Meigs County telegraph. [volume] (Pomeroy [Ohio]) 1848-1859, 1858-05-18
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ABOUT SIX y CLOCK III -Jne NIteTnOOnJ "
Passehgeitcanh6t pass throughthe quitest
streets In the cit ,fwithout meeting men.
each With little tin pull in his hand AS
the bearer swings it at his side, and raps
lit against his large buttons, one can read
! ily know that II Is eiiipts Where has it
been? What has hgl tssn doing? What
is the pail for? Quo may not he able TO
see anything in the pail. but after ALL it
has a pleasant story in it. EarlS in the
morning that pail IS filed Before the
breakfast things are washed and puraway,
I y is nldeed uppn Ghe table ba good iilse
lilstri8as <lsfaii, sehd isisie t;alare the uliti
to prepare the morning neal, and bathe
and dress her Ghildrct Her fingers ana
feet have beeii biisy all the ,rfidriiing; dIid
now she stops all other work to see the la
boring husband off to his work. and pre-
pare his noon meal for him. The bread
and meat, the large piece of pie, the gin
gerbread, the pickles, and perhaps some
dainty bit which she has saved for the man
she loves, are placed in the little tin pail,
one after another, until it is full and the
lid placed snugly on. He, the laborer,
stands by and looks on. When all is fin
ished, he gives kiss to the youngest,
says a pleasant good morning to his wife,
takes his pail in his hand, and away he
goes, s... .sa ~.
F'rdh1 that tin,e he disappears for the
day. Nd ole asks where lie goes, and fe~
know. He s&ihSs the hahimer or pushes
the plano, or practices some other handi-
craft, in doors or out, He tolls all day for
bread and clothing, for hmselfand family:
His arms are Strong, his heart courageous,
and his mind content. The rich roll by in
their carriages, but he does not care for
them. CAY idlers attract his eyes for ii mo-
ment, but he de<pises them. When noon
time comes and the long whistle sounds 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
street as mah1'h; for hb has the health
| which labor brings. At last lie reaches
the bottom and his eyes moisten as he sees
there piece of fruit or some little deli
cacy, which the kind wife has smuggled
in unknown to hitti-Bbmethlng Which
has cost her self denial. Isn't that a
sweet meal? With his appetite, and with
the sweet associations which embalm it,
it is II feast for the gods.
The whistle sounds again, and again the
strong hands drid dottragesds heart are at
work. The day Is tiG@ updl the Aane,
but he grows little weary, for there is Il
warm place in his heart that feeds the fire
upon which willing labor depends: His
eye is lifted to the clock hour after hour,
during pauses in his labor, and down falls
the tardy index, until ut last, the stroke OF
six runs out, and the whistle of release
for the day gives its welcome blast. Be
fore him are twelve or fourteen hours OF
rest! The rough hands are washed, the
shirt sleeves rolled down and buttoned,
the coat put OH; the lttlo tin pail 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 self-respect,
who live manly lives, who earn aid "owe
not any mati.'' The little tin pail swings
carelessly at their side, th6 ttlebriti6A d
Il days labor achieved, of hard m0ncy
hardly won. A thousand children run t.
meet the little tin pals, and beg the priv
ilege of carrying them into the houses and
tenements scattered all over the city. Ii
five hundred of these, the table is already
set out, and at the fire sits the neatly
dressed wife and the Kissing teapot, await.
ing the husb4nd's teturn, Behold the
family group gathered around tho evening
board! Before those healthy appetites
how quickly the viands disappear! And
then, the good wife washes the tea thiiigs
where they stand, and the little TIL pail Is
clearly wiped out and polished off f6r the
next days service. Thus, and thus again
the days 60 round, with long sweet sleel
again: