The Somerset reporter., 1886-11-10
Midnight's Quiet Hour.

How quiet TIA house j. at midnight.
| The people who talk and laugh and sing
in ii every day are asleep. and the people
/ who fell asleep IN it long ago come back
/ into it. Every house has these two class
cS of tenants DO we love best those
with whom we can laugh, and talk and
sing, or q dear silent ones who come 81
noiseleSsly To our side and whisper to us
in faint, sweet. PARKWAY whispers that
have no sounds so that we hcar,only their
very stiffness.
am not tired, but my pen is weary. 1t
falls from my fingers and raise my head.
start to leave the table and my eyes fall
upon little book lying ON the floor 1t
is a little First Reader He left it there
this afternoon | remember just how |
was impatient because he could not read
the simple little lc>son-such an easy les
son-and told him it was Il waste of my
time to teach him. aud pushed him away
from me. | remember now | see the
flush come into the little tired face, the
brave, cheerful look in his eyes Ills
mothers brave, patient checrines> strug-
Cling with his disappointment and pain.
| see him lie down ON the iloOr and the
little face band over the troublesome lit
tie lesson, such II simple, easy lesson, and
baby might read it. Then, after n little
struggle alone, it has to be given up, and
the batlcd little soldier, with one more
appealing look toward me for reinforce
mcnts Ni@hSand gocS away from the les
son he cannot read 10 the play that com
forts him. And there lies the HITCHCOCK
just as he left it. ALI me. could knecl
down and kiss II now IL though it We're
alive and loving
Why, what was my lime worth To me
to-day? What WAS there in the book |
wanted Ia read une-half 81 precious to
me a. one cooling word from The pratt
ding lips that quiycrcd when | turned
away | hate the book read | will
never look at it again We're it thu last
book in the world | think would burn it,.
All lis gracious words are lies. say To
you, though all men praise the book and
though an hour ago thought it excellent
sly To you that there i poison in it,
halo lul pages Why. what can | learn.
from books that baby lips cannot learn
me? DO Won know | want to 90 Ia the
door of his room and listen: the house
is 50 still maybe he i not breathing
Why, if between my book and my boy |
choose my book why should not God
leave me with my books: My hateful
books.
But was not harsh. was only a lit
tie impatient Because. You see, his les
son was So easy, 81 simple. All, me.
there were two of us trying to read this
afternoon. They were two easy, simple
lessons. Mine was such a very simple,
easy, pleasant, loving one 10 learn just
Il line, just II little thruh of patience, of
gcnllcneSs. of love that would have made
my own heart glow AMI laugh and sing
The letters were so large and plain, the
words SO easy and the sentences 80 short
And ], oh, pity me, | missed every word.
did not read one line Alright See. here
is my copy now, all blurred and bli~tcrcd
with tears and hcartache, all married and
miSspclled and blottel am ashamed to
show it to the Master. And vet | know
He will be patient with me; know how
loving and gentle He will he. Why, how
patiently and lovingly all these years He
has been teaching me this simple lesson |
failed upon to-day. But when my little
pupil stumbled on Il single words my
time, then, so much more precious than
the Masters. that ! cannot teach the lit
tie lesson more than once;
All, friend, we do waste time when we
plat scourgcS for ourselves. These hur-
ryiug days these busy. anxious. shreWd,
ambitious times of ours are wasted when
they take our hearts away from patient
gcntlcnc>S, and give us fame and love
and gold for kisses. Some day, then.
when our hungry souls will seek for
bread, our selfish god will give us a stone.
Life is not deep, profound. pcrpleNing
problem. 1t i simple. easy lesson.
such rs any child may read You cannot
find its solution in the punderou> tones
al. IL