Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1892-08-17

Gill; UOJS duNA SlI4os 80 SAAO SOAAO ICY
after day. Dozens of them carry din
ner pals and lunch boxes. In the
morning they go by with bright faces and
sprightly steps, many of them wearing
a fresh flower on their breast. In the
evening they return, not a few of them
weary and worn, and l wonder who,
beside the Great Pitier of us all, waits
for their coming with a welcome of
love. All day long they have been busy
at office, store, factory and mill, and
the thousand and one places where
duty has called them. Work, work,
work, hour after hour, day in and
day out And while hands are
delving, minds are busy with the
thoughts of fading yesterdays. earnest
to-days and brighter to-morrows. How
many of them will ever realize the hope
that is sustaining muscle and mind?
How many of them are performing a
labor of love for those who are worthy
of the offering and the sacrifice? Day
after day the lunch boxes go and come
while the hands that arc carrying them
are building a city, copying the books
and documents, and are mingling all
the checkered thoughts and deeds from
which the mighty weaver, Time, is
significant, and yet what all-important,
parts these humble toilers play! Down
in dingy Easements, up in towering
Office buildings, everywhere amid the
busy marts of trade they perform the
work that fate or fortune has brought
| to them. AS l watch them go and come
1 try to imagine what hopes inspire
| their hearts, what love sustains their
| hon1c 7 wonder if tho Grad lob
homeward bound, still loves the old
wife as he did long years ago when
| they together dreamed sweet dreams.
He was to be prince of men and she
his loving princess. 1 am sure the gor-
geous palace in which they were to
dwell has faded away, and in its place
is an humble cottage or a rented fiat.
And the coach and four has never, new
er stood before their door. Neither has
any other conveyance designed for
pleasure. Only the wagons belonging
to the grocer, the baker and the milk
man have ever stopped there. Or it may
be yet one other vehicle-the symbol OF
death-the hearse.
But if tonight they can greet each
other at the door and call back the old
love light to fading eyes-if he can
hold her worn palm in his, or press
against his cheek the one whose touch
once brought such exquisite pleasure
if the fire In the heart still burns, fate
has been kind to them, and their paths
have not yet led them out OF Paradise.
Sometimes there passes my window
face that awakens in my mind more
than usual interest and I watch its
goings and comings with a deeper
thought than that born of curiosity
remember very distinctly the first
time saw Blossom" pass my win
dow. She wore pink dress and hal
trimmed with ribbons of the same
color; she looked like a fresh spring
flower. Her real name / have never
known; to me she will always be "Blos
SON." Her face was as bright and pref
ty as a dew-washed clover mead on {
June morning, and her neatly-fittii;s
dress and very becoming hat added u
the wlnsome ness of her appearance.
The street in which dwell is by ns
means the most aristocratic in the city
1t is what some would call a plebeiaI
nsiahbQrhood. There ara aRlsens %