Rensselaer Republican, Volume 13, Number 16, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 January 1881 — FROM THE WAYSIDE. [ARTICLE]

FROM THE WAYSIDE.

It was Dr. Silas Walsh who sat one day in his office reading a very interesting book. It was part of his business, this reading, for the book was upon a science scope of his profession. He was comparatively a young man, and had the reputation of being an excellent physician. While : he read some one rang the bell. PL? laid aside bis book and went to the door, and when he saw what was upon the stepping stone he was indignant. It was a ragged, filthy boy, known in Ensworth as “Hammer Jim”—ragged and dirty, and with the vileness of the slums upon him—a boy vicious and profane, against whom every other ’boy was warned—a boy who was called a thief and a villain, whom no efforts of the overseers had been able to reclaim, and who seemed to care for nothiug but to make people afraid of him. His true name, as the overseers hail it, was Janies Ammerton. About Ills father no one in Ensworth had ever known. - His mother had died an inmate of the poor house. On the present occasion, 'Jim’s face was not only dirty but bloody: and there was blood, on his grimed and tattered garments. “Please, sir, won’t you fix my head? I’ve got a hurt.” *' What kind of a hurt?” asked ths doctor. “I’m afraid it’s bad, sir,” sobbed the boy.- “One of Mr. Dunn’s men hit me with b rook O!” “What did he hit you for?” asked the doctor. “I dunno, sir.” •.* •'Yes, yon do know. What did he throw that stone at you for?” “Why, sir, J was picking up an apple under one of his trees.” Dr. Walsh would not touch the boy's head with his finger®. There was no-need of it. He could see that the blood had ceased to flow. “Go home,” he said: “let your folks wash your head and put on a clean bandage.” “Please, sir, I haiu’t got no folks,” replied the boy. “ You stop somewhere, * don’t yoij?” “I stop at the poor’s when they don’t kick me out.” “Well, boy, you are not going to die fioni this. Go and get somebody to wash your head, or go and wash it yourself and tie your handkerchief on.?’ “Please, sir, I hain't got no—” “Hold up, boy. I haven’t got no time to waste. You won’t suffer if you go as you are.” And with tills Dr. Silas Walsh closeifthe door and returned to his liook. He had not meant to be unkind; but really he had not thought there was any need of professional service on his part; and certainly he did not want the bov in his office. But Dr. Walsh had not been alone cognizant of the boy’s visit. There had been a witness in an upper window. The doctor’s wife had seen and heard. She was a woman. She was not strong and resolute and dignified like her husband. Her heart was not only tender, but was used to aching. She had no Children living; but there were two little mounds in the ehnrchyard whieh told her of angels in heaven that could call her mother! Acting upon her impulse, as she was very apt to act, she slipped down and called the boy in, by the back way, to the wash-room. He came in, rags, dirt, and all, wondering what was wanted. The sweet voiCe that had called him had not frightened him. He stood looking at Mary Walsh, and as he looked his sobbings ceased. "Sit down, my boy.” He sat down.* If I help you, will you try to be good?” “1 can’t be good.” “Why not ?” ‘“Cause I caa’t. Taint in me. Everybody says so.” » “But can’t you try ?” “I dunno.”“If I should help you, you would be willing to try to please me?” “Yes’m—l should, certain.” - Mrs. Walsh brought a basin of water, a soft sponge, and with tender hami she washed tne boy’s head and face. Then with the scissors she clipped away the hair from the wound—curling handsome hair—and found it not a bad wound. She brought a piece of sticking plaster, which she fixed upon it, and then she brushed the hair back from the full looked into the boy’s face—not a bad face—not an evil face. Shutiing out the rags and dirt, it was really a handsome fkce. "What is your name, my boy?” “Hammer Jim, ma’am; ana- sometimes ragged Jim.” “I mean, how were you christened?” j

“Which’m?” “Don’t you know what name your parents gave you ?” “O, yees. It’s down on the 'seers’ book, mum, as James Ammerton.” “Well James, the hurt on your head ; s not bad and if you are c&reful not to rub off the plaster, it will soon heal up. Are you hungry ?’’ “Please, mum, I hain’t eat nothing to-day.” r Mrs. Walsh brought out some bread and butter, and a cup of milk, and allowed the little boy to sit there in the wash-room and eat. And while he ate she watched- him narrowly, scanning every feature. Surely, if the science of physiognomy, which her husband studied so much, and with such faith, was reliable,.this boy ought to have grand capacities. Once more shutting out the filth and rags, and only observing the hair, nowglossy and waving, from her dexterous manipulations, - over a shapely head, and marking the face with its eyes of lustrous gray, and the mouth like a cupid’s bow, and the chin strong without being unseemly—seeing this without the dregs, the boy was handsome. Mrs. Walah, thinking of the little ipounds in theehurchJU ard. prayed God that she might again e a happy mother: and, if a boy wfcs to bless her maternity, she would not ask that he should be handsomer than she believed she could make this boy. Jim finished eating and stood. “James,” said the Tittle woman—for she was a little woman—“when you are hungry and have nothing to eat, if you will come to this door, I will feed you. I don’t want you to go hungry.” * “I should like to come, mum,’’ “And If I feed you when you are hungry, will you not try to be good for my^aket” The boy hung his head and consid-

ered. Some might have wondered that he did not answer at once, as a grateful boy ought; bat Mrs. Walsh was deeper than 4hat. The lad was sonsidenng how he most answer. Then he spoke sadly and truly: “It they'd let me be good, ma’am, but they won’t,” he at length replied. “Will you try all you can.” “Yes’m I’ll try all I can.” Mrs. Walsh gave the lad a small parcel of food in a paper, and patted his curly head. The boy had not shed a tear since the wound was assuaged. Some might have thought he was not grateful; but the little woman could see the gratitude in the deeper light of his eyes. The old crust was not broken enough yet for tears. Afterward, Mrs. Walsh told her husband what she had done, and he laughed at her. “Do you think, Mary, that your kindness can help that ragged waif?” “I do not think It will hurt him, Silas?” It was not the first time that Mrs. Walsh had delivered answers to the erudite doctor which effectually stop* ped discussion. After that, Jim came often to the door and was fed; and he came cleaner and more orderly with each succeeding visit. At length, Mrs. Walsh was informed that a friend was going away into a far western country to take up land and make a frontier farm. The thought occurred to her that this might be a good opportunity for James Amrnerton. She saw ner friend and brought Jim to his notice, and the result was the boy went away with the emigrant adventurer. Ana she heard from her friend a year later that he liked the boy very much. Two years later the emigrant wrote that Jim was a treasure. And Mrs Walsh showed the letter to her husband, and he smiled and kissed the little wife, and said he was glad. And he had another source of gladness. Upon her bosom his little wife bare a robust, healthy boy—their own son who gave promise of life and happiness in time to come. Tl;e years sped on and James Ammerton dropped out from the life that Mary Walsh knew. The last sheiicard was five years after he went away from Ensworth, and Jim had then* started for the golden mountains on his own account to commence in earnest his own life battle. But there were joy and pride In ths little woman’s life which held their place and grew and strengthened Her boy, whom they called Philip, grew to be a youth of great promise—a bright, kind-hearted, good boy, whom everybody loved: and none loved him more than did his parents. In fact they worshipped him; or at least liis mother did. At the age of seventeen Philip Walsh entered college, and at the age of twenty-one graduated with honor; but tho long and severe study had taxed his system, and he entered upon the stage of mahhood not quite so strong in body as he should have been. His mother saw it and was anxious; his father saw it and decided that he should have recreation and recuporation before lie entered into active business. Dr. Walsh was not pecuniarily able to send his son on an expensive travel, but he found opportunity for his engagement upon the staff of an exploring expedition which would combine healthy occupation. The expedition was bound for the western wilderness, and we need not tell of the parting between the mother and the son. Bhe kissed him and blessed him, and hung upon his neck with more kisses, then went away to her chamber and cried. Philip wrote home often while on his way out; and he wrote after he .reached the wilderness. His accounts were glowing and his health was improving. Three months of forest life and forest labor, of Which Philip wrote in a letter that had to be borne more than a hundred miles to the nearest post, and then followed months of silence. Where was Philip? Why did lie not write? One day Dr. Walsh came home pale and faint, with a newspaper crumpled and crushed in his hand. Not immediately, but by-and-by, lie was forced to let his wife read what he had seen in that paper. She read, and felt like one mortally stricken. It was a paper from a distant city, and it told the sad fate of the exploring party under the charge of Colonel John Beaueharape, how they had been attacked by Indians, and how those not massacred had been carried away captive. Poor little woman! Poor Dr. Walsh! But the suffered most. Her head, already taking on its crown of silver, was bowed In blinding agopy, and her heart was well nigh broken. The joy had gone out of her life and thick darkness was around about her. And so half a year passed. One day the postman left a letter at the door. The hand of the superscription was familiar, Mrs. Walsh tore it open and glanced her eyes over the contents. O, rapture! Her boy lived, was well, and was on his way home to her. When Dr. Walsh entered the room he found his wife fainting, with the letter clutched tight in her grasp. By and, by when the great surge had* passed, husband and wife sat dowu and read tho letter understandingly. “Thank God! I found a true friend, or I should say a true friend found me,” wrote Philip, after he had told of his safety and whereabouts. “But for the C9raing of this friend I should have died ere this. He heard of me by name, and when he learned that I was from JSnsworth, and was the son of Silas and Mary Walsh, he bent all his energies for my release. He spent thousands of dollars enlisting and equipping men for the work, and with hfs own hand struck down my savage captor and took me henceforth under his care and protection. God bless him! And be you ready, both to bless him, for he is comiug home with me.”

Upon their bended knees that night the rejoicing parents thanked God for all his goodness, and asked blessings upon the head of the unknown preserver of their son. And in due time, radiant and strong, their Philip came home to them—came home a bold, innocent man—fitted for ti\e battle of life—came home know-, ing enough of life’s vicissitudes, and prepared to appreciate its blessings. And with Philip came a middle aged strong, frank-faced, handsome man, with grey eyes and curling hair. “This,” said the son when he had been released from the mother’s rapturous embrace, “is my preserver. Do you know him?” . The doctor looked and shook his head. He did not know him. But the little woman observed more keenly. Upon her the light broke overpoweringly. “Is it,” she whispered, putting forth her hands—“is it James Ammerton?” “Yes,” said the man—a stranger nowno more. “I am James Ammerton ! and I thank God who has given me an opportunity thus to show how gratefully I remember all your kindness to me, my more than mother.” ' And he held her hands and pressed them to his lips, and blessed them again, telling her with streaming eyes, that she, of all the world, had lifted him up and saved hi m.—Selected. A lawyer, somewhat disgusted at seeing a couple of Irishmen looking at a six-sided building which he had constructed, lifted up the window, put his head out, and addressed them, "what do you stand there for, like a pack of blockheads, gazing at my office—do you take it for a church?” “Falx,” answered one of them, “I was thin kin’ so till I saw the devil poke his head out of the windy.” There were 160 deaths in Chicago las