The Evansville daily journal. [volume] (Evansville, Ia. [i.e. Ind.]) 1848-1862, 1853-07-22
From Gleason's Pictorial.
BREAD UPON THE WATERS.

'Ah, Jacob, now you see how all your hopes
are gone. Here we are, worn out with age
ali our children removed from us by the |
hands of earth, and ere long we must be the |
inmates OF the poor-hOuse. Where. now. is |
all the bread you have cast upon the wat.
ers.'
The old white-haired man looked ND at his
wife. He was, indeed bent down will, wears.
and age sat tremblingly upon him. Jacob
had been a comparatively wealthy
man, ard while fortune had smiled mon him
he had ever been among the first to lend
listening ear and a helping hand to the call
Of distress. But now misfortune was his. OF
his four boys not one was left. Sickness and
failing strength found him with but little. and
they left him penniless. An oppressive EN-.
barge upon the shipping business had been
the first weight upon his head, and other mis-
fortunes came in painful succession. Jacob
his wife were all alone, and gaunt poverty
looked them coldly in the face.
Don't repine, Susan said the old man.
True, we are poor, but we are not vet forsa.
KEN
Not forsaken, Jacob? Who is there to help
us now!'
Jacob Manfred raised his trembling finger
towards heaven.
'Ah, Jacob, know God is our friend but
we should have friends here. Look back and
see how many you have befriended in DAYS
long passed. You cast your bread upon the
waters with free hand, but it has not yet re-
turned to you.'
Hush, Susan, you forget what you say. To
be sure may have hoped that some kind hand
of earth would lift me from the cold depths of
utter want; but do not expect it as a reward
for anything may have done.S If had helped
the unfortunate in bays gone by, have had
my full reward in knowing that have done
my duty to my fellows, o, Of all the kind deeds
have done to my suffering fellows, would
not for gold have one of them blotted from my
memory. Ah, my fond wife, sits the memory
of the good done in life that makes old age
happy. Even now, can hear again the warm
thanks of those whom have befriended, and
again can see their smiles.'
yes, Jacob returned the wife, in lower
tone, 81 know you have been good, and i'm your
memory you can be happy; but, alas! there's
a present upon which you must look-there is
a reality upon which we must dwell We
must pay for food, or starUe!'
The old man started, and deep mark of
pain was drawn across his features.
Susan-we are
He hesitated, and big tear rolled down his
furrowed cheek.
'We are what, Jacob!'
'We are going to the poor-house!'
20, God! thought SOL! fell from the poor
wife's lips, as she covered her face with her
hands. Il have thought SO, and have tried
to school myself to the thought but my po,r
heart will not bear it,
do not give up, Susan softly urged the old
man, laying his hand upon her arm. 1T makes
but little difference to us now. We have not
long to remain on earth, and let US not wear
out our last days in useless repinings. Come,
COME
But when-when-shall we COY
'NOw-to-day.'
'Then God have mercy on us.'
she will, murmured Jacob.
That old couple set for while in silence.
When they were aroused from their painful
thoughts it was by the stopping of wagon
in front of the door. A man entered the room
where they sat. lie was the keeper of the
poor-house.
Some, Mr.. Manfred,' he said, sthe select
men have managed to crowd you into the poor
house. The wagon is ut the door, aud you
can get ready as soon as possible
Jacob Manfred had not calculated the
strength he sholld need for his ordeal. There
was GOODNESS in the very tone and manner
of the man who had come for him that went
like an ice-bolt to his heart, and with deep
groan he sank back i'm his seat.
'Come-be in hurry impationtly urged
the keeper.
At that moment heavy covered carryaIl
drove up the door.
is this the house of Jacob Manfred.
This question was asked by man who en-
tered from the carryall. He was a kind-look-
ing man, about forty years Of age. !
THAT is my name,' said Jacob.
'Then they told me truly uttered the new |
conner. 'Are you from the aims houser he |
turning towards the keeper.
'Yes.'
'And are you after these people!'
yes 90. .-.,.'...-.
sThen you may return. Jacob Manfred
goes to no poor-house while | live.'
The keeper gazed inquisitively upon the |
features Of the man who addressed him, and
then he left the house. .gr |
Don't you remember me!' exclsimed the |
stranger, grasping the old man by the hand.
Il cannot call you to my memory now
do you remember Lucius Williamsp /
'Willismsr repeated Jacob, starting up from
his chair, and gazing earnestly into the face
ofthe man before him.
yes Jacob Manfred Lucins Williams. That
little boy whom. thirty years ago, you saved
from the house of correction; that poor boy
whom you kindly took from the bonds of the
law, and placed on board one one ofyour own
vessels
"a nd are vou-
sYes-yes. am the man you made. You
found me a rough stone from the hands of
poverty and bad example. 1t was you who
brushed off the evil, and who first led me to