Rensselaer Republican, Volume 26, Number 24, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 February 1894 — A STRING OF BEADS. [ARTICLE]

A STRING OF BEADS.

Luther Benson in Indianapolis News. I saw a drunken, father under convoy xis his little daughter. He sat In the car with" his head drooped in maudlin sleep upon the shoulder of his child, while with blushes, that came and went across her sweet, sad» childish face, she quietly sat, and bravely bore the burden of her shame. I saw a young hoodlum lash his horse, because his own awkwardness came near causing a collision of his cab with a cable car. I saw a pdliceman spring to the rescue of an old woman who stumbled on a street crossing, and fall, bruised and wounded, trampled and bleeding, in the discharge of his duty. I saw a pretty girl reach up with her daipti-ly-glovedhand to unfasten the checkrein of a tortured horse. I saw a beaten dog turn and fawn beneath his master’s brutal anger,, and I thought: Where is fonder or more forgiving friendship found? I saw a little golden-haired boy at a w'ndow of a house as I passed by, and when I waved my hand, lie kissed his in return. I saw a tired mother stoop to caress the child who fidgeted at her knee, in the depot waiting room. I saw another viciously slap her baby because it sought to fondle her cheeks with its sticky fingers. I saw a little girl get up without suggestion from her mother, and proffer her seat in the crowded car to an older person. I saw a wounded and dying bird brought down by a small boy's sling shot. I saw a hard-faced, iaborgrimed man step out of his way to protect a lost dog from a band of young street Arabs. I saw a small boy furiously beating his mother with his fists because she tried to carry him over a crowded and dangerous street crossing; and thus, I thought, we treat the tender providence that seeks to lift us against our will from evil ways.

I saw a little coffin in an undertaker’s window, waiting, empty—ah, for whom? What cradle-bed keeps, to-night, the precious head, destined so soon to sleep upon that satin pillow? I saw a crowd of prominent politicians come out of a liquor saloon and near by a dead swine hanging oh a butcher’s shambles, andl mused: Which of the two, the man or the defunct pig, is most truly dead? If life counts anything for bravery, chivalry and the ability to command respect, if we must have porcin e qualities either in two-legged or four-legged types, tet us have them inactive in death. I saw a careless nurse girl wheeling a baby backward in a perambulator, the sun, meanwhile darting beneath its tender eyelids. I saw a homely girl transformed into a beauty by a simple act of kindness accorded to a stranger. I saw a woman, gay an dissipated, lean out of a carriage window to laugh at and deride another, who wore shabby clothes and old shoes. I saw a thousand human faces, with only one here and there that was clean and sweet and true. I saw all San Francisco astir with the clash and turmoil of its sordid greed for gain. Nearer home I saw a young man fleshy and strong, with a putty face, drive by his old father without noticing him. The father in rags was standing on a street corner trying to sell a few potatoes. Once he had been rich; but misfortune and the expenses of a large family had made him poor, and his son, living in luxury, and inflated with pride, was ashamed of him and refused to speak to the father who rocked his cradle and fed him in his helpless childhood. Further along the street, I saw a little, crippled boy pushing a cart containing overalls, that his mother had made at four cents per pair. Some one, in sympathy, had given the boy an old, ragged coat, so much too large for him that it almost touched the ground. Suddenly great raindrops began to fall and as the boy turned his pinched, white face, all full of pain, up to the black sky, the drops struck his bloodless cheeks and bounded off. like drops of pearl from white marble. Then, timidly glancing around, to be sure that no one saw him, he took off his coat and spread it over the overalls, carefully tucked it in at the sides and corners, and with the rain beating down upon his unprotected little body, bravely pushed ahead the cart, painfully dragging along his wasted, crippled leg. A few days ago I sat beside a man, in his home, who was once a judge, a State Senator and a law partner of our “Tall Sycamore of the Wabash." He afterward held a high and hon-

ored position underdhe Government. He is a poet of ntucb ability, and the author of a book entitled. “TheWonderlandsof the Wild West.” Fourteen years ago we sat together in a hotel of the county capital. I watched his glorious eyes, so bright and clear, their depths beaming gentleness and intelligence, anon mellowed into tenderness and sympathy. As I looked again into those eyes, a veil of darkness clouded them, the light had gone out forever, and left him blinded in the dark. Speaking to me he said: “My friend, the last lines I ever read were the third and fourth verses of the first chapter of Genesis, where God said, ‘Let there be light, and there was light, and God saw that the light was good!’ In my affliction I have so often thought how good is light.” In a distant city, just after the twilight had faded, I overheard p father and mother in conversation with their five-year-old boy, who, having lost his bearings and for a time wandered vainly about, at last luckily found his way back to the hotel. The father in a loud, harsh voice demanded of the boy why he did not answer when called. The little one, trembling with fear, replied, “I did, papa, but I answered low and you could not hear me.” The mother, concealing a joy and gladness that quivered in her heart at his safe return, asked: “Where have you been and why did you not come before dark?” He answered: “Mamma, I was on the hill by the big school house, and after a while the big house went away and I started home, but the street got lost and 1 eouldn’t find the way.” Then a guiding hand safely led him back to his parents. How often are the lost lost forever and the children who wander away return nevermore. Long years ago a band of happy children went out into a great wood to gather berries and flowers. The youngest and smallest of them became separated from the older ones, and wandering here and there among the hilla, rocks and ravines, grew bewildered trying to retrace its steps, and only traveled farther the other way. It slept at night upon withered leaves. Wild beasts howled around its little bed. It rose morning after morning, changing its bed every night. It was lost. When hungry and tired it wept for its mother, while mother at home wept for her lost darling. Soon heats, rains, dews, hunger and travel were too much for the little one. It made its bed for the last time, and when rosy morning sought to awaken him he gave no answer. He was pale, and cold, and dead.