The River Falls journal. (River Falls, Pierce County, Wis.) 1857-1861, 1857-07-01
The Little Tin Pals.

AHC LIaakC l1u n t1ESs
About six o'clock in the afternoon, q
passenger cannot walk through the quiet
est street in the city without meeting men
each with little tin pail in his hand. -
AS the bearer swings it by his side, and
raps it against his large buttons, one can
readily know that it is empty. Where has
he been? What has he been doing =
What is the pail fora One may not be
able to see anything in the pail, but after
all, is has pleasant story in it. Early in
the morning that pail is filled. Before
the breakfast things are washed and put
away, it is placed upon the table by good
industrious woman, who rose before the
sun, to prepare the morning meal and
battle and dress the children. Her fin
gers and feet have been busy all the
morning, and now she stops all other
work to see the laboring husband off to
work, and prepare his noon meal for him.
The bread and meat, the large pieces of
pie, the gingerbread, and, perhaps, some
dainty bit which she has saved for the
man she loves, are placed in the little tin
pail, one after the other, until it is full, and
the lid placed snugly on. He, the labor
er, stands by and looks on. When all is
finished, ne gives kiss to the youngest,
says pleasant good morning to his wife,
takes his pal in bis hand, and away he
goes.
From that time he disappears for the
NJ
know. He swings the hammer, or push
es the plane, or practises some other han
dicraft, in doors or out. He tolls all day
for bread and clothing, for himself and
family. His arms are strong, his heart is
courageous, and his mind content. The
rich roll by in their carriages, but he
cares not Gay idlers attract his eye for a
moment but he despises them. When
noontide comes, and the long whistle
sounds at the shops, he drops his work
and opens his little tin pail. Down goes
the meat with true zest, and the bread
tastes as sweetly as mama, for he has the
the health which labor brings. AT last ne
reaches the bottom, and his eyes moisten
as he sees there piece of fruit, or some
little delicacy, which the kind wife had
struggled in unknown to something
which had caused her no little self-denial.
Ism that sweet meal? With his appe-
tite, and with the sweet associtioans which
embalm it, it is feast for the gods.
The whistle sounds again, and again the
strong hands and courageous heart are at
work. The day is now upon the wane,
but he grows little weary, for there is a
warm place in his heart that feeds the fire
on which willing labor depends. His eye
is lifted to the clock, hour after hour, dur
ing pauses in his labor, and down falls the
tardy index, until, at last the stroke of
six rings out, and the whistle of release
for the day gives its welcome blast. Be-
fore him are twelve or fourteen blessed
hours of rest, The rough hands are
washed, and shirt sleeves rolled down and
buttoned, the coat put on, the little tin pail
taken from its hiding place, and he is in
the street again. Now the streets are full
of little tin pals. They are carried by
men who have self respect, who live many
lives, who earn their bread, and ssowe not
any man." The little tin pail rings care
lessl y at their side the celebration of a days
labor achieved = of hard money hardly
won. A thousand children run to meet
the little tin pals, and beg the privilege of
carrying them into houses and tenements
all over the city. In five hundred of these
the table is already set out, and at the fire
sits the neatly dressed wife and the kissing
teapot, awaiting the husbands return
Behold the family group gathered around
the evening boardl Before those healthy
appetites how quickly the viands disap-
pear And then the good wife washes
the tea things where they stand, and the
little TIN pail is eleanly wiped out and pol
ished off for the next days service. Thus
and thus again, the days go round, with
long, sweet sleep between.
"Toiling-reloicing-
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
| Each evening sees it close;
| Something attempted, something done,
| Has earned nights repose.''
God bless the laborer, God bless lhis
companion, the little tin pail. May it ev-
ermore be as full of love and all loves
sweet associations as it is filed each morn
ing with food, and may the food never
fail. Few understand how truly the little
tin pail is the index of the prosperity of a
community. The more thickly we meet
them in the streets, the more prosperous
do we know that we are growing. Oh
let US feel kindly towards the little tia
pals. and deal kindly towards those who
bear them. For labor is the truly honor
able thing among men. There is not a
neatly graded lawn, a pretty garden, OF
well trained tree that does not tell of it
! 1t builds magnificent cities, and creates