San Andreas independent., 1857-07-11

raps it against his large buttons, one can read
ny know that it is empty Where has he been
" nat has he been doing? What is the pail for?
one may not be able to see anything in the pail
out, after all 1t has pleasant story in it. Early
II" tue morning that pail is filled. Before the
o,e''A,aSt thngS are washed and put away, it is
placed upon the table by good ndustrious
woman who rose before the sun to nrenare tho
morning meal and bathe and dress the children
Her fingers and feet have been very busv all the
niornihg, ana now she stops all other work to
see the laborlng husband off to his work and
prepare his noon meal for him. The bread and
meat, thelarge piece of pie the gingerbread the
pickles, and perhaps some dainty bit which She
mas saved Tor the man she loves are placed in
the little TIN pail, one after another until il is
full, ana the I'D placed snugly on. He, the la
oorer, STANDS py and looks on. When all is fin-
ished. he gives kiss to the youngest. saws a
pleasant good morning to his wife. takes his
pail in his hand, and away he goes.
From that time he disappears for the dav.-
No one asks where he goes, and few know He
swings the hammer, or pushes the plans or
practices some other handicraft in doors or out.
He tolls all day for bread and clothing. for him.
self 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 des-
pises them. When noOntide comes, and the
long whistles sound at the shops, he drops his
work, and opens his little tin pail. Down goes
the meat with the true zest, and the bread
tastes as swectly as mamma, for he has the health
which labor brings. At last, he reaches the
bottom, and his eyes moisten as he sees there
piece of fruit or some little delcacy which
the kind wife has smuggled in unknown to him
something which had cost her self-denial-
Isn't that a sweet meal? With his appetite, and
with the sweet associations 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 warm place in his heart
that feeds the fire on which willing labor de-
pends. His eye is lifted to the clock, hour after
hour, during pauses in his labor, and down falls
the tardy index, until, at last the stroke of six
out, and the whistle of release for the day
gives its welcome blast. Before him are twelve
or fourteen blessed hours of rest the rough
hands are washed, the shirt sleeves rolled down
and buttoned, the coat put on, the little tin pail
taken from its hiding place, aud he is in the
street again. Now we meet him. Now the streets
are full of little tin pals. They are carried by
men who have self-respect who live manly
lives, who earn, and owe not any man." The
little tin pail rings carelessly at their Sides the
celebration of days labor achieved-of hard
money hardly won. A thousand children run
to meet the little tin pals, and beg the privile-
ges OF carrying them into houses and tenements
scattered 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
board Before those healthy appetites how
quickly the viands disappearl And then the
good wife washes the tea things where they
stand, and the little tin pail is ceanly wiped
out and polished off for the next days service.
Thus and thus again, the days go round, with
! sound sweet sleep between
"ToiliDg-reioicing- g-sorrowing-
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees its close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned nights repose."
God bless the laborer! God bless his COM
panion, the little tin pail. May it evermore be
as full of love and all loves sweet associations
as it is filled each morn 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 to-
wards the little tin pals, and deal kindly to-
wards those who bear them. For labor is the
truly honorable thing among men. There is not
a neatly graded lawn, pretty garden or well
trained tree that does not tell of it.
1t builds magnificent cities, and builds nayies.
and bridges rivers, and lays the railroad track.
and forms every part of the locomotive Wher-
ever steamer ploughs the waves, or the long
canal bears the nations inland wealth; wherever
wheat fields wave and mill wheels turn, there
labor is the conquerer and the king. The news
paper wherever it spreads its wings bears with
it the impress of toilng hands. Should not the
laborer be well fed? Should he not be well
housed? Should he not have the best wife and
the prettiest children in the world? Should not
the man who produces all that we have to eat
and drink and wear, be honored? To us, there
is more true poetry about the laborer's life and
lot than any other mans under Heaven 1t
matters not in what calling man toils-if he
toll manfuly, honestly, efficiently and contented.
The little tin pail should be badge of nobility
everywhere, and in the "good time coming,
boys" it will be-Springfeld Republican.