The Monitor. [volume] (Woodstown, N.J.) 1884-1892, 1889-05-17
PATIENCE WITH rmE LrErLE ONES.

The following musings from the pen of
the gifted writer, Robert j. Burdette. have
in them a lesson for all fathers-and moth
ers also !:
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 silently back
into it. Every house has these two classes
Of tenants. Do we love best those it'll
whom We can laugh and talk and sing, or
the dear silent ones who come so n~oiseless-
~ to our side and whisper to us in faint,
sweet, %far-away whispers, that have no
sound, so that w only hear their very still
ness?
am not tired, but my pen is weary. 1t
falls from my fingers and I raise my head.
start to leave the table and my eyes fall
upon a little book lying on the floor. 1t is
a little First Reader He left il there
this afternoon. / remember just how
| was impatient because he could not read
the simple little lesson-such an easy
lesson-and told him il was a waste of
my time trying to teach him, and pushed
hin away from me. / remember now. |
see the flush come into the little tired face,
the brave cheerful look in his eyes-his
mothers brave, patient chcerfulness-
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 read it. Then, after a lit
tie struggle alone, il has to be given up,
and the bafled little soldier, with one more
appealing look toward me for reinforce
ments, signs aud goes away from the lesson
he eanuot read to the play that comforts
him. And there lies the little book just as
lie left 1t. Ali me, Ieonld kneeI down and
kiss it now, IS though it we're alive and
loving.
Why, what was my time worth TO me te-
day What was there in the book | want
ed TO read one-haIf 50 precious to me as
one cooling word from the praftllng lips
that quisered when l turned away ? Ihate
the book I read, | will never look at it
again. Were it the last book in the world
/ think ] would bnrn it. All its gracious
words are lies. | say to yea though all
men praise the book, aud though an hour
ago thought it excellent, / say TO you that
there is poison in It's hateful pages. Why,
what can I learn from books that baby lips
cannot teach me- Do you know that |
want TO 20 to tic door Of his room and lis
ten the house is 50 stiil, may be he is not
breathing. Why. if between my books
and my boy I choose my book, why should
not God lesye me with my books , Ny
hateful books.
But / was not harsh. | was only a little
impatient. Because, you see. his lesson
was 50 easy, SO simple. All me. there were
two OF Us trying to read this afternoon.
There were W. easy, simple lessons. Mime
was such a very simple, easy, pleasant.
loving one to learn. Just a line, just a lit
tie throb Of patience, OF gentleness, of
love that would have made my own heart
glow and laugh and sing. The letters
were 50 large and plain, the words SO easy,
and the sentences SO short. And L? Oh,
pity me, ! missed every word. did not
read one line Alright. See here is my copy
now, all blurred and blistered with tears
and headache, all marred and misspelled
and blotted. / am ashamed TO show it to
the Master. And yet know he viii be
patient with me | know low loving and
gentle he will be. Why, how patiently
and lovingly ali these years he has been
teaching me this simple lesson | failed
upon to-day. But when my little pupil
stumbled on a siagle words my time
then, SO much more precious than the Mas
ter's that I cannot teach the little lesson
more than once?
All, friend, We do waste time when We
plait seourges for ourselves. These hurry
ing days, these busy, anxious, shrewd, ann
bilious times OF ours are wasted when they
take cur hearts away from patient gentle
ness and give us fame for love, aud gold for
kisses. Some day then our hungry souls
will ask for bread, our selfish god will give
Us stone. Life is not in every way a deep,
profound, perplexing problem. 1t isa sim
pie, easy lesson, such as any child may
read. You cannot find its solution in the
ponderoas fombs Of the old fathers, the
philosophers. the investigators, The theo-
rists. 1t is not on your boekshelyes, a safe,
uuerriug lessen only. Bat in the warmest
corner Of the most unlettered heart it glews
in letters that the blindest may read; a
sweet, plain, simple, easy, loving lesson.
And when you have learned it. brother OF
mine, the world viii be happier and bet
ter.
FORCED 10 Eeaxe ESsrae.
Oyer co peaple were forced to leave their