The Catholic bulletin. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1911-1995, 1913-12-27

uniting lives together in God and chill
dren with bond which only death
can part.
| What a picture such a home pre-
sents 1t is the humble cottage of
the common laboring man, one of the
| fifty thousand that adorn our city.
The afternoon sun warns Mary, the
busy. housewife, that it is time to pre-
pare the evening meal against the
homecoming of her liege and lord. A
little while longer she hangs over the
bursting sewing-basket, whose endless
contents of small dresses and torn
trousers and socks and shirts and
ginghams and aprons and waists to be
made or mended seem never to grow
less despite her daily onslaught. Soon
| the kitchen fire is ablaZe and the eat
ables are gotten out and prepared and
! the table spread with immaculate
linen, and pots and pans again fly
into their place, and order comes out
of chaos, and noble, happy Mary,
proud of her home and her husband
and herself, has time to tidy up a
bit with a clean wrapper and ribbon
before the clock strikes six.
Out of doors, meantime, the keen
nostrils of the children have caught
the savory odor of the kitchen, and
tired with their day-long romping, they
swing on the gate and watch for their
father whose coming the supper fore
tells, and whose dinner pail never
fails to contain some bits of broken
sweetmeats saved from the midday
| lunch
Far down the street hundred men
pour out of the gates of foundry.
Their grimy faces and blackened
hands and ruined clothes mark them
those least appreciated sons of toll,
the unskilled laborers. They hurry
along and pass each other, often in
unsociaI silence. They are tired and
hungry and stolid. In the factory
they are mere names on the payroll.
They may come or go, it is all the
same, others can fill their places with
out notice. Some of them turn into
the many saloons along the road,
where they sleep and board and
spend their money These count even
less on the social chessboard than at
the foundry. No one notes their
homecoming. No one grieves over
their going. No human heart beats
in sympathy with theirs. They call
no fellow creature their own. They
are alone and lonesome and lost in
the multitudinous city. No man or
woman or little child listeth what
else they do, so only they pay their
bills. Reproach them for spending
their money at the saloon and they
will tell you it is their only home,
their club. What else should they do
with it? Sure, they belong to God;
and redemption; but as Christ has
said: "How can a man love God
whom he has not seen, if he love
not his neighbor whom he has seen?'
AS the men approach the house
with the wide, swinging gate, the lit
tie children rush down the street. 1t
is easy to pick the man they seek.
The CRIME of sweat and dust cannot
hide the smile that betrays the ia
theirs face or the light that sparkles
in his eye. They surround him with
clatter and talk and take his pail,
which he exchanges for the youngest
tot And so with caresses and shouts
he is led in triumph to his door, where
Mary's honest kiss rewards his days
toll. Oh! blessed name of home!
Here he is no mere pawn, but a man,
king, a husband, a father. Here
are human hearts and souls divine and
they are his. Here he is loved. Here
he is cared for. Here he would be
missed were his tarrying but for half
an hour. And as he kneels at his
evening prayer, he thanks the great
God that love and marriage have en-
tered into his lowly life and made it
) worth living.
Wives of Great Men.
The biographies of the rich and the
great are frightened by the record of
happy home life, no less than the an.
nails of the poor. Though the wife
may be free from the immediate work
of the kitchen and laundry and sew
ing room, her services of still a
, higher sort, are none the less valued
, as they are none the less needed
The memories of men of letters
| authors, statesmen, scientists and
scholars are filled with acknowledg
ments of the Unreasonable debt those
great ones of the world have owed tc
their devoted helpmates; to the en-
couragement that spurred on the flag
J., ging industry of Detocqueville; to the
/ healing balm of love that consolet
/ with unfailing cheerfulness and sym
pathy the long illness of Tom Hood
to the confidence and respect thai
: stimulated to work worthy of hi:
/, power the sluggish genius of Sir VIM