Year: 1870

littlc son scooplHS uouSh out VA I"
block of wood.


What are you making there ?' inquired
he.


"I'm whiting trough replied the
boy, ''for You to eat out OF when you get
old


The father was about to give him a
smart box on the ear, but some invisible
influence restrained his hand. He saw
how Just retribution that would be for
his conduct toward his own father, and he
became gentle and consderate, thereby
securing blessing upon his own heart,
and that also of his father and of his child


Yes, the manner in which those peas
ants live who have given up their property
to their children, and are too old to labor,
is often of the most revolving description,
However exactly everything may be set
down in the documents drawn up when
the property is handed over, no stamped
paper can furnish any compensation for
the absence of love and kind attentions :;
and there is no helpful remedy to be found
by going to law. Where the heart is
wanting, all is wanting. The great poet
Shakespeare has depicted, in the most
pathetic manner, the life and mournful
end of one who has thus turned himself
out of house and lands. The man whom
he brings before us in his drama cannot
make his complaint to the legal authorities
for he is king who has divided his king
dom among his daughters. who treat him
harshly, and want to change his habits
and mode of life. 1t is King Lear. And
what is here represented in regard to a
king, is no less true in more humble posi-
tions, and presents an equally pltlable
spectacle No law of the State can be of
any help where it is the heart that is in
question.


In my iourneyings | have often sat down
by the side of such lonely old peasants.
have tried to cheer them up, and direct
their attention to various matters; but L
have generally found that they cannot fix
their minds upon any particular subject,
and have lost the power of hearing, even
if they are not deprived of the external
sense they have but one single thought,
one ever recurring theme, which they IN
voluntarily mutter to themselves, fire.
quently nterspersing prayer. Then
they stare vacantly before them, with
mouth wide open. or become sunk in
dreamy vacuity, looking only to death for
deliverance. If the pastors cannot be OF
any assistance here then it is the bounden
duty of each neighbor to do what he can
to encourage and cheer. But most peo-
pie live only for themselves, and think
they have done enough as long as they
keep themselves from positive wrong.
Few feel il incumbent upon them to pre-
vent misdoing. and to be unwearied in
persistent attempts to ameliorate the un-
happy condition of others. Therefore so
much the more agreeable is it that l can
now relate pleasant experience which
occurred to me in one of my recent eXcur-
sons.


1t was beautiful warm summer after
noon among the HarZ mountains. l was
going to the Broken, and loitered through
little valley, along narrow path which
led to the mountain side. Apoor old man
with thin snowy white hair was sitting by
the wav-sde he had Il long brown staff.
cut from black-thorn, between his knees.
sat down by him, asking his name and
way of life, and the old man told me that
he had formerly been forest-keeper;
there was no rock which could be climbed,
and no ravine which he had not over and
over again explored "And do you see, "
he said, ''those fir trees over there /
planted them. Every day when | went to
the mountains carried my game-bag full
of earth up with me, and there in the crew
ices where the rocks gave me the least
chance, fixed it firmly; and then | wait
ed till the grass and briers grew out of it.,
and made the earth cling closer to the
rocks then | carried the saplings up and
planted them. My Fabian, my eldest, who
was long in the army, and at last was Kill
ed by falling tree, often helped me. II
YOU come up you can see the trees, | cant
see them now very well.


"And with whom do you live now?" |
asked


with whom ?" repeated the old man,
gazing at me- with nobody. ! have
nobody left in the world. Yes, have q
son left, he may be in the world, but |
don't know"


"And what do you live onp"


II have my pension, twenty-four thalers
a year; but everything is so dear now"


"But doesn't your son write to you, or
send anything?"
"He never learned to write, and one
can only send when he has anything him
self. But he's the best fellow in the world,
good child, a faithful child, he left me
his whole property. But don't touch IT,
it's Just as it was am no spendthrltt.
No, Henry your father won't rob you OF
your money"


Win UltuS ulSlcsoioi'' AANNA' S-S -0A
lowing story;


fore, perhaps longer. for the old man was
very uncertain in his thirty years
ago" =" he said of everything, which might
have taken place only two or three years
before--the youngest son of the keeper
had been tempted to emigrate to America
the country where, as the old man ex-
pressed himself, there were great forests
which had never seen an axe, to be clear
ed away before the settlers. The son had
an inheritance from his mother amounting
to a hundred thalers. The old man woul6
not hear of anything but Henry taking his
money with him; it belonged to him, ant
he did not know how much he might want
the spare cash over there in the strange
land. His son had to consent. But or
Saturday, before his departure. he went tt
take leave of tho pastor and got him Il
write down for him the number of thu
psalm which was to DO sung next morning