The Progress. (Shreveport, La.) 1892-1900, 1896-08-29

ShuNcm 10 the
W. H. Insurance and
<\fI = splcnGcr Of Z Gyca.
" < "a house had boon
~ Z: !: :: +: :: i: :: :: !. !: j: !:
- to III" poor MANS
hut a star Of JOY
| shines over thc mangcr. Infancy, with
it@ hc'plcEsnc@s and innocence. had
passed away. Days OF hoyhCCl had
cOme-G1ys Of laughter and fTOlir
days 81 sunshine and promise, days OF
| strange questions and curiosity ard
| quick development. suppose among
| al Che treasures Of Chat house. th"
! brightest was The boy Onc day there
is the shout of reapers heard atcll. i
boys heart always bounds at the sound
| Of sickle or scythe. No sooner haze
| the harVCStcrS cut SWa,h across tnC
field than the lad joins them, and the
| swarthy rc2perS feel young again rs
| they look down at that lad. as bright
! and beautiful as was Ruth in the har-
vest fields Of Bethlehem cleaning after
| the rcapcrs But the sun was too hot
| for him. Congestion Of the brain seized
on him. see the swarihy laborerS
drop their sickles; and they rush out
to sec what is the matter. and they fan
| him as they try to cool his brow; but
all is OF no avail. In the instant Of
consciousness, be puts his hands
against his temples and cries out: "My
head! my head" And the father said:
Garry him to his MOTHER just as any
father would have said; for our hand is
too rough, and our voice is too harsh.
and our foot is too loud 10 doctor a
sick child, if there be in our home Y
gCntler voice and gentler hand and
q stiler fOOtstcp. But all Of no avail.
While the reapcrs of Shuncm wevu busy
in the field, there came stronger reap
| er that way, with keener scythe and for
richer harvest. He rcap2d only one
sheal, but 0 what a golden sheai
was that! | do not want to know
any more about that heart break
ing scene than what see in just this
one pathetic sentence: "IiC sat On her
knees till noon and then died.
Though hundreds OF years have
passed away since that boy skip
ped to the harvest-ield and then was
brought home and died Oh his mothers
lap, the story still thrills us Indeed,
childhood has a charm always and
everywhere. | shall now speak to you
Of childhood; its beauty, its susceptible
ity to impression, its power over The
parental heart, and it's blissful transit
ton from earth to heaven.
The child's beauty does not depend
upon form or feature or complexion or
apparel. That destitute enc that you
saw on the street. bruised with unkind-
ness and in rags, has a charm about
her, even under her dostitution. You have
forgotten a great many persons whom
you have met, of finely-cut features
and with erect posture and with fault
less complexion, while you will always
remember the poor girl vic, on a cold
moonlight night, as you We're passing
late home, in her thin shawl and bare
foot on the pavement, put out her hand
and said: please give me penny"
All! how often we have walked on and
said: "Oh, that is nothing but street
vagabondism;" but after we got a
block or two on, we stopped and said:
"Ah, that is not right" and we pass
ed up that same way and dropped q
mite into that suffering hand, as
though 1t were not matter of second
thought, so ashamed were we Of our
hard-heartedness. With what admira-
ton we all look upon a group Of chill
dren on the playground or in the
school, and we clap our hands almost
involuntarily and say: "How beauti
full" All stiffness and dignity are
gone, and your shout is heard with
theirs and you trundle their hoop, and
fly their kite, and strike their ball. and
all your WEAKNESS and anxiety are
gone as when child you bounded over
the playground yourself. That father
who stands rigid and unsympathctic
amid the sportfulness Of children.
ought never to have been tempted out
Of crusty and unredeemable soitari-
ness. The waters leap down the rocks
but they have not the graceful stem of
childhood. The morning comes out Of
the gates Of the east, throwing its sill
yer on the lake and it's gold on the
towers and it's fire on the cloud: hut II
is not so bright and beautiful as the
morning of life! There is no light
like that which Is kindled in a child's
eye, no color like that which blooms On
a child's cheek, no music like the
sound Of A child'e voice. Tia faro In