he will have nothing of the beautiful in 
 his nature to be used for the beautifying of the 
 Eternal Gardens, where the flowers of the soul— 
 tlie fruit of the Tree of Life will make us happy 
 or unhappy; we in this life shall culti\ate and 
 determine. 
 
 Then heaven bless the ones who make gardens 
 
Now the Seed- Time— then the Harvest. 59 
 
 beautiful and homes places for rest and of happi- 
 ness, for they are ones who make the country 
 great, the people good and humanely better, and 
 who plant here to reap Over There, where the 
 spu-it lives if it is useful, and where it dies if it 
 is not. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 HOW THE BUILDEKS BUILD, 
 
 jE not discouraged. With the new year 
 let us all form new resolutions, shun 
 the temptations that have weakened 
 our efforts the past year, and try to make our- 
 selves strong the coming year. The hope of tliis 
 country rests in its young people, and in the 
 work of those who have grown in years and who 
 teach good lessons. From the bad, the vicious, 
 the dissipated, the selfish, the lazy dreamers, the 
 ones who have no care for themselves, the avari- 
 cious and lovers of pleasure more than work, the 
 world has nothing to expect. 
 
 Across the way from where we write, a house 
 
How the Builders Build. 61 
 
 of worship has within a few months been nearly 
 completed. Not long since, we stepped from the 
 sidewalk to the top of its foundation walls. The 
 foremen of the laborers was there, coat off, giv- 
 ing directions to men employed. 
 
 " What are you building % " 
 
 " A church, or meeting-house." 
 
 " You are putting in very heavy foundations." 
 
 " Yes — it is to be a large, substantial building, 
 capable of holdiug a large number or people." 
 
 " When is it to be completed ? " 
 
 " We are to have the edifice up and enclosed 
 by the time snow falls, then can work through 
 the winter finishing the inside and ornamental 
 work." 
 
 Now the edifice is in the condition the work- 
 men said it would be. One after another, blocks 
 of stone were lifted to place and squarely piled 
 one upon the other, till the men of skill away up 
 there on the spire can hardly be heard by the 
 laborer on the ground nearly an hundred feet 
 
62 How the Builders Build. 
 
 beneath him. Little by little that church has 
 grown, as men of industry have labored thereon. 
 While the masons and builders have been at 
 work day after day, hundreds of men and women 
 and children have spent hours watching them. 
 But all the gazing, the watching, the easy stand- 
 ing about to see what was going on or going up, 
 has not increased the size of the building or 
 helped even an atom of mortar to its place as 
 designed by the builder. 
 
 We want the boys to remember this. Idle- 
 ness v/astes time, means and opportunities. To 
 stand about looking on, builds nothing. The 
 only way to do is to begin, and labor steadily, 
 faithfully, hopefully till the work is finished. 
 Thus do boys become great, useful men. They 
 become living examples. God's helpers to 
 beautify the world and benefit mankind. 
 
 They tell us that man can do nothing to im- 
 prove the world. Boys, never believe one word 
 of such nonsense. All those who work in the 
 
How the Builders Build. 63 
 
 vineyard are helpers, beautifiers. This is the 
 work, the mission of men. The teacher who 
 conducts the little child from " A " and " B " 
 to the college platform where diplomas are 
 awarded is a helper of the Almighty Power of 
 growth and improvement. The child who digs 
 in the ground and plants flower seeds on the 
 grave of a mother, father or sister, is a beautifier 
 of the earth, and of mind. The housewife who 
 keeps her house in order ; whose law is neatness 
 and order, who plants seeds of flowers and vines, 
 attends their wants for water and loosening of 
 the soil about their roots, adds as many beauties 
 and improvements to the world as she raises 
 flowers or trains vines. At last she has covered 
 the bare dirty earth with verdure and beauty, 
 has made her little cabin or cottage home a vine- 
 clad bower, and proved herself more of a minis- 
 tering angel though she has never left her home, 
 than all the idle, gadding, fashionable women 
 of the world, who live only to show their dress 
 
64 How the Builders Build. 
 
 and jewelry as a peacock struts to exhibit its 
 plmnage. 
 
 The wife who does this encourages her hus- 
 band, develops his better nature, helps him to 
 strengthen his manhood, and at last the two walk 
 lov-ingly along, hand in hand in that way which 
 leads on to the society of the eternal workers, 
 in the Land of the Leal. Such wives become 
 the Heaven-registered heroines — the saviours 
 of men— the educators of childreu, the gloi-y of 
 the nation. To such women, not to tlie children 
 of fasliion and graspers for greed, does this 
 country — does any country owe its greatness. 
 For all such wives, mothers, women, do we 
 earnestly pray good angels to be with them with 
 such presence and whisperhigs as will make this 
 a glad, a happy year. 
 
 As the workmen builded the church — as the 
 woman from good seeds carefully planted and 
 well trained, has grown a bower of beauty and 
 a means to shade her home from the heat of tlie 
 
How the Builders Build. 65 
 
 day, so can every boy who reads this, if he will, 
 add to his mental stature, and to the beauty of 
 his life. That which harms our neighbor we 
 will not use. Harsh, angry words, wound hearts 
 and tend to make life bitter, so we try never to 
 use them. Profane words, in conversation, seem 
 to us like dirty finger-marks on white walls, or 
 tares and scratches on a beautiful picture, so 
 we never will indulge in profanity. The use 
 of drinks that intoxicate weaken the brain, 
 wastes money which is the result of labor, 
 deadens the intellect and blunts the finer feel- 
 ing of men till at last the fashion becomes the 
 habit — the habit a curse which brings the most 
 skilful workman from the top of the wall, and 
 from council with those who plan, to a level 
 below that from which he started. So we will 
 never use intoxicating liquors as a beverage. 
 How many boys in the land dare make and 
 honor such resolutions ? How many men dare 
 thus resolve and live all of this year ? We do 
 
66 Moid the Guilders Build. 
 
 not saj they must, for we have no right thus 
 to speak. How many a fond, loving mother 
 would rather her son would thus resolve and 
 live than to receive a new lease of life 'i How 
 many a wife, whose heart is ever heavy and 
 whose vision is ever clouded by the thoughtless- 
 ness of a dissipated husband, would rather he 
 would say to her tliat no more would he by drink 
 blur his mind, and disorder his heart to the finer 
 feelings, than to receive the finest present the 
 world could bestow ? How many a son, hus- 
 band, brother, could thus make the new year — 
 the coming year — all j^ears, happy ones to him- 
 self and those he loves, with such a present, 
 that costs nothing and is laden with benefits. 
 If boys and men would build upon their man- 
 hood, and Kve to a purpose, each week of life 
 would be a pleasant picture to contemplate, as 
 the noble worker looked back thereon from his 
 resting-place with all the home ones each Sat- 
 urday Night. 
 
CHAPTER YI. 
 
 THE HOMELESS CHILD, 
 
 FEW days since a poor little German 
 girl, of six years, came to this city 
 on an emigrant ship with her father 
 and mother. The father died as the vessel 
 landed ; the mother, sick with nervons fever and 
 prostration, died within a few days in a low 
 boarding-house where she had been taken. The 
 little girl was thus left a stranger in a strange 
 land, without a home or loved ones to care for 
 her. She w^as taken care of by the police, and 
 now a home has been found for her. And who 
 do you think gave her shelter and a corner of, 
 their hearts ? A rich merchant, say you ? 
 
68 The Homeless Child. 
 
 No. The man who took her to his home was 
 a poor German — a workman in a piano manufac- 
 tory. The father of five children, the eldest not 
 yet ten years of age. While talking about this 
 little girl, he said, in his broken English : 
 
 " Mine heart came clear to mine throat when 
 I saw her in the police station-house, with no 
 one to love her. It is pretty hard times at our 
 house, with seven mouths to feed, and only one 
 pair of hands to earn the money, and I was 
 going home ashamed of myself. Just then she 
 looked with her blue eyes into my eyes, and 
 looked so hurt, and heart-sick, and scared like a 
 little baby, I said I would go ask my wife about 
 her right away. All the way home I thought of 
 my little ones, and how they came to me, and I 
 said to my wife, if our babies come to us this "way 
 this poor little homeless one came that way, and 
 it was all the same. Then my wife said it was 
 all right — that our little Meenie should sleep in 
 the bed with us, just as she did when a little 
 
The Homeless Child. 69 
 
 baby, and that poor little Marjie should have 
 Meenie's little bed in the corner. And now she 
 is one of us already, and just as good as all the 
 rest. 
 
 " The times are pretty hard, but a man with 
 a good home is rich enough to take care of one 
 little orphan, and then I would want somebody 
 to take care of my babies, if their mother and 
 their father were dead, and they had no home 
 of their own." 
 
 We cannot help loving the piano-maker. 
 Why, do you know that the heart of this poor 
 man is larger than many a palace in this country 
 — many a church ? It was large enough to take 
 in a poor little waif, and there are thousands 
 and thousands of houses, owned by rich men, 
 where, for the world, the inmates would not be 
 bothered by homeless children. It was not for 
 us to ask the religion of this poor man. If he had 
 said he had no religion, we should tell him at 
 once that he was guilty of falsehood or was mis- 
 
70 The Homeless Child. 
 
 taken. No matter where he came from — no 
 matter if his hands are hard — his heart is in the 
 right place, and it does seem as if the little 
 help he gave the orphan child, on her road 
 over the thorns, would aid him many a mile 
 on the road that leads to the beautiful gardens 
 of rest. 
 
 Little do the children, the boys and girls in 
 their country homes, think of the terribleness 
 of orphanage in great cities, or they would love 
 their homes more, and always be careful to be 
 good children. In the country are green fields, 
 forests, rivulets and rivers ; flowers and pas- 
 time. There are houses and homes here and 
 there, and hardly an orphan or a homeless child 
 for miles. There are children to play with — 
 beautiful things to see, and no such hard, thank- 
 less life, cold and unfeeling, like the stones in 
 the streets, as the j)Oor children of the cities 
 have for their homes. 
 
 It may be that the German piano-maker has 
 
The Homeless Child. 71 
 
 faults — but lie has virtues and charity. Better a 
 sinner with a warm heart and sympathy for the 
 poor than a saint in snow. The one sometimes 
 cares for others — the frozen saint cares only for 
 himself. Perhaps the poor man finds it work to 
 keep the wolf of hunger from his door. It may 
 be that he has been laughed at by companions 
 for savins; his earnings and for having a home, 
 but now he is king over them all, for as did 
 the blessed Saviour whose life was for and 
 with the poor rather than the selfish rich, he 
 has said : " Suffer little children to come unto 
 me. 
 
 AVe know good angels — good spirits — good 
 thoughts will be his, and for those of his home, 
 as will come to all of us who are kind and 
 thoug-htf ul of those who are in distress. At best 
 we are all but children, with a home yet to find ; 
 but as we are kind to others — to the poor and 
 the weak ones — so will the Good Father be kind 
 to us, and give us a home with Ilis children 
 
72 
 
 The Homeless Child. 
 
 after we shall have crossed the Great Ocean, and 
 stand waiting for some one to lead ns — to start 
 ITS on the way in the life beyond the work of the 
 present, and the weary Saturday Night. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WANTING TOO MUCH. 
 
 EOPLE are to blame for much of 
 their uuhappiness. They want too 
 much. They have no control over 
 their wishes — continually long for the impossi- 
 ble and thus run to want as vines run to weeds 
 if not pruned. Not many days ago we visited a 
 gentleman at his house on business. He sent a 
 note sayiug he wanted to see us at once, on im- 
 portant matters. We never before saw such a 
 family. His want was purely a speculative 
 one, not worthy the thought or attention of any 
 person of sense. Wliile in his house his wife 
 told us of her wants. His five cliildren had 
 
74 Wanting too Much. 
 
 more wants than ten grown people could supply. 
 The man wanted to be rich. He wanted to be 
 helped into some place where he could make 
 money. If he could be assisted to some official 
 position, anywhere, he would willingly give one 
 half the salary to whoever would help him to 
 the place. It was for this he wanted an interview. 
 
 " What is your present business ? " 
 
 " Foreman of a manufacturing establish- 
 ment." 
 
 " What wages do yon receive ? " 
 
 " Forty-five dollars a week." 
 
 " Unusually good wages. Can yon not sup- 
 port your family on that sum ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I want to make money. My wife 
 wants so many things I cannot get for her. The 
 children all want so many things, I dread com- 
 ing home. Their mother tells them to tease 
 father till he gets what they want. When the 
 children are not teasing me for something, their 
 mother is — if I will only buy something or 
 
Wanting too Much. 75 
 
 other for them; and as I can have no peace 
 as a poor man, I must find some way to be a 
 rich man." 
 
 " What does your wife want most ? " 
 
 " She wants a gold watch and a long chain to 
 wear around her neck, and she wants a new silk 
 dress, and a new stylish bonnet, and new furni- 
 ture for the parlor, and a new set of dishes, and 
 a better house than this, and a private teacher 
 for the children, and a piano, so Maggy and 
 Kittie can take music lessons, and wants me to 
 wear a nice suit of clothes on the street so folks 
 will not think I am a mechanic, that I can take 
 off, and put on old clothes in the shop ; and she 
 wants me to get into some office, and into a 
 respectable position in society." 
 
 " What will it cost to satisfy her desires in this 
 respect for appearances ? " 
 
 " Several thousand dollars," 
 
 " What do the children want ? " 
 
 " They want everything they see. The boys 
 
76 Wanting too Much. 
 
 want watches, rings, jewelry, good clothes and 
 genteel places, where they can get good wages 
 and have nothing much to do. The girls want 
 nice shawls and new dresses, and fancy shoes, 
 and to take lessons in dancing, and to have the 
 house look nice like the house of a rich man a 
 few doors from us, and they want me to promise 
 that I will get what they all want, at once. I 
 tell you, sir, I am worried to death by wants, 
 and I must find some more lucrative employment ; 
 so I want an ofhce- -one with good perquisites. 
 Then I can get along." 
 
 This Saturday night, alone in our library, 
 closing the work of the week, it seems a duty to 
 answer the man of many wants plainly, and as a 
 brother should speak with brother. 
 
 Such a man is a slave to his own weakness, 
 lie is not fit to hold ofiice, for each member of 
 liis family would be a constant tempter to dis- 
 honesty. To have peace in his family and 
 
Wanting too Much. 77 
 
 gratify foolisli wants, we fear he would soon 
 become dishonest, and cause other people to suf- 
 fer. The man is not master of his own house, 
 much less of himself. His wife is a poor, weak, 
 silly, selfish, and heartless woman, unfit to bring 
 up a family of children. She does not deserve 
 the honest, hard-working husband she has. She 
 does not try to help him to be happy and com- 
 fortable in his home, or to provide a fund in 
 anticipation of a day of sickness or disaster. 
 She continually complains. Her desire is only 
 to make an appearance — to make people believe 
 they are rich or dishonest. She has lost sight of 
 the souls, the hearts, the minds of her children, 
 and is educating the girls to false lives and to 
 sell themselves to the highest bidder, as she is 
 educating her boys to be dishonest, dishonorable 
 men. Such wives drive good husbands to crime, 
 to disgrace, to want. They start their girls on 
 the insane road for silks, satins, laces, flounces, 
 furbelows, nick-nacks, false hair, false bosoms, 
 
78 Wanting too Much. 
 
 false color to tlieir cheeks, and all that army of 
 useless wants, to gratify which, drive men to 
 forgery and murder, and women to lives of 
 shame and a market of their virtue, that tlieir 
 bodies may be fashionably ornamented and attired. 
 It is right for a man to gratify all the wants 
 of life he can, without injury to others or to 
 himself. It is the duty of a man to educate his 
 children to usefulness, not to vain show, and to 
 teach himself and his family to live within, that 
 they may never be compelled to live without, 
 their means. There are thousands of men being 
 driven by their families to premature graves, as 
 there are thousands of .wives who have no idea 
 of the cost of money — of the worth of money, of 
 the life-long struggle of their husbands to obtain 
 it, and who live only to wear out a husband, 
 shine above other women, and with the life 
 insurance money realized by the death of a hus- 
 band, have the means to flirt and start anew ou 
 the road to ruin. 
 
Wanting too Much. 79 
 
 He is not a good husband, a kind father, a 
 provident provider who allows his family to tor- 
 ment his life and his home with a continual 
 importuning for the means to gratify idle wants. 
 There should be reason in all things. The good 
 man is firm and kind. He will see that he lives 
 within his means, and tliat his children are 
 taught to do likewise. He will guard the repu- 
 tation of his wife, that she may not heedlessly 
 through selfishness acquire the name of a heart- 
 less wife and mother, who would sacrifice all 
 there is noble, and good, and loviug, and honor- 
 able in nature, for the gratification of fashion, 
 and weakening of the mind and the degradation 
 of true manhood or womanhood. 
 
 Such wantonness of desire on the jjart of man 
 or woman is an evidence of weakness. People 
 educate their children in the art of deception 
 and keeping up of appearances far more than in 
 the art of becoming true men and women. It is 
 not dress or fine houses that make men happy 
 
80 Wanting too Much. 
 
 or women good. There is something beyond all 
 this. It is the duty of every person to appear at 
 all times, in dress and in mind, as well as they 
 can consistently with their circumstances, but 
 be^'ond this no honest person can or will go. 
 The good father will help his children to weed 
 out tlie imaginary from tlie actual wants. To 
 do this is the fii-st lesson in honesty. Then he 
 will be kind to his home ones. He will save his 
 earnings to make his home pleasant, and to edu- 
 cate his children to fill only honorable positions 
 in life. The good wife will not be selfish, 
 heartless, cruel to her husband and intent only 
 on style, but will so live, and help her husband 
 to live within his means that each may have a 
 respect for the other, for without such full 
 respect there never can be true, lasting love, but 
 in place thereof, ruined homes, abandoned lives, 
 dishonorable actions and degradation, all follow- 
 ing, as hyenas follow an army — that invisible 
 army of idle, useless wants. 
 

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 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE WANTS OF THE RELEASED CONVICT. 
 
 0-NIGHT, seated in our library, by 
 the desk, before the fire, safe from 
 the storm, we have been looking over 
 the shadowy plains of the past, to see what became 
 of all the boys and girls we knew as schoolmates. 
 What a history 1 "What a variety of life experi- 
 ences. How the old j)laymates are scattered. 
 Some are dead to this world, because nnthonght 
 of. Some have gone into obscurity. A few of 
 the girls we knew are the wives of good hus- 
 bands, while others are ragged, wretched slaves 
 to men who wallow in poverty following their 
 
 dissipations. One of our old chums married a 
 
 4* 
 
82 The Wants of the Beleased Convict. 
 
 girl wiio squandered all he could earn for her 
 dress. Then to appear more stylish she received 
 attentions and money from other men when he 
 was from home. The husband was a church 
 member. When convinced of the infidelity of 
 his wife he wanted to go away and begin life 
 anew alone. But the church said he must not ; 
 that what God joined together no man should 
 put asunder, lest religion come into ridicule. 
 So he sKouldered his cross, bent his back to the 
 burden — closed his eyes to what he could not 
 LiClp, lest society be weakened ! At first he tried 
 to drown his sorrow in labor, but in vain. Then 
 he took to drink, and from its effects died. 
 
 The neighbors said his wife killed him by her 
 actions. But we always thought and said that 
 the church was liis murderer, exactly as a great 
 stout man w^ho found a poor lamb out in the cold 
 freezing, and kept it there till it died would be a 
 murderer. 
 
 Another schoolmate became the wife of a 
 
The Wants of the Beleased Convict. 83 
 
 fancy yoimg man who always attended shooting 
 matches, horse-races, and other places where men 
 were noisy and drank plenty. He was a young 
 man who could live without work. A few 
 months since we saw him. He is a confirmed 
 beastly drunkard, dirty and abusive, supported 
 by his once beautiful wife. For years he has 
 beaten her and abused her shamefully. Once in a 
 drunken fit he threw a kerosene lamp at her. It 
 broke, set fire to the house, and they were driven 
 homeless into the street. She supports her hus- 
 band and two scrawny, ragged, scared-looking 
 children by going from house to house to scrub 
 and labor, as totally unlike her former sprightly, 
 beautiful self as a skeleton is unlike a blushing 
 bride. She has actually wept over her blighted 
 life till her fountain of tears is dry, and she can 
 weep no more. She, too, has been cursed by a 
 drunken husband. Often has she wanted to go 
 away ; to take her children where she could sup- 
 port them, beyond the influence and abuse of 
 
84 The Wants of the. Released Convict. 
 
 their father. But the church of which she is a 
 member says thart wives must submit themselves 
 to their husbands ; and if she dare rebel against 
 church laws and seek by honest labor for life, 
 liberty and the pursuit of happiness, she should 
 be branded as an outcast. 
 
 Poor woman ! The church to which she 
 belongs owns her, and keeps her a victim in tor- 
 ture, even as heartless boys keep flies and birds 
 pinned or nailed to a tree to see how long their 
 aeony will last before life gives out. 
 
 What set us to thinking to-night of the old 
 times was that just before starting from the office 
 a middle-aged man entered the door and said to 
 an office attendant that he wanted to see the 
 writer hereof. On being shown to our private 
 room the following conversation ensued : 
 
 '* You do not remember me ? " 
 
 ^^No. What is your name \ " 
 
 " You do not remember the boy who used to 
 go with you to school, and who lived in the 
 
The Wants of the lleleased Convict. 85 
 
 brown house wliere the cherry-trees and you 
 were so well acquainted ? " 
 
 " Yes, but you are not that person ? " 
 
 " Indeed I am." 
 
 " It does not seem possible ! You look to be 
 twenty years the eldest — you have the same eyes, 
 but you look used up." 
 
 " So would you, had you been where I have 
 been for seven years past." 
 
 "Where is that?" 
 
 " In State Prison." 
 
 " You in State Prison ? What for % " 
 
 " Grand larceny." 
 
 " Surely, you must be jesting ? " 
 
 " Indeed, I am not." 
 
 " We never heard of it." 
 
 " I was in under an assumed name." 
 
 " Seven years in State Prison ! That is a long 
 while." 
 
 " It may seem a long while to you, but it was 
 ten times longer to me. You try it once, and 
 count the days as I have — two thousand five 
 
86 The Wants of the Released Convict. 
 
 hundred and fifty-five days, shut up like a dog in 
 a churn-mill." 
 
 " What do you want now ? " 
 
 " I want help ! That is what I want ! " 
 
 " What kind of help ? " 
 
 " I want money. I want food. 1 want clothes. 
 I want a situation somewhere." 
 
 " How long since you came out ? " 
 
 " Four days." 
 
 " Had you no money when you came out % " 
 
 " Yes, I had twenty-two dollars." 
 
 " What did you do with it ? " 
 
 " I used six dollars for this coat ; four dollars 
 to pay my fare here to see you, and the rest I have 
 used up." 
 
 " What on ? Wine or women ? " 
 
 " Well, I've used it uj?, and now I want you to 
 help me. You have a business and a reputation 
 as a philanthropist, and I want to see what it all 
 amounts to." 
 
 " We cannot do it." 
 
The Wants of the Released Convict. 87 
 
 " Why ? Because I have been in prison ? " 
 
 " No ; more guilty men are out of prison tlian 
 in." 
 
 " Then, what is the reason ? " 
 
 " Because you deserve no help as you demand. 
 But four days since you were given freedom. 
 In that time you have spent all your money for 
 drink. Tour breath comes like the fumes of a 
 pig-pen, hot and sickening. You are even now 
 almost helplessly drunk. If you, on getting out 
 of one trouble, want to rush into another, go it. 
 Y"ou are old enough to know better. Drink has 
 been the ruin of your life. When you were rich 
 as an inheritor of property, we were sneered at 
 by you for being a mechanic. 
 
 " But that is nothing. Tou squandered while 
 we toiled and earned. You lost several good sit- 
 uations by your indulging in sprees. In one of 
 those sprees you committed a crime, and have 
 paid the penalty. Were you sober, not for the 
 world would we ever call to mind your erroi', but 
 
88 The Wants of the Released Co7imct. 
 
 you came out of one scrape, and the first thing 
 you do is to fit yourself for another. It is use- 
 less to lift to his feet a man who persists in wal- 
 lowing in the gutter. You can have a supper, 
 but nothing more till you come in such manner 
 as to be an evidence that you wish to recover your 
 manhood, and then you shall have assistance. 
 Go, now, witli this young man, who will see that 
 you have food ; then go where you spent your 
 money for that which has made you drunk again 
 and obtain employment of them." 
 
 To-night we have been thinking of the old 
 times ; of our duty to those who need help, and 
 have thought, perhaps, we did not do right. The 
 new year has begun with its trials! That man 
 had been in prison. What of that ? Ilis debt 
 against the law had been paid. He is better than 
 thousands who ought to be in prison — who I'ob 
 and steal when not in want or driven to it. Bet- 
 ter than thousands who are out of prison only to 
 live on the earnings of others — to abuse their 
 
The Wants of the Released Convict. 89 
 
 wives and families. All there is of the good, the 
 fresh and the pure is often dogged and dragged 
 out of woman oversteeped in work and suffering. 
 AVe cannot assist all, therefore it is our duty to 
 first assist the poor, the unfortunate, the deserv- 
 ing ones who are striving to help themselves for 
 some good purpose. We all owe duties to each 
 other, but every person owes a duty to himself. 
 
 We feel sad to-night looking all about the 
 room in which we write. All about our home, 
 we see what labor and sobriety hath wrought and 
 brought. Here is a cut-glass inkstand, made by 
 a skilled artist. There, on the desk, is a fine 
 metal watch-stand, curiously designed by a fel- 
 low-laborer, while on it is a watch, ticking and 
 telling us in a companionable way that it is 
 almost midnight. By the side of it is a bronze 
 sponge cup, from the top of which a model of a 
 kitten looks down to see what is below. That 
 too is the work of genius, one of God's associates 
 in the work of progression. Right there is a 
 
90 The Wants of the Released Convict . 
 
 match-safe of bronze, made to resemble a camion, 
 against which sits a bronze soldier. So the desk, 
 and a score of fancy articles thereon, tell us of 
 workers, as do the hundreds of articles all in and 
 about the house. All these tell us how much we 
 are dependent upon others for that which makes 
 life attractive, and how kind and thoughtful we 
 should always be of the rights and the wants of 
 our fellow-men. They tell what industry will do 
 for any one who prefers to work for what he has, 
 and to be independent of all save the mercies 
 and the blessings from a Higher power, and they 
 also tell how easy it is for a man who will, to 
 surround himself with that which adds to his 
 happiness, and proves his worth as a citizen and 
 supporter of brother laborers, even as they in 
 some way aid him. 
 
 So we give that poor man our pity, and to 
 sober workers and those who are victims of mis- 
 fortune such assistance as we can. If men would 
 care for themselves, they would need no assist- 
 
The Wants of the Released Convict. 91 
 
 ance other than from those who minister to the 
 sick and the dying. Why will not boys take bet- 
 ter care of themselves ? We feel sad to think so 
 many of them will not. Of a truth, those who 
 will — those who dare be men, and to live to a 
 good purpose, are the ones born to live in the 
 gardens of the Eternal, while those who do not 
 — who will not care for themselves, and so live as 
 to develop the good rather than the bad, and the 
 wasteful, and the vicious, must knock in vain 
 when they first approach that door which is be- 
 yond the boundary of this life and which opens 
 at once to admit those who are master workmen. 
 It is no use to feed one who is asleep. First 
 let a man waken to know his wants, to realize his 
 position, and to resolve to help himself. Mean- 
 while let us all who have kind hearts and good 
 wishes for those who suffer, see how the most 
 good can be done, and see how much assistance we 
 can give to all who are deserving, or trying to be 
 deserving, when comes the next Saturday night. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HAVING A GOOD TIME. 
 
 IIILE a cricket which came a few days 
 ago to sing on the hearth has been 
 chirping to-night we have been think- 
 ing and thinking, and thinlcing what constitutes 
 manhood and genuine nobility. If you never 
 gave the subject much thought, suppose, earnest 
 fellow-worker, that you think with us, and per- 
 haps agree that none of us are perfect. In a dis- 
 tant town lives a perfect specimen of manhood, 
 as measured by the eye. He is a man, large, 
 stout, handsome and rich. But he is very dis- 
 honest. He is cross and quarrelsome, especially 
 to all his home ones, with whom he lives to make 
 
Having a Good Time. 93 
 
 them all feel that he is the great authority in all 
 things, whose every wish must be gratified. We 
 know another man who is smart, clever, talented 
 and the father of a family of children. But he 
 is coarse, profane and less attentive to the chil- 
 dren of his house than he is to the horses and 
 hogs by him considered only as property. Yet 
 he would be called a specimen of perfect man- 
 hood. 
 
 We know another man who has a home which 
 could be made a very happy one. In that home 
 is a wife and three or four children, all of whom 
 feel a deep love for him, the husband and father. 
 But he cares very little for them. He spends 
 his nights in places where crowds of men assem- 
 ble to talk about horses and women — to drink 
 and smoke — to tell smutty stories and set exam- 
 ples which, followed by their children, would 
 make them all vas-abonds. His home is but his 
 eating-house; his wife the ever faithful cook, 
 slave, nurse, washer and mender, expected to 
 
94 Having a Good Time. 
 
 bring up her children to be ladies and gentlemen 
 when she has no assistance from her husband, 
 nor time to rest. Yet they call that man a splen- 
 did fellow, and many a woman envies his heart- 
 broken wife in having such a jolly fellow, so free 
 with his money, for a husband. 
 
 We have two acquaintances, each of whom 
 claims to be a nice man. They are nearly of the 
 same age. One is quite well off — the other in 
 moderate circumstances. Neither of them is 
 stingy. One is a worker and a thinker, wlule the 
 other has a rich father who furnishes money so 
 the son can live at his ease and have a good 
 time. 
 
 A few mornings since, by chance we met each 
 of these acquaintances. Each had the night be- 
 fore had a splendid time. We heard one of them 
 telling a particular friend in the car what a glori- 
 ous time he had. Said he : 
 
 " We had a splendid time last night. Four of 
 us in the party. We had a magnificent dinner at 
 
Having a Good Time. 95 
 
 Brown's elegant new rooms. Brown keeps the 
 best wines in the city. After dinner we played 
 billiards till I won a hnndred dollars. Then we 
 started out for a good time. We got in a car- 
 riage and all went np to Rose Cottage, where we 
 had two dozen bottles of wine, and the gayest 
 time you ever saw. We shut the doors and had 
 it all our own way. We upset a sideboard, split 
 the piano cover, got every one in the cottage mad, 
 then pleased again, when we ordered more wine, 
 paid the damages, stayed there till four o'clock, 
 and had a splendid time. It cost us about six 
 hundred dollars for the night, all told, including 
 breaking furniture." 
 
 The otlier man, whom we met two hours later, 
 had a story to tell, how he too had been out the 
 night before having a good time. 
 
 Said he : 
 
 " Saturday night, after I was paid off, I put 
 two dollars in my pocket and started out to 
 enjoy myself. How^ do you suppose 1 did it ? " 
 
96 Having a Good Time. 
 
 "Took a lady friend to some place of /n.ise- 
 ment ? " 
 
 "No — the snow was too deep." 
 
 " Went back home ? " 
 
 " No — not right av^ay." 
 
 " How then ? " 
 
 " I walked along up the Bowery, and when I 
 saw poor little children, five to seven, eight or 
 nine years old, looking into candy shops, press- 
 hig their noses against the glass as if to smell of 
 the good things within, I would give them pen- 
 nies and tell them to go in and buy some. I 
 sent more than fifty little ones in, or went in 
 with them, then watched to see how they acted. 
 Some ran home to tell somebody, and to divide, 
 while others ate all the candy then and there, as 
 though they never had tasted any of the material 
 sweets of life before. 
 
 " Then I took five old men who were out beg- 
 ging, where for twenty cents each they had a 
 better supper than they had eaten for many a 
 
Having a Good Time. 97 
 
 week, then slipped out after I had paid a dollar 
 for tliem, before they knew I had gone. I have 
 not seen them since. What do you suppose they 
 thought — fiv'e old beggars who were strangers to 
 the other. But I had the best time in a little 
 dirt}' place on Baxter street, after I turned off 
 from the Bowery. I found three old women in 
 a cellar, sewing on coarse undershirts, by the 
 light of a smoky kerosene lamp. In a half- 
 starved grate or place where had been one once, 
 a few bits of coal and cinders were throwing out 
 warmth enough for them to warm their fingers by 
 from time to time, as they worked almost night and 
 day to earn each sixty cents a week. As I stood 
 looking at them I thought — ' Suppose one of those 
 poor old women were my mother ! Well, most 
 likely each of them is somebody's mother, or was 
 somebody's mother, or had a mother once, whose 
 love and care they miss.' 
 
 '• Then I went to a grocery near by and bought 
 
 a dollar's worth of coal and took it to them. 
 6 
 
98 Having a Good Time. 
 
 " ' Here is yonr coal ! ' 
 
 " You ought to have seen them ! They all 
 declared it was not their coal— that they had not 
 ordered any — they never had even hoped to be 
 able to order so much. I told them it was 
 theirs sure, for a man had said so." I laughed 
 at them, when one of them said: 
 
 " ' Please, good sir, don't fool us ! It is bad 
 enough to be old and poor, without being made 
 sj^ort of by young men. Once I had coal to give 
 to the poor, but it is a long time since then, sir. 
 It is not for us, so please take it away.' 
 
 " Somehow I could not keep the tears from 
 my eyes, as I thought of their waiting in the cold 
 for the good angel death to come and take them 
 to a new and beautiful home, and I said : 
 
 " ' It is all yours. It was bought for you, and 
 I brought it. Let me put some on the grate, and 
 so it will be warmer here,' 
 
 " Two of the old women put their work down 
 and looked at me, then at each other. The one 
 
Having a Good Time. 99 
 
 I had been talking with put her hands on my 
 shoulders, looked me in the face with her sad, 
 large eyes, and as the tears ran down over her 
 cheeks, said in a trembling voice : 
 
 " ' You do not know how you have warmed 
 all our hearts. We all thank you, and I 
 will pray that good angels will always come to 
 you, as you have come to us to-night, the first 
 of my home with these two poor creatures, who, 
 when I was turned out of the last and only 
 shelter I had left, told me to come and live with 
 them.' 
 
 "That was all she said, for the tears came so 
 fast she could say no more. I hurried out, the 
 tears in my eyes too. Then I went to the 
 grocery and bought a loaf of bread, a piece of 
 dried beef, a little tea and some apples, and sent 
 them in by a boy, while I stood out in the 
 snow to look in. When he took the things down 
 the steps and into the little cellar room, I could 
 hear him tell them that a man had sent them in. 
 
100 JJaving a Good Time. 
 
 and could see the old woman who had talked to 
 me put her head down on the edge of the box 
 they used for a table, but I could not tell 
 whether she was crying or praying. 
 
 " How I came to go there is more than I 
 know, but 1 am not sorry. I did not need the 
 two dollars I spent first, nor the rest I put with 
 it, nor do I know who were the happiest, the 
 little children, the five old men who Were 
 begging, or the three old women who were work- 
 ing, or myself. Nor did I know how much good 
 could be done with a little money, nor how little 
 one feels its absence when gone to make hearts 
 lighter." 
 
 The cricket is again chirping on the hearth as 
 it was when we began to write. The watch says 
 the noon of night is almost here, and that after 
 the busy labor of the week it is time to rest, as 
 we pray all the poor little children, and all who 
 suffer, will in peace and forgetfulness of the 
 
Having a Good Time. 101 
 
 sorrows and hardships of the past, when the 
 doors open and there is an entering into the joy, 
 the surprise, the feasting and the happiness there 
 is awaiting all who live to benefit others, when in 
 the gardens of the Leal we enter after our final 
 Saturday night." 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHAT A SELFISH MOTHER DID. 
 
 FEW cla^'S ago, while passing through 
 one of the many hospitals in this city, 
 accompanied by a kind physician, the 
 superintendent of the place said that a patient 
 in an adjoining ward could not live long, and 
 asked us to step in and see her. On a bed, 
 propped up by pillows, her pale face and ema- 
 ciated cheeks telling of consumption and its 
 ravages, lay a woman about twenty-five years old. 
 One of her hands, like that of a skeleton, rested 
 on the white counterpane ; the other held a 
 bright red rose some one had given her, in 
 
What a Selfish Mother Did. 103 
 
 striking contrast with the white skin which cov- 
 ered the ruckle of bones of the hand, once so 
 phimp and beautiful. In response to the kindly 
 worded inquiry of the physician, a slight flush 
 reached her cheek, and the light of life glim- 
 mered and flickered in her dark, lustrous eyes, 
 as if endeavoring to beat back the coming 
 shadow, she said : 
 
 " Only a little while and I shall be free and at 
 rest." 
 
 " Yours has been a weary life ; are you loath to 
 part with it ? " 
 
 "Ko, indeed. Uncared for, wrongly guided 
 and heart-broken, I have nothing left to live for 
 but death and a new effort, if such thing can be." 
 
 After a few more words the physician was 
 called to administer to a patient elsewhere, say- 
 ing he would return for us. Seated by the bed- 
 side of the sufferer in mind and body, as she was 
 waiting on the shore of the new Time, we lis- 
 tened to the history of her life, told calmly and 
 
104 What a Selfish Mother Did. 
 
 as her ebbing strength would permit. And tlins 
 ran her recital : 
 
 "It is right vou should know it. From my 
 failure you may write words which will benefit 
 others. Beautiful flowers sometimes grow over 
 the graves of the poor as of the rich, and 
 untrained vines may have as much medicinal 
 virtue therein as have those most carefully 
 watched. Once 1 had a home in the country. 
 But it never was a real happy home. My father 
 meant well, but he was cold, heartless to all 
 save his horses and hunting dogs. All of us 
 children were afraid of him. When he came in 
 doors all play and merry-making ceased. It was 
 his house ; his farm ; his mill ; his horses ; his 
 dogs ; liis money ; his home ; his friends ; his 
 profits ; his servants ; his wife ; his children. 
 On all occasions, as he talked to others, every- 
 thing was his. He made all of us, mother, and 
 brothers, and sisters, feel that he alone had the 
 right to an interest in whatever was in, and 
 
What a Selfish Mother Did. 105 
 
 around and of our home, and that we, his home- 
 ones, were of the least consequence of all. . 
 
 " Then I was not so handsome as my sisters or 
 my brothers. My mother was much like my 
 father. She too was cold and selfish. I think 
 he made her so by his life and ignoring of her 
 as a partner. She came to look upon herself as 
 isolated. She grew more and more selfish, and 
 heart-wrapped in fashion. We had plently to 
 eat and to wear, only we were all so heart- 
 hungry. Often have I felt bad seeing my father 
 pet and caress his horses and his dogs, then turn 
 to give orders to his children. 
 
 " My mother loved dress. She was a proud, 
 haughty, selfish woman, whose hobby was pro- 
 priety. She belonged to a church, and lived to 
 attend service, to wear fine dresses, and to keep 
 up appearances. She did not like me because I 
 was not beautiful. When I was a little child she 
 would shove me away from her and tell me she 
 
 hated me because I was not so pretty as my 
 5* 
 
106 What a SelfisTi Mother Did. 
 
 sistei'S. She would tell me anything was good 
 enough for me, I was so homely. Then she 
 would take my sisters with her, all dressed in 
 their fineries, and tell them how pretty they 
 were. If I wept because of her feelings toward 
 me then she would punish me, aad tell her visitors 
 tliat 1 was a naughty, homely, bad girl, and that 
 she was ashamed of me, and her visitors would 
 say, ' Isn't it a pity she is not pretty % '. or ' I'd 
 send her oif to school,' or something of that sort. 
 '^ I was frozen out from my mother's heart. 
 There came a tired, wearying, dead load to my 
 heart. Day by day I was made to feel that I 
 was not loved. My sisters called me homely 
 and took pains to tell me how much nicer their 
 dresses were than mine. When I had trouble I 
 had no one to go to. My father never thought 
 of me, except when I was in his way. My 
 mother had smiles for others, but none for me. 
 At last, as I learned how cold and selfish, and 
 heartless she was, I grew away from her, and was 
 
W/iat a Selfish Mother Did. 107 
 
 glad she did not love me. In time my life 
 became unbearable. I left home because it was 
 not a home. In the night I ran away and came 
 on the cars to this city. Then I changed my 
 name, and sought work everywhere. At last I 
 found a place in a candy store at four dollars a 
 week wages. I paid all of that for board and 
 washing. How I was expected to live and dress 
 myself well on such wages I do not know. 
 After a few months my clothes became shabby. 
 One day the proprietor of the store was told by 
 his wife that I did not dress well enough to draw 
 custom. Then he told me if I did not wear 
 better clothes I must leave. Then I told him 
 just the truth, and he said he'd see about it in a 
 day or two. That night he remained in the store 
 after the others had gone, and said he wanted to 
 talk with me. lie wanted me to go out with him 
 to a concert the next Sunday night. I went 
 with him because he talked so good and kind to 
 me. It was a concert in the church. He was a 
 
108 W7iat a Selfish Mother Did. 
 
 church member. He said it helped his business 
 to belong to the chm-ch. He furnished candies, 
 and suppers for parties and made money. "We 
 went to the concert. He gave me twenty dollars 
 as we came back to where I boarded. I bought 
 some new clothes. He was very kind to me, and 
 gave me more money. His wife was satisfied 
 with me, and said I did well to use my money 
 for dress. 
 
 " One night I went out to walk with him to 
 see a cousin, as he said. At her house, we were 
 alone in a room together. I do not know how it 
 was, but we had a supper together. After sup- 
 per, I felt very queer and dizzy, and reckless. 
 When I left his cousin's house, I was ruined. 
 He gave me more money, and said he would do 
 right by me. I believe I loved him because he 
 was kind to me. Yet he had ruined me. Night 
 after night I cried myself to sleep, thinking of 
 my home, of my father, of my mother, and wish- 
 ing I were a dog or a horse so that my father 
 
What a Selfish Mother Did. 109 
 
 would love me ; or a new silk dress, or article of 
 jewelry instead of a homely child, so that my 
 motlier would love me. 
 
 " After a few months I had to leave there. 
 The man said I could not stay longer. I went 
 away, but could get no work. Then I pawned 
 all the articles he had given me, and the things I 
 had purchased with his money. So I got along 
 till my baby was born. I lived in a garret on 
 crusts. My baby was taking to a foundling home, 
 and I have seen it but a few times. It is better 
 that I do not. The poor little thing thinks its 
 father was a soldier, and its mother with him is 
 dead. 
 
 " When I got well, what could 1 do ? I had no 
 money. Weak and heart-crushed I walked from 
 house to house for work. I had no recommends ; 
 women would not talk with me. Some said I 
 was drunk, because I was too weak to walk 
 straight ; others said I drank because my eyes 
 were red from weeping. Christians looked at 
 
110 What a Selfish Mother Bid. 
 
 elm roll spires, but not at the poor, as did the 
 Saviour. The Law was against me. I heard once 
 from home that I had been cursed because I had 
 left. Once I went to a minister's study, and 
 asked his advice. He said : 
 
 " ' Go out and go away quickly, for if you are 
 seen here I am ruined in reputation.' 
 
 " Twice I called on noted Christian women to 
 beo; of them for some work or to find me some 
 place where I could scrub floors or do the most 
 menial service, but they were too good to talk 
 with me, and drove me from their doors. What 
 could I do? There was suicide or starvation — 
 the city of the dead or the city of the living ! 
 I threw }nyself upon the latter, till at last I am 
 here to enter the confines of the former. 
 
 " But I am not bad. Every step for years has 
 been on points of agony. The crown of thorns 
 on the head of the Saviour was not more painful 
 than the crown of grief on my heart, planted 
 there in early childhood by my mother, and 
 
What a Selfish Mother Bid. Ill 
 
 pressed deeper and deeper into the sensitive soul 
 by that society to please whicli I was first cruci- 
 fied. My life was wrecked long since. But 
 there was a cause for it. Never went a girl to 
 study the streets of the town unless slie bad a 
 cause for thus turning her steps. In a little 
 while I shall be a beginner in the new life, where 
 I know I shall be forgiven, for I have in tears 
 and contrition forgiven those who drove me 
 forth, and those who were not brave enough, 
 when they had the power, to help and to save me 
 to a life of usefulness. Tell my mother that I 
 forgive her, even for driving me from her heart, 
 then from home, and thus to the life which has 
 brought me here ; and when you pray, forget 
 not those who suffer beyond their strength." 
 
1 
 
 ^s 
 
 
 w 
 
 ^p 
 
 ^B 
 
 M 
 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ^fJIY NOT TET TO BE A MAN? 
 
 ^ 
 
 ETWEEIST twenty and thirty years 
 ago, when we were a happy, hope- 
 ful farmer boy, a man came to the 
 neighborhood where we were brought up, and 
 purchased a few acres of land, on which grew 
 trees and briers. One day, while hunting for 
 wintergreen berries in the woods, we came upon 
 the new comer busy at work cutting down trees, 
 that the ground might be cleared away and a 
 home made there. Said he : 
 
 " My little man, will you do me a favor? " 
 " Yes sir, if I can. What do you want ? " 
 "I am very thirsty. Will you empty the 
 
W7iy not Tnj to he a Man f 113 
 
 berries from your little tin-pail out on the top 
 of that stump, and go to the spring down there 
 and bring me a pail of good, cold water 1 " 
 
 " Yes sir, with pleasure." 
 
 After emptying the berries, as directed, we 
 scampered away and in two or three minutes 
 had returned with a pail filled with water. The 
 man whirled his axe deep into the wood, left 
 it sticking there, sat down upon a log, wiped the 
 perspiration from his brow, then took a long drink 
 from the pail filled with cold, clear spring water. 
 
 " There ! That is the stuff— the best stuff in 
 the world when a man or boy is thirsty. I 
 thank you, my little man. When I get my 
 house built here, come and take dimier with 
 me, and I'll wait on you ! " 
 
 " Are you going to build a liouse 'way up 
 here in the woods ? " 
 
 '' Yes — soon as I have a place for it cleared 
 off, and the trees and limbs all burned and out 
 of the way." 
 
114: TTAy not Tnj to le a Man ? 
 
 " Have you any children ? " 
 
 " Yes, I have three, and they will be here 
 when my house is built. So will their mother, 
 and you can come and visit us then ! " 
 
 While he rested, we talked. Somehow he 
 seemed like a real good, heartsome man. He 
 asked questions ; told us about his boys and 
 girls ; ate a few of the berries we gave him as 
 we put them from the stump back into the pail, 
 and then went again to his work, while we went 
 our way. All that afternoon we heard the 
 echoing sound of blows from his axe. Occa- 
 sionly a tree crashed down to the earth. Then 
 the talk of the axe would be heard again. 
 Day after day he worked there. At times he 
 would come to our home to talk and rest awhile 
 after the work of the day was done. The open- 
 ing grew wider and longer day by day till two 
 acres of ground had been chopped over, the 
 trees cut into logging lengths, and the brush cut 
 and piled into heap)s. Then the man went away. 
 
WJiy not Try to he a Man ? 115 
 
 One day in the early summer we saw clouds 
 of smoke up there on the hill-side. Then the 
 flames leaped and crackled, as fire was consum- 
 ing the piles of dry brush. He was a worker — 
 he made it red-hot up there, and left the spot 
 where his labor had been given black and 
 unsightly. In a few days we saw men and 
 yokes of oxen up there at work to roll the logs 
 into piles at the lower edge of his clearing, that 
 they might be burned in time. Then we saw 
 a man with a plough drawn by oxen — and before 
 winter the green blades of winter wheat came 
 out of the blackness of the soil with a promise 
 to reward the one who had pioneered his way 
 to break down the old and build up the new. 
 
 In time our friend had builded a house, and 
 his home was made. One day we took dinner 
 there, while still a lad. not yet in teens, and saw 
 how nicely he had all things fixed about him. 
 The house had been erected close by the spring. 
 The rooms in the house Avere neat and clean 
 
116 WJiij not Try to he a Ifanf 
 
 as a tidy housewife could make, and a ueat 
 family could keep them. The man had a beau- 
 tiful, happy home. He had made it by hard 
 work — he was a builder; one of God's noble- 
 men, and one who gave good examples. 
 
 Now, he is a great farmer of wealth. His 
 sons have grown to useful manhood. His 
 daughter graces the home of one of the thriving 
 mei-chants of this city, and is to-day the same 
 sweet, noble, sensible, earnest woman as was her 
 mother. Last summer we met the old farmer, 
 who now is able to travel over the country, see 
 the people, note improvements and live at ease. 
 Speaking of the old time, the first work of the 
 clearing, his large, well-tilled farm and beautiful 
 home, he said : 
 
 " Yes, there is a wide difference between now 
 and then. My farm and home are as I planned 
 and worked to make them, and I feel that I 
 have not lived in vain." 
 
 That is what he said. His exact words. 
 
Why not Tnj to he a Man ? 117 
 
 Search the books — find a sentence more filled 
 with evidences of a great, true, powerful man- 
 liood if you can. But you will hunt in vain. 
 His farm and his home as he had made them ! 
 He had not lived in vain ! Indeed he had not. 
 Two nobler men than are his sons — two happier 
 husbands and fathers cannot be found. The 
 good example their father set has been honored. 
 
 To-night, as we were preparing to leave the 
 office, a man entered, with coat-collar muffled 
 close about his face. There seemed something 
 about him familiar. Walking up to the counter 
 he introduced himself, and said : 
 
 " Of course you know me. I have been in 
 your Western office when you were there, many 
 times. I am so glad to see you. I said to my- 
 self to-day, says I, ' If I could only see you it 
 would be all right,' I know you won't ' go 
 back ' on an old friend, will you ? " 
 
118 Why not Tnj to he a Mem f 
 
 "AVhatistlie trouble?" 
 
 " I want a hundred dollars. Want to borrow 
 
 it. Will pay it some day. You have got it and 
 
 can spare it, and won't go back on an old friend, 
 
 I know. I want to go back to Chicago." 
 " How long have you been in New York ? " 
 " Two weeks, and I want to go back to 
 
 Chicago." 
 
 " Why don't you go ? " 
 
 " Why ? I am out of money." 
 
 " Where is your family — wife and babies ? " 
 
 " They are in Chicago, and I want to go back 
 
 there." 
 
 " Where is your baggage ? " 
 
 " It's all in pawn, and I am dead broke ! " 
 
 " How long have you been on this spree ? " 
 
 " Who told you I had been on a drunk ? " 
 
 " You tell me — your eyes, bloodshot and 
 
 inflamed ; your parched, swollen lips ; your hot, 
 
 swillish breath." 
 
 " O, come now, you are rough ! I didn't come 
 
Whj not Try to he a Man? 119 
 
 for a lecture — I want a hundred dollars until I 
 can earn it and pay you back." 
 
 " You cannot have it." 
 
 " Do you mean it ? Why not %'\ 
 
 " For several reasons." 
 
 " What are they ? " 
 
 " Tou are not deserving of it. We do not 
 have it to spare. You are fonr years older than 
 we are, and are just as much bound to take 
 care of yourself as we are to take care of you. 
 When you had money, you went on a spree — 
 have been on a drunk for ten days. You kept 
 it up till you had squandered all you had, and 
 now want to go home, sick, fevered, filled with 
 poison, to be nursed by your wife, who for years 
 has been cursed and held on the hot gridiron of 
 torture on your account, as this is a common trick 
 of yours. What does a woman want of the 
 fevered dregs of a drunken carouse ? Why 
 should we work here for two weeks to earn a 
 liundred dollars to give you as pay for your two 
 
120 Why not Try to he a Man ? 
 
 weeks making a fool of yourself ? You are a man. 
 Of mature years and of good intellect. You 
 even claim to be smart. You have a family, and 
 will not care for them. We have a family, and 
 intend to provide our home-ones with such com- 
 forts as they deserve. You pleased yourself in 
 getting drunk, and you can please yourself in 
 getting sober. You spent your earnings foolishly, 
 — now go to work and earn more money, and 
 tlien go and spend that for drink and in haunts 
 of vice if you want to. This is your privilege. 
 This is a free country. Get into the gutters and 
 stay there, if such is the restiiig-place you choose. 
 We have something else to do besides working 
 to reward men for not taking care of them- 
 selves." 
 
 " You are mighty rough ! You would not 
 dare talk to me this way if I was not in hard 
 luck. I don't want a temperance lecture — I 
 want a hundred dollars ! " 
 
 " We are not so rough to you as you are to 
 
Why not Try to he a Man fj I'il 
 
 yourself! You are your own guardian. How- 
 can you ask us to be better to you than you are 
 to yourself % Had you been taken ill — met with 
 an accident, or been robbed, we would help you, 
 if in our power. But when you deliberately roh 
 yourself^ you are a coward to ask any man to 
 help you suffer the consequences." 
 
 "I don't like such talk!" 
 
 " Then deserve better. You are your own 
 master. But you need being wakened. H you 
 cannot buy experience to suit you with money, 
 obtain it from the want of mouey. You had 
 things your way in spending your money — have 
 it all your own way in recovering it, without let, 
 help or hindrance. The man who will not take 
 care of himself when he can, is not worth taking 
 care of when he can't." 
 
 The man went his way, but where we do not 
 know. 
 
 Boys ! — you who live in country as well as in 
 
 city homes — tell us what you think of the two 
 6 
 
122 Why not Try to he a Man ? 
 
 men told of. One of tliem planned and worked 
 to make for himself and family a home. lie 
 sncceeded, and did it by work and economy. 
 Now he can rest, and be happy. The other 
 man has hewed out his resting-place. His life is 
 as he has made it. He is on the road which leads 
 to a miserable old age, and a pauper grave. 
 Which of the two men would you be ? We are 
 not giving you a lecture on Temperance, but we 
 would have you realize that your future rests 
 with yourselves. You can build homes or gutters 
 to live in. 
 
 The man who subdued a portion of the forest 
 will enter the Gardens of God a full life-time in 
 advance of the creature of dissipation, who has 
 no care for others nor of himself. The one will 
 be called to councils of the spirits — of men re- 
 born to a real life, while the other will be a 
 wanderer on the shore and a beggar for know- 
 ledge, till the mind, which is the man, has been 
 strengthened and tautiht that which the man 
 
Why not Try to he a Man f 123 
 
 should have learned here on earth. He will en- 
 ter the new life worse off than when he entered 
 this, for his mind will be weak where it might 
 have been strong— it will be like the rough 
 bowlder fallen from the mountain side to the 
 plain below, when by care and study he might 
 have been like a beautiful piece of living sculp- 
 ture, walking with those on the heights who are 
 pressing on through all the millions of Eternal 
 colleges lining the way to the Great Master, who 
 will welcome all good workmen no matter what 
 their religion, when they shall come to him in 
 the life of love and progressive knowledge 
 beyond the welcome Saturday Night. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A TEUE PIIILOSOPHEK. 
 
 |0-DAT we have really enjoyed a visit 
 from a farmer, whose home is several 
 hundred miles from here, and who 
 came to the city now for the first time in his life. 
 Some " wise " people sneer at farmers, and say 
 they know nothing. Others turn up their noses 
 at them, and consider the tillers of the soil and 
 the makers of the country but little better than 
 the cattle they drive. It is an old saying — " An 
 honest man is the noblest work of God." And 
 where do you find honest men if not in the 
 country, in the rural districts — on the farms and 
 in the happy homes made beautiful by labor ? 
 
A True Pidlosopher. 125 
 
 It is years since we left the furrow and the pets 
 of the farm for the more laborious and perplex- 
 ing work of the sanctum ; yet the attractions of 
 a life in the country, the memories of the past 
 and the hope some day to rest and in quiet to see 
 the sun set behind life's western hills never will 
 leave us. All-powerful are the early lessons of 
 childhood, as pictures are graven on the tablet of 
 life before the heart and the hope are marred, 
 scarred and made rough by constant contact with 
 events and struggles to live and to preserve that 
 honesty of purpose which clothes true manhood 
 and protects it on the voyage to the mellow-tinted 
 gardens of the Leal. 
 
 Said our visitor to-day : 
 
 " This then is your workshop ? The place 
 where you do your work. You scatter good seed 
 over much ground. You sow truth and indepen- 
 dent thought broadcast, as we farmers do wheat, 
 and deserve rich rewards. But are you not often 
 weary % " 
 
126 A True Philosopher. 
 
 " YeSj at times very weary. But are we not 
 commanded by that kind and Supreme Being 
 who is our Father in Heaven to work while the 
 day lasts and to be faithful in earnest efforts ? " 
 
 " Tes, yes ; but how can you think, here in the 
 noise — in the uproar and tumult of a driven life ? 
 Why, the noise distracts me, and it seems as if 
 all the people I meet are going crazy in their 
 desire to do business — to make money — to outrun 
 their neighbors. How can you think to write ? " 
 
 " Discipline and application. It is as easy to 
 work here when there is work to do, as for a boy 
 to drive a team through the streets of a village 
 when he knows where he wants to go and is in- 
 tent more on reaching his destination than merely 
 seeing the sights." 
 
 "Yes, I understand. But I would not ex- 
 change places with you, unless for the chance to 
 do more good here than I can do at home. Your 
 city life bothers me. There is too little heart in 
 it. Too much fashion. Too much attention to 
 
A True Philosopher. 127 
 
 dress and appearance. In the woods, we can tell 
 what kind of a tree it is we are standing under, 
 but here in the city it seems as if the timber was 
 all veneered to hide what was inside." 
 
 " Yery true, sir. Veneering is the order of 
 the day. Our country is being veneered by cor- 
 ruption as the people are rushing all too blindly 
 after wealth." 
 
 " Yes, that is the trouble. And I like to see 
 the veneering stripped off, that we may know the 
 true from the false, and, for one, I have come to 
 thank you for what you are doing. Politically" 
 we do not agree, but I have tired of politics, and 
 have learned to look beneath such pretexts for 
 power, and join with any one who is lionest, for 
 now there is more than ever a work for honest 
 men to do. You are younger than I by half a 
 lifetime ; but there is work we can both engage 
 in. Wlien you are weary here come to my home 
 and rest. Come and gather strength for the com- 
 ing conflict. Men do not last so long in the city 
 
128 A True PliilosojpTier. 
 
 as in the country. Last week I was seventy -four 
 years old, and now I am well and hearty as ever. 
 You men in cities work too fast. You want to 
 do everything in one day. You abuse the gifts 
 you should preserve. You live too much in har- 
 ness. Eest more, and live longer, that you may 
 do more good. 
 
 " Now, I have a home in the country. There 
 is no such wealth there as here, but no such pov- 
 erty do we have to witness. We have fresh air, 
 good friends, truer friendship. I have a home in 
 the country. For fifty-three years I liave worked 
 to make my home, and to make it beautiful. I 
 have wronged no man. Labor has brought abun- 
 dant reward. Children have grown up around 
 me in whom I am proud, for they are good, and 
 kind, and loving, and bring only joy to my heart. 
 The morning and the evening are not fringed 
 with regrets, or torn with pictures of dissipation 
 about our home in the country. Houses are not 
 kept locked and double locked by day and by 
 
A True PhilosopJier. 129 
 
 night, nor do uniformed officers of the law patrol 
 
 up and down in front of my house as they do 
 
 here. My sons grew to manhood away from the 
 
 sights and scenes of city life which harden hearts 
 
 and lead men to dishonest acts, false lives and 
 
 premature graves. My daughters have grown to 
 
 be women, good, pure and full of sympathy for 
 
 all who are in distress. We have all learned to 
 
 work and thus to preserve our health, and are not 
 
 slaves to that army of imaginary wants which, to 
 
 gratify, drive men and women to poverty, and 
 
 nations to ruin. 
 
 " When you are weary come to our home in the 
 
 country, where birds have their freedom ; — where 
 
 flowers bloom in season, and where it is not a 
 
 crime to think or to have ideas befitting many 
 
 men of many minds. Where Christianity is not 
 
 bound in the silken cords of fashion, and where 
 
 church spires are not the thermometer falsely 
 
 indicating the attitude of the soul, as in cities 
 
 where men and women live too much for appear- 
 6* 
 
130 A True Philosopher. 
 
 ances and too little for the development of the 
 good, the great, and the ennobling." 
 
 Thns talked our aged visitor, who now has re- 
 turned to his home in the country, to enjoy his 
 sunset. His talk was of men and of manhood, 
 as his life has been one of honor and profit. He 
 has lived his life in one of the rural homes of the 
 land, and has lived it well, creating and enjoying 
 blessings unhedged by envy and untainted with 
 dishonor, as can all the boys and young men who 
 may read these lines, and who have their own 
 honor, prosperity and manhood in their own keep- 
 ing, away from the pitfalls and the temptations 
 which so beset the young in large cities, from 
 Sunday morning till Saturday night. 
 
CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 HOW THE POOR BOY CAME TO BE KICH. 
 
 IGHTEEN years ago to-niglit '. 
 
 It does not seem so long, but there 
 can be no mistake. We were sitting 
 in one of tbe depots of the Erie Railway waiting 
 for an eastern-bound train of cars on which a 
 yomig friend was to take passage for the great 
 city of New York. He had just entered on his 
 fifteenth year, and had already learned to look 
 fate in the face, and to believe that his destiny 
 and future, so far as this life was concerned, 
 rested much with himself. As we sat on a 
 bench, waiting for the train, we remember the 
 little talk we had as though it were but a year 
 ago. 
 
133 How the Pool' Boy came to he Rich. 
 
 " What will yon do in New Tork, Henry ? " 
 
 " Anything that is honorable, no matter how 
 hard' the work. And I'll try to take care of 
 myself, too." 
 
 " But suppose you find nothing to do ! " 
 
 "Then I'll hunt till I do find a place. I'll 
 find somebody who is afraid of work, and when 
 he quits I'll take his place." 
 
 " That is a good idea. But what do you want 
 to do well for?" 
 
 "I want to see how well I can do for my 
 own satisfaction, and I want to have a nice 
 home some day for Maggie. You know we 
 are willing to wait for each other. Her mother 
 says we will know whether we love each other 
 or not by the time I ain of age, and so it is 
 fixed that we are to wait. I am a year the 
 eldest, and it seems that I am a man, now that 
 I have a hope, and an object in life to strive for." 
 
 Just then the whistle of the steam was heard 
 as the train came rushing around a curve, dashed 
 
How the Poor Boij came to he Rich. 133 
 
 lip to the station, was stopped long enough for a 
 few persons to step off and others to step on the 
 cars. In a moment our boy friend had gone — 
 passed on towards the east. The train plunged 
 into the darkness and rushed on to the city 
 beyond, where our friend knew he would find 
 friends, for he went forth with good intentions, 
 determined to deserve them. 
 
 To-night we were an invited guest at the 
 beautiful home of one of the merchants of this 
 city. A neat, well-built, good-sized, finely 
 furnished brick house near the Central Park. 
 After dinner, as we were seated in his library, 
 we listened attentively as he said : 
 
 " Yes, times have changed with both of us 
 since that night. Providence has been good to 
 me, and I have tired to be good to myself. There 
 is more in being good to yourself than people 
 think for. I had it pretty hard for quite awhile 
 after reaching the city. It was no easy matter 
 
134 How the Poor Boy came to he Rich. 
 
 to find a place, no matter how vigilant the watch 
 for places or how many attempts to find a posi- 
 tion. For awhile I slept in the depot on a 
 bench, and helped the night-watchman sweep 
 out, to pay for the lodging. Then I carried 
 valises for passengers, and made something in 
 that way. Then I was sick, and was taken to 
 St. Luke's Hospital. When I got out, my old 
 friend the watchman was dead — the new one 
 would not let me sleep on the bench, and as it 
 came warm weather I slept in a warehouse on 
 the floor. After awhile a man drove me out 
 from there, called me a vagabond because I was 
 poor and had no home, and hit me on the head 
 witli a sort of iron cane he had, cutting a hole in 
 my scalp, and causing that scar. A gentleman 
 passing, in company with a lady, stopped to talk 
 to me, as I sat on a curb-stone, too faint to walk. 
 He took me to a hotel in the Bowerj^, and paid 
 the landlord for my lodging and breakfast, then 
 took me to a drug-store on the coi'ucr close by 
 
How the Poor Boy came to he Rich. 135 
 
 and told the druggist to put something on my 
 head, and told me when that was done to go to 
 bud, and, after breakfast, to come to his office, 
 lie was a lawyer on Nassau street, and his name 
 was Hamilton. He was very kind. I swept his 
 office, did errands, and kept the place neat and 
 clean. He paid my board, and gave me a 
 dollar a week. After a few months he got me 
 a place in a store, as a boy of all work, who 
 wanted to learn the business. 
 
 " I had it pretty hard here, but no more so 
 than the rest of the persons employed there. 
 But I was not afraid of work. My employer 
 Iiere was veiy kind and good to me. He was 
 never cross or ugly. He must have been a poor 
 boy himself some day, as, indeed, he had been. 
 When I saw that he was kind to me, and always 
 explained to me what I did not then know, I 
 tried my very best to please him. When he saw 
 that I was always anxious to do all I could, he 
 kept pushing me forward, to see, as he said, 
 
136 How the Poor Boy came to he Rich. 
 
 what kind of stuff I was made of. He gave me 
 some severe trials, and sometimes it seemed as if 
 I must give up. 
 
 " Then I thought of my poor boyhood. Of 
 Maggie, and how she was waiting for me. And 
 of the future, and the reward I wanted it to 
 bring. And of Maggie's mother — and of my 
 mother, who always was so good to me — and of 
 my poor father, who was in poor health, and with 
 a heavy family load to bear — and of the neigh- 
 bors, who had said I never could succeed in a 
 great city. 
 
 '* The more I thought of all these things the 
 harder I tried. When I did not clearly under- 
 stand what to do, I asked my employer, and he 
 would tell me. So I made but few mistakes. 
 
 " You see I wanted to be somebody. I tried 
 to be. I wanted to know what I was good for. 
 When other clerks went out to drink and to 
 smoke, I remained in the store and worked. 
 What wages were paid to me were saved, and 
 
How the Poor Boy came to he Rich. 137 
 
 deposited in a savings bank. When the work of 
 the day was done, I went to the house where I 
 boarded, and read or studied. Then I went to 
 bed early as possible, and was always at the office 
 the followino; morning, fresh and rested. At the 
 end of a year my employer said he would give 
 me twice the wages he did the first year. Then 
 I put into the work all the more. At the end of 
 the second year he again raised my salary, and 
 the day I was twenty -one years of age he invited 
 me home to dine with him, and gave me a per- 
 centage on all the goods I could sell from his 
 store. 
 
 " After that the work waa easier. I made 
 money. I tried my best to be polite and atten- 
 tive, and think no one can say with truth that I 
 was ever gruff, curt, unkind, or that I ever used 
 a harsh or profane word or expression. 
 
 " I never spent my time in saloons, for I 
 wanted to save the money for Maggie. Had I 
 squandered my time, the business would not 
 
138 How the Poor Boy came to he Hich. 
 
 have been learned — my kind employer would 
 have lost interest in me — I should have become 
 a bundle of bad, expensive habits, and many of 
 the pictures and beautiful articles my wife has 
 bought and here placed about would never have 
 been ours. 
 
 " I wanted to be a man. To be a succcessf ul 
 man. To have a home and a business. To see 
 wdiat I could make of myself, and so I did my 
 best — not once or twice, hut all the time. When 
 I went back home to marry Maggie she looked 
 so glad and proud — all the more so, because she 
 knew that many a man and woman there had 
 said I never could amount to much of anything 
 in the world. And the neighbors seemed to take 
 an interest in me. The reward began to come — 
 and it kept coming right along, little by little 
 but constantly coming. 
 
 " Now we have a nice home. It is all ours. 
 My old employer is still a silent partner in our 
 business, and we get along excellently well. We 
 
How the Poor Boy came to he Rich. 139 
 
 live here, as you see — Maggie and the three little 
 ones, and I — all happy and contented. Business 
 is good, for in the store we all try to make it 
 so. We sell the best of goods, and never take 
 advantage of a customer. We are too anxious to 
 keep up the good reputation of our concern. I 
 try to do by all the clerks as my employer did 
 by me, and when I can assist one to a better 
 place or position, or can assist him to start in 
 business, it is a pleasure to do as I was done by 
 years ago. 
 
 " I do not know as I can tell you how I have 
 succeeded — only that I tried to — that I took care 
 of myself — that I always did my best, and never 
 stopped to doubt the result." 
 
 Boys — what that man has done, all of you can 
 do. He took care of himself. He had hope and 
 a disposition to work. He was kind to others, 
 and worthy the love of the pure country girl who 
 had faith in the one her young heart had selected, 
 and thus the two grew into glorious, useful man- 
 
140 How the Poor Boy came to he Rich. 
 
 hood and woinanliood, as they are even now- 
 growing in mind and strength, the better to enter 
 as perfect workers upon the duties of that new 
 life, in the Eternal City, beyond the darkness 
 of present time, after we shall have wakened to 
 the new and the beautiful, beyond the Vroary 
 Saturday Night. 
 
CHAPTER Xiy. 
 
 SEEKING THE SUNSHINE. 
 
 IhIS afternoon we learned a lesson 
 from a little black and white kitten. 
 ISTot a poor little abused creature, 
 kicked and cuffed and starved by children, who 
 believe that kittens, no matter how innocent, 
 were ordained to be tortured for being kittens 
 by those who are in turn some time to be tor- 
 tured for being human ! This was a pretty 
 little house-pet, with a clean coat of fur, a little 
 red ribbon about its neck, and its pert, saucy 
 ways seeming to crop out as thanks for the care 
 and attention given it. Vov awhile it played 
 about the floor, attracting attention and making 
 
142 Seeking the Sunshine. 
 
 resting-places for one's thoughts, then it found 
 a spot of sunshine a little larger than itself, on 
 the carpet, and curled itself down nicely for a 
 sleep. 
 
 In a little while we looked and saw that the 
 golden spot of sunshine had moved on, and just 
 then the kitten moved to rest in the gentle 
 warmth. In a little while the spot and the 
 kitten had again moved, tlie lesser following 
 the greater. Do you ever think how full of 
 lessons a day can be ? What lessons there are 
 in little things ? One person passes along the 
 street in a hurry to reach his place of business, 
 and but merely notices what he calls a hand- 
 some show-window. Another person sees the 
 window, pauses to examine its varied contents, 
 rotes the ingenuity evinced in the manner of 
 display, and sees a hundred beautiful things 
 the one who went by in such haste never 
 noticed, or surmised of their existence. There 
 are thousands of beautiful hills this side of the 
 
Seeking the Sunshine. 143 
 
 grand mountains, as there are thousands of op- 
 portunities for men and women and children 
 to find spots of sunshine, and to be happy, if 
 they only will take one-half as much trouble 
 to keep right, as to walk the wrong path which 
 to many is so attractive because unnatural and 
 exciting. 
 
 There are little spots of sunshine on every 
 field. If not to-day, to-morrow. To these are 
 joys and hours of happiness in exact proportion 
 as wo try to be happy, and to find the sunny 
 spots. It is not necessary to be rich, or great, 
 or powerful to be truly happy. Avarice is the 
 curse of mankind. The spot of carpet warmed 
 by the rays of the sun gave to the little kitten 
 as much comfort as would all of out-doors. 
 Then in its home it was safe and contented. 
 
 But few know how to be happy. The first 
 requirement is goodness of heart. To be good 
 we must work on our own natures. Improve 
 our minds. Learn self-control. Be liberal to 
 
144 Seehing the Sunshine. 
 
 others who are pilgrims on the same road. The 
 perfect painting of the Madonna and Child in 
 our library was not the result of careless daubing 
 of colors or the careless, reckless hurry work 
 of a poor workman. It is the work of a great 
 artist. God only knows how many liours he 
 studied and worked. Here a heavy, there a 
 light touch, till at last, as rises a mountain from 
 a plain, or the Heaven-designed truth of the 
 liberal, progressive love of Him who is Our 
 Father, from the dark dungeon of bigotry and 
 ignorance, came forth the conception of the 
 Inspired painter who gave us the picture of 
 the mother and the child Jesus. "We must not 
 grasp for more than we can hold, for greater 
 truths than a disciplined, inquiring mind can 
 realize. 
 
 On the shore of the Eternal Home many a 
 millionnaire — many a child of wealth and fashion 
 will sit in sadness to see and to feel the spirits 
 of many a poor one, despised on earth, touch the 
 
SeeJdng the Sunshine. 145 
 
 shore, be clasped by loving arms and go at once 
 far on the road to the great Home of Inspi- 
 ration. The gold he strove for — the wealth won 
 by the tricks, deceits, sharp games and dishonest 
 practices, and oftentimes expended for church 
 spires and cushioned pews above and away 
 from the poor, will be left on the shore of sin 
 and sorrow, and struggling to still farther curse 
 the evil disposed and the hypocritical, and the 
 new life will be entered by a bankrupt who must 
 at some time learn to control himself, and thus 
 be truly greater than he who conquers millions. 
 
 We know a woman whose life has been but a 
 chapter of torture. Early in life, to escape 
 endless perdition, she embraced the first faith 
 that was in horrible picturing presented. She 
 grew to womanhood fearing God, fearing death, 
 trembling over the punishment she was made 
 to believe followed God's mercy and boundless 
 love. Her soul, stricken by fear, terror-riven, 
 afraid to even look out of its dark church prison- 
 
146 Seeking the Sunshine. 
 
 house for that light, which is for all who care to 
 enjoy it. To-day she is but a slave to a bigoted 
 education — to ignorant fancies, to the ideas she 
 does not believe in. Few have been the spots 
 of sunshine in her life. She does penance to 
 escape the wrath of Him who is of Heaven. 
 The flower of love has never really bloomed in 
 her heart. She is a wife, because she was com- 
 manded to wed one who demanded her hand of 
 a greed-loving father that she might be the 
 cushion for his lust to rest on, to her agony. 
 Her soul is not her own. She obeys her 
 minister and her husl^and. She attends the 
 house of worship when the bell rings, then re- 
 turns to her disli-water, catechism, and her 
 slavery to him Avho owns her as he does liis 
 horse, his dog, his cows. 
 
 A few days since we met her at our home in 
 the city, and she said : 
 
 " Oh ! what shall I do ? I am lost in the dark. 
 When I would seek for light, they tell me it is 
 
Seeking the Sunshine. 147 
 
 for woman to be in darkness. That she is born to 
 suffer. Ordained to suffer for the glory of man. 
 That I must not question the religion 1 was 
 driven to, and crucified on ; that I cannot 
 beKeve. That I must not doubt, nor inquire, 
 nor cultivate my powers of mind. That I must 
 accept that which does not seem true or reason- 
 able — that I must go with the tide, without an 
 idea of my own, on to the final hour, and trust 
 all to chance. Oh ! tell me is that the truth ? " 
 
 No, good woman, it is not the truth no more 
 than ignorance is intelligence — darkness, light. 
 The Chinese encase the feet of their female 
 children in glass or wooden shoes. An hundred 
 times have we looked to see with what pain, and 
 how insecurely the victims of this practice 
 walked. We call it cruel, yet it is kindness 
 compared to those creeds which bind souls, and 
 minds, and thoughts as mummies are wrapped, 
 and kept in darkness, when lie, who is the sun- 
 light of the soul, made the light, commanded 
 
148 Seehing the Sunshine. 
 
 that it be not put under a bushel, and who 
 enjoined upon all of God's creatures to seek for 
 truth continually. 
 
 Think for yourself. Do not insult Him who 
 gave the power of thought, which is the Eternal 
 Spirit, by hiding your talent, closing your blinds 
 and believing that which you cannot believe. 
 The future life is shadowed here. It is not true 
 tliat words, and professions, and observances, 
 and long faces, and lives devoted to slavish ser- 
 vitude, to bigotry aud intolerance, will lead us to 
 Heaven. The future life will be one of work. 
 There are j)lanets and worlds yet to visit, to 
 labor in, to improve. There are duties for us of 
 a nature that leads to the source of inspiration 
 itself. We are not to live an eternity of idle- 
 ness, singing and eating, and drinking of milk 
 and honey, but we will be called on to help in 
 beautifying the work of creation. Some of us 
 will be master workmen in the Land of the Leal, 
 others will be hewers of wood and drawers of 
 
Seeking the Sunshine. 149 
 
 water. Some of ns will be workers there — some 
 will be messengers back and fro between the 
 students here and the teachers There, that more, 
 and more, and still more of the children of earth 
 may be the better prepared to sooner enter upon 
 the great work when our term of schooling here 
 is ended. 
 
 Ton say this is new. That it was not so from 
 the first. But it was ! Light came. Minds 
 came. Life was given. Step by step the Eter- 
 nal Power marked His advance and taught the 
 example of progression. The floods came — then 
 the storm. The patriarchs went to their homes 
 and to a renewal of work in the new fields to 
 which they had been called. Then went others to 
 join them. Thus grew the Helpers in the gardens 
 of God, millions of them that there are. Then 
 came the great medium between Heaven and 
 Earth to tell us that there was work in the vine- 
 yard for all to do, and that he who went in at the 
 eleventh hour, and who worked, should receive 
 
150 Peeking the Simshine. 
 
 a reward. The gliding of the star to rest over 
 Bethlehem was a step of jDrogression. The 
 coraino; of the new Lio-ht, and a new teacher of 
 old truths, according to orthodox ideas could 
 not be now, because it never had been be- 
 fore ! 
 
 He lived — He taught — He was crucified ; but 
 the Sermon on the Mount remains ! 
 
 So Galileo lived and died. So Newton told ' 
 of something new. So Columbus went out from 
 darkness and ignorance, because commanded to. 
 So Franklin called fire from the clouds, and it 
 came — not simpl}^ because he called it, but 
 because it was there, and some spirit once of 
 earth told him of it. So, too, did Morse make 
 the essence of Eternal Power to talk. He 
 hai-nessed the subtlest of all elements, and now 
 thousands guide and control a power that, 
 according to orthodoxy, must not be simply 
 because it was not discovered at the first, or 
 revealed to minds before they were able to look 
 
Seeking the Sunshine. 151 
 
 for — to search for — to grasp tliis whisper of the 
 Ahnighty. 
 
 They denounced Galileo, and threw their 
 grains of black sand before his advancing truths, 
 but iu vain. They bade good-by to Columbus, 
 but he returned. They anathematized Caxton 
 for discovering the art of printing, yet used 
 his art to disseminate their dying ideas. They 
 accused Franklin of impiety, yet now honor his 
 memory. They sneered at Fulton, yet lived to 
 ride on his steamboat. They ridiculed Morse, 
 yet lived to telegraph the words of God from 
 shore to shore — from the old world to the new, 
 even as students of truth converse from the 
 shores of time to those of Eternity with those 
 who have passed on. All these things come in 
 their time, as there is a time for all things, ar.d 
 we must not forget it. As vial after vial has 
 been opened — as seal after seal has been broken 
 — as revelation after revelation has been made — 
 as truth after truth has been established — as step 
 
152 Seeking the Sunshine. 
 
 by step mankind has been led to the shadow of 
 the Temple to be prepared to know God, men 
 have doubted, have denounced ; but knowledge 
 has advanced as light penetrates darkness. 
 Those who opposed yesterday are converts to- 
 day, or will be to-morrow. The morning sun 
 does not illumine every ravine till after it has 
 passed the meridian. God's truths and plans 
 were not all made known before we were born 
 ■ — will not be while we live, nor for ages after 
 we have joined the throng of perfect workmen 
 in other spheres. The old must pass away. The 
 new must come. Those who blindfold their 
 eyes are cramped by priestcraft, and refuse to 
 look around them, had better be tearing off their 
 bandages, and arising to go forward, searching 
 for themselves, or they will waken on the other 
 shore as new-born infants, while those who 
 strive, and labor, and seek to use the mind God 
 has given them, Avill be far, far, far ahead of 
 them on the upward road. 
 
Seeking the Sunshine. 153 
 
 There is a new life for all who are weary. 
 There are spots of sunshine for all who live 
 if they will but seek them. If not in one place, 
 let them go to another. The viper fell not from 
 the hand of Paul till he shook it off. The load 
 Christian had on his back dropped not off till he 
 advanced beyond the Slough of Despond. The 
 Ark did not rest till it floated on to its resting 
 place. The victory does not come till the battle 
 has been fought. Education only follows severe 
 study. The teacher follows the pupil as day fol- 
 lows night. Each one must judge for himself or 
 herself. 'Twas for this mind was given us. No 
 matter what does another — what does the world 
 — every one is the arbiter of his own destiny, 
 the securer of his own reward — the keeper of 
 his own soul while on earth. Indeed is there " a 
 divinity that shapes our ends, rough hew them as 
 we may," but the hewing must be done first, and 
 then will come the rest, the new work, the great 
 
 reward, after on earth our final Saturday Night. 
 7* 
 
CHAPTER XY. 
 
 THE ORPHAN GIRL AND HEK FRIENDS. 
 
 WO weeks ago she M^as a little girl of 
 nine years of age, playing about the 
 yard with other children. She lired 
 a hard life, on the streets, selling the afternoon 
 papers. When it rained, and the streets were 
 muddy, with a worn-out broom she swept the 
 street crossings, ran before us, held up her little 
 grimy hand, while her large eyes seemed to say 
 in loving letters : 
 
 " Please sir — only a penny 1 " 
 Her name was Kitty Burnham. Once her 
 father was a tenant on the Wads worth estate 
 somewhere in the Western portion of the State 
 
The Orjphan Girl and Her Friends. 155 
 
 of New York. Two weeks ago a drunken 
 driver, high mounted on his seat in a jobbing 
 wagon, recklessly drove his horses furiously 
 through a crowd, on the street near the City 
 Hall. Out from one horse-car, hastening to 
 another one in search of customers for her 
 papers she darted like a busy bee, so intent on 
 earning pennies that she did not see the horses 
 or know of them till she had been knocked down 
 by one of them — till the heavy wagon had run 
 over her frail body, and broken five of her little 
 ribs, and left her a wounded, fainting picture of 
 agony on the hard stones of the street. The 
 drunken driver stopped not to see who he had 
 killed. The ones who saw the act thought more 
 of the child than of the man ; they all ran to 
 take her up, and the driver escaped. 
 
 If he has a family and a little girl at home, 
 perhaps he told her, when she was in his arms 
 after supper, that he saw another little girl that 
 day. Perhaps he said : 
 
156 The Orj)han Girl and Her Friends. 
 
 " I had an adventure to-day. After I had got 
 drunk, and lashed my horses till they ran, a busy 
 little girl, struggling for life, was in the street, 
 contending with men for a livelihood. Then I 
 lashed my horses again, and ran over this little 
 girl, and crushed her to the pavement ; then 
 drove first into one street, then into another, to 
 reach home without arrest. Am 1 not a kind 
 man, and a good father? " 
 
 Did you ever think that the father or the 
 mother of one child should have a warmer place 
 for all children than many of them have ? 
 
 A great, big, burly policeman took little Kitty 
 Burnham in his arms, all dirt and muddy, and 
 carried her as tenderly as he could to a hospital 
 near by. The tears ran down his furrowed 
 cheeks as he walked on with the limp victim, 
 while the crowd followed, some in tears and all 
 in sadness, clear to the doors of the place for 
 rest and refuge. 
 
 They laid little Kitty on a bed. The kind 
 
The Oi'jjhan Girl and Her Friends. 157 
 
 matron of the place took off her torn dress, and 
 her coarse, worn-out shoes. Of stockings she 
 had none; of underclothes but a single little 
 garment. The surgeon examined her cuts and 
 bruises, and looked serious. Then he said he 
 was afraid she had sustained serious internal 
 injuries, and that she could not live long. But 
 warm hearts reached out with willing hands to 
 assist the little sufferer. For several days she 
 lived, now better then not so well, as life and 
 death contended for the mastery for her as they 
 do for the rich and powerful. 
 
 "When we next saw her, the stains of dirt had 
 been washed from her hands and face and neck. 
 She was pale and weak. Her black silken hair 
 had been' brushed out somewhat, and on the little 
 pillow kept watch over her pale cheek, and 
 listened at times to her moans, as she suffered 
 in the edge of the unknown forest. 
 
 Yesterday she was dead. They had placed 
 her in a plain little coffin, and she did not look 
 
158 The Orjplian Girl and Her Friends. 
 
 one bit like the dirty street sweeper, or the 
 active news-girl, so intent on selling papers. 
 A few days before she had looked like a little 
 beggar. Now, she looked exactly as do the 
 children of the rich, except, perhaps, there was 
 an older look, as her mind had left its trace 
 on the matter of the child material. 
 
 Tlie policeman told us her history, for she 
 had one, set in sorrow, lined with bitterness. 
 Thus ran his words, in quiet voice, as he sat 
 in the office : 
 
 "Her name, as you know, was Kitty Burn- 
 ham. Her father used to live in the Sixth ward. 
 He did all sorts of odd jobs of work, and drank 
 a great deal. In fact he was often so drunk 
 that the officers had to take care of him. He 
 was a handsome fellow when sober, but ugly 
 when he was not. He was a smart fellow, but 
 always chafed under good restraint, and sneered 
 at religion, and said man was accountable only 
 to himself, and did not exist after death. He 
 
The Orjphan Girl and Her Friends. 159 
 
 kept running down — borrowing money — neglect- 
 ing his family, running to places of dissipation, 
 and finally became a regular loafer. Then 
 he had the delirium tremens and died in Belle- 
 vue Hospital one Sunday morning. 
 
 " His wife was a nice-looking sort of a woman, 
 but she never seemed to know what to do, or 
 how to do anything. She was a woman who 
 could be cared for, but who could never care 
 for herself. I think she was not educated in 
 the right way. After her husband died, she 
 wrote to her parents somewhere in the country, 
 but they paid no attention to her. It came out 
 that they were very angry when she was mar- 
 ried, and told her they disowned her. I cannot 
 see how a father or a mother could thus drive 
 their own flesh and blood away, and then when 
 trouble came keep it away ; but some folks 
 do, and greater shame upon them. 
 
 " Last winter Kitty's mother died in the hos- 
 pital on the Island. She seemed to die out and 
 
160 The Orjphan Girl and Her Friends. 
 
 fade away, no one can tell just how. I heard 
 the hospital physicians say she died of a broken 
 heart, from the abuse of her husband and the 
 cruelty of her parents. But she died. 
 
 "Kitty was taken care of for a time by a 
 woman who keeps a rough sort of boarding- 
 house on Oak street. Kitty's mother owed her 
 something, and she took her clothes and poor 
 little Kitty in some way, to pay the debt. After 
 awhile Kitty began to sell papers. She was 
 smart, and chirrupy as a cricket. Kain or shine, 
 she was always out. She used to run over to the 
 station with the papers, and some of us always 
 bought of her, because she seemed to need our 
 help in some way. Once I wanted my wife 
 to adopt her, and take care of her, but she said 
 our two children were all we could care for. 
 I wish I had taken her now, then she would be 
 alive. But we can help some other child. I 
 tell you the police, and the authorities of the 
 city feel as if they ought to be fathers of thou- 
 
The Orjplian Girl aiul Her Friends. 161 
 
 sands of the poor little children, who have none 
 else to care for them. But I must go now. 
 As Kitty had no relatives — no one to love her, 
 perhaps it is best that she was run over and 
 killed at once as to be run over and trampled 
 upon all her life." 
 
 So lived and so died a poor little orphan girl 
 in this city. She was murdered by somebody. 
 Was it by the drunken driver or by the drunken 
 father who wasted his life and left his little 
 one to become a waif on the streets ; or was she 
 murdered by the listless mother who perhaps 
 had more of a load than she could carry, and 
 so gave up her life to despair ? Or did the 
 relatives in their country home who surely could 
 have given an innocent child bread and milk 
 and some of the wealth of fresh air all about 
 them to humanity if not to consanguinity. 
 Somebody murdered little Kitty Burnham who 
 was trying to take care of herself. We cannot 
 censure the father, for God alone has the right 
 
162 The OrjpTian Girl and Her Friends. 
 
 to censure and to judge men. But this we cau 
 do. The world is full of children, as all who 
 live were once. We can pray the Father in 
 Heaven, and the good angels wlio in pity try to 
 make us all better, to stand between men and 
 temptation, to help our brothers who are weak 
 and who do not realize the duty of life or the 
 glory there is in being true, earnest men, for 
 as we do by others and by the little children 
 so will Our Father do by us in the gardens 
 of the eternal and the life beyond our tuial 
 Saturday Night. 
 
CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 BABY AND HER KISSES. 
 
 EVERAL miles out from the citj, just 
 in the edge of a village, stands a 
 white house with green blinds. A 
 pretty cottage home. Many a time have we 
 opened the gate, passed into the yard where the 
 young wife had trained roses to climb and pinks 
 to spread as they gave beauty and fragrance to a 
 place which had become a workingman's para- 
 dise. Of a Saturday night there was indeed no 
 place like home. No more happy place than this 
 home, at least. It was like basking in the mel- 
 low sunshine of God's smile to visit here and 
 behold what love, affection, industry and confi- 
 
164 Baby and Her Kisses. 
 
 deuce could do toward making lifo beautiful 
 beyond words. 
 
 The owner of this cottage home was not a rich 
 man, but no man had greater wealth. He was 
 an honest man. His eyes were like the cushions 
 on which angels bear infants to heaven, so soft, 
 gentle and full of tenderness were they. His 
 heart ever seemed more like some beautiful 
 thought budding into flower than the arena 
 wherein struggle liuman passions, so well had 
 he controlled himself as did our Brother the 
 waves when they oljeyed His command to be 
 still. He lived to concentrate his life — to nuike 
 home the dearest and the sweetest place on 
 earth, and the rectitude of his life spread sun- 
 shine all over and about the dear ones who 
 awaited his coming. What God the great Chem- 
 ist had joined together, no silent yet powerful 
 influence had put asunder, for our friend and 
 the pure woman from whom he drew so much 
 inspiration lived in the doorway of that beauti- 
 
Bahy and Her Kisses, 165 
 
 ful belief that Home is Heaven when Home 
 holds none but loving hearts. 
 
 Day after day our friend labored at his trade. 
 Like the father of Jesus, he was a carpenter. 
 He built houses for others and used the reward 
 of his skill and labor to beautify his home. 
 Thus he put his money to greater interest than 
 any miser ever yet received, or Shyleck could 
 demand. He studied and worked. He built 
 himself into a magnificent manhood. He 
 trained his intelligence, which is immortal, 
 toward Heaven, and fritted not himself away 
 in fretfulness, dissipation or fault-finding with 
 his station or condition in life. He turned his 
 strength to profit — his life to success — his vines 
 to beautify his life and home. He planted 
 contentment, and bounteous was the harvest of 
 happiness he reaped, for he was dearly beloved 
 by a loving wife and three beautiful children. 
 His wife was loving because she could not help 
 being so. Mated, as well as married, their lives 
 
166 Bahy and Her Kisses. 
 
 went sweetly on like wedded rivulets singing 
 their way to the sea. 
 
 Their children were beautiful. They were 
 conceived in love and born in the garden of 
 complete confidence. While the weaver Avas 
 at work in his raysterions chamber, there were 
 no storms, no fits of ngly passion, no lowering 
 skies, no crossing of purposes and filling of 
 hearts with agony to the tangling and twisting 
 and warping of life threads in the unborn, so 
 the little ones who came into the world were 
 beautiful and dearly loved blessings. "Would 
 that we knew words in which to convey ideas. 
 Oh ! that we could sit with all who are waiting 
 to be parents and tell them how love beautifies, 
 and unkindness to her who is to be a mother 
 mars, scars and distorts the innocent till tliey 
 come into the world laden with the seeds of 
 misery for their after-lives on earth. Wlien 
 men know what men should know, and women 
 live as women should live, every child born to 
 
Bahy and Her Kisses. 167 
 
 earth will be born to happiness. But not of 
 this now. 
 
 Our friend was an honest man. He dared be 
 true to himself. lie dared to be true to his 
 manhood. He dared to be true to the woman 
 he loved. Few are the men so brave as he. 
 His home held him by night as did his duty by 
 day. He lived, not to add to that insane throng 
 which mistakes excitement for happiness, but 
 to aid his wife and his children to develop and 
 grow in that strength of heart and soul which 
 gives us positions in the ranks of those who are 
 God's companions in the Gardens of the Golden 
 Eternal. 
 
 When the labors of the day were over, he 
 hastened to his cottage home. He was wel- 
 comed on the way by those whose little feet ran 
 to meet, whose little lips did sweetly greet him. 
 He was not too proud to play with his little 
 ones. He was not too dignified to love his wife. 
 He was not so great as to make his home ones 
 
168 Baby and Her Kisses. 
 
 UTihappy in the shadow of his selfish ambition. 
 He was a workingraan, untitled on earth, but 
 wearing on his heart the garter of the knight- 
 hood of God. He loved his children and they 
 loved him, because he was good and his presence 
 was the balmy air wafting them on to lasting 
 and everlasting happiness. 
 
 The heart-broken wife was kneeling by the 
 bedside as we entered the room. The two 
 eldest children were sobbing as if their hearts 
 were broken. The father and husband had 
 crossed the river and moved out from the mortal 
 temple in which he had dwelt for years. He 
 had crossed the river by whose earth bank his 
 loved ones were kneeling in tears as the M^aves 
 of bitterness dashed in great breakers over their 
 hearts. He had gone with his patterns to build 
 for those he loved a home in that Land of the 
 Leal where there is no sorrow — where hearts are 
 at rest and where the stings of earthly circum- 
 
Bahy and Her Kisses. 169 
 
 stances do not reach to wound the studious 
 soul. 
 
 It was a death-bed scene. The hour of trial 
 for the living — of grief for those left in the des- 
 ert while the faithful guide is journeying to the 
 oasis and finding the camping-ground and shady 
 groves wherein will come those whose grief-wrapt 
 hearts are now lifeless in their sorrow. 
 
 A lady friend of the afflicted ones entered the 
 room, bearing in her arms the two year-old child 
 of him who slept never before so quietly. She 
 bore the babe to the bedside. The little darling 
 looked at those who were bowed in grief. Then 
 it looked at him who slept, and from her little lips 
 came in inquiring tones : 
 
 " Pa-pa ! " 
 
 llis face was as one asleep. So quiet and full 
 of rest. The good friend held the child down so 
 it could kiss the cheek of him but for whom she 
 had not been. At once she sprang from the arms 
 
 of the good friend, nestled close to the face of 
 
 8 
 
170 Bahy and Her Kisses. 
 
 the dead, and with her httle hands on his face, 
 repeated' in her baby voice : 
 
 " Pa-pa ! Baby wake pa-pa ! " 
 
 Then she bent over, printed a sweet httle kiss 
 on one of the eyes of him who slept, quickly 
 raised her head and laughed in glee. But papa 
 did not waken. At once she bent over, kissed the 
 other closed eye, threw back her head and said : 
 
 " Papa, wake for baby ! " 
 
 Tliis had been her early morning play. Oft 
 and oft had she climbed up to his face and kissed 
 his eyes till they opened to smile on baby, as he 
 held her to his heart and wakened for the morn- 
 ing romp which flavored with love the labor of 
 the day. The little orphan knew not that his 
 sleep was eternal. But she saw that papa would 
 not waken to her kisses, as the sobs came from 
 breaking hearts, and tears ran like rain down 
 cheeks unused thereto. Her little lips were put 
 up in grief, the tears of disappointment came to 
 her eyes as she cuddled down by the face of him 
 
Bahy and Her Kisses. 171 
 
 whose life-love had been to her food for the heart 
 and sunshine for her infant soul. Her sobs and 
 tears came free and fast. Her faith was broken. 
 There was a mystery she could not fathom — 
 something her young intelligence could not com- 
 prehend. 
 
 Yet, who dare say that the angels who went 
 with her father to prepare a home for his loved 
 ones in the golden gardens had not returned, and 
 whispered to her soul a knowledge hitherto un- 
 known ? 
 
 Papa was dead. His spirit had gone on to its 
 real work. Well might that little innocent know 
 that papa was dead when her sweet, warm kisses 
 could not open his eyes to see her eager smiles, 
 as she waited at the threshold of slumber for his 
 return. 
 
 The world is all too full of dead fatliers and 
 of dead mothers. Of those who have closed their 
 eyes to love, innocence and that affection which 
 
1Y2 Bahy and Her Kisses. 
 
 marks the God-like of human nature. If men 
 knew the happiness there is in heart-warmed 
 homes, they never would close their eyes to true 
 love nor depart on selfish missions, as do those 
 who die moral deaths. 
 
 The heart of the child was broken when she 
 realized that no longer could her little kiss open 
 the eyes of the papa she loved. The world is 
 full of men and of women, children of larger 
 growth, whose hearts are breaking because of 
 their inability to open with tokens from the heart 
 the eyes of those they have idolized. To such 
 mourners time brings scars oftener than men 
 know of. God pity all such ! Their grief is 
 greater, and with reason, than is those who live 
 for each other — who walk hand in hand, as heart 
 in heart, through life to accomplish good and who 
 are left only for a time, certain of soon meeting 
 in the Land of the Leal, where those who were 
 the best, the truest, the noblest and most devoted 
 to home and to humanity in this life, will wear 
 
Bahy and Her Kisses. 
 
 173 
 
 crowns and be blessed with the angels in that 
 beautiful home wherein all the good actions and 
 kind thoughts here are preserved to our credit, 
 to the glory and reward there is for all who are 
 deserving, in that beautiful life beyond our final 
 Saturday Night. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 HELPING THE ENDUSTKIOUS. 
 
 OW litttle do we who sit in cosy little 
 parlors, by warm fires, surrounded 
 by loved ones and home comforts 
 think of the ones who suffer from cold, hunger 
 and sickness. Wliy cannot all of us, who are 
 children of life, have pleasant homes? The 
 reason nnist be that all do not work so much to 
 make themselves and others happy as to mount 
 the waves of excitement in a struggle for that 
 wealth and power which will benefit us not a 
 bit when the race is ended, and we come to the 
 shores of the lasting existence. 
 
 Standing by the window to-night, looking out 
 
Selping the Industrious. 175 
 
 upon the street, we watched those who passed. 
 Some were clad in furs. Some in stout, warm 
 clothing. Some hurried, shivering by, hastening 
 on to a shelter from the storm. Some there were 
 in rags and poverty, rushing ahead, going some- 
 where. One stout man walked on toward the 
 west. Our eyes followed him till he could no 
 longer be seen. As he turned a corner, our 
 thoughts rode on the storm winds, on to the west- 
 ward — over the fields and orchards of the 
 Empire State — past the farm-houses wherein 
 were gatliered so many happy families, talking, 
 reading, singing and pleasantly passing the time. 
 On and still on — over the great lakes — over the 
 wide prairies to the cabin homes of the bravest 
 and best of men and women — the pioneers. 
 
 How the snow flew as the wind whistled so 
 piercingly about the little huts and the cabins, 
 and the rude homes of the men who go forth as 
 does the word of God, that life, and love, and 
 blessings, and rest may follow in their path. 
 
176 Jlcljplng the Industrious. 
 
 Here, about these new homes, we saw men and 
 women and children suffering from cold and 
 exposure. The mud walls of their cabins kept 
 out the cold, but about the rustic windows the 
 wind whistled in as if in mockery ; through the 
 blanket doors the snow sifted and was driven by 
 tlie blast, wliile the weary watchers and freezing 
 children wondered and wondered if the storm 
 would never cease. Then we rode on the storm 
 from home to home on the prairies. Little 
 homes miles apart, to find people starving, freez- 
 ing, dying with cold and from exposure. We 
 saw them in heaps and drifts of snow as their 
 released spirits left their frozen bodies, their old 
 homes, and were borne on the wings of the 
 hurricane over the snow-fields and on to the 
 mellow garden in the golden land. 
 
 God pity, and God will pity those who bravely 
 battle with life, no matter whether they are the 
 pioneers who go forth to turn the sod and sow 
 the wheat, or the ones v\^lio push on in obedience 
 
Heljying the Industrious. 177 
 
 to the wish of the Great Master to break up the 
 hard ground of falsehood and ignorance, and 
 prepare the soil for the great crop which will so 
 surelj follow as men go forth to work. Only 
 this, who thinks of the pioneers ? Who but God 
 cares for them, when rich men and law-makers 
 turn against them, and wrap in furs, even by 
 well-tempered fires, that the faintest breath of 
 the cold, the pure, the life-giving air may not 
 reach them ? Why is it that so many who have 
 been pioneers themselves — who have been to the 
 front, fall back like those a-faint, and lose the 
 sympathy all should have with those who labor ? 
 Of a truth, those who fall by the wayside do not 
 bring forth the good fruit expected and hoped 
 from them. 
 
 Why is it that we have so little sympathy with 
 the poor wlio are always with us? To-day, in 
 the city of Brooklyn — in the City of Churches, 
 there was a peculiar case in court. Will those 
 who have good homes give thoughts to the poor 
 
178 Helping the Industrious. 
 
 in our cities who at times snifer as do the 
 pioneers, and who in living, die a thousand 
 deaths ? A poor old woman was arrested by a 
 police officer and brought into court charged 
 with stealing. The crowd of spectators looked at 
 lier, and said : 
 
 " If a woman of that age does not know better 
 than to steal, send her to prison. That is what 
 prisons are made for — to confine thieves and 
 robbers," 
 
 A well-to-do, middle aged woman was the 
 complainant. She advanced to the stand set 
 apart for witnesses, and told, under oath, how the 
 poor old woman, whose face was so wet with tears, 
 had stolen from her six pairs of pantaloons for 
 men's wear, and asked that the prisoner be sent 
 to prison for one year at least. 
 
 By order of the Con it, the feeble old woman, 
 under oath, testified as follows : 
 
 " Please, sir, I am but a poor old woman, but I 
 can tell the truth. I did not steal the pants, at 
 
Helping tJie Industrious. 179 
 
 least I did not mean to. The woman there, who 
 swears I did, has a contract to make pantaloons. 
 Last Monday niorning she gave me six pairs to 
 make, and was to pay me seventeen cents a pair 
 for making them when I brouglit them back. I 
 made them, your Honor, as well as I could, and 
 worked till one o'clock every morning on them to 
 get them done last night — the six pairs in five 
 days. I took them to her last night, to get the 
 money, for I had eaten nothing since Thursday 
 morning, as I could have had no coal for my 
 little furnace, nor any kerosene to sew by. I 
 took them to her. She examined them and said 
 they were not half made, and she would pay 
 me nothing at all. She has served me so twice 
 before. 
 
 "And Judge, they were made good — just as 
 good as I could make them — just as she told me 
 to, and just as I had made others that she paid 
 for. I begged of her to pay me even half the 
 sum, but she wouldn't. She said I could leave 
 
180 Helping the Industrious. 
 
 them, or take them home, rip them all to pieces, 
 and make them all over again. I said I would 
 do it, and took them home. The snow was so 
 deep, it was so cold, and I was so sick, that I took 
 them into a place and pawned them all for a 
 dollar, which was three cents less than she owed 
 me, for I had made them, and thought she could 
 get them, and I could get my pay, so I wouldn't 
 freeze and die, and have to be buried by the law 
 in the Potter's Field. Please, sir, I didn't mean 
 to steal them." 
 
 The great agony of poverty had sjDoken the 
 truth. The scalding tears ran down the cheeks 
 of somebody's mother^ as there she stood, faint 
 and with a load of grief greater than she could 
 bear. 
 
 The spectators looked at the Judge. The Judge 
 looked at the spectators — at the accuser and the 
 accused. The accuser cried : 
 
 " Did you hear her, Judge ? She says she 
 stole them. Send an officer for them, and send 
 
Helping the Industrious. 181 
 
 her to prison, for she is old enough to know 
 better ! " 
 
 " Silence ! " cried the Jndge. 
 
 " Shame — shame ! " said the spectators. 
 
 The Judge said : 
 
 "Prisoner, jou are at liberty. The woman 
 owed yon for the work performed' — let her pay 
 the price she agreed to pay to redeem tlie goods, 
 for yon have not wronged her as she has wronged 
 you." 
 
 Out of evil came good, especially to the poor 
 sufferer, for many a hand as she went out from 
 that court-room dropped into her palm the 
 " widow's mite," as many a worlcingman, out of 
 work, and in the court-room from curiosity, 
 hunted in his shallow pockets for stray pennies 
 to give her. 
 
 Some day there will be a change. The 
 woman who now suffers, purified and educated 
 to the heartlessness of the world, will pass on. 
 But why is it that some people have hard 
 
182 Helping the Industrious. 
 
 hearts, and none but selfisli desires ? Who can 
 tell? 
 
 Will our young readers try to cultivate char- 
 ity, and liberality, and then try and take such 
 care of themselves and their home ones that 
 when they grow up they can see those they love 
 provided for, even as we who strive to do good 
 and add to the happiness of others will be loved 
 and cared for after finished shall be the work 
 which will end when comes the welcome Satur- 
 day Night. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE CHILDREN AND THEIK TREES. 
 
 [EVERAL years ago, in a little log 
 house on a farm near the most thriv- 
 ing of the cities in the northern tier 
 of counties of the State of New York, lived 
 a very poor family — a father, mother, and three 
 boys and two girls. Before we ever thought 
 of writing for the children anywhere — for the 
 boys and girls in the homes all over the country 
 — we used to play with the children in and all 
 about the little log house. It was a quiet little 
 home in the country. There was no need of 
 keeping all the doors locked by day and bolted 
 by night, as people must do in large cities 
 
184 The Children and their Trees. 
 
 to keep the thieves out ; but a home of honest 
 people, surrounded by honest neighbors — by 
 men and women who were growing up to man- 
 hood, to usefulness and happiness. 
 
 One April day, after we had all romped about 
 the house, and the little shed where the oxen 
 and farming utensils were kept ; then out along 
 the little brook, which came leaping down 
 from the hills, one of the boys proposed some- 
 thing new. Said lie : 
 
 " Let us all, each one of us, select a little tree, 
 transplant it in the field back of the house, and 
 see how well it can be made to grow, and what 
 it will come to by and by." 
 
 " Agreed," said all the children. In a few 
 hours there had been as many little trees selected 
 from the woods on the hill-side, and transplanted 
 in the field, as there were children present when 
 the idea was advanced. There were six trees 
 taken up and transplanted. Two were oak, two 
 were maple, and two were hickory. We remem- 
 
The Children and their Trees. 185 
 
 ber tlie work of getting them, and the fun all 
 of us had in transplanting them ; and with wliat 
 care they were replaced in the earth. For 
 several years they were all watched, more or 
 less. One of the trees grew up a snarly, ugly- 
 shaped, rough-barked oak. It looked stunted 
 and sick. Then the one who transplanted it 
 said: 
 
 ''' O 2)shaw ! Let it go. I am tired of playing 
 tree ! The woods are filled witli trees." 
 
 So that tree was left to itself, and when last 
 we saw it, a year ago, it was the same stunted, 
 one-sided, irregular, homely oak that it promised 
 to be years ago. 
 
 Another tree had life and growth for just one 
 year, then it died. It had no care, and gave 
 forth no beauty. Another of the trees has 
 grown to a one-sided affair, not pretty, but fit 
 only to be cut down and cast into the fire. 
 
 A letter before us, written by one of the party 
 of tree planters, says : 
 
186 The Children and their Trees. 
 
 " Do not fail to come and see us this spring. 
 Your tree is still alive. It has grown up straight 
 and tall, and the grape-vines you planted at its 
 roots years ago have grown up with it. I don't 
 know whether the vines have pushed the tree 
 higher than the others, or the tree pulled tbe 
 vines along, but they have grown so nicely 
 together that people stop to note the thrift and 
 beauty of the tree which in summer-time - looks, 
 with its many vines all about it, like some bower. 
 It is a rare home for the birds in the summer, 
 as are the two maples near by, all so straight and 
 symmetrical. Come, and even the trees will 
 give you welcome ! " 
 
 How well we remember the old scenes and 
 childish days. What strife as to which of us all 
 should grow the finest tree. The two which 
 grew bad were never cared for — no more than 
 some parents care for their children. They 
 seem to think all there is of life is the trans- 
 planting. But the trees that grew so well — 
 
Tlie Children and their Trees. 187 
 
 how they were cared for and petted ! The 
 ground about them was kept soft, moist and 
 enriched. When came the drouth in the sum- 
 mer, those trees were watered, and had some- 
 thing besides the hard soil to draw strength 
 from. In the winter how the snow was heaped 
 up about the trees to keep the frost away ! 
 When little shoots and knot limbs would start 
 out, with what care were they smoothly cut 
 away l)efore they had time to draw the sap and 
 the life, and the pride away from the growing 
 tree ! When one child was sick or away, the 
 others watched and cared for the trees of the 
 " partners." The children who were too selfish 
 or too busy to care for the trees of others, soon 
 had no one to care for theirs. 
 
 Thus years passed on. The two maples grew 
 so rapidly and to such charming shape, they 
 were called the twin beauties, and after a while 
 gave of sap enough to make choice morsels 
 of sugar. We do believe all the neighbors 
 
188 The Children and their Trees. 
 
 coveted tliein, thej were so beautiful, and added 
 so much to the beauty of the dear old homestead. 
 The hickory grew up tall, shapely, splendid ; 
 its bushy top round and like a great parasol. 
 Many a winter have children around the hearth- 
 stone told stories as they cracked and ate the 
 nuts which fell from its thrifty limbs. The 
 twelve grape-vine shoots set out in a circle about 
 that one grew up with it, forming a bower, 
 under cover of which scores of little children 
 have passed many summer hours in their play. 
 The old log farm-house has gone, torn down 
 years ago, but the beautiful trees are still there, 
 adding to the value and attractiveness of the 
 well-known farm. They have already become 
 landmarks, and who can tell how long they will 
 be remembered, and with them all history 
 of the ones who, from the woods and the hill- 
 side, brought to the plain and the new life the 
 saplings which, well-cared for, have so grown 
 to beauty and adornment ? 
 
The Children and their Trees. 189 
 
 Will not the children, or some of them, who 
 read this, transplant a tree this spring, and see 
 what they can make of it \ If each little hoy 
 and girl who reads this would transplant and 
 care for a tree, how well satisfied they would be 
 in twenty years. There is something else about 
 it. The tree might grow without re-planting, 
 but if taken and cared for, the child will be 
 benefited as well. lie will have something to 
 think of — to watch — to care for — to help — to 
 enjoy. Something to grow up with. We all 
 want something to lean upon. It is hard for a 
 person to grow up alone, and whateve]- will be 
 a good companion for thoughts will do good 
 to humanity. 
 
 Children are like trees. Parents can let them 
 run wild, grow up angular, dwarfed, deformed, 
 gnarley and full of brambles, or they can by 
 that care which follows love, educate their 
 children to be beautiful in their youth, glorious 
 in their old a2:e. Love is not lost, no matter 
 
100 The Children and tfieir Trees. 
 
 whether it be given to a dog, a horse, a bird, a 
 bush, a tree, or a child. It is that which makes 
 men and women and children better. It cares 
 for the flowers which so add to the beauty 
 of home — for the tree which is taught and 
 helped to an upright growth. It softens the 
 little rocks, and the sharp corners, and the 
 burdens of the household, and brings all of 
 God's creatures nearer and still nearer to happi- 
 ness and to Heaven. 
 
 In the homes of the land are many children ; 
 in the little cabins, the log houses — the low-built 
 houses of the pioneers, God bless them ! are 
 thousand of young oaks and hickories, and sweet 
 maples of humanity, needing but care, and love, 
 and attention to make them glorious and beauti- 
 ful. Who does not love to work for children ? 
 to see them grow in knowledge and all tlie 
 better qualities ? And who, of all our friends — 
 of all our kind readers — will do the most to love, 
 and bring up aright witliout spot or blemish, the 
 
The Children and their Trees. 191 
 
 ones who will, if kindly cared for, make known 
 where stood the dear old homes, after we, who 
 now are growing old so rapidly, shall have been 
 removed to make room for the new workers? 
 He who rides by the spot where stood the little 
 log house can now say that good ideas were 
 taught there, and that the work — the landmarks 
 left, are indeed beautiful, as all of us wonld have 
 the memory of ns which will be left after we 
 shall have become workers in the Land of the 
 Leal. 
 
CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 THE DRUNKEN MOTHER MURDERER. 
 
 |S we sat bj tlie cheerful fire to-night, 
 listening to music from a piano in an 
 adjoining room, we looked in the 
 grate at coals red burning, to see faces and 
 forms and figures of men, and women, and 
 children, seeming to throw life into their move- 
 ments. Did you ever watch the coals a-burning 
 by your own fireside, in your own home, seated in 
 an easy chair by your own hearth and fender, to 
 rest ? Indeed, there is no place like home — that 
 is, if it is home, and a place where loving hearts 
 are made to grow strong and fearless, and where 
 the air seems laden with those beautiful, gentle 
 
The Drunken Mother Murderer. 193 
 
 influences born of good resolves, correct living, 
 and disposition to make home happy and ever 
 agreeable. When the fire is once kindled, how 
 easy to keep it burning all the while — to throw 
 on more wood or coal ; to give food of fire to 
 the hungry flame until it sings like the sunshine, 
 that calls from twig and plant the buds and the 
 flowers, that are to nature what the flowers of 
 kindness are to mortal life and the endless life 
 in the golden gardens. 
 
 While listening to the pleasing music, and 
 thinking of the long ago when bare walls and a 
 place to stay, instead of a home, made life less 
 a desirable result, we picked up a daily news- 
 paper record of one short day. What a picture ! 
 Unlike the ones we saw and watched in the 
 burning coals, here were pictures of sadness, of 
 crime, of ignorance, of sorrow. It seemed as if 
 the paper was but a charnel house. Turn to 
 this column or that, the record was the same. 
 
 To read it, one would think this world to be that 
 9 
 
194: The Drunken Mother Murderer. 
 
 otlier world, where is said to be such a gathering 
 of the bad that in the place of music is to be 
 heard tlie continuous sound of wailing and 
 gnashing of teeth. Instead of a string of pearls 
 or beautiful beads, there were paragraphs after 
 paragraphs of dark doings — of crime and wick- 
 edness. Murders, robberies, swindlers, defalca- 
 tions, rioting, assaults, brutal outrages and dis- 
 asters, resulting fi*om not understanding the 
 laws of man, of life, of nature. The paper 
 seemed to be a record of selfishness — of mean, 
 uglj, depressing news of the bad. Instead of 
 lifting the soul higher, it came with a dark fall, 
 a shadow of darkness, a protest against life and 
 that humanity ever at war upon the children of 
 a common fatherhood. 
 
 One item read as follows: 
 
 " Yesterday, in Brooklyn, while Mary Fogarty 
 was passing along the street, she was run over 
 by a wagon, and her child, a girl-infant of a few 
 months old, was thrown under the wheels of a 
 
The Drunhen Mother Murderer. 195 
 
 horse-car, and terribly mangled. It was taken 
 to the hospital, where its leg was amputated. 
 The mother was so drunk she could scarcely 
 walk, and for some time was unable to tell her 
 name or where she lived. The child cannot 
 live." 
 
 God pity the innocent, helpless little girl who 
 was murdered by her mother ! Was it not terri- 
 ble ? What had that poor little babe done that 
 it should be thus tortured to death ? Who was 
 to blame for all this misery ? By what right 
 came so weak, degraded a woman with a little 
 child born unto her for so cruel a death % Where 
 was her home? Who was the husband of the 
 woman ? the father of the murdered child ? 
 Who sold to that woman, with a babe, the 
 drink that made her a taker of life — the de- 
 stroyer of her infant ? 
 
 All these questions must pass unanswered. 
 Into the sea of sorrow this one drop is swept by 
 time, to blacken the character of man, and to 
 
196 The Drunken Mother Murderer. 
 
 argue in favor of those efforts by which men 
 and women can, if they will, be lifted out of 
 and can work away from those influences which 
 debase men, embitter lives, and unfit for the 
 rest which is beyond the Saturday Night of this 
 life — among the pure in spirit and the ones who 
 believe in the beautiful God-whispered teachings 
 of the Infinite. 
 
 How earnestly we wish all this sin, and crime, 
 and sorrow could be otherwise alleviated, aban- 
 doned. If men only would, how happy this life 
 could be made. We have no censure for the 
 woman, who must have been heart-broken when 
 she realized what she had done. Perhaps the 
 first fault was not hers. A husband may have 
 set a bad example — maj^ have driven her to 
 desperation. The one who sold the poison did it 
 under the sanction of law, and the approval of 
 society. So he cannot be to blame. Perhaps 
 the woman had no home — no joys — no happi- 
 ness. All that is not for us to know. It may 
 
The Driinken Mother Murderer. 197 
 
 be tliat she was not educated aright. Somebody 
 was in fault. 
 
 We cannot any of us bring the little mangled 
 infant back to life and perfection of limbs and 
 flesh. We would not if we could, for there are 
 homes in Heaven and gentle whispers and soft 
 arms, and the influence of Jesus, and that watch- 
 ful love and care all children should have on 
 earth, for all who are torn or mangled and here 
 abused, in that beautiful Land of the Leal, with 
 Ilim who said, " Suffer little children to come 
 unto me." How much that sentence tells of 
 humanity, or its selfishness ! He knew that men 
 were bad — that women were weak — that hearts 
 were selfish — that life on earth is too oft but a 
 desert waste ; that children would be born, 
 would be unprovided with homes, neglected by 
 parents, abused and hardened by the world. 
 Then He stooped in compassion, and took the 
 little ones — all who were helpless, into his 
 embrace, and gave utterance to that sentence 
 
198 TJie Drunken Mother Murderer. 
 
 which in its brief self is a million-fold greater 
 than the woi-ld ! 
 
 Why will not all who live try to be good, and 
 kind, and loving, and earnest in that which sends 
 mankind heavenward? They tell us that the 
 poor live and die in vain. That the infants of 
 the poor are worth nothing to the world. This 
 is not true. The Saviour was but a poor child, 
 born in a manger, but the truths he told were of 
 God, who is all. It matters not that the father 
 of the poor little child might have been a care- 
 ful, watchful husband — or that the mother might 
 have been at her home sober. The child was 
 born. It lived — was torn to pieces. Its short life 
 served a purpose. We know of a little girl who 
 never will have a drunken father, or a drunken 
 mother. We know of a little child who will not 
 be murdered in such a way. This little girl will 
 have a home. It will be loved and cared for 
 like some beautiful flower being taken to a wed- 
 ding. We never shall quarrel with those who 
 
The Drunken Mother Miirderer. 199 
 
 will not, or who cannot tliink as we do, no matter 
 if they live weak, foolish lives, and spend all 
 they earn in dissipation rather than in procuring 
 and beautifying a home, a rest, and a shelter. 
 Ours is a duty, and it shall be done, for thereby 
 comes strength, health, and great happiness. If 
 others do not see their duty, they will not realize 
 happiness, nor will they be able to say, when 
 comes the end of time, that they have been care- 
 ful of the spirit jewels confided to their keep- 
 ing. 
 
 Proud is the harvestraan who, at the close of 
 day, journeys homeward bearing his sheaves 
 with him. So, too, will that man and that 
 woman be proud who can go into the new life, 
 looking the welcoming angel squarely in the eyes, 
 and say : 
 
 "My work is done as well as I could do it. 
 The talents given to me I have made good use 
 of. The children given to me, as I was given to 
 others, as they were given to God, have been 
 
200 The Drunken Mother Murderer. 
 
 cared for, and loved and taught to live for 
 others, and thus the more for themselves. 1 
 have been faithful to truth — to my better self — 
 to humanity ; have worked in the vineyard of 
 life to a good purpose, and now would rest from 
 the old, and enter upon the duties and rewards 
 which are of the treasures where the heart is, 
 beyond the dark and the stormy Saturday Night. 
 
pglW!^^ 
 
 
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 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 HOW A NEWSBOY KEPT THE WOLF AWAY. 
 
 O-NIGHT there is a world of poverty 
 
 and suffering in this city. There are 
 
 many thousands of men, women and 
 
 children in want and misery, notwithstanding the 
 
 fact that thousands and tens of thousands of 
 
 dollars have been given by those who could afford 
 
 to be liberal, for the use and benefit of the poor. 
 
 It is not for us to say who should give, or how 
 
 much should be given. It is best to do as we 
 
 would be done by, and to remember that the re- 
 
 Avard comes not so much to the one who makes 
 
 and hides away till death calls him to another 
 
 life, but to him who uses his talents and distri- 
 9* 
 
202 How a Newsboy Jcept the Wolf Away. 
 
 butes his surplus in charity where it will do the 
 most good. 
 
 A little more than a year ago, there died on 
 Ninth street in this city a man who for years had 
 made a living by keeping a saloon, or fashionable 
 drinking place on Broadway. He was a good 
 fellow, as the speech of thoughtless men have it. 
 What he made he spent freely. His wife was a 
 gay, thoughtless woman, who had nothing to do 
 except to live at her ease, spend money foolishly, 
 and be waited on. It was easy come and easy 
 go with them, till one day he died. Then tlie 
 dream was broken. His place of business was 
 closed. His friends disappeared as by magic. 
 The crowds which assembled at his saloon met 
 somewhere else. 
 
 His widow, had but one child. A boy eleven 
 years of age at the time of his father's death. 
 An infant was not more helpless than she. One 
 by one various articles of jewelry disappeared as 
 they were placed in pawn. She dressed well and 
 

How a Ifewsboy k&pt the Wolf Away. 203 
 
 looked very becoming in her mourning goods, 
 witli jewelry to match, but no one proposed for 
 her hand and heart. With her son, a sharp, 
 shrewd little fellow, she moved from boarding- 
 house to poorer boarding-house, till at last she 
 took two rooms on Baxter street, where she now 
 lives. 
 
 Last October her son began business on his own 
 hook, as men say. Pie started in as a newsboy 
 on the Bowery. Many a man who formerly 
 bought hot drinks of the father buys papers 
 of the son, as he tells some companion who the 
 little merchant is. How many histories there 
 are just back of hundreds and thousands of the 
 poor children of all cities ! 
 
 To-night, at the corner of Canal street and 
 the Bowery, we saw the lad with his bundle 
 of papers. He was a business boy. Instead of 
 standing idly on the corner waiting for customers, 
 he dodged here and there, shouting at the top of 
 his voice, just as anxious, earnest and determined 
 
204 Row a Newsboy kept the Wolf Away. 
 
 as are the brokers down in "Wall street or the 
 men who shout for their candidates in caucus- 
 rooms. 
 
 " Hello, Bobby ! Is that you « " 
 
 "Tea, sir, it's me!" 
 
 " How are you getting along this cold 
 winter ? " 
 
 " All right, sir." 
 
 " Do not the hard times affect you ? " 
 
 " Not much, sir. I 'spect they would if I'd 
 let them, sir ; but I won't let them." 
 
 " How so — how can you help yourself ? The 
 big merchants on Broadway say the times are 
 very bad, and that they suffer this winter very 
 much." 
 
 " I don't know about their business. All I do 
 is to take care of my own. "What folks lack in 
 pennies I make up in hollering ! That's the way 
 I does. Sc I sells more papers now than I used 
 to. At first I stood on the corners and said noth- 
 ing. Then I turned over a new leaf. I began 
 
How a Newsboy kept the Wolf Away. 205 
 
 to move around. I kept busy, and always did 
 my best." 
 
 " What is the result ? " 
 
 " Oh ! its all right. The pennies are there. 
 If not in one man's pocket they are in another's ! 
 I goes for 'em all. I work a little harder; but 
 that is what I'm here for. If I can't sell papers 
 to one man, I can to another ; so all I have to do 
 is to lind that other man ! Besides, I am study- 
 ing economy now. I don't go to the theatres nor 
 spend so much time loafing as I did last fall. I 
 make almost ten dollars a week selling papers, 
 and two dollars a Sunday blacking boots. That 
 pays our rent, and mother is not so extravagant 
 as she was. Oh ! we get along real well. If we 
 had the money father used to spend foolishly 
 we'd have more than we have now, but we 
 should not be so happy. Besides, it's good for 
 me to have something to do. It helps me to 
 know how. Some of these days I will be a man, 
 and then I will have learned many lessons, and 
 
206 How a Newsboy Jcept the Wolf Away. 
 
 the best of all will be that I have learned to take 
 care of myself and to have no more wants than 
 are necessary. You'll never catch me doing as 
 father did. He was a good man, but somehow 
 or other he M'as always better to some one else 
 than to himself. Of course I don't want to say 
 anything against my father, for that would not 
 be right, but when I am as old as he was, I'll 
 have a home. Then I'll care nothing for hard 
 times more than I do now. It's only the poor 
 and the rich and the old folks and the little 
 orphans who need help. We boys can take care 
 of ourselves." 
 
 Away went the little fellow, selling papers as 
 he ran, after his sermon on the times, which we 
 shall not soon forget. 
 
CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE MANSION AND THE MAN. 
 
 ilOW busy the builders are this spring ! 
 To-day we walked about the city — ■ 
 away from the crowded, dirty streets, 
 where men work only for gain, and where souls 
 are encrusted with a varnish of greed day after 
 day, till the mind is warped, and stunted, and 
 weakened in all except its grasp for dollars. 
 On this street and that we walked, for a long 
 way about the great Park where the green grass, 
 tlie growing foliage, the millions of flowers, the 
 singing of birds, and the laugh of thousands of 
 children at play, glorify nature, and make man 
 better, as he breathes pure air and good thoughts 
 
208 The Mansion and the Man. 
 
 into his limgs and heart. We watched the 
 builders, and chatted with the workmen. We 
 helped them pound the stone, loosen the rocks, 
 remove the earth, mix the mortar, lay the brick, 
 and build the walls, as here and there we went, 
 to see, to learn, to rest from toil at the desk. 
 
 It is good this being a workman. This remov- 
 ing of old to build up the new. This leaving 
 monuments of stone, brick, iron, and marble, 
 that all who ever after pass that way may know 
 that earnest man, with the active mind, and a 
 willing arm, and a brave heart, and a will to 
 work, has given proof that man can do all that 
 man has ever done, and much more in addition. 
 
 Then we saw men tearing down little, narrow, 
 old and dirty houses. How the wind blew the 
 dust away ! How the dirt flew with the breeze, 
 and the smudge of the wreck soiled garments for 
 a time ! Thus it is with those who tear down 
 old rookeries of habitations, or of ideas. They 
 raise a dust, and are begrimmed thereby. They 
 
The Mansion and the Man. 209 
 
 fii-e torn on sharp points, and scratched by nails, 
 once good enough, but of no more nse. But glory 
 to the ones who tear down the narrow to build up 
 the wide ; who demolish narrow walls to sink deep 
 the broad foundations on which men can build 
 for generations to come. These are the men. 
 These are the lieutenants of God — the men who 
 on earth build towers by which they rise to work 
 with the angels. Surely the palaces are better 
 and grander than the hovels. Then let the old 
 walls come down and the new foundations be 
 laid. Let the huts give way for the stately 
 homes, which are but the stepping-stones be- 
 tween the caves of the past and the Heavenly 
 Temples of the future in the Land of the Leal. 
 
 A few weeks since there came a young man 
 to a vacant lot near our home. We saw him 
 one morning with a tape-line in his hand. He 
 started from a stake driven in the earth and 
 walked some distance away. He drew that line as 
 taut and straight as line could be drawn. Right 
 
210 Tlie Mansion and the Man. 
 
 over a vacant lot — over a low place in the earth 
 where dirty water had settled, rubbish had been 
 thrown and all manner of uncleanliness had 
 accumulated, and from whence in the summer 
 time went out malaria and poison. In a little 
 while there came another man — then another ; 
 then other men. All of them workers. They 
 began with picks and spades. They loaded carts 
 with all manner of old rubbish, and it was carted 
 to the dumping ground. They followed the line 
 to the east — then to the north, then to the west, 
 and then to the south, as a brave warrior for the 
 right follows the line of duty. The workmen 
 came to the solid rock. It was in their way. 
 Then with bars of steel, and sledges of iron in 
 the strong arms of industrious men, they beat the 
 anvil chorus and drove progression with the drill 
 where daylight had never before penetrated. 
 Mind directed matter. Bold and well-directed 
 strokes told ao-ainst the rocks which had for ao-es 
 but waited for all this hardihood and daring of 
 
The Mansion and the Man. 211 
 
 those who proposed to build up something on a 
 firm basis. 
 
 The man with gunpowder came one daj. He 
 emptied granulated ingenuity into the holes 
 made by the drill. He filled it with hard, gritty 
 sand, well packed alongside the line of fuse. 
 Explosions followed. The rock was broken. A 
 man came one day to find fault. He said the 
 noise disturbed him. That what God had made 
 a rock must not be broken to be made into a 
 wall. He asked what all this meant. The man 
 with the line and the plans in his head and hands 
 made answer that a mansion was to be erected 
 there, and that before it could be done the old 
 rubbish must be taken away before the new can 
 be built. The work went on. How oft from 
 the window of our library have we watched the 
 laborers. Starting from the foundation, the}'' 
 builded squarely, broadly, and well. From the 
 bed-rock they built. Stone upon stone — brick 
 upon brick — story after story was gained. Higher 
 
212 The Mansion and the Man. 
 
 and higher grew the walls, and, as they grew, up 
 and still up rose the workmen, as, in the Eternal, 
 will rise above the lazy, the idle, the grovelling, 
 all who dare be men — builders ; living fingers 
 to the hands of God. 
 
 This morning we looked, and the walls were 
 all up. A row of fifteen elegant houses — 
 mansions of themselves, now mark the spot 
 where but a few weeks since was a Golgotha for 
 rubbish, a place filled with unclean things. 
 The old has passed away. The new has 
 arisen. The waste places have been made glad 
 by the workmen. The raw material has been 
 utilized. The ground so long despised has been 
 cleaned away and made valuable. Where was 
 but dirt and filth will soon be beautiful liomes, 
 standing on sure foundations. The workmen 
 will here have homes. Side by side they will 
 live in peace, take their rest, enjoy their com- 
 forts, and gather strength to build still more. 
 Here is a house with many mansions, with no 
 
The Mansion and the Man. 213 
 
 occasion for tlie occupant of either to quarrel 
 one with the other, for where there are untold 
 millions of workers there is exclusive honor for 
 none, but abundant reward for all. These 
 houses will soon be finished. Their floors will 
 be laid with carpets. Their walls will be hung 
 with pictures. Happy parents and children will 
 gather by the fireside, or sit on the porch when 
 comes the twilight to talk of home joys and the 
 work of the morrow. 
 
 Turn we now from the window and the man- 
 sion to the man. Not to the man who is, but 
 to the man who will be, to tlie boy who will 
 read this, and whom we would see great and 
 happy. We know a boy who lives in a smaJl 
 house ; who sleeps in a small room ; who has 
 a plain home far away from where this home 
 chapter is written. This boy's father is a friend 
 of ours. Through* evil as well as good report 
 he has been a good friend. In dark hours 
 lie has stood by us to sustain and encourage, 
 
214 The Mansion and the Man. 
 
 giving of his good thoughts and kind words that 
 sunshine which makes twigs grow to be oaks 
 all in good time. AVe cannot well help the 
 father, for he does not need help. But as he has 
 been a friend to us, so would we be a friend 
 to his dear son. So we will draw our chair and 
 our desk near the fire and the fender, and this 
 to the boy who has come to sit in that easy-chair 
 so close by, in love, and desire to do good, 
 we say : 
 
 Take a lesson from the builders. Sit with 
 us at ease, and let us look into the fire to see 
 the coals burning. Let us throw off all the coat- 
 ings of bigotry, and prejudice, and selfishness, 
 in order to be men. Years ago thei'e came 
 a summons to our home, and to her work in the 
 Golden Gardens went the spirit of a dear 
 mother. That was more than half a lifetime 
 since. They told us she was in the church-3-ard, 
 but we could not find her. They told us that 
 she had gone forever, but we could not believe 
 
The Mansion and the Man. 215 
 
 it. As the years rolled by to join the past how 
 we longed for a mother's love, and her cai-e, and 
 good advice, and maternal interest. How much 
 would we have given for a friendly counsellor 
 who could give advice and point the way 
 to a higher and still higher success. When 
 came trials, and griefs, and storms, we called 
 to her, and called, and lifted up the heart with 
 its struggles, till at last she came and pointed 
 the way. So, too, would we, without selfishness, 
 point the better way to all poor boys who would 
 be good men — to all men who would be happier 
 and better. It is glorious to build whether 
 of mansions or of man. The workmen who 
 erected the houses, first lined out, and then 
 prepared the grounds. They dug and cut 
 to the line of the right. They removed all there 
 was of the bad to make room for the good. So, 
 too, would we build for manhood. 
 
 Could we but live our life over again, startina: 
 from boyhood, how many an error — liow many 
 
216 The Mansion and the Ma,n. 
 
 mistakes would we try to avoid. Men and boys 
 make mistakes. We wonder they do not com- 
 mit more. Many a spot in the road of life 
 would be avoided. We should try to be more 
 brave — more earnest in defence of the right, and 
 to protect the weak. There is not a boy but 
 who can do better than we have done. There 
 is not a man but who can, by beginning at once, 
 build himself up to a glorious position. 
 
 First, clear out from the heart all the dirty 
 rubbish. Leave off the slang, the vulgarity, the 
 words which blacken and soil the mind till 
 it throws out malaria, and fever, and poison, 
 as do pools of stagnant water. Keep the heart 
 pure and the brain active. Study for the best 
 and when you have found it, work and study for 
 something still better. Never be satisfied with 
 one good act — nor a hundred — nor a thousand. 
 But add them together one after the other till 
 at last you will have a string of pearls to lift you 
 higher instead of pebbles to sink you lower. 
 
The Mansion and the Man. 217 
 
 Hearts, like houses, can be built out. Minds, 
 like horaeSp can be beautified. It is as easy 
 to plant a noble ambition as to plant sordid 
 desires and all those trees which bear but bitter 
 fruit. Remember that it is little by little, inch 
 by inch, but steadily upward. This is the way 
 the work of the man becomes the mansion. 
 This is the way the poor boy becomes the great 
 man. This is the M^ay the apprentice becomes 
 the master — the pupil becomes the teacher, and 
 the intelligence of mortals the power and 
 unknown greatness of those who are immortal. 
 Build your walls of good material and they will 
 last. Keep out the rotten sticks and that rub- 
 bish which has been thrown away by those who 
 have passed along before you. Be kind to the 
 poor, for every good act is a plant that will bear 
 blossoms to our credit in the beautiful beyond. 
 
 By the hearth and fenders of many homes 
 in the country to-night are resting boys, who 
 
 in a few years will be the smartest men in the 
 10 
 
218 The Mansion and the Man. 
 
 land. They will be the workers — the builders, 
 the ones who will be great and powerful in 
 proportion as they take care of themselves. 
 Then let all the boys who read this clear away 
 the rubbish and begin building for the glorious 
 manhood of the future. That better future 
 when it will not be a sin for man to have ideas 
 or to express them. That future which will 
 be better when men make it so. That future 
 which is better opened to the poor than to the 
 rich, as work is better than play when men are 
 to be made. 
 
 If all the boys in the country would build 
 themselves into men in the most glorious accep- 
 tation ui. the term, what a country ours would 
 be ! Then there would be no more prisons, 
 or need for them. No poor-houses, for bad 
 habits would not make men paupers. No 
 poverty, for all would be thrifty. No armies 
 of orphans; no multitudes of drunkards who 
 make wives miserable, children wretched, and 
 
The Mansion and the Man. 219 
 
 mankind a disgrace to humanity. We want 
 every boy in the land to become a rich, a good, 
 a useful man, and will do our best to help them 
 along on the road that leads to peace, to pros- 
 perity, and to the mansion there will be for 
 every brave, truthful, deserving, honest man in 
 that more beautiful land, where are the Gar- 
 dens of the Leal in the new life and the better 
 home for all of us who would be remembered 
 for the good we have done before there comes 
 to us on earth the final Saturday Night. 
 
CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 PAPA HAS GONE HOME. 
 
 FRIEND has gone to his reward — a 
 loving parent has gone home, and the 
 tears of sorrow are coursing down 
 many a cheek to-night. Yesterday our friend 
 was with ns in life — to-night his chair is vacant, 
 and he has gone from us till we meet in the 
 Golden Gardens. All the day have we been 
 thinking — thinking — thinking. A few weeks 
 ago, he, who is now gone, sent cheery words to 
 ns in a sick-room ; now the curtains are drawn 
 in the room where he rests in that beautiful 
 silence, which tells that, from a perishable form, 
 the genial spirit has gone to the hereafter. 
 
Papa Has Gone Home. 221 
 
 A father — a loving father and a kind, tender- 
 hearted, honest hnsband has gone. He was not 
 a Christian, as the world stamps men for appear- 
 ance. He belonged to no Church; was no 
 sectarian. He never professed more than he 
 believed ; he never wore the mask of hypocrisy, 
 but was, all in all, a generous, affectionate, reli- 
 able man. 
 
 One day we met him in Jiis place of business 
 and found him quiet, social, choice of language, 
 clean in conversation, and wearing about his 
 inner self the mantle of a gentleman. Then we 
 met him on the street, at places of amusement, 
 at rooms for study, and in the better-ordered 
 haimts of men. 
 
 One day we met him in his home. It was on 
 a Sabbath. With his wife and little ones he was 
 resting. His was no long face, wrinkled by 
 cant. He did not make of his little ones prison- 
 ers on this blessed day, and chain them to books, 
 sermons and commentaries beyond their years 
 
222 Pajpa Has Gone Home. 
 
 and compreliension. He was ashamed of deceit, 
 positive in his mentality, and the loved husband 
 and father for years. His life and vitality vs^as 
 not sapped by dissipation. His rule was that of 
 kindness. He loved his home ones and they 
 loved him. He was a plain, honest, natural 
 man, who scorned a mean act. 
 
 At home, when he was there, all was hap- 
 piness. The loving wife, whose heart is all 
 a-bleeding, was happy. She lived for her loves, 
 and thus her life ran smoothly. When papa 
 spake, the little ones listened and obeyed. 
 When any of them were in trouble, father's 
 sympathy melted the clouds away. He did not 
 leave his little ones to run the streets and inhale 
 the poison that is embittering thousands of lives, 
 but called them closer, nearer to him day by 
 day. He played with them, romped with 
 them, taught them, helped them to build 
 play-houses and air-castles, till not all the 
 tongues that ever talked could make that 
 
Papa Has Oone Home. 223 
 
 man's children believe there evei' was snch a 
 place as home, dear, sweet home. When night 
 came, papa came. He read from books and 
 papers. He drew pictures on slates and paper. 
 He sang songs till all his little ones trooped into 
 his heart. He tanght them honor, truth, man- 
 hood and love for each other, even as did He 
 who was crucified. In all the world this now 
 orphaned family of little ones had no such 
 fi'iend, save perhaps their loving mother. 
 
 One day papa came home so ill that he could 
 not entertain his family. The doctor came and 
 said that he was yevy ill. For days the patient 
 suffered till pain drove reason and consciousness 
 away, and he was insensible. Then it was that 
 the loved ones gathered about and did all in 
 their power to bring him back to life. But in 
 vain. Tears of sorrow and bursts of grief were 
 powerless to waken him. 
 
 Kneel by the bed on which he sleeps so still, 
 
224 PajM Has Gone Home. 
 
 loving wife. Keep not back the torrents of tears 
 that attest thy deep sorrow. Open your hearts 
 to God and your eyes to the light that floats from 
 the summer shore, where now stands he you so 
 loved, beckoning you to come to him with all the 
 loved ones of his heart. It is good to weep — • 
 then let no one check thy sorrow till the heart 
 shall be cleared of its bitterness, and you can 
 nestle in memories of that beautiful past which 
 surely leads to a living, loving future. 
 
 Bid the little ones come. Softly, if they will, " 
 but bid them come. Lift them up to see and to 
 kiss the pale lips of the father who so loved 
 them. Join your tears with theirs ; then, under 
 the shadow of tender memory, open your arms 
 and fold them to your heart, there to hold them 
 till you and they shall part to rest with him who 
 has but gone home to await your coming. 
 
 It is not every husband and father who is 
 mourned and missed when he is thus at rest. 
 
Pa^a Has Gone Hotne. 225 
 
 We know husbands who have no kind, encourag- 
 ing words for their wives who are mothers; who 
 are cold, distant, careless, if not cruel, to their 
 children. We know of places called homes, 
 whose harsh discipline with continual pimish- 
 ment harden children, till the presence of a 
 father is hateful and his influence for good is 
 gone. We know of husbands who are cold, 
 selfish and deceitful, and who will hardly be 
 missed or mourned. We know of homes 
 made beautiful and of home ones made 
 happy by the love, care, kindness and careful 
 watchfulness of a father. When such men die 
 the world is the loser, but their memories are 
 blessed. 'Tis true there is grief at parting, but 
 the joy, when comes the meeting in the Land of 
 the Leal, will more than compensate the sorrow 
 of to-day. Life at best is but a school. We are 
 here only to be tested ; to see of what material 
 we make ourselves. Those who are weak and 
 
 selfish, careless and neglectful of duty, will 
 10* 
 
226 Pa{pa Has Gone Home. 
 
 amount to no more in the Eternal than here. 
 But those who are kind, loving, true to the finer 
 principles of manhood, and as anxious to make 
 others happy as to be made so, will rise in 
 immortality to blessed height, and carry in their 
 arms, all in good time, those who mourn when 
 comes the call for papa to come Home. 
 
 Open the door and let us in. It is wise and 
 well to follow in the track of death lest we for- 
 get how to live. The man of the house is asleep. 
 The clock has stopped at high twelve. The 
 head of the family — the look-out, sentinel, watch- 
 man and provider has been called to his second 
 l^irth, which, like the" first, pains others more 
 than himself. In the prime of life he has gone. 
 Let us look at his face and read, even in death, 
 the handwriting of God. Ah ! He was an 
 honest man. Sit still, ye who are watching. 
 He needed no watchers in life ; you are useless 
 now that he is gone. 
 
 \ 
 
Papa Has Gone Home. 227 
 
 Open the window, that the cool air may come 
 in. Draw the curtains still closer, that he may 
 not be disturbed. Go to your homes and let him 
 sleep, for he wakens far beyond you. Step 
 lightly, and with sympatliy, to the family room. 
 Pray to your good angels to wipe the tears from 
 the eyes and face of the widowed one, who with 
 her babe on her breast, holds it so close as she 
 sobs her grief out in the vain endeavor to sleep. 
 Come to the bedside of the little ones who have 
 lost so dear a father, and be kind to the or- 
 phaned ones whose loss has been so great. 
 
 It is dark now, the clouds are black and full 
 of tears. But just beyond them is Eternal light, 
 and some of these days you, too, can go to the 
 beautiful realms of the Eternal, to rest with the 
 husband and father who held the love of his 
 home ones so tenderly to this mournful Saturday 
 night. 
 
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 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 MAKING PLAY-HOUSES. 
 
 O-DAY we had such a jolly good visit 
 with half a dozen little boj'S and 
 girls, whom we found during a ram- 
 ble along the river. There was an old house on 
 a little hill. Some years ago it was used for a 
 tavern, then a portion was torn down and taken 
 away, while the remaining part was for three 
 or four years occupied as a saloon and sort of 
 drinking place, where all manner of rough men 
 congregated to have " good times " in telling 
 smutty stories, drinking whiskey, fighting over 
 cards, and spending their earnings, not to de- 
 velop but to debase their manhood. 
 
Making Play-Houses. 229 
 
 For two years this old building has been 
 vacant. The title to the property is in dispute, 
 so the children in the neighborhood have taken 
 possession of its rooms and have formed several 
 little societies for enjoyment. Walking along 
 that way we heard merry voices coming from 
 the old building, whose doors and windows have 
 been stolen away. Looking in one of the rooms 
 we saw three little boys and five little girls, 
 playing housekeeping. They all quit talking 
 and laughing as we stepped in, like children who 
 were afraid, — like children who had been scold- 
 ed and abused, because they were children, and 
 had a God-given right to be happy. 
 
 " Children, what are you doing here ? " 
 
 " Please, sir," replied one of the girls, a bright- 
 eyed child of about eight years, " we are doing 
 no harm — ^just making play-houses — that is all, 
 sir. Must we go out of here ? " 
 
 " Bless your little souls — go out of here ? Not 
 if you wish to stay. Children at play are sun- 
 
230 Making Play-Houses. 
 
 shine for the heart. Play all day — stay here so 
 long as you want to, for all of me." 
 
 "Thank you, sir," said three or four of the 
 little folks, and the smile came to the faces of all 
 of them as they continued their work. 
 
 " What say you, little friends? Once I was a 
 little boy, like this bright little fellow here, and 
 I know how to j)lay. Let us play together ! " 
 
 " What an idea ! " said two or three of the 
 little ones; but soon they all agreed, and we 
 had the jolliest visit we have had for many a 
 day. 
 
 " Playing housekeeping, are you ? Plow are 
 3'ou off for furniture % " 
 
 " Oh, sir, pretty well, but we want more. We 
 want more dishes, and more pictures, and more 
 other things." 
 
 How natural that was, to want more. We 
 looked about the room. The children had swept 
 the dirt out, and had a few little boxes, a lot of 
 old bricks for chairs, and a number of pieces of 
 
Making Play-Houses. 231 
 
 broken crockery for dishes, and some pieces of 
 colored paper and pictures from newspapers 
 pinned to the wall, and seemed quite thrifty. 
 All these things had been picked up close about 
 the old house, or brought from home. In a little 
 while we were all busy as bees. We heljped the 
 little girls to fix things just as they wanted them 
 fixed, for it was their house, not ours. Then we 
 went with the boys along the river bank, farther 
 from home than they had ever been before, 
 although the river had always been there as 
 now, and we found ever so many little things, 
 new even if they were very old. Soon we had 
 our pockets and arms full of little things. Shell's, 
 pretty pieces of stone or rock, a few glass 
 bottles, some tin boxes, and pieces of crockery 
 even larger and better than the ones they had in 
 their play-houses. The little fellows could hard- 
 ly believe that there were such things aloug the 
 river, and only such a little way from the old 
 house, but there thc}^ were, sure enough. Per- 
 
232 Making Play-Houses. 
 
 haps the fathers and the mothers of these boys 
 may not thank us for leading their little ones a 
 few blocks from home, but the exercise did them 
 good, and they are now ready to go a little way 
 by themselves, to find beautiful things. Again, 
 the children were alone. One of the boys said 
 his father never played with him — never went 
 out to walk with him, and that he had been told 
 by his father ever so many times that if he went 
 along the river to look for playthings, the bears 
 would eat him up. The boy has been there now. 
 He found the new things. The bears did not 
 eat him, for none were there. He thinks his 
 father was mistaken, while the father, no doubt, 
 will be very mad at us for proving that he has 
 all along been telling his boy falsehoods. Per- 
 haps the father's father had told him there were 
 bears up the river till he had come to believe it. 
 But he had no business to tell his boy such stuff 
 till he had been there to see for himself. Per- 
 liaps bears were along the river a great many 
 
Making Play-Houses. 233 
 
 3'ears ago, bat when the raih-oad and the steam- 
 boat came along, they all ran away. 
 
 To our mind it always seemed wicked to shut 
 children np in houses, and keep them in narrow 
 rooms, when God gave us all out doors for a 
 jilayground, and a Held from which to gather 
 beautiful things. 
 
 Well, we took the armfuls of things we 
 found to the river, close by the old house. The 
 little girls came and helped. We washed the 
 dirt from all the things we had picked up ; some 
 of the articles were very dirty and required 
 a good deal of washing ; some of the things we 
 found, as they were washed, proved to be rotten 
 or fit for nothing, so we left them alone. 
 
 Then we all went up the hill to the old house, 
 which was fresh and clean when it was built, 
 but which, from the lives and acts of the money- 
 makers who had so misused it, had come to be 
 in disgrace and in dispute, so nobody could tell 
 who owned it. We had pieces of glass to see 
 
234 Making Play-Houses. 
 
 through — more and better bricks-^several pieces 
 of boards, on which to place little things, lots 
 more of dishes, and all sorts of furniture for 
 the little friends who were afraid we had come 
 to bother them rather than help beautify the 
 old house. The old bottles were filled with 
 water from the river, instead of the poison 
 they once contained, and into them there were 
 jilaced flowers, grasses and green twigs gathered 
 along the banks, all adding to the beauty of 
 the well-swept room, which had been made 
 into a play-house. 
 
 Then when the little folks had fixed every- 
 thing up nicely, we went a little way off and 
 from a very poor old woman sitting in a fence 
 corner, where she had a few cakes, three 
 oranges, two apjiles and a few sticks of candy ; 
 with three dimes we bought all she had and 
 took the little store to the play-house. It made 
 her old heart very glad to sell all she had for 
 sale, and as the deep smile came to her face 
 
Making Play-Houses. 235 
 
 we knew there was new sunshine in her heart, 
 for once at any rate. The little girls set their 
 table, and we had such a nice suj^per. Cakes, 
 and fruit and candy, cut up and put on the 
 little dishes. When we left the old house it 
 looked nicer inside than when we went there, 
 and none of the little folks were sorry we visited 
 them. The boys said they were going a little 
 farther up the river the next day, and the girls 
 were going with them, and all of them wanted 
 us to come again, as they promised to come and 
 see us and hear music, and look at pictures, 
 and help us to pliay or to rest from labor some 
 Saturday night. 
 
CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 THE WILLING WORKEES AND THEIK KEWARD. 
 
 HIS autumn night the wind is piping 
 its chilling blasts up and down the 
 street as the signs creak their dismal 
 warnings that winter is soon to be here. Then 
 who will care for the poor ? Who will furnish 
 clothes, food, shoes and stockings and comforts 
 for all the little ones who are deserted and alone 
 in heart ? Pretty soon our little baby will be 
 home to fill the house with laughter. Perhaps 
 before this chapter will be printed. The cold 
 winds on the ocean retard the coming of our 
 loved ones, but they will soon be here. Then, as- 
 we sit by the fire in the dearly-prized home cor- 
 
Willing Workers and their Reward. 237 
 
 ner, and rest in tlie sunshine that comes from 
 pure and loving hearts, we will think of the poor, 
 of the homeless, of the wearj mothers, tired 
 fathers, and the little boys and girls in their 
 homes all over the country, and will always try to 
 live so as to set for them none but good examples. 
 
 To-day we have been made very happy. There 
 came a letter a few days since from a young man 
 who said he felt as though he must say something. 
 That he wished us to come to his house, a few 
 miles from the city, and to dine with him and 
 his young wife. 
 
 The invitation was accepted. We found him 
 in a snug little brown house, surrounded by trees, 
 with such an air of home comfort all about him 
 that he really was to be envied. 
 
 There were but two rooms besides the kitchen 
 in the house, but it was a happy home. The 
 monarch of all this was a mechanic. A boiler- 
 maker. He is a clever workman, handy with 
 tools, and the possessor of good taste. We met 
 
238 Willing Workers and their Reward. 
 
 his wife, a sweet-faced yonng woman who went 
 about her household duties so cheerfully, and who 
 seemed like a bit of sunshine from the Golden 
 Gardens. 
 
 As we sat by the fire, the young mechanic told 
 us his story. "Would you like to hear it ? Then, 
 all you little folks, gather your chairs close about 
 and listen just a few moments, and hear it you 
 shall, as we tell it to you as he told it to us : 
 
 " This is a little home, but it is all our own. 
 We live here and are happy. To-day I am twen- 
 ty-two years old. I have been married just one 
 year. Three years ago I was a lively fellow 
 among the boys. I had a trade, and thought that 
 was all I needed. I used to drink, go to saloous 
 to have a good time and spend money. Where I 
 was brought up we had no manner of amusements 
 after the work of the day was done, so us boys, 
 for there were two of us in the famil}^, acquired 
 the habit of going from home. I fell into bad 
 company. I then thought it was good, because 
 
Willing Workers and their Beivard. 239 
 
 it was so jolly. I spent all the money 1 earned, 
 learned to drink, to swear, to gamble for money, 
 and was weavino- all sorts of bad habits about 
 mo. 
 
 " One day 1 was taken sick. My money was 
 all gone. I went to the hospital and was sick 
 there two weeks. I read a chapter in a newspa- 
 per. It told a])oat a man who had wakened from 
 a condition like mine, and had come to be a good 
 citizen. It did not scold, or censure, or find fault, 
 or mark out arbitrary lines, but was just kindly 
 human — that was all. It was a ' Saturday Night ' 
 chapter, and it was Saturday night I read it, and 
 then I cut it ont, put it in my empty pocket-book, 
 and began life anew with that as my capital. 
 
 "" That was two years and a half ago. I went 
 to work soon as I could, and kept at it. The 
 boys wanted me to go out with them and spend 
 my earnings just as I used to in having a good 
 time, but I told them I could not afford it. X 
 read books, studied music, improved my spare 
 
240 Willing Workers and thevr Seward. 
 
 time, and began to lay up money. You have no 
 idea how proud I was when I had five dollars 
 ahead ! I felt as rich as a banker. 
 
 " Af tei' I had been saving and careful for six 
 months, I met a real good, nice girl, who had no 
 bad habits. She was poor. Her father was 
 killed in the war, and her mother was a widow 
 who took in sewing. The girl helped her. The 
 more I saw her the better she seemed to me. At 
 last I loved her. We loved each other. We had 
 just one hundred dollars a year ago when we 
 were married and began to live. It was not 
 much, bat it was all ours. 
 
 " Now we have this little house. We ha^ e car- 
 pets on the floor of two rooms. We have nine 
 pictures on the walls, and nearly fifty books in 
 that case of shelves up there which I made. Our 
 house is small, but there is no envy; no fear of 
 the future ; no doubting each other ; no fretting, 
 fault-finding or selfishness in it. We do all we 
 can to help each other, and tlie more we live for 
 
Willing Workers and their Reward. 241 
 
 each other the happier we are. "We have nearly 
 a hundred dollars saved, besides these tilings in 
 the house. Our rent is paid for the entire year 
 till next spring. We never stop to think about 
 the times — have no fears for the future of this 
 life or the next, but live right along doing the 
 best we can all the time. We go to church, 
 because it is the duty of every man to properly 
 respect society and the religious customs of any 
 country. We attend concerts and lectures and 
 amusements when the price is not too high. 
 Sometimes the prices are so high we cannot 
 afford to go. Then we stay at home, read to each 
 other, have visitors or go out a little way and a 
 little while to visit a few friends we have close 
 
 by- 
 
 " It is not much of a story, but it is a good 
 
 one. Wife and I often talk of you — of that 
 
 pleasant and kindly-worded chapter, and we 
 
 have often said we wondered if the one who 
 
 wrote it would ever know how much good a 
 11 
 
242 Willing Workers and their Reward. 
 
 few kind words have done. So 1 sent for yoii 
 to come and dine with us. In the shop, when 
 1 told the superintendent that I would invite 
 you, he said you would not come ; but you have, 
 and I want you to know that we are happy and 
 that people can be happy even if they are not 
 rich, when their hearts are in the right place. 
 
 " Marriage was my salvation. I have a dear 
 good wife, and 1 am not one bit ashamed to tell 
 you that I l()\'e her — that we love each other — 
 that we think more of each other than of all 
 others in the world. We are trying to make our 
 little home a bright and a cheerful one. I have 
 not been in a saloon since we were married. 
 We have pleasant, social games at home, and I 
 had rather these books, pictures, cai-pets and 
 that organ should be in our house than in the 
 house of the man who makes his saloon attractive 
 so as to entice men there to spend their earnings. 
 We find that this life is what we make it. We 
 are helping each other, and the more we do for 
 
Willing Workers and their Reward. 243 
 
 each other, the better we love each other, and 
 thus my wife is leading me to Heaven. Some- 
 times I am cross, peevish and weary, and say 
 harsh words. Then I am ashamed of myself 
 and my lack of manhood. I ask my wife to for- 
 give me. She puts her arms around my neck, 
 kisses me and forgives what I say, all is sunshine, 
 and I try to be better than before. Do j^ou know 
 that I have almost conquered myself ? That her 
 goodness is making a better man of me than I 
 ever thought of being before we were married. 
 In a few weeks now — but I will whisper it to 
 you, so she will not hear what I say ! Then I 
 will be very proud. And we will take good care 
 of it, and you see that we have realized that our 
 life and other lives are what we make them, as 
 they are surrounded by influences for good or for 
 evil." 
 
 We remained to dinner, and for an hour after. 
 The good wife was proud of her home, of her 
 husband. She pointed with pride to what they 
 
2i4: Willing Workers and their Reward. 
 
 had made, almost from nothing. She told how 
 good, and kind, and loving, and genuine in his 
 hearty manhood her husband was to her. That 
 he was always considerate and the soul of honor 
 to his vows in all things, and what a pleasant 
 home they would have by-and-by, when taxes 
 were lighter, rents lower, and compeusation 
 more liberal. In all our travels we never visited 
 at a happier home than this cottage of the young 
 workers, who, hand in hand, are taking hold of 
 life bravely, to help each other, to develop man- 
 hood, and at last to enter the gates of the Golden 
 Gardens, where is a loving Father to smile on 
 and to reward all who are true enough and bold 
 enough to live to a purpose, to be true and lov- 
 ing to each other and to walk directly on to the 
 future, which will be woven there as we pattern 
 here, 
 
 Before you little ones, our friends, go to your 
 beds this Saturday night, we wish to tell you 
 something. Once we were a poor lad, and 
 
Willing Workers and their Reward. 245 
 
 doubted the future. The greater part of three- 
 score years have gone since we first began to look 
 at life. We have seen, O ! so many boys and 
 girls grow to be men and women, and to fret 
 their lives away, that we often wish we had some 
 large hall, or some bright field where we could 
 invite all the children of the land to come so 
 we could talk to them and ask them all to be 
 good to themselves. We love children. We 
 love the children of the poor. We love the ones 
 who have pretty playthings, and those who have 
 not. We wish we could fill the laps of all the 
 children with playthings, and all souls with sun- 
 shine. But this we cannot do. It will not be 
 many more of these chapters that we can ever 
 write. Only a few more. We feel so often 
 of late like one who is standing by his open 
 grave. The head is weary — the brain is tired — 
 the glimmering lights that dance before our 
 eyes, even as we write these lines, tell us that 
 the rirer is near. 
 
24:6 Willing Worhers and theia. Reward. 
 
 it may be that this is the last bit of talk we 
 cau ever have with our little friends. We hope 
 not, for we love to have them talk with us — to 
 have them write to us. But no man can work 
 forever. The sunset will come — the blinds must 
 be drawn — the lamps must be lit some of these 
 days. So before we put down the pen forever, 
 we wish to say this to our little friends, the 
 children. 
 
 We cannot give to all of you presents, nor 
 throw about j^ou that sunshine which at times 
 comes all about us like a golden cloud. But 
 you can all of you make sunshine for yourselves. 
 And this is the way. Be kind to each other. 
 Do not be cross and quarrelsome. Be real kind 
 to the little ones, and to the poor. Be good to 
 poor mannna and papa at all times. Learn to 
 wait on yourselves, and then let your little feet 
 hasten to wait on those who have suffered, and 
 worked for and watched over you all the long 
 days and nights of whose incidents you have 
 
Willing Workers and their Reward. 247 
 
 forgotten. "When you have playthings, take 
 care of them. When you have done with them, 
 give them to other children smaller than you 
 are, whose parents are too poor to bu}- presents 
 for their little ones, or to the poor little orphans 
 who have no one but Jesus the Christ to love 
 them. Be good to all the poor little children 
 whose feet wander into strange places, and who 
 have none to tell them what to do, so the good 
 angels who watch over us will not weep. 
 
 The man of whom we write was once a little 
 boy. He grew up in a cold, selfish home. It 
 was but natural that he should hunt for a place 
 to be happy. The little ducks seek water ; the 
 bees seek flowers ; the birds seek branches ; the 
 plants seek sunshine, and just so do children 
 hunt for that sunlight and those amusements that 
 give beauty to the soul. Our friend started on 
 the wrong road. He fell by the wayside, and 
 when he was sick his eyes rested on kind words 
 and he retraced his steps. Then it was that the 
 
248 Willing Workers and their Reward. 
 
 guardian spirits in the air smiled for joy and 
 gathered about him their golden wings. Then it 
 was that the love of a sweet, pure, good girl went 
 out to meet his, and he began building a home 
 — they began to build and to beautify. 
 
 Some of these days all our little friends who 
 now read will be men and women. We shall be 
 in the Land of the Leal, where work is not 
 wearying, and will then visit thousands of homes 
 all over the laud to see how do our little friends 
 and to impress them with beautiful ideas and 
 better resolves. Then they will have friends or 
 not, as they choose and select now. They will 
 have beds in hospitals or homes of their own, as 
 they alone shall determine. If they have good 
 homes we ask them to provide playthings, amuse- 
 ments and something to interest their children, 
 if, like our young friend with whom we dined 
 to-day, they shall ever have anything to tell us in 
 a whisper. The best way to be good men and 
 women is to be good children. Learn to think 
 
Willing Worlvers and tlieir Reward. 249 
 
 for yourselves. "With cobs a child can build a 
 play-house, or nothing, as it wills. So, little 
 friends, with the opportunities of life you can 
 build yourselves into happy homes or dismal 
 prisons — into love or hate — into purity or vice 
 — into success or failure — into degradation or 
 respectability, into a condition that you will be 
 proud or ashamed of, contented or discontented 
 with, just as you alone may decide. 
 
 In a little while we shall put the pen aside and 
 go to our other room, there to rest. We have 
 worked all the week, every day from early morn- 
 ing till midnight. We have tried to do no 
 wrong — to do what was and is right. During 
 the week we have made some one happy, and so 
 have all our little friends. In a short time we 
 shall seek our couch to rest. Shall sleep to 
 dream. Shall waken to a new morn, in this life 
 or another, and in that glad, golden Summer 
 Land shall find flowers growing on the vines we 
 
 have planted in this life, just as our young friend 
 11* 
 
250 Willing Workers and their Reward. 
 
 finds awaiting him the cheerful home, the warm 
 kiss, the trusting love, the soul feast and heart 
 reward there always is in the home he has made 
 where is the good angel who welcomes his 
 coming. 
 
 Pretty soon we shall go home. Our loved 
 ones will be with us and we shall be with them. 
 In that golden land we shall all rest, and then 
 how glad we will feel to welcome all the weary 
 workers and all the hungry souls who may or 
 may not read this brief sketch of our visit to 
 those .who by work and love have made tlieir 
 home such a resting place and glad retreat as we 
 found, and of which we quit writing to ask God 
 and the good angels to bless them, and all others 
 who are true, good and loving, this and every 
 other Saturday night. 
 
CHAPTER XXY. 
 
 OUK BEAUTIFUL DAELINGS. 
 
 [O-NIGHT there is a picture of the 
 mellowest beauty before us, and if 
 our little friends will leave their 
 fathers' necks and the arms and breasts of their 
 darling mothers for a little while, and come and 
 sit all about us, on the sofas, in the chairs, on 
 our knees, or clamber up on our shoulders so we 
 can feel their innocent presence and rest in their 
 childi-sh love, we will tell them of two little dar- 
 lings. 
 
 At the house of a friend in one of the great 
 cities of the West, we are honored as a visitor. 
 At the home of a man who has battled with the 
 
252 Ov/t Beautiful Darlings. 
 
 world and thus far has come out a winner. His 
 home is not a cabin, a hovel, or a garret, but 
 a place of rest. On the floors are carpets of 
 beautiful patterns. On the walls a profusion 
 of beautiful pictures. All about the room, from 
 where stands the piano, to the corners where are 
 various articles of bijoutry and virtu, is order, 
 neatness, beautiful groupings, and evidences of 
 the presence of the best of angels God ever 
 called to life on earth, a home-loving, home- 
 beautifying, home-heavening woman ; a loving, 
 large-hearted, beautiful wife, who loves her 
 babies even as He, who is Our Father, loves His 
 children. 
 
 Here is a place where we have found rest. A 
 generous welcome never to be forgotten. Kind 
 words for duty well attempted in the years of 
 otK? past. Earnest encouragement for the greater 
 '•-ork of the future. Hearts filled with sympathy 
 for one who would do good to all, with the reviv- 
 ing sympathy which, sweetly given, throws about 
 
Our Beautiful Darlings. 253 
 
 the soul such a mellow halo of strength that in 
 the great object of life it can never know the 
 meaning of that word fail. Here in this home 
 we have rested till we are indeed loth to leave 
 its enticing atmosphere. To-night we sat think- 
 ing of our home, and if it is as beautiful as this. 
 We were thinking of \h& poor homes all over the 
 land. Of the places called homes, where men 
 are cold, careless, unloving, far from generous, 
 ignorant of the first and greatest of all duties of 
 husband or father. Of homes where men are 
 selfish, imperious in their demands of wife and 
 children — of homes where coarseness, brutality, 
 indiiference, and other entailments of dissipation 
 and of ignorance are the skeletons a starving 
 wife must touch on every side as she walks 
 through life, a prisoner to an unappreciative 
 husband, looking for no happiness save in death. 
 How many such homes there are. And to 
 think of them ! That in their places, all over the 
 land, are men who would be so good and of so 
 
254: Our Beautiful Darlings. 
 
 much use to God in His work of creation, if thej 
 would only keep coming up higher and away 
 from their selfishness. That in their homes 
 wives suffer untold miseries, as their lives are 
 worn threadbare by excessive toil, as their hus- 
 band fails to provide for the wants of the one 
 who is giving her life to him, or for the little 
 souls that follow on the vine to fade, wilt and be 
 lost before they expand to intelligence, or grow 
 into living temples of manly, womanly beauty, 
 if Papa, Father^ Helper, is not good and kind 
 to them as he should be. 
 
 How many homes there are where the fearful 
 curse of drunkenness has come with its sly, 
 destroying influence to mar and to scar ; to blight 
 and to deaden beautiful li's'es. How many there 
 are where men are unfed, and their inner hun- 
 gerings are so unresponded to that life is to them 
 a torture unbearable, save for the whisperings of 
 ambition for place or gain, which in time beats 
 down the truly beautiful that there is in the 
 
Our Beautiful Da/rlings. 255 
 
 nature of every man, to bloom and to blossom if 
 he can only have wifely help to develop it. 
 
 How many homes there are where beautiful 
 women are dying because of their heart burdens ! 
 Dying over their work ! Dj^ng under their 
 tasks ! Dying as they are struggling to build 
 themselves into conditions of happiness ! Dying 
 for want of love, appreciation, attention, and 
 that beautiful responsiveness which woman needs 
 to iill her soul with that life which is heavenly in 
 its magnetism ^ glorious in its enjoying, and so 
 ^protecting to him who gives and to her who 
 receives. 
 
 Ah, well! The world is full of sad pictures 
 — of unfurnished homes — of men who do not 
 perhaps because they cannot think their way 
 clear. Of men who do not know how to enjoy 
 life. Of men who have long since forgotten 
 how to be lovers. Of women who have been 
 broken and bankrupted in heart, soul, life, and 
 all that wonderful ehisticity which, once lost, is 
 
256 Our Beautiful Darlings. 
 
 so quickly followed by physical and mental dead- 
 ness. Of places where little children are com- 
 ing np to years of wonderment with no love, 
 no care, no happifying, beautifying influences 
 closely surrounding them. Of places where the 
 dearest treasures of earth are being sacrificed on 
 the altars of neglect and indifference. When 
 we see a beautiful home, we think of those that 
 are unfurnished. "When we see careless men, we 
 think of those who are kind and loving. When 
 we think of women who live only for fashion, 
 shirking all the responsibility of life, we pray : 
 " Father, forgive them, for they know not how 
 surely they are driving all love from their lives." 
 This night we have rested. The fire burns 
 cheerily in the grate. We sit in an easy chair 
 and take comfort. We look over the books on 
 the centre table to glance at writings of prose 
 and poetry. We look upon the deftly wired 
 cages wherein are golden feathered songsters, 
 their little heads hidden under their wings, even 
 
Our Beautiful Darlings. 257 
 
 as we would fain lay onrs in some place where 
 sleep would follow so tenderly to give us strength 
 for the morrow, its trials and its duties. 
 
 A beautiful woman enters the room. The 
 merry laugh of her manly husband is heard 
 as it fills the air with echoes of welcome. The 
 woman sits at the piano like a queen. Her 
 fingers touch the keys lightly, gracefully, 
 rapidly. The music leaps, springs, dances, 
 bursts out laughingly, like clear rivulets warmed 
 by the vernal sun. The piano responds to her 
 magic touch and gives forth tune after tune — 
 delicious music. 
 
 Oh ! how much there is in knowing how 
 to play ! How to make music ! How to fill life 
 with beautiftil tones and echoes. How to keep 
 in tune and draw music from the heart. Would 
 to God all men and all women were such musi- 
 cians. 
 
 Now we listen to a waltz and then to the airs 
 so loved and so heart-fiUino- in the lono- aeco. 
 
258 Our Beautiful Darlings. 
 
 The husband, who loves this beautiful woman, 
 looks, as he should, proudly on her, as she sits 
 to this delectation. The door is thrown a little 
 more open, and here come two little darlings, 
 two beautiful children, two little girls, the eldest 
 not yet six years of age, clad in white, their hair 
 in long curls floating so gracefully over their 
 shoulders, their little pink feet in living, beau- 
 tiful contrast to the rich brown of the carpet 
 on which they stand. They seem like whispers 
 from some fairy land — like two angels resting 
 upon the lives of those who love them, as did 
 the dove rest upon the head of Him who so 
 suffered in the time agone — who suffered even 
 as do men and women who are not understood. 
 
 Hush ! Look there ! Listen ! They kneel 
 at the feet of the beautiful woman who is their 
 mother. Side by side they kneel to rest their 
 little elbows on her knees. They fold their 
 little hands together and lift their faces to 
 receive the baptism of life from the eyes of her 
 
Our Beautiful Darlings. 259 
 
 who loves them so. How still is the room ! 
 The birds in the cages under the gas burners 
 actually start. The change from music to 
 silence is so sudden they waken to pay tribute 
 to love's devotion. Now comes from two pair 
 of little lips this beautiful whisper that goes 
 to the heart of God : 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 
 If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to take. — Amen." 
 
 ' ' God bless my dear papa. God bless my sweet, loving 
 uiamma. God bless our friends who love us, and keep us 
 two good little girls. — AmenP 
 
 Then the little ones rose to their feet, kissei^ 
 their mamma a sweet good-night, and hand in 
 hand moved like little fairies from the room, 
 leaving a picture we can never forget. A heart- 
 graven picture of two little white-robed darlings, 
 at their evening prayer, with the deep, dark, 
 
260 Our Beautiful Darlings. 
 
 full, life-speaking eyes of a beautiful mother 
 beaming down upon them there in the hushed 
 stillness of a home sinking to rest this blessed 
 autumn evening. 
 
 How could we help saying in all earnest 
 beseechment— God bless the little darlings — 
 God bless the mother of such babes and fill her 
 bosom with that love, that peace, that Heaven- 
 boi'u happiness that surely is in store for her — 
 for all who live, love and realize that the 
 highest, holiest work which woman can ever 
 be engaged in is the lovely leading of the 
 treasures God gives to us, from the entrance 
 to life to the gardens of the eternal, pure, spot- 
 less and in the line of the truly womanly ? 
 
 Said a Roman emperor to a visiting monarch 
 who one day, after a brilliant review of troops, 
 asked : 
 
 " From whence such soldiers ? " 
 
 " Look there on the right. Behold the mothers 
 
 of Home ! " — THE SISTEKS OF GoD ! 
 
Our Beautiful Darlings. 261 
 
 In the olden time, before men went crazy for 
 ■wealth, and mothers went wild in the follow- 
 ing of frivolous fashion, men were men and 
 ^ooinen were women. And thus went on, and 
 on, the Heaven-inspired work of humanity. 
 We looked into the face of England's Queen 
 one day to contemplate royalty. We saw her 
 greatest crown that was hidden from thoughtless 
 eyes — that of motherhood. We have looked 
 upon Emperors, Princes, Kings and Presidents, 
 but none of them are invested with such sacred 
 greatness as is resplendent from tlie true, the 
 loving, the beautiful woman about whose life 
 God has drawn the holy jjrotecting net-work 
 of maternity. Men talk of Heaven ! Wliy, 
 in all the angel world is no sweeter picture than 
 the one our eyes have this night seen, and to 
 which our soul mellows in contemplation. A 
 mother who teaches her little darlings to walk 
 the rainbow of faith that leads to Heaven ! A 
 mother who in all her beauty as a woman is as 
 
262 Our Beautiful Darlings. 
 
 nothing compared to her beauty, her strength, 
 her devotion as a motlier. 
 
 Often, O ! how often have we mourned that we 
 were in the first year of life left an orphan, but 
 never till now has the great bereavement so fully 
 broke in upon our heart. Would to God that 
 oui's was omnipotent power! How soon, how 
 tenderly, how positively, how warmingly would 
 we draw a circle of loving protection from 
 all that pains, all that wounds, all that saddens, 
 all that weakens, about this mother — about every 
 mother in the land. How we would protect 
 them from men who ai-e cold, careless, selfish, 
 thoughtless. How we would build walls of fate 
 between mothers who are overworked, and 
 abused, and the M-recks of humanity from whoso 
 lives the light of love's early promises has gone 
 out in dissipation, to protect them from those 
 who forget that to mothers, more than to fathers, 
 the nation is indebted for her truest greatness. 
 
 It is for man to go out into the world, to give 
 
Our Beautiful Darlings. 263 
 
 battle to tlie enemies of his country. To snbdiie 
 forests. To build homes. To accumulate. It is 
 for woman to regulate, to be queen of the home, 
 to stand even closer to God and to heaven than 
 man ever could stand — to be mothers, and to 
 teach precious treasures to i-est by a mothei-'s 
 knee and to reach heaven through faith, love and 
 prayer, even as teaches the mother the little dar- 
 lings of wliora we write. 
 
 Men may think us queer to thus write from 
 the heart, but we care not what the}^ think, 
 especially if they do not think. Tlie ballot, the 
 hustings, the feverish excitement that comes 
 from midnight vigils over a sleeping people, is 
 not for women. It is bad enough that men have 
 to thus dash their brains full into insanity. Tlie 
 place for woman is in her home. She should 
 have love, attention, devotion and that velvety 
 touching of a husband who is devoted to her — 
 should be the mother of children and not the 
 murderer of innocents unborn. She should be 
 
261 Our Beautiful Darlings. 
 
 cared for, and while a wife and mother should be 
 let alone in all save the attention that devotion 
 mutually prompts, and then her children will be 
 great. " These are my jewels/' God loves all 
 W'ho wear their jewels properly. 
 
 Some of these days the hand that guides our 
 pen to its tracing of words will be still. Before 
 lono; oxir work will be done. It is so wearving 
 and so wearing upon life to M'ork, work, work I 
 We care not to accumulate wealth. We care 
 nothing for political place, position, or power. 
 !Rone of these couut to us here or in Heaven. 
 We would give all the world for a beautiful, 
 happy home. For that love that comes from the 
 heart of a true, trusting, confiding woman who is 
 a loving mother as well as a devoted wife. In 
 that and in these is Heaven, and this Heaven is, 
 thank God, within our reach. 
 
 While others seek happiness where it is not to 
 be found, we la}^ aside the pen — we forget all of 
 politics and all love save that which makes men 
 
Out Beautiful Darliitigs. 265 
 
 heroic — which makes them ever gentle, sweet, 
 caressing and husbandly to their wives, and seek 
 our rest to dream of the beautiful picture we 
 have seen. 
 
 The noise on the street makes us to shudder. 
 There are loud, angry, maudlin voices upon the 
 street. There are abroad at this nearing of mid- 
 night men who are going to their homes with 
 hands all hard ; with tongues thickened by 
 poison ; with breath laden with offence. They 
 are going to break in upon the sacredness of 
 home ; to waken their little ones from slumber ; 
 to torture the wife who has waited, waited, 
 waited till we wonder she has not died by 
 suicide ! We shrink from such men, and yet we 
 love all who are in distress. Now that our 
 chapter is written, we will turn down the light, 
 prepare for sleej), and with the dear little chil- 
 dren who kneel by the knees of their mother, with 
 eyes uplifted in thankfulness for good examples, 
 
 whisper to her and to Our Father this our prayer : 
 12 
 
266 Our Beautiful Darlings. 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 
 And if "i should die before I wake, 
 I pray the Lord my soul to take. Amen.''^ 
 
 God bless the good papa. God bless the dear 
 good ma-mma who loves ber darlings. God bless 
 those for whom this is written, and who understand 
 how to live and to love, from this never to be 
 forgotten Saturday Night. 
 
CHAPTEE XXYI. 
 
 FIVE LITTLE CHICKENS. 
 
 E brough.t them in this morning in 
 a basket. Five little chickens just 
 from their shells. Wlien the baby 
 saw the dear little things and heard them talk 
 in their baby-chicken way, she clapped her 
 little hands and laughed never so hard before 
 with delight. 
 
 This chapter will be about the five little 
 chickens. It will be for our little friends, the 
 boys and girls, who may care to sit and hear 
 what a well-msher has to say to them. It 
 is not for papa or mamma ; for any of the grown- 
 VL]) folks, but for the little boys and the little 
 
268 Five Little ChicTcens. 
 
 girls who soon will be good men and women, 
 and help to make this world and all who are 
 in it happier and better, even as the pretty 
 chickens made our blue-eyed baby so happy 
 to-day. 
 
 A few weeks ago the man came in from the 
 cold barn and said that one of the hens had 
 a nest in a manger. That in her nest were 
 thirteen eggs, and that the old hen wanted to 
 sit on the eggs in our manger, as they do in the 
 barns and mangers all over the countiy. Out 
 to the barn we went to see the nest and the hen. 
 Sure enough, there they were, as the man had 
 told us. "We counted the eggs and there were 
 thirteen. We tucked the hen very nicely in her 
 nest, as mamma tucks her little baby away to 
 sleep till morning, and then came in the house 
 to tell what had been done and to promise thir- 
 teen chickens in twenty-one days. 
 
 The next day the man came in and said he 
 had found another nest ; that another hen 
 
Five Little Chickens. 269 
 
 wanted to sit on fifteen eggs. Then we counted 
 upon the time when there would be fifteen 
 chickens more, and began to look for their com- 
 ing. Two or three days ago the man came in and 
 told us that one night, (when nobody was looking, 
 and faithful old Jack — and he is the watch dog 
 who barks at nights and wakens the baby, was 
 away from his post,) a skunk, or fox, or rats, 
 or something had got into the nest and eaten the 
 fifteen eggs. 
 
 The other hen was up high in a box. Rats 
 could not get at her, and this morning the man, 
 on going to her nest, found the five little chickens, 
 for fear they would be hurt in among the broken 
 shells, he took them. out very carefully, placed 
 them in a little basket, brought them into the 
 house, and we all had a jolly time looking at the 
 pretty little things. 
 
 One of them was white, or nearly so. One 
 was a pretty yellow. One was black as ink, and 
 just as cunning as any little chicken we ever saw. 
 
270 Five Little Chickens. 
 
 Another one was brown, while the other was 
 spotted. But they were all little chickens to- 
 gether. We placed them by the fire where 
 they could be kept warm. Pretty soon, when we 
 went out to see about a coop for them, there was 
 the old hen off the nest and running all about 
 the barn and saying, " cluck, cluck, cluck," loud 
 as she could. She was mourning because her 
 little babies had been taken away from the place 
 where they were born, and she thought they were 
 lost. 
 
 We prepared the coop and then pat the five 
 chickens therein. When the mother found them, 
 she ran in to her new home, called her babies 
 under her wings and was very quiet. We 
 stroked the feathei-s on her neck and back as she 
 turned her head and gave us a look which seemed 
 to say — " forgive me for worrying so, but I did 
 not know what had become of my babies." 
 
 When we looked at her nest, lo, and behold 
 the other eggs were spoiled. It must be that 
 
Five Little Chickens. 271 
 
 they were not good. Perhaps they had no germ 
 in them. Maybe that she did not turn them 
 every day as she should have done, so they would 
 have been kept uniformly warm. The broken 
 shells from which the five chickens had come 
 were in the nest, and it was better that they were 
 removed as the kind man had done. 
 
 Now their mother is with and very proud of 
 them. She is kind to them, picks the food to 
 pieces for them, and when they are cold she 
 tucks them in under her warm feathers and 
 wings as good mammas and good papas see that 
 their precious babies, the dear little boys and 
 girls, are kept in food and in nice homes, so they 
 will grow and develop into men and women with 
 minds of their own, and to that manhood wliich 
 in its independence is proof of the childhood of 
 God. 
 
 We said the children were not alike. But 
 they are all of the same family. Each has a 
 little individuality of its own. They are like 
 
272 Five Little Chickens. 
 
 brothers and sisters for all they come from 
 different eggs or different worlds. 
 
 It must have been very dark in the shell. Is 
 it not curious \ The Qgg^ with its yolk and its 
 white, after being turned and warmed for just so 
 long a time, becomes a chicken. Now these 
 little chicks, with their bright eyes, soft down, 
 little bills and baby-like chirp, are nothing like 
 eggs. Suppose the q^q^ had talked and fretted 
 for fear it would never become a chicken ! What 
 a foolish Qg^ it would have been ! Suppose the 
 hen had said — "I don't see how this Qg^ can 
 ever be a chicken. I cannot see it change and 
 grow, therefore I will not believe in the change 
 nor sit on the eggs." Suppose the chicken, all 
 the time it was in the shell, had cried and 
 scratched its eyes for fear of dying or emei-ging 
 from the shell which had been its home. What 
 a simple little chick it would have been. 
 
 How many of our little friends will ever in 
 after life- think of these five chickens % How 
 
JFive Little Chickens. 278 
 
 many of them will also remember this. All of 
 
 this life in which we are is but an Q^'g shell. It 
 
 will be broken some day and crumble away. 
 
 The grave is dark. Life in the shell is dark. 
 
 But we shall all grow and force our way through 
 
 into a broader existence. The great big world 
 
 into which these five chickens came is ever so 
 
 much larger than was their nest. The hand 
 
 which held them in their basket is larger than 
 
 their entire former home. Death did not treat 
 
 them unkindly after all. He only brought them 
 
 to us to be cared for. Then we found a nice 
 
 home for the little fellows, and called their 
 
 mother to come. Just think ! Yesterday we 
 
 had no chickens — to-day the great change has 
 
 come. We knew of it from the first, but the 
 
 chickens did not. We knew if the eggs were 
 
 good — -if each had a proper germ — if the nest 
 
 was warm and the old hen knew her business, 
 
 we should have chickens in time. Now they 
 
 have a nice house and can run all about. The 
 12* 
 
274: Five Little Chichens. 
 
 egg could not move before, but the chickens can 
 run into the garden, out under the trees, along 
 the fences, in among the beautiful flowers — to 
 thousands of places, they as eggs or as chick- 
 ens before the shell was broken, never thought 
 of. 
 
 Had the watch-dog done his duty he would 
 have driven the skunk or the fox or the rats 
 away from the barn, and they could not have 
 got ill to destroy the eggs. Watch-dogs should 
 always be on hand to speak out. Had all the 
 eggs in the other nest been properly turned 
 there might have been more chickens, and our 
 little baby might have laughed the harder. 
 
 Some of these days all the boys and girls — all 
 the men and women will be out of their shells. 
 Death will take us kindly from the little box to 
 the Home Corner, where we shall be cared for, 
 fed and protected. Then we shall grow. Then 
 we will be out of the dark. Then we will be able 
 to run and to fly — to go like the wind in com- 
 
Five Little Chiehens. 275 
 
 parison to present speed. Then the mothers 
 who mourned on earth for their babies will find 
 them all safe and with a loving Father. Then 
 what a joyful meeting we will have. We shall 
 meet with all the little boys and girls — with all 
 the good friends who are so kind to us here in 
 our narrow homes, where in comparison to the 
 hereafter, all is dark and close about us. 
 
 Sometimes the eggs do not hatch, as they call 
 it. Sometimes the egg becomes wet, or rests in 
 a low place on the ground. Then its germ is 
 killed and nothing comes from it but the bad. 
 Just so with little boys and girls — with men 
 and women. Sometimes low habits, dissipation, 
 envy, malice, ugliness, disobedience, and resting 
 of the heart or soul with evil companions, kill 
 out the germ of life ; and Death, when he cleans 
 out the nests, will have nothing to save in his 
 basket — nothing to take to the Master in the 
 house, but something to throw away. 
 
 We ask the little children for whom we have 
 
276 Five Little Chickens. 
 
 written this chapter to see how good they can be. 
 To see how pure and loving they can live. Then 
 they will have nothing to fear. Death will be a 
 good angel who will bear them from the dark to 
 the light, where there will be no cold, nor sorrow, 
 nor danger, but where children of a common 
 heritage will meet and work on to reach their 
 destiny ; to occupy the temple each one of us 
 shall plan in this life to be occupied in the next, 
 when we shall have broken the shell, and opened 
 our eyes to the wide and lasting field of beauty 
 we are so positive there is for us beyond our 
 final Saturday Night. 
 
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