New Ulm weekly review. [volume] (New Ulm, Minn.) 1878-1892, 1886-07-14
When the Day is Gone.

When the Day is Gone.
r. J. Burdette in Brooklyn Eagle.
How quiet the house is at midnight.
The people who talk and laugh and
sing in it every day are asleep, and the
people who fell asleep in it long ago
come back into it. Every house has
these two classes OF tenants. Do we
love best those with whom we can
laugh and talk and sing, or the dear
silent ones who come so noiselessly to
our side and whisper to us in faint,
sweet, far-away whispers that haveno
sound, so that we hear only their
very stiffness?
am not tired, but my pen is weary.
1t falls from my fingers and l raise my
head. l start to leave the table, and
my eyes fall upon little book lying
on the floor. It is a little "First Read
err He left it there this after.
noon. remember just how l was
impatient because he could not read
the simple little lesson, such an
easy lesson, and told him it was
waste OF my time to teach him, and
pushed him away from me. / remem-
Der now. Isee the flush come into the
little tired face, the brave, cheerful
look in his eyes, his mothers brave,
patient cheeriness. struggling with his
disappointment and pain. see him
lie down on the floor and the little
face bend over the troublesome little
lesson, such a simple easy lesson, any
baby might readi it, Then, after a little
struggle alone, it has to be given up,
and the bat1ed little soldier, with
one more appealing look toward me
for rein1orcements, signs and goes
away from the lesson he cannot read
to the play that comforts him. And
there lies the little book, just as he
left it. All, me, I 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-halfso pre-
cious to me as one cooling word from
the prattling lips that quivered when
1 turned away. I hate the book
read. will never look at it again.
Wereit the last book in the world ]
think would burn it. All it's gracious
words are lies. say to you, though
all men praise the book, and though
an hour ago thought it excellent, ]
say to you there is poison in it's hate
full pages Why. what can learn
frombooks that baby lips cannot teach
me? Do you know I want to go to the
door OF his room and listen; the house
is so still; maybe he is not breathing
Why,if between my book and my boy Il
choose my book, why should not God
leave me with my books? My hateful
books.
But was not harsh. was only
little impatient. Because you see his
lesson was so easy, so Simple. All,
me, there were two Of us trying to read
this afternoon. They were two easy.
simple lessons. Mine was such very
simple, easy, pleasant, loving one to
learn. just a line, just a little throb Of
patience, gentlenes, oflove that would
have made my own heart glow and
laugh and sing. The letters We're so large
and plain, the words SO easy and the
sentences so short. And l! Oh, pity
me, missed every word. I did not
read one word Alright. See, here is my
copy now; all blurred and blistered
with tears and heartache, all marred
and mispelled 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 hi
will be. Why, how patiently and Low.
ing all these years he has been teach.
ing me this simple lesson failed upon
to-day. But when my little pupil
stumbled on single words my time.
then, so much more precious than
the Masters that / cannot teach
the little lesson more than once?
All, friend, we do waste time when
we plait scourges for ourselves. These
hurrying days, these busy, anxious.
shrewd, ambitious times of ours are
wasted when they take our hearts
away from patient gentleness, and
give us fame for love and gold fol
kisses. Some day, then, when oul
hungry souls will seek for bread oul
selfish god will give us stone. Life
is not a deep, profound, perplexlne
problem-it is a simple, easy lesson.
such as any child may read. You
cannot find its solutionin the ponder,
Gus tones OF the old fathers, the phil,
osophers, the investigators, the thee.
rists. It is not on your bookshelves.
But in the warmestcor of the most
unlettered heart it CLOVIS in letters
that the blind may read; a sweet.
plain, simple, easy, loving lesson. And
when you have learned it, brother ol
mine, theworld will be better and hap.
pier.
James Watt, janitor in Milwau