The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1888-12-19
&clctttO Sturp.
nrrnll.lart u Rainbow Slone.

I hose VINO are ldmlllar Win KuSkln
Ethics of the Dust will remember the
poor little rock-crystal born near
Beaufort, in Savoy" that had to fight
with vile calcareous mud from the be-
ginning to the end of its career, and
in its brave struggles with the unfortu-
nate acknowledgement once yield
ing, never acknowledging defeat.
Many will have been reminded of hui
man lives, which, springing up amid
the disheartening influences of poverty,
beaten down by disappointment and
disaster, stunted by lack of opportunity,
have yet been lived out courngeously,
their seemingly hopeless ills overcome
or turned into good by can unconquer-
able purity or vital power, and strength
of crystal spirit"
When | read this touching story of
the crystal there comes always before
me still more touching story of a boy
very simple story, hut worth the tell
ing, it seems TO me, because it shows
what people can not be shown too often,
viz, that life may be utterly obscure
and wretched, yet wholly noble. when
inspired by force of heart and steadi-
ness of purpose.
In large mining population it goes
without saying that accidents to life
and limb are Of almost daily occur
renee; also that hospital in such a re-
gion is "A prime necessity. Going one
day through the wards Of hospital in
which seven-eighths of the patients were
victims of falling coal, broken cables
or lire-damp, passing poor, scorched
wretches wrapped from bead to foot in
n,1nI I'll H.;
tured legs in wooden boxes, others vet,
cheerful and painless, on water-beds-
which mean broken backs, which
mean DEATH came at length to
young fellow 81 ting up, his right arm
gone from the shoulder, his head all
bound in cloths, unre cognizable, surely,
to his nearest friend. He looked at me
very eagerly and | stopped to speak
to him. To my surprise he said,
"Don't you remember me?" No, |
did not remember him, and was obliged
to say so.
Don't you remember Frank Tucker
that used to be in your Sunday-school
class at the Rainbow Sope?"
Then suddenly vision of the grimy
school-house started out before me, and
one night especially came back-a
Christmas night when we had presents
for the children, and tree driving out
from town late in the snowy afternoon
to dress iD; and recalled how some one
came and said there were three little
girls at the door who wanted to come
in but didn't like to, because they had
never been TO the school, and how /
went out and found them-three ragged
little tots-accompanied by their big
brother, twelve years old, this same
Frank. He, too, was in tatters and
had no shoes Oh, but he stepped up in
simple, manly way, saying: "They
haint never seen a Christmas tree, so |
told 'em I'd bring 'em, and may be the
ladies would let 'em peep in and look
at it," OF course they were admitted,
and Frank as WELL though he entered
reluctantly, apologizing for his bare
feet. | learned afterwards that he had
carrying the little ones by turns in his
arms.
His face was plain one and hunger
worn, yet there was look in his eyes
not bold but brave, and patient too-a
look of endurance and determination,
and withal sunny look as of one who
could take fortunes Bullets and re-
wards with equal grace.
AS result of this Christmas visit his
sisters and he became members of the
school, Frank coming into my class.
Shortly after, visited their home,
situated near to the great breaker,n
never free from its incessant roar, and
black within and without with its fine
coal-dust.
Mr.. Tucker worked in the mines,
earning from three to four dollars dav,
yet the family appeared to be in the
most abject poverty. He came home
while | was there and his condition told
the whole sad tale.
-Four years ago Frank, then but eight
years old, had been obliged to begin
picking slate, and his poor little earn
ings had furnished bread and potatoes,
but little else. Soon he would be pro-
NOTED to mule-driving, and then some
of them might perhaps get some new
clothes.
But through all the work and weari-
ness and worry Frank had never com
planned, never despaired. The vile
calcareous mud had indeed come down
upon him early and heavily, and nearly
buried him, but he wouldn't be buried.
not he. Over it he threw the clear
crystal of his unfailing cheerfulness
and patience-buried in turn the cruel
clay that was strangling the life out of
him; never changed his purpose, which
was simply to do as well as he could
and not fret about what he couldn't do.
A mean, low aim He had no ambi-
tions, this lad, no dreams of being
great and rich some day, no great thirst
for knowledge, no ideas beyond his
sphere.
A miserable ideal to hold up for emula-
toni Well, l don't know. 1t does
sound little so, confess; yet |
heard his mother, a crushed, faded,
hopeless woman, say: " Frank is my
sunlight; he's my comfort; he don't
never complain; he just takes every
thing that comes and says, Never
mind I'd have died long ago if it
hadn't been for Frank" When ! saw
him going barefooted and knew that his
sisters had shoes in consequence, when