The central Presbyterian. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1856-1908, 1876-01-12
HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY.
BY MARY GORDON.

When was a little girl, there was always
a fascination to me about true story"
If mother read to me from book or paper,
the first question as she closed was, " S'pOse
it's true ?" If she said "Yes," then l could
give myself up to the full enjoyment of the
story; but if she expressed doubt on the
subject, half the interest vanished. l felt as
if my sympathies had been imposed upon,
and my conscience even did not feel obliged
to take home the good lesson it taught. The
story l am going to tell you is true one. l
will give it to you just as l have heard it in
the city where the man lived whom it IS
about. So no roguish little fellow can ex-
cuse himself from the moral of it, BY saying
that it is made up
In the north of Germany there is curious
old town called Brunswick. Many years ago
a count who resided there took journey into
Italy. Now Italy is country full Of beg
CARS. All the lanes aud small streets are
crowded with the Indications Of miserable
creatures, who have nothing to live upon bat
the pennies occasionally thrown to them by
the hand of the passer.by. They beg az the
doors of the rich. They sta5d at the corners
of the streets, reaching out their dirty, squalid
hands to every one who comes near them,
in hope of receiving cent, and some of the
stronger ones often run miles after the car
riage of the traveller, crying out for money
at the tops of their voices. The grown peO-
pie have few tatters hung about their forms,
but the children are often entirely naked.
In the course of his journey, the count
from Brunswick was one day driving through
the streets of Rome, and found himself pur-
sued by crowd of these haltfamished chill
dren, who, attracted by his brilliant equipage,
hoped for an unusually large shower Ofsmall
coin. However, as this was no uncommon
sight to the count, he kept quietly on With
his drive till one by one their clamOriug
voices died away, as their weary little feet
Jagged behind in the distance. Only one
boy, Carlo, managed TO keep up with the gay
carriage, perhaps because he was more hun.
CRY than the rest. lie cried continually for
money, and swung his old battered hat in
the air. The count annoyed at his per8i8-
tency shook his fss at him, and the driver
reached back to crack the whip about his
ears. But it would have been just as easy
to get at a birds tail VITA " fresh salt, as
to get at Carlos ears WITH the whip. lie
had played at that game before, snd with
wonderful little dodge he always managed to
be just where the whip was not. The count
observing this, told the coachman to try his
lash on the horses instead, Thjs worked
better, for though Carlo was a good runner,
in a few moments the spirited horses had
taken the count out of reach of the pitiful
little vail, and be thought himself 6aslly rid
of the annoyance.
You have perhaps heard of the church of
st. Peter in Rome. It is the most wonder
ful church in the world and when the count
reached it, he wished to stop and look at it,
for he had never seen anything like it in lit, /
tie old,fashioned Brunswick. He was en-
tirely absorbed in admiration for the fac
building, when who should all at oaes come
trotting up to the carriage, quite cat Of
breath, but Carlo, crying " Money, money"
as loud as he could. This vas a little too (
much for the counts patience. He put his
hand in his pocket and took ont handful
of small coin, which he threw angriy into /
the ragged hat Of Carlo with the exclamation,
q There, take it and be of, you rascal!
TIE boy was too glad Of the money to notice
the cross words; besides he was used to them;
everybody spoke to him in that way. lie
turned and walked leisurely back to public
square not far distant, where he sat down in