“FAITHFUL is he that calleth you, who also will do it.” 1 Thess. 5: 24. Jesus left the throne of glory; he laid aside his divinity, and, clothed with humanity, dwelt among us. He was exposed to all the temptations to which we are subjected, “yet without sin.” He suffered the cruel death of the cross, in order that we might have life eternal.
He came to prepare a people who should stand as lights in the world; who should give the message of truth to those who know not God the Father. He died that we might live.
He is ever near to every unconverted soul, pleading and entreating him to “taste and see that the Lord is good.” “Faithful is he that calleth,” for he says, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”
Christ was faithful to the end, and having passed through all the temptations through which we shall be called to pass, he is able to help us who are tempted, and he has left the promise to come again and receive us unto himself. Can we not take him at his word? Has he not proved that it is possible to be kept by the power of God from the evils of this world?
He says, “Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” We are to come to Christ, and thus be kept. He can not keep us, in our sins. We must draw near to God, and he will draw near to us. It is through the influence of the Holy Spirit that we are able to draw near to God, it is this that opens the way. By trusting in Jesus, Satan is foiled. Christ is stronger than Satan, since he overcame every temptation that was presented.
Then let us accept the offers of mercy, that he may be glorified in us. Jesus is coming again. Do we believe it? Do our lives witness daily to that fact; are we living Christ daily? Can the world see in us that change of character which is to distinguish the people of God from those of the world? If not, there is something wrong. Christ said, “If ye love me, keep my commandments.” He commanded, “Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.” We may preach the gospel where we are; souls all around us are perishing. Home missionaries are needed as well as foreign missionaries. We may all work and live for God wherever we are, whatever our occupation. How can we better illustrate the gospel or the Third Angel’s Message than by strict conformity to all its requirements in everyday life, in our dealings with our fellow men?
WOMAN'S GOSPEL WORK
By Helen Raymond Wells
“The Lord giveth the word: the women that publish the tidings are a great host.” Ps. 68:11, R. V.
“Make a chain: for the land is full of bloody crimes, and the city is full of violence.” Eze. 7:23.
Do not forget the 12 M. hour of prayer for one another, our work, and for those for whom special requests are made.
THE unsympathetic mothers are rare, and are so only at those stages and concerning those occupations of the child's life that they feel come outside of their own sphere of action. They are those mothers who care most devotedly for their children in infancy, but consider them “off their hands” when old enough to go to school, having no inclination to follow them there, even in their thoughts; who have no interest in hearing anything about their school life from the children, meeting their wish to tell thereof with indifference, if not outright objection, to “being bothered about such things,” as I heard one mother say when intent on preparing a good dinner for her family, and the children came in eager to talk over their morning's experiences. “It's their teacher's business to attend to their school affairs. I've got all I can do to dress and feed them properly,” she added, after silencing them; never thinking to shut off a child's confidence in one thing may be to destroy it altogether, nor foreseeing that her own action was bringing about the time when the children would come to consider her incapable of sharing their larger interests and would turn from her to those who could sympathize with them.
Another mother was getting dinner and ironing. Warm and tired and not very well, it would hardly have been surprising if she had remonstrated at the vehement greetings upon the entrance of the children. “I got one hundred in spelling, ma,” cried Ben, “and Nettie's map was well done, the teacher said.” “I forgot the six in the table of nines, mamma,” confessed Will, “but thought of it in time from the story you told me about it. I don't think I'll ever forget the old fifty-four again.” The mother smiled her approval, looked her praise, and in a few but hearty words spoke her sympathy to each one and patting the least child on the head, asked, “Was Fannie a good little girl in school?” Sympathy begets sympathy. The little thing at once offered to help Nettie, who, as soon as she put away her books, had begun to set the table. Ben declared he'd “just like to iron the towels,” while Will was off for a pail of fresh water.
Yet another mother, considered not a very exemplary housekeeper, was found going over the day's lesson with each child before school time in the morning. “In ten years from now,” she said, “it won't much matter whether my work was all done up at the proper time of day, but it will matter if these children have made the most of their chances in school.”
“I can't get this translation,” said her son to still another mother, coming to her with his Latin book in hand. She might very reasonably have asked, “Why do you come to me? I don't know a word of Latin.” What she did say was: “I'd just leave that a while. Do the other sentences, and then come back to this. Perhaps you will get fresh ideas by that time.” The plan succeeded, and, throwing his arms about his mother, the boy exclaimed: “You can always help a fellow somehow.”—Helen Raymond Wells, in the New Crusade.
EXTRACTS FROM CORRESPONDENCE.
We wish that every one of our sisters had the same determination to do something to reach others with the truth, that is expressed in the following extract from a recent letter:—
I am an isolated Sabbath-keeper, but I want to be a worker for the Lord. My prayer is, Here am I, send me; but where and how? There are a good many hard-working, neglected women around me, and I myself am a hard-working farmer's wife, and the idea has recently come to me that I could devote one afternoon of each week to these women,—form a reading circle, or sewing circle, or a gathering of some kind; and while they were at work, I could read to them something which would reveal the truth. There is a great field of work here, and none of our ministers have been here. I have my own housework to do, and that takes nearly all my time, but I could give a part of it to this work. I have a horse and buggy at my command, and it does seem to me that I must help to spread this truth to my neighbors. I must work, or I shall die spiritually.”
As I have read from time to time the articles from the pen of Mrs. S. M. I. Henry, strange thoughts have passed through my mind relative to the work that women should do for the Master. I was glad that there was to be an advance step in working for Jesus; but as I talked with other sisters, who I thought had much more time than I, I found some of them afraid to take up the work, and sign the cards, lest they should obligate themselves to perform some task beyond their capacity. We all felt that we had all we could do with our home work. But at last I thought I would write and investigate for myself. And then the letter of tenderness and love which I received, with cards to work for others, made me happy in God; and I felt that there was surely one Christian heart that appreciated a sister’s trials and labors of love.
Having the care of five orphan children, it seemed useless to use the cards; but God’s ways are not our ways, nor his thoughts our thoughts. Half a mile away from me lived a family upon whom I have never called, although they have lived there for years. So the Lord sent the woman to my house. When she called, the study cards were lying on the table, and she asked, “What are these for?” It was then easy for me to tell her of the work, and of the love of Christ, and she said, “I will sign the cards, and be glad to have you come in and read with me.” She then told me that some time before a lady used to call and bring her the Signs of the Times, and how she had missed her visits of late. I gave her a copy of the Signs, and could but be amazed to see how the Spirit of the Lord worked while I looked on.
Only this morning I asked the Lord to give me the opportunity of helping some one aside from my daily home cares. I did not see any way of doing this all day, but in the evening when my husband came home he brought with him an old man, who said he was hungry, and had no money. We prepared him a supper, principally of bread, nut butter, and honey. I told him we had no dairy butter, and he ate with relish what we gave him. I gave him some of our papers. I asked him if he was a Christian, and the tears ran down his face, as he answered, “No, I am not; but I wish I was.” You people are, if you are Adventists. May God bless you for your kindness to me.” He then went on his way, and we do not know what the result of this short acquaintance may be in his life.
Surely we sisters have a share of the Master’s work to perform, and in doing it we shall be baptized with the Holy Spirit. I am glad of an opportunity of doing a little for the Master.
*We were glad to receive the following report from a band of Christian women, whose work began before the Special Call to Women was sent out, but which is the real woman’s gospel work:—*
Four years ago we organized a Christian Help Band, and have held weekly meetings since that time, except in hot weather. We have solicited money and clothing from the rich, and distributed to the needy. We have made clothing and quilts. One winter we made over thirty comforters, and placed them where they were needed. We help as many as possible, whether they are members of the church or not. We have helped poor women who have drinking husbands, to get washtubs, washboards, clothesline, and soap, so that they could earn a living for their hungry children. We have made up boxes and barrels of clothing and sent them to missions and orphans’ homes. Last week fourteen of us went to an orphans’ home and sewed all day, making and repairing seventy garments. Last summer we sold over one hundred wall pockets, and sent the proceeds to the Southern mission. We stand ready to relieve any case of distress of which we hear. This city has ten thousand inhabitants, and as many more tourists come here to spend the winter.
I want to tell you how wonderfully the Lord is working in our neighborhood,—a small spot in a corner of a large city. A month or two ago two of our sisters and one sister of the Methodist Church began to hold cottage meetings. Women from all churches were invited, and each was to be asked to take charge of the meetings at different times. It has been quite wonderful how at every meeting the Spirit of the Lord has come in, and we have been able to hold up the truth. Nearly every time one of our own sisters has taken charge, and we realize that the Lord is working through us. All express themselves as glad to be present, and say that they have learned something new from the Bible. We ask the prayerful interest of our sisters in this work. One of our sisters, seventy-three years old, sold thirty-two copies of the Signs in two days. She is one of the best leaders of our cottage meetings. Oh, how good is the Lord, and how blessed it is to serve him.
Kind Father, There's Mercy With Thee
By Melissa Sollars
KIND FATHER, there's mercy with thee;
There's pardon abundant and free,
In thy bosom there's rest
For the sad and oppressed:
There's peace and forgiveness in thee.
For the lost on the mountains away
Thy Spirit goes seeking each day;
For the sad and distressed
In the wild wilderness,
There's help and deliverance in thee.
Unto thee, and thee only, is known
The heart, and its weary, sad moan.
Thou knowest our might,
And the sorrows that blight
The good we are longing to do.
— Mrs. Melissa Sollars.
A CIRCULATING LIBRARY.
It may not be known by all the readers of this department that there is in the office of the Woman’s Gospel Work a small circulating library, which is for the benefit of those who are unable to purchase as many of our denominational books as they desire.
This library was started in the beginning of our work from a small donation made for that purpose. Below is a list of the volumes we have enrolled:—
Five volumes of the Testimonies, two of the “Abiding Spirit,” two of “Every-Day Dishes;” one of “Early Writings,” one of “Rise and Progress of Seventh-day Adventists,” one of “Science in the Kitchen,” one of “The Stomach.”
The plan is to send one volume to a sister as a loan, to be returned at the end of two weeks, unless special request is made for an extension of time. We wish this library to benefit just as many as possible, and shall be glad to hear from any who would like to read any of the books mentioned above.
We would also like to enlarge this library, but have no fund in hand for that purpose at present. If any would like to donate money for this purpose, we shall be glad to receive it, and will make it go as far as possible in the purchase of books, and to aid in the expense of mailing the books where it is not possible for the one receiving to pay transportation. Donations of books will also be thankfully received. Address communications to Mrs. G. A. Irwin, 271 W. Main St., Battle Creek, Mich.
Christ’s Ministry to the Afflicted
“The Saviour of the world devoted more time and labor to healing the afflicted of their maladies than to preaching.”
THE MOTHER AND HER BOY.
By Alice Starr
ALICE STARR.
Much has been said and written about girls and the problem of their rearing until it is almost an acknowledged fact with many at least that boys need no training. I have heard mothers say, “Oh, I am so glad my baby is a boy! Boys are so much easier to raise than girls. Why, boys almost raise themselves,” and so they are left to come and go as they please,—this too by good, conscientious women, who give their spare time and strength to works of charity and the uplifting of humanity. An incident I read not long ago will illustrate this point:—
A lady who had occasion frequently to pass down a certain street, often met a bright faced boy on his way “uptown.” She finally made his acquaintance, and a friendly feeling sprang up between them. As soon as possible she asked him if he thought it was best and right for him to spend so many evenings in town. He raised his dark handsome eyes to hers, and said, frankly, “Well, no; I know it isn’t exactly right, but you see there is no place for me at home. Sue and Rose entertain company in the parlor every evening, and they give me strictly to understand that I am not wanted; and then father likes to have the sitting room to himself, where he can read or sleep without a noise; and you see mother is so busy working for other people’s boys, I suppose, that she has no time for me. So I spend more time uptown than I really ought to.” It doubtless was considered an easy matter to raise that boy. But what will the harvest be.
Why is it so much easier to raise boys than girls?
Another question arises: “Why is it that a boy can grow up without training, while it is the constant care and worry of the anxious mother that she shall be able to bring her daughter through that period of blossoming womanhood, pure and spotless? Why, too, is that mother more anxious than ever when her daughter begins keeping company with some young man? Why will she lie awake till late if the girl is away in his company, never closing her eyes till she hears the well-known footfalls? In short, why is it that our girls are not perfectly safe through this period of their lives? Ah! I hear some mother say, “We can not trust the boys.” Then, my dear mothers, is it not a fact that the mothers of our boys have sadly neglected their duty?
If a boy was taken into his mother’s confidence as a girl is, and the mystery of his life unfolded to him, would it not have a tendency to give him a sense of the sacredness of the powers of his manhood? The boy will learn all these wonders, somewhere, somehow, from other boys, perhaps. He finds it all out, but it is sure to be enshrouded in a murky cloud of vice, and often he looks upon his own parents as parties in vicious habits. He grows up with the idea that virtue is all talk, that no one really practices it. He comes to look upon vice as not so bad after all. With such ideas of virtue and vice, can we wonder that he will not consider it a thing to be ashamed of if he does trifle with lustful passion when he has the chance? Can he be blamed for his conclusion when his training in that respect has been so sadly neglected?
It has been said that the years between the ages of twelve and eighteen are years fraught with special dangers in a boy’s life. In German this period is called the period of “storm and stress.” These are the years when he so much needs a firm loving mother hand to guide him over the rough places. If he is not so fortunate as to have this pilot mother, he is sure to drift with the tide, unless there311is some other influence to take the mother’s place.
These are strange and wonderful years to him, and O so many, yes, the vast majority, are left to themselves to find their own way through. If the boy at this age is strongly fortified with the knowledge the mother can and should impart to him, he will successfully repel many of the temptations that are sure to come at this period of his life; while, if he is not thus strongly fortified, he is a sure target for the many fiery darts of the enemy.
Shall we not, as mothers of this generation of boys, rescue them from such a fate? O mother! if you are one to whom God has intrusted the care and training of a boy, go on bended knee to him for wisdom to perform the duties he has laid upon you. “If any of you lack wisdom, let him ask of God, that giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.”
CHILDHOOD.
I took a piece of plastic clay,
And idly fashioned it one day;
And as my fingers pressed it still,
It moved and yielded to my will.
I came again, when days were past;
The bit of clay was hard at last;
The form I gave it still it bore,
And I could change the form no more.
I took a piece of living clay,
And gently formed it day by day,
And molded, with my power and art,
A young child's soft and yielding heart.
I came again when years were gone:
It was a man I looked upon;
He still that early image wore,
And I could change him nevermore.
— Selected.
SOW THE SEED.
My goods were packed ready for the cars. I had said, “Anywhere, dear Saviour,” and was not quite sure whether to go, or stay.
After some strange occurrences, which I did not quite understand, a place was offered me at a less rent than I had ever paid, yet worth double the price asked for it. I accepted gladly, and wondered what there was for me to do there.
I soon discovered that my nearest neighbors were not noted for quietness. There would often break out the most terrific screams from little children, mingled with loud and angry threats, while heavy blows from a whip could be heard distinctly. The most shameful and cruel language came from a woman who claimed to be mother to two children, both under five years of age. At first this shocked me so greatly that I tried to shut out the noise, and bar my senses from seeing and hearing anything of it.
Still I did pray most earnestly; there was need enough of it: but it was weeks before I could summon courage to speak to them, or even to look at them, as I had at once decided to have “nothing to do with such neighbors.” When at last I did venture, it was in answer to the Lord’s question, “Have n’t you let those folks alone about long enough?” I quickly answered, “Yes, Lord, I believe so; what will you have me to do?” I first made the acquaintance of the mother, and found that she would be glad to have me take the little girl of four and one-half years, and do what I pleased to interest or instruct her. She was “so hard to manage, and such a bad child.”
I had no trouble whatever in getting the child to stay with me several hours each day; indeed, she would stay all day if I could give her the necessary attention, but I had duties that called me sometimes from home. Whenever she came to me, my first business was to wash her and comb her hair, and then pin a clean towel or apron on her, and give her something to do. She had been taught nothing, hence she was always in mischief. The mother was a snuff-taker and had no knowledge of a child’s needs, and with her violent temper, took no pains to love or instruct her children.
It would be too long a story to tell how the hours passed by in pleasant, happy employment requiring a good deal of patience, and careful, firm treatment. Perhaps you would like to have a few particulars however. The first lesson was on being tidy and clean “for Jesus to see.” She had to be told who Jesus is, for she had never heard of him nor of heaven and the good angels. She was so bright and quick to learn that every day a new lesson was fastened in her mind, which she delighted in rehearsing not only to me but to her parents as well.
Meanwhile the mother was astonished. She did not expect me to notice her “bad child.” But the poor neglected baby, so little and so young, full of inventions and activity, could not fairly be blamed, when she was taught nothing. I always kissed the little clean hands, and said, “They must make pretty biscuits now for Jesus and papa to see;” and she was delighted with her first baking, and all subsequent ones. Then she could never look at the pretty pictures without clean hands, because the books and pictures would soon be soiled if she handled them with soiled hands. So she had that first settled in her mind, and never refused to be made clean, taking pride in doing it herself after a while, asking oftentimes, “Are me getting ready now to go up there? Can’t Gylo go too if he’s clean?” She had always lived upstairs, and the ground had a great attraction for her. I took her out walking with me sometimes to give her a treat, and to teach her how to behave on the street.
Her mother had relinquished her so much as to tell me to do what I pleased with her; but I felt it was not best to assume too much, and relieve the parent of all responsibility. So, many were the hours I spent in giving the poor woman timely instruction, and urging her to become acquainted with my Friend above, who would also be her friend and helper if she would let him.
The family have now moved away, and I have lost sight of them; but my interest and prayers will follow them, and I am thankful I could sow the good seed in a little child’s heart.
WHY I AM A VEGETARIAN.
By David Paulson
DAVID PAULSON, M. D.
I AM a vegetarian, first, because I do not believe it is right to slaughter an animal simply to tickle my palate, when I am acquainted with many pure foods that contain the same elements of nourishment in a much more desirable form.
Secondly, because I have seen the most beautiful animals slaughtered by the State live stock commissioners, and found different parts of the body virtually reeking inside with tubercular growths and puss abscesses, and know full well from reliable sources that a large per cent of the cattle are at present similarly affected.
Thirdly, and most important of all, I am anxious to cultivate such a taste here below that when I have the blessed opportunity of passing into that better world, where blood-stained slaughter-houses can not be found, I shall feel fully in harmony with that arrangement.
IS IT SO IN YOUR HOME?
By E. K. Slade
E. K. SLADE.
(Wacousta, Mich.)
Every home should be a happy, peaceful place, and there is nothing that will contribute more to make it so than proper management.
A short time ago I spent a few days with a family in one of our small churches, where I was much impressed with the order and harmony and happiness that existed.
There were twelve in the family, and, consequently, there was a large amount of work for some one to do. The family consisted of the father, mother, their seven children, the grandfather and grandmother, and a Christian teacher employed for this one family only.
All the children attend school in a building suitably fitted for it.
Each morning the large farm bell rings at a stated time for rising. A little later the bell is rung, which calls the family together for morning worship. All are present during prayer, after which the mother and the three youngest children quietly finish getting the breakfast on the table, while the remainder of the family enter into a study of the truth for about fifteen minutes. At the tap of a small bell all the family, cheerfully, and with perfect order, gather around a bountifully spread table. This regularity seems to be perfectly natural, with no stiffness about it. The same order and regularity characterized the work in all the house during the day. Everything in the house and about the place gives evidence of neatness and thoroughness.
The mother was heard to say to some of the children, as a gentle reminder, “Well, what do you do about this time?” but no scolding, loud commanding, nor harsh words were to be heard from either parents or children.
Each one had his work, a time in which to do it, and everything had its place, so that no time was lost in hunting for misplaced articles. By this management parents, as well as children, find time each day for recreation, rest, and study, as well as to do some missionary work. The mother found time, when I was there, to drive some distance to visit an invalid, besides attending all the meetings that were being held at the time. She gives instrumental music lessons to her daughters, who have regular time for practice; and at stated hours she goes to the schoolroom, where she gives vocal lessons to the school,—all her own children.
In this family the laws of health are strictly observed by all. The smallest children are in bed, each day all through the year, before seven o’clock, and are up with the rest of the family in the morning. They have never been sick.
I do not need to tell you that this is a happy, Christian family, and that father and mother and home afford greater attractions to the grown-up boys and girls than any outside influence.
Much of the desirableness of this home is brought about by order and system, which are laws of heaven; harmony and health and happiness will contribute much to the heavenliness of any home.
WHAT IS THAT IN THINE HAND?
By Mrs. A. W. Heald
MRS. A. W. HEALD
(Windham, N. H.)
At the first camp-meeting I ever attended among our people, Elder —— preached from the text, “What is that in thine hand?” It will be remembered that these are the words of God to Moses when he begged to be excused from the Lord’s work. Moses answered, “A rod.” Said God, “Cast it on the ground. And he cast it on the ground, and it became a serpent; and Moses fled from before it.” At the word of God, Moses caught the serpent, and it became a rod in his hand. Through this rod Moses was to manifest to Pharaoh the great power of God. The words of the preacher have passed from my mind, but the thought remains, and has been a source of constant encouragement; may it not be also an encouragement to others?
In order to work for God, it may not be necessary to go as a foreign missionary, or to enter the slums: this is good work; but it may not be your work. God has given you an individual work; you should learn what it is. “What is that in thine hand?” Is it gold and silver? have you the riches of this world? With them you may “make to yourselves friends; . . . that, when ye fail, they may receive you into everlasting habitations.”
You may have the eloquent tongue: consecrate the gift to God’s service that so you may “persuade men.” Have you the gift of song? Then sing of Jesus’ love, and gather souls to join you in the heavenly song. Are you a ready writer? Consecrate the pen to God’s service. He will give you the power to cheer many a sad heart.
But do you say, “I have no gift”? God says to you as to Moses, “What is that in thine hand?” What is that with which you are skillful? What is it that occupies your hands and your heart? Is it the hoe? Then think of God the Creator, as you work with him to cultivate the soul. Is it the mixing bowl and the bread board? Then work with God to prepare healthful, nourishing food for yourself and family. Is it the broom and duster? Then faithfully carry on the cleansing process. Is it the little child which claims your hands and heart? You have then a most sacred mission to train the infant soul for heaven. “What is that in thine hand?” Consecrate it and yourself to God; become a co-worker with him, and a blessing to those around you. You will find joy in the service; and in the great gathering day, you will come, “bringing in the sheaves,” and will share in the reward of the faithful.
LITTLE KINDNESSES.
By Susan Coolidge
If you are toiling up a weary hill,
Bearing a load beyond your strength to bear.
Straining each nerve untiringly, and still
Stumbling, and losing foothold here and there;
And each one passing by would do so much
As give one upward lift and go his way,
Would not the slight, reiterated touch
Of help and kindness lighten all the day?
There is no little and there is no much;
We weigh and measure and define in vain;
A look, a word, a light, responsive touch
Can be the minister of joy to pain.
A man can die of hunger walled in gold:
A crumb may quicken hope to stronger breath,
And every day we give or we withhold
Some little thing that tells for life or death.
— Susan Coolidge.
WHERE THE RESPONSIBILITY LIES.
If there is too much gin made in the world, too much good corn spoiled in the manufacture of whisky; if vast areas of fertile soil are impoverished, and great battalions of human life wasted in the cultivation, the manufacture, and the commercial handling of the tobacco plant in all its nasty forms, says Ad Sense, the responsibility rests with the drinkers, the smokers, the chewers, and the snuffers of these commodities of degradation. If there are absurd fashions in shoes, dress, or bonnets, ungracious torture of the “human form divine,” ill-fitting, mal-adjusting, life-wasting use of leather, cotton, wool, silk, or gold, the woman who wears these is responsible before God and man for the desecration and the torture.
It may be right to slaughter by the millions the seals on our Alaskan coasts, that women may not only be warmly but elegantly dressed; it may be right that the mother sheep should be slaughtered in order that the unborn lamb may contribute to the lady’s toilet her “Persian lamb” cloak; it may be right that the business of denuding the world of its songsters should go on, and that the live birds on the tree should be sacrificed in order that there may be dead birds on the hat; it may be right for us men to wear clothes that have been stitched at starvation prices, in inhuman hours, in infectious and perhaps infected districts, by hectic men and women; if so, let those who consume these products, who wear these goods, for whom they were made, assume the responsibility, and not shirk it under the guise of ignorance, or shift it onto the shoulders of the dealers, who are at best but unwilling slaves to the whims of the tyrant purchaser.
The Newsboy’s Sermon
IN New York City a bright-eyed, barefooted, shabby little fellow was working his way through a crowded car, offering his papers in every direction, in a way that showed him well used to the business, and of a temperament not easily daunted. The train started while he was making change, and the conductor, passing him, laughed. “Caught this time, Joe!” he said. “You’ll have to run to Fourteenth Street.”
“Don’t care,” laughed Joe, in return. I can sell all the way back again.”
A white-haired old gentleman seemed interested in the boy, and questioned him concerning his way of living and his earnings. There was a younger brother to be supported, it appeared. “Jimmy” was lame, and “could n’t earn much hisself.”
“Ah, I see. That makes it hard; you could do better alone.”
The shabby little figure was erect in a moment, and the denial was prompt and somewhat indignant. “No, I could n’t! Jim’s somebody to go home to; he’s lots of help. What would be the good of havin’ luck, if nobody was glad? or of gettin’ things, if there was nobody to divide with?”
“Fourteenth Street!” called the conductor, and as the newsboy plunged out into the gathering dusk, the old gentleman remarked, to nobody in particular, “I’ve heard many a poorer sermon than that!”
Meet Hate With Love
By Philip Giddings
Fire will not be put out with kerosene: pour water. Melt ice with heat. Meet hate with love. Use a soft tongue to break hard bones. PHILIP GIDDINGS.