The state rights democrat. [volume] (Albany, Linn County, Oregon) 1865-1900, 1872-04-26
BREAD UPON THE WATER.
a REAL LIFE SKETCH.


your hopes are gone. Here we are,
almost worn out with age-all our
children removed from us by the hand
Of death, and ere long we must be in
mates Of the poor.house. Where,
now, is all the bread you have cast
upon the waters?"
The old whitc-haired man looked
up at his wife. He was, indeed, bent
down with years, and age sat trem-
blingly upon him. Enoch Whiting
had been n comparatively wealthy
man, and while fortune had smiled
upon him he had ever been anon 2 the
first to lend listening ear aud help
ing hand TO the case OF distress. But
now misfortune was his. OF his five
boys not one was left. Sickness aud
failing strength found him with but
little, and they left him pennilcss.--
An oppressive embargo upon the
shipping business had been the first
weight upon his head, and other mis-
fortunes came in painful succession
Ehoch and his wife were all alone,
and gannt poverty stared them coldly
in the face.
Don't repine, Mary" said the old
man. True, we are poor, but We are
not forsaken."
"Not forsakcn, Enoch Who is
there TO help us now"
The old man raised his trembling
finger toward Heaven.
"Ah, Enoch, | know God is our
friend; but we should have friends
here Look back aud see how many
you have betrieIdcd i'll days gone
past. You cast your bread upon the
waters with a free hand, but it has
not yet returned to you"
Hush, Mary, you forget what you
say. TO be sure ! may have hoped
that some kind hand oil earth would
lift me from the cold depths Of utter
want: but | do not expect it rs re-
ward for anything ! may have done.
have helped the unfortunate in days
gone by, | have had my full reward in
knowing that / have done my duty to
my fellows. q, of all the kind deeds
have done to my suffering fellows, |
would not for gold have one Of them
blotted out from my memory. All,
my fond wife, t,s the memory of the
good done III life that makes old age
happy. Even now, can hear AGAIN
the warm thanks of those whom |
have beiricndcd, and can see their
happy smile"
Yes, Enoch, returned the wife, in
a lower tone, II know you have been
good, and in your memory you eau
be happy; but alas. there is present
upon which We must look-there is 4
reaiity upon which we must dwell
We must beg for .tood or starCe.''
The old man started, aud a deep
mark Of pain was drawn across his
features.
"Beg!" he replied with quick shud-
der. No, Mary-wc are"
He hesitated, and a big tear rolled
down his furrowed cheek.
I'VE are what, Enoch?''
I'VE are going to the poorhouse.'
40, God! | thought so.'' fell from
the poor wifs's lips, as she covered
her face with her hands. Il have
thought so, and have tried to school
myself TO the thought; but my poor
old heart will not bear it."
DO not give up, Mary softly
urged the old man, laying his hand
upon her arm. at makes but little
difference to us now. We have not
long TO remain on earth, and let us
not wear out our last days in useless
rcpinlngs. Come, come"
But when-shall we go:"
"Now-to-day."
"Then God have mercy upon us!"-
"He WILL" murmured Enoch.
The old couple sat for a while in
silence. When they were aroused
from their painful thoughts; it was by
the stopping of a wagon in front OF
the door. A man entered the room
where they sat. He was the keeper
of the poorhouse.
"Come Mr.. Whiting" he said "the
selectmen and overseer have managed
to crowd you into the poorhouse.-
The wagon is at the door, and you
can get ready as soon as possible"
Enoch Whiting had not calculated
the strength he should need for this
ordeal There was coldness in the
very tone and manner OF the man
who had come for him that went like
an ice-bolt to his seat.
"Come-be in hurry" inpatient
ly urged the keeper.
At that moment a heavy carriage
drove up to the door.
as this the house of Enoch Whit
ing?"
This question was asked by man
who entered from the carriage. He
was kind-looking man, about forty
years of age.
"That is my name," said Enoch.
"Then they told me truly" uttered
the newcomer.
care you from the almshouse?" he
continued, turning toward the keeper.
"Yes."
care you after these people?"
"Yes."
"Then you may return. Enoch
Whiting goes to no poorhouse while
/ live"
The keeper gazed inquiringly into
the features of the man who address
ed him, and then he left the house.
"Don't you remember me?" ex-
claimed the stranger, grasping the
old man by the hand.
Il cannot call-you to my memory
now"
"Do you remember Henry Lewis?'
| ~