Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1857-10-28
NO. XLvI.
From the Springfield Republican.
The Little Tin Pals.


From the Springfield Republican.
The Little Tin Pals.
At about six o'clock passenger cannot walk
2 through the quietest 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 ii against his large buttons one can readily
know that it is empty! Where has he been 2
f What has he been doing? What is the pail for 7
but after all, it has pleasant story in it. Ear
ly in the morning that pail is filled. Before the
! breakfast things are washed and put away it is
!. placed upon the table by the good industrious
j woman who rose before the sun to prepare the
i morning meal and bathe and dress the children.
Her fingers and feet have been very busy all the
morning, and now she stops all other work to
see the labOring husband off to his work and
prepare his noon meal for him. The breed and
meat, the large piece of pie, the gingerbread,
the pickles, and perhaps some dainty bit which
he loves are placed in the little tin pail, one af
! ter another until it is full, and the lid placed
snugly on. lie, the laborer, stands by and looks
on. When all is finished, he gives kiss to the
youngest, says pleasant good morning to his
wife, takes his pail in his hand, and away he
goes. h
From that time he disappears for the day.
No one asks where he goes, and few know. He
swings the hammer, or pushes theplane, or prac-
tices 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 bis mind content. The rich
roll by In their carriages, but he cares not. Gay
! idlers attract his eye for moment, but he de-
spises 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 meal with the true zest, and the bread tastes
as sweetly us manna for he has the health
which labor brings. AT last he reaches the bot
tom, and his eyes moisten as he sees there O
piece of fruit or some little delicacy which the
kind wife has snuggled in unknown to him
something which had cost her selfdenial. Isn't
that sweet meal2 With his appetite and with
the sweet associations which embalm it, it is
feast for the gods. .t-
The whistle sounds again and again the strong
hands and courageous hearts are at work. The
day is now upon the wsne, but he grows little
weary, for there is place In his heart that
feeds the fire on which willing labor depends
His eye is lifted to the clock, bour after hour,
during pauses in his labor, and down falls the
tardy index, until at last the stroke of six runs
ont, and the whistle of release for the day gives
fourteen hours rest The rough hands are wash
ed, the shirt-sleeves rolled down and buttoned,
the coat put on, the little tinpai taken from its
hiding place, and 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 selfrespect, who live manly lives, who
earn and "owe not any man." The little tin
pail rings carelessly at their side, the celebra-
ton OF 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 the houses and tenements
scattered all over the city. In five hundred OF
these the table is set out and at the fire sits the
neatly dressed wife and the Kissing teapot wait
leg the husbands return. Behold the family
group gathered round the evening board Be-
fore these healthy appetites how quickly the vi
ands disappearl And then the good wife wash
es the tea things where they stand and the lit
tie tin pail is cleanly wiped out and polished off
for the next days service. Thus and thus again
the days go round with sound sleep between,
"Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing,
Onward through life he goesi
Each morning sees some task begun,
Each evening sees 1t close;
Something attempted, something done,
He 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 tail Few understand how truly the
little tin pail is the index of the prosperity of
community. The more thickly we meet then,
in the streets the more prosperous do We know
we are growing Oh, let us feel kindly towards
the little tin pals, and deal kindly towards those
who bear them for labor is the truly honorable
thing among men. There is not neatly guarded
lawn, q pretty garden, or q we'll trained tree,
that does not tell fit
1t builds magnificent cities, and builds navfes,
and bridges rivers, and lays tho railroad track,
and forms every part of the locomotive. Wher-
ever steamer plopghs the waves, or the long
canal bears the nations inland wealth; wherev-
er wheat fields wave and the mill wheels turn,
there labor is the conquerer and the king. Tho
newspaper, wherever it spreads its wings, bears
with it the impress of tone hands. Should
not the laborer be well fedi Should he not be
well housedf Should he not have the best wife
and prettiest children in the worldl Should
not the man who produces all that we have to
eat and drink and wear be honored2 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 tolls If
he toll manfuly, honestly, efficiently, and con.
tented. The little tin pail should be badge Of
nobility everywhere, and in the good time
coming, boys" it will be.
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