Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1896-06-25
MEMORY-HOPE.
A Pathetic Incident from Real Lifo-It,
......t Teaching.

A Pathetic Incident from Real Lifo-Its
........f Teaching.
If one had read il in Dickens or
George Eliot, or Ian Maclaren. he would
lave counted it stroke of genius. But
it was only in the columns of the morn
ing paper, set up from a reporters pad.
Yet the death of Little Nell" or "Weel-
i'm Mcclure" was not more pathetic or
more fit.
They used TO know him as "the old
est of the newsboys," and doubtless he
was; for he was well pnst three score
years and ten. He was old and poor and
friendless, but had found asylum in
one of the humblest charities with
which the city abounds. He hail his
bunk and his scanty fare; but he was
al reticent about his past rs Drum
tochy's Drumshcugh concerning his
early love for Marget Hoo. On week
Days the rough and ragged competitors
of his who held the neighboring cor
ners as their individual claims would
often throw customer in his way and
forego their usual squab5le for the
coin. On Sundays he would often stand
by the hydrant where he had sold pa
pers and hard out tracts to passers-by.
But he seldom spoke, and never about
himself. They had some name for him
at the refuge, but the newsboys always
called him Dad" indeed he was old
enough to have been great-grandfathe
to many of them. .. ...
But one dry last week he did not rise
from his cot, and the keeper of the beds
swer. He touched him, but there was
no movement in response. And then,
turning up an old worn, weather-beaten
face, he saw it ALL The oldest of the
newsboys was dead. When they had
Strengthened out his limbs for the com
ing of the county undertaken, it o0-
CURED to some one that he had tiny
tin box in the office" Beside his army
button this was his only earthly pos
session. It might reveal the name,
possibly the address of some relative.
lie had guarded it jealousy, and SO
they proceeded to open it with serious
curiosity. In it there was found no
sach memorial of his past as they had
supposed, but bit of writing paper,
turned brown with years; and safely
folded in its recesses lay two withered
violcts; and upon the paper written in
n woman's hand: "He that overcometh,
the same shall be clothed in white raj
mcnt." .H e.
Well, it is not to be wondered at that
they felt the mists gather in the eye;
nor that they folded the paper together
again and placed it in the hand of the
dead soldier who had died in a five
cent lodging house, unknown and un-
named. But they understood right well
that this poor old man had been sup
ported all these years of his poverty
and decreptitudc by memory and a
hope; the memory of some past earth
ly May and the hope Of some celestial
June yet to be.
Life may not have gone so adversely
with any of us, but after all what would
we do without just such supports as
were his? Prosperity alone can never
give that sweet hour of calm at eventide
which comes from the recollection of
vanished loves and the expectation of
promised purity. We do not need to be
profound philosophers, or to have lived
many years, to know that the prince
walks disconsolately amid his gardens
asking himself: "What profit have /
of all my labor under the sum- There
is nothing so beautiful as light, and still
nothing so ghastly. When the morning
bursts it's gates OF splendor the heart of
man opens toward il as the rose unfolda
in dewy dawns; but when under the
glare of the electric candle some Mephis-
topheles whispers his devilish sugges-
tons into the ear of Faust, we go out
into the nightto feel it's darkness and 81
lence as n benediction. Prosperity only
makes life more hideous, if there be
wanting the core of life's sweetness;
but no career can be utterly forlorn
over whose past the light of love still
lingrs and upon whose future the light
CT faith shines.
What if our violets have faded? We
have their memory still; and the hand
that plucked them for us is now beck
oning from beyond to life of rest and
peace clothed in white raiment." Be-
tween earth's passing spring and Heav-
ems full, enduring summer, the conflict
lies; but "he that oyercometh" shall
know joys fullness at the last. Sweet
memory; blessed hope! Possessed of
these we may calmly wait the end. and
at its close, unmatched, unattended, it
may be, we can unobservedly slip
awa'.vT aE "
"In the glory of the sunset.
In the purple mists of evening.
To the region OF the home-wind.
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the kingdom Of Ponemoh,
To the Land of the Hereafter"
Chicago Interior