Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1854-06-08

The VoIcE OF THE SLoP SmRr.-It
was little bundle, neatly packed and
lying on the counter. The shop was
old and weather stained, but the man
that kept it, he was old and stained.
The hollow in his face looked out as il
mercy had there laid her length and
died, and if there ever was kindness in
his eye, it was before he let his soul on
a lease to avarice. We said there was
a bundle neatly 1hcked, lying there,
but there was som niething else-a bony,
blush, knotty veif fed, famished looking
hand-a woman hand. 1t seemed as
| if the blood had never generous tend
II ing to those poor veins, or if it had,
hunger had kept il back.
Under ragged green veil, face
peered out that was pinched and homely;
none of your beauty in distress was
hers; the bitterness at her heart had
wrenched all comeliness away, and she
stood there a suffering, miserable slUp
shop slave.
Before the woman had spoken, a
stranger entered.i At the sound of her
voice he staid his steps, for the concen-
tration of years lof agony, melted out
hour by hour, mohent by moment, tick
by tick of the clock, seemed infused in
that hollow, sepulchral voice.
And you won't pay me?'
Not a cent, yrung out sharply, like
the twang of a rusty wire; 't'other
shirt was spoiled for custom, you ough-
ter make half "a dozen more for no.
thin
But my baby was dying while was
finishing that, and the tears blinded me
till 1 cut the button holes too big. 4
buried my poSr baby-thank God for
taking it from lmisery-and that's what
L want the money for
Can't help, it-don't whine at me;
think | can bury all the poor babies in
creation?'
The woman threw down her veil and
turned to go-as she reached the door,
she exclaimed il shrill tone, You are
warm here, andyour children are warm
at home; mine are starving, freezing
and dying and with one unearthly
shrek she but tst from the shop, and
plunged to batae with the fierce wind.
The stranger who had witnessed all
this, boughttheshirt-butwit with it bought
also the memory of that wretched scene.
Day and night it had a voice for his
ear, and vision for his eye.
He saw ghastly and sinful creatures
about tn wet pavement. but he
dared Judge thet + not with mans judg-
ment, for he tlb bught of that hollow
voice, my babl was dying, and the
tears blinded mel' How knew he but
cruel want had driven them to crime!
The slop shirt, little do we heed its
voice. Itcomes 4 us shining and snowy.
No record it bssrs of the tears that
stained its whit tness, they are all wash
ed away. 1t Yninds us not that the
heart-broken fghs of the. needy have
been dropped .thickly amid its folds
Crowding about it we see no wan faces
Of children. elose-close has it laid
over the moth9r's faded hopes. 1t has
seen the last goal die out in the night
gloom. About frozen fingers it has
been wrapped, in laps where luxury
once nestled has it laid. 1t has felt the
hands once softk knd white and covered
with jewels, it has crowded back the
ears in eyes once| blue. bright aud beau
iful, now cold and diml
A IL IL
'lop shirt. Say a.word at all times, and
everywhere for ths poor sisterhood who
i've by stitching. No matter wheshes
hey were bred il palace, or never
Jaw better walls han the walls of the
loveL, they are Gods children, held un
Ter the lash of ANS bondage. Be
'itiful, then, whichever you hear the
-oice Of the slop SHIRT.
Bo}ton 0liue Branch.