Year: 1879

The reporter was passing down North Commercial street last evening, looking out, as usual, for bits of news. Across the street, sitting on the edge of the side walk, with tattered dress, bare head aud shoeless feet, was little girl about nine years old, crying as if her heart would break if the bitter tears did not o'erflow. Attracted by anything unusual, the re- porter paused moment, in doubt wheth- CT to go to her or not. But in that brief lapse of time entered another man upon the stage, and his coming. as it proved, rendered the scene all the more com. plete. His face, eyes, garments, be- tokened the drunkard- Lone who thirsted after drink, and whose lips and tongue were always parched. Rough-looking though he was, close observer might detect something that bore faint re- semblance to the man he used to be. Staggering along, scarcely able to keep on the walk, he approached the spot where sat the child. His dull ears caught the sound of sobs, his footsteps were ar- rested, and, fixing his eyes upon the still weeping girl, he reeled towards her side, bent over her, and with thick tongue asked why she wept. The reporter stood near, and watched the contact of these two wretched beings with no little interest. In answer to that rough mans inquiry, the child replied that her mother had driven her out of home had followed her with curses and blows out of the only door that had ever open ed to her, and that she was afraid to 20 back.

 Have you father ?" he asked.

 "No, sir; but ohl I wish papa was here; he was so good and kindr'

 "When did he die2"

 "A good while ago, sir; and mother says he died a drunkard; but he was al- ways kind to me, and I loved him."

 What was there in that child's voice that moved this man to soberness? He sat down at her side, put around her his great strong arm, pressed her pinched face to his breast, and who can tell what he thought or what he suffered, as the scalding tears burst from bis eyes and rolled down his bloated cheeks ? He treated that feeble girl with all ten- derness, he reeled no more; her story had restored the man within him. His home was near little village on the Burlington, Cedar Rapids and Northern Ho for liquor had ruined his body, absorbed his property, and his own wife and little ones were to. day in destitute circum- stances as this child he sat beside. "Died drunkard!' Who can tell with what saving weight those words fell up- on his ears, or how far that waif inhu- ence has gone towards his redemption 1? He took the child across the street to bakery, and saw that she was fed. He gave her some pieces of silver for future use, and then was seen to recross the street and go with the girl towards her home. The reporter was willing to grant that, with such mediator, recon ciliation would surely follow, and, more than this, he felt sure that the angel in that man was so much larger and natu- rally stronger than the devil, that some holy influences would yet combine to save him. Nobility of heart and soul belong to- God, wherever it may be found; and it is frequently discovered just under the crust

 There are two sides to every story. That mother was not drunkard. But the father was; and so was the strange friend. Who was the worst of the three?-Cedar Raloids Repu6ican.