The new Northwest. [volume] (Portland, Or.) 1871-1887, 1877-08-17

"Quite true. How did it happen ?u
"Well, me and Stumpy was down to
the depot looking for shines, and 1 bet
i'm my box was strongern his'n, and
be bet it wasn't, and set his'n down for
me to try on. Then l takes my box by
the strap and 1 whirls it round and
brings it down on his'n, and rGeOrge,
sir his box flew all to bits, and his
blackin' and brushes was scattered
furder'n you could see 'em That makes
Stumpy mad, sir, and he ups and kicks
me on the track, and fore 1 could light
of, the engine was down on meW
Wouldn't you like to kill Stumpy
for getting you crippled ?"
"Oh, no, sir Stumpy didn't mean to
Laws, no p'
"WelI, what are you going to do with
yourself?"
"Git we'll"
"Get well Wouldn't you rather die p?
Are you happy?"
The boot-black looked at him sim
cerely.
mo. I'd rather git well. Pm happy"
"What makes you so ?"
"Cos."
"Good reason. Always have been
contented, l presume?"
'Pretty much"
"How many parents have you?"
"Hain't got none. Never had 'em."
'Son of celestials! But, of course, no
earthly pair could give the world a
thoroughly happy SON."
Happy knew his visitor was chatting;
but his own eyes twinkled in sympathy
with the gentleman's humor.
"How have you lived ?' continued
st. Simon.
"On wittIes."
''But [ mean how have you got along
how have you prospered? ?"
"Why, 1 shine 'em for a nickel, sir,
and when trade is good sleeps at the
Newsboys' Home, and when it isn't /
knows some boxes and bar'ls."
He had just such a face as one of
Smiths own boys. The father could
not keep his hand off it. Not so quite
so round; a little paler. st. Simon
stroked it.
"Here, you're making me sentiment
tai, Happy. Let me buy your secret
and I'll be gone"
81 amt got none."s
happy?"
"'Cos can't help it no more than
anybody else cam"
Everybody else? forsooth! Every
body else has some mote in the eye or
some straw in the wayl You are a
unique animal in this world. Don't
cloudy skies ever depress you? Don't
you fear hunger or privation of some
| kind? Don't you have hard luck Don't
! you want to be rich or smart, or to run
for an office? Don't you want two legs
and new pair of boots, and a brown
stone front to set the boots in and SER
wants to kick with them, and pew in
church where you can wear out the
! toes in prayer? My gracious, Pm get
ting disgusted with you, my boy What
business have you to be happy, any
way ?"
The boot-black laughed out loud, and
bumped his head back further in his
pillow; then putting both hands under
it he piped, as if be really couldn't help
! it:
Whether we sleep or whether we wake,
we are His who gave Himself for our saker" &"
."Ohr you're religious, are you? Case
of real piety."
mo, amt. don't know what that
is"
"Where did you learn your hymn ?"
"Stumpy and the other boys, they
teached it to me. And when l feel aW-
full good l like to sing it,"
"What do you think it means ?U
at means that a fellows all right.
When see the limbs swingin' in the
park, and the birds on 'em gettin' a
teeter free gratis, feel like singin' it..
And l sings it in the street, and stormy
nights well, [ most ginar'ly sings it a
good DEAL"
YOU'RE most ginar'ly all right,
then? ?n
eyes, I am"
"Sir," said nurse, approaching, "he
hasn't had much fever, but the doctor
says he mustn't talk great deal"
"IIl come and see him again." said
St. Simon.
He came in the evening, and found
his legless boot-black sleeping like a
baby. A flush was on his cheek, and
his lips were parted with a laugh;
pretty soon he caught his breath, swaI-
lowed, and murmured:
Whether we sleep or whether we wake.
| We are His who gave Himself for our sake -
''Now," said st. Simon to himself. as
he returned to his own house, "the NJ vs.
terry of my own life is revealed to me.
You can't make a chimney-sweep
happy says Carlyle, without giving
him all the universe to enjoy himself
in suppose this little legless fellow
is able to reach through his ignorance
and misery, and in some blind fashion
to hug the universe up and enjoy it..
Temperament! 1t isn't all in tempera-
ment. It's a-hang me! If I can tell
what it is But it's faculty of the soul
something like the perfume of a flower
or the song of bird And 1 haven't
got it ! l would give one of my strong
hands to be able to stand, clogged by
misery or surfeited with delights, and
look abroad over the whole sum of ex-
istence as that little fellow does, feel
ing with such utter responsibility
! that
At this point st. Simon Smith begun
to hum under his mustache:
Whether we sleep or whether we wake,
We are His who gave Himself for our sake ~
Good words, like dew drops, fall ST.
lently; but who can tell their effects
!
! AGENTS FOR THE NEW EnRrKrvuuS,r