The semi-weekly messenger., 1907-12-17
SEEN ON THE STREET
Thoughts of Observer Upon Seeing Be-
reayed Husband Wheeling Mother
less Baby IL. Carriage-The Passing
of Martin ID. Hardin.

of Martin ID. Hardin.
The man was rolling baby-car-
riege along the stree. in front OF Try
on Street Methodist church. There was
nothing extraordinary in that It was
the usual baby carriage, one OF the
+ rany that were rolling into the fine
enght and air of the afternoon. In the
carriage the finest dimpling baby face
looked out of billowy covering and mes
tied against pillow; and bright laugh
ing eyes looked with wonder at the
blue sky, where the tall tower OF the
church shoots upward like an arrow.
At the babys feet Teddy bear was
ridding in silence one foot stuck out
at an impossible angle and its head
hidden under a fold Of covering, There
was, we repeat, nothing unusual IN
this. One may pass many such on
fine afternoon on the streets Of Char
Iotte; many such faces fash their
beautiful smiles upon us as We hurry
Fast, bent on the weary missions Of
more unhappy years.
Bat for all that, this baby-carriage.
the tiny face of its occupant, and the
eyes Of the man that rolled it, made
the writer walk more slowly and gaze
blankly into space. The flowers are
hardly withered yet upon the grave Of
the woman who, called upon farther
journey, left these two to make their
way alone into the years. And SO when
the day is fair and his work permits,
he Wanders his mOtherless baby about
the streets, tucks in the cover clumsily
ara tries to be gen1ie as he touches
its tiny face with Ms unaccustomed
hands.
And he buys Teddy bears and puts
them in the carriage for his baby's de-
light as he rolls it on tO-nowhere.
Who can blame him for coming out
into the open world? Who would make
him stay where every sight and sound
must tear his soul with pain that new
er yet found a word? But he must go
back. Night is coming on, the sky
is lighting with evening colors; the
wind is becoming chilled with the
go back, God pity him, to a door in
which no woman stands to smile the
old light of welcome. He must go
back to the silence-that silence that
cries out with every wall that ever
broke from the lips of grief. He must
see some little tender things that her
hands have made an1 her heart has
loved. He must recall some word or
look, the memory OF which he would
pass through the fires of hell to burn
away
But night deepens and the baby
head is becoming heavy, the eyes arc
closing; he must sing the old lillaby
to his child.
Keep the voice steady, my friend.
Or you will wake your baby. For its
sake you must sing the old song ana
keep back the moan of yur breaking
heart.
And the vision that you see across
the cradle, vision of her as she used
to sit when lights were low and she
croOned her baby to sleep you must
not stretch out your arms in bitter
yearning nor cry aloud; it will wake
the child.
Look up, there is d presence bend
ing over you. Can Your tear blinded
eyes not see it? Even in heaven her
soul cannot be at rest as twilight shad-
6ws gather around you. she has come
to bless you and her sleeping baby.
Surely God will let ner. He who guard
ed the Manger with Mary's wistful
eyes.
For many reasons that seem good t.