The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1886-03-04

The Thoughts that Como When the Housc
II. Quiet mt MIDNIGHT.

N tttiet at pAiOutknt-
How quiet is the house at midnight.
The people who talk and laugh and
sing in it every day are asleep. and the
people wlo fell asleep in it long ago
come silently back into it. Every
house has these two classes of tenants.
Do W, love best those with whom we
can lsagh and talk and sing, or the
dear silent ones who come so noiselessly
to our side and whisper to MS in faint,
sweet. far-away whispers, that have no
sound, so that we only hear their very
st Illness.
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 little First Reader" He
left it there this afternoon. 1 remem-
Der now. 1 remember just how / was
impatient because he could not read
the simple little lesson-such an easy
lesson-and I told him it was waste
Of my time trying to teach him. and
pushed him away from me. / remem-
Der now. / see the flush come into the
little tired face, the brave, cheerful
look in his eyes--his mothers brave,
patient cheeriness with his
disappointment and pain. / see him
lie down on the floor and the little face
bend over the troublesome little lesson
such simple, easy lesson, any baby
might read it. Then, after little
struggle alone. it had to be given up.
and the batfied little soldier, with one
more appealing look toward me for re-
endorsements, signs and goes away
from the lessons he cannot read to the
play that comforts him. And there
lies the little book, just as he left it,
All, me, could kneel down and kiss it
now, as though it were alive and loving.
Why, what was my time worth to me
to-day? What was there in the book
wanted to read one-half SO precious to
me as one cooling word from the pratt
thing lips that quivered when 1 turned
away? 1 hate the book / read. /
never will look at it again. Were it
the last book in the world l think /
would burn it. All its gracious words
were lies. say to you, though all men
praise the book, and though an hour
ago / thought it excellent, 1 say to you
that there is poison In it's hateful pages.
Why, what can learn from books that
baby lips can not teach me? Do you
know that / want to go to the door of
.his room and listen; the house is so
still maybe heis not breathing. Why,
If between my books and my boy
choose my books, why should not God
leave me with my books? My hateful
books.
But 1 was not harsh. / was only q
little impatient. Because, you see, his
lesson was so easy, SO simple. All, me,
there were two of us trying to read this
afternoon. There were two easy, sim
pie lessons. Mine was such very
simple, easy, pleasant, loving one to
learn. just line, just little throb
of patience, Of gentleness, of love that
would have made my heart glow and
laugh and sing. The letters were so
large and plain, the words so easy, and
the sentences so short. And /? Oh,
pity me, / missed every word. 1 did
not read one line Alright. See, here is
my copy now, all blurred and blistered
with tears and heartache, al married
and misspelled and blotted. L am
ashamed to show it to the Master.
And yet know he will be patient with
me; know how loving and gentle he
will be. Why, how patient and loving
all these years he has been teaching me
this simple lesson l failed upon to-day.
But when my little pupil stumbled on
single words my time, then, so
much more precious than the Masters
that / can not teach the lesson more
than once.
All, friends, We do waste time
when we plat scourges for ourselves.
These hurrying days, these busy, anx-
ious, ambitious times of ours are vast
ed when they take our hearts away
from patient gentleness, and give us
fame for love and gold for kisses.
Some day, then, when our hungry
souls will ask for bread, orr selfish god
will give us stone. Life is not deep,
profound, perplexing problem. 1t is
simple, easy lesson, such as any child
may read. You cannot find its solution
in the ponderous tones of the old
fathers, the philosophers, the investi-
gators, the theorists. 1t is not on your
book shelves. But in the warmest
corner of the most unlettered heart it
glows in letters that the blindest may
read; sweet, plain easy, loving lesson.
And when you have learned it, brother
of NINE the world will be better and
happier R. u. BurdeH