Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1910-12-31
What Are We "kickine" About7

Henry, and we may safely add. that it
Is just as natural to indulge in eX-
pressions Of discomfort and dissatis-
faction With our lot in life. Even at
this glad Christmas time We arc prone
to complain Of hard times and our in
ability to do this or do that; and
some Of us seem to feel that we are
very much abused-that we are not
getting all that We deserve out of this
life shuttle. But to those who are
complaining, We would suggest that
they look about and compare such IN
cidents as that which follows with
their own lot in life.
In a Brooklyn, \. Y, tenement
house, Wednesday. a patrolman was
told that Mrs Margaret Plumb and her
three small children had not been seen
for four days; that repeated KNOCKS
on the door had not been answered.
The policeman burst in the door, and
in a miserable little room he found.
living on a mattress, Mrs. Plumb with
her nine months old son in her arms.
Both were almost dead from starVa-
ton. On a cot nearby was her four
r-old son, Wardleigh. who was IN a
coma from u like cause. On another
pallet was Edna, three years Old. she
was unconscious, her little face drawn
with pain. There was no covering on
the cot, and the policeman saw that
the child had a broken leg. Later he
learned that the girl had fractured the
limb five days previously, and had lam
there suffering till consciousness lett
her. Between the two beds, on
piece Of torn carpet, was a small
brown dog, SO weak that it was unable
to snarl at the policeman. Near the
dog and as though guarded by the
starved animal, was a wee Christmas
tree, dccked with tufts Of cotton. and
here and there broken and battered
glass ornaments. The starving moth
or had arranged it on Christmas eve
to cheer her little family.
OF course the policeman brought
medical aid and food at once, and
learned the story, when the mother
was strong enough to talk. They
had been deserted by the husband anu
father three weeks before Christmas,
and the woman had pawned all the
household effects to prolong the lives
of her little brood. She said that her
husbands mother lived in OgdcnsburG,
and was wealthy.
In that we have little interest. But
most of US would be glad to assist
such family and would be more than
ready to extend some Of our bounty if
we could know Of such specific cases
and that our assistance would not fan
in unworthy places. No doubt, III
such cities as New York, there are
hundreds of cases equally pitiful. AL
most daily we read of something OF
the sort, which for the moment awak-
ems our sympathics and then we move
on, in the hurry Of getting u living,
and forget it, They are nothing to-
great scheme of things. We excuse
ourselves and find comfort in the
thought that We did not know and
could not help. Yet in almost the
next breath, We complain of our own
Those of US who have our families
in good health about us and who have
never known what it was to miss a
hearty breakfast or dinner and who
are warmly clad and have thousands
of things for which to be thankful
that are never known by such as Mrs.
Plumb and her little family-why do
we find fault? Have we any, right to
complain? Our friends are about us,
anxious to respond quickly If we are
i'll or in trouble. Mrs. Plumb had
neither friends nor money, but her
mother love was just as strong and
what must she have suffered, mental
ly, while watching her childrcn's
physical pain? Yet with true woman
ly courage and love and thoughtful
ness, and illusions of hope" she gave
of her failing strength in memory of
the glad morning when millions were
spent in useless baubles for the pleas
urc of the passing moment. Perhaps
the hungry little ones for a moment
forgot their suffering in recognition Of
this pitiful imitation of another year
and other scenes.
Let us quit this complaining and
start the new year with an IRON
bound resolution to be thankful what
ever happens-for it might be worse,
much worse. even as bad as the for
tunes of Mrs. Plumb and her little
PlumbS