The Scranton tribune. [volume] (Scranton, Pa.) 1891-1910, 1902-07-12
\ VIEWS OF
Y A WOMAN

U
W great deal and it is blessed
w thing that we can; for If we
wept for all the sorrows Of earth it
would be a vale of tears indeed. We
hear of great calamities-perhaps Of
thousands perishing from famine in
India. and we say placidly. How ter
rible!" and go blithely off to card
party or the club-India is so far away.
We read Of the volcanic eruption in
Martinique and it brings us to a little
pause in our haste because of it's being
rather remarkable in the way of dis
asters 1t contains certain element
of romance, too; a flavor as it were, of
Sodom and GomOrrah, of Pompei in
her last days, of the Belshazzar feast
night, of that other night when
The Angel of Death spread his wings on
the blast.
And brea thed in the face of each one as
he passed;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed dead
ly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved and
forever grew still.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in
their wall.
And the idols are broke in the temple
of Baal.
And the might of the Gentle, unsmote
by the sword.
Hath melted like dew in the glance of the
Iord!"
But even Martinique is rather remote
and we soon forget the first shock of
the horrible details, and we only sigh
comfortably and remark that we are
glad there are no volcanic disturbances
in Pennsylvania, even If there may be
queer politics.
We read of the catastrophes that seem
to pursue Inflated Johnstown, and that
is nearer home and naturally distresses
us more. Yet we say, "Oh, we know
all about mine disasters; we have them
ourselves." and because we do know
all about them we don't take the one
of our afflicted neighbor so intensely to
heart as might be supposed.
We hear about some foolish girl and
her profligate companion meeting a
tragic death in an eastern village, and
we peruse the evil story with absorbed
interest when their being in or out Of
the world Is of little Importance, and
the world would be better if such
crimes in every detail were less ex-
plotted. Yet we scarcely trouble to
read more than the two-line head of
the item briefly telling about the crush
ing of two men in the mines-we are
$50 used" to that, too; and we read Of
railway accident and say casually,
Only the brakeman was killed."
"Only the brakeman" and we don't see
the agony in the desolate home-per-
haps the destitution likely to follow be-
cause "only the brakeman was killed."
n tnof
sympathetic and hard; not because we
are so occupied with our own affairs
that we cannot stop to feel sorry. 1t is
simply because there is so much grief
In the world that most of it must
necessarily be remote from us and
touch US but lightly. If the brakeman
lived next door or was some one we
knew, there would be no lack of SYM
pathy ON our part and we should hasten
to that home and take our kind words
and our flowers and drop our tears as
we would for one of our own. Sympa-
thy knows no class distinction If the
sorrow only comes next door-If it is
in the next block, that is a different
matter.
The other day a good woman died.
Out Of her abundance she had given to
everyone who touched her life. To the
rich she gave gentle words and friend
ly interest which had in 1t unique
quality in that it was genuine. To the
poor she gave the gentle words and
food and money and tender care. When
she lay dead in her splendid home,
costlest flowers covered the place of
her rest. There We're orchids of price,
less value, lilies out Of season and Won
derful treasures of tropical skies: yet
among them. none sweeter, none dear
er-lay a cluster Of nameless roses from
the homely, old-fashioned garden of an
old woman woh used to sell vegetables
at the kitchen door of the great house.
Bent and old, she brought them one
morning and sobbed bitterly as she
looked at the quiet face in the peace of
a last slumber. you was good to me-"
she said brokenly. you come to see
tie girl died, and now you are gone and
I wish you could know how bad 1 feel
this day" There is no class distinc-
tion in sympathy when grief comes
next door to our hearts.
Those who read yesterday of the ele-
vator accident where little boy had
MS Ire cTuSneu out III u teTTlDle Hlan-
ner, probably shuddered and looked It
their own children with thrill of hor-
ror as a vision of what it might have
meant to them, was real for the mo-
ment Then they put the incident out
of their minds as quickly as possible;
1t was not pleasant to reflect upon.
l wonder If every day they had seen
that handsome little fellow with his
yellow curls and his sunny smile as
he ran in and out of the halls, proud
of being able to help his father, and
then could have had one glimpse of
the poor mutilated little form, the fair
curls dampened and darkened by a
dreadful baptism, they could ever
again see an elevator without sick
ening faintness of the heart l wonder
If they had seen that father, rocking
sobbing little child in his arms. and
sobbing deeply, pitifully himself, as a
strong man sobs, he waited for his son
to be laid at his feet, they could have
turned aside from the printed story OF
the tragedy with only sigh of mo-
mentary interest. 1t means more to
l.,