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For Woman’s Work.
WHAT IS IT ALL WHEN ALL IS
TOLD ?
The year will come and the year will go,
’Twill bring the flowers, ’twill bring the snow,
For tide and time are never slow ;
The sun and moon shall hold their sway,
With the beaming stars at close of day.
And what is it all, when all is told ?
Like beautiful dreams we cannot hold.
The orchard yonder will bud and bloom;
The srerm will burst its bonds of gloom
Audshed its fragrarce o’er somelone tomb:
The day will dawn, and night fold down
Her dusky curtains of ashen brown.
And what is it all, these things so dear,
That speedLy change from year to year ?
We shall toil and strive from day to day.
Whether shadows or sunshine cheer our way,
With sorrowing heart, and sometimes gay.
We shall eagerly strive for wealth or fame.
While there’s little or naught in an empty name;'
And what is it all, when all is done ?
A life soon ended, that’s scarce begun.
Nellie V. Mayhew.
For Woman’s Work.
JACKS TEMPER.
A Story for Mothers and Children,
BY 8. H. B.
ACK HENRY was a funny,
bright little fellow; he was as
handsome as a picture, too; but
he had a most unruly temper.
J
Now, I know very well that people are
made differently. Some are born with
amiable dispositions, and nothing seems to
ruffle or disturb them ; others are irritable
and easily offended, and consequently are
always getting into trouble.
Poor little Jack was one of these unfor
tunates. He would fly into a passion
with his brothers and sisters, and would
throw things about and kick and strike
till he would be seized and shut up, so that
he could do no further harm. The
little fellow spent a great deal of his time
in a dark closet.
I am sorry to say that his mother
also had a very quick temper, and was by
no means judicious in her treatment of her
children—particularly of Jack, who
needed very wise and careful training.
One afternoon, after a most unhappy
hour or two, he went down to his grand
mamma’s. His face was still red and
swollen from the torrent of tears that had
poured over it, and he looked ashamed—as
he felt. Grandmamma sat knitting, looking
very sweet and tranquil.
“ What has gone wrong with my boy?”
she asked.
“ Oh, nothing much,” answered Jack.
“Is it the same old story ? Has his tem
per been getting the best of him again?”
“Yes, Dramma. I dot awful mad at Fan
this morning, and struck her in her face.”
“ Oh, lam so sorry! Poor little Fan !
Jack, have you ever asked God to help you
to conquer your quick temper ?’’
“ Yes, Dramma. I’se asked him twenty
one times, and he never helped me one bit.”
“ But you know, Jack, God only helps
those who help themselves. If you do not
try to overcome your evil temper, you can
not expect God to help you.”
“Well, it comes so quick, Dramma; first
I know I get kind of hot all over, and
then I flash out, and strike and kick ; and
then I’m sorry, and I’d like to tell ’em so,
but then they laugh at me, and that makes
me madder.”
“ Poor little Jack ! lam sorry for you,
and I feel in some way responsible for your
trouble I”
“ Why, Dramma?”
“ Because these things are inherited, and
this bad temper of yours may have de
scended from me.”
“ Why, you never dit mad, do you
Dramma ?”
“ Oh my dear little boy, I can never tell
you the struggles I have had with my tem
per, and the great trouble it has brought
npon me.”
“ Did you pray about it, Dramma ?”
“ I did indeed, my son.”
“ Did you pray twenty-one times ?”
“ I may say I prayed twenty-one years,
my boy, and twice that; and lam always
praying still, that I may have strength to
subdue my temper.”
“ Why, you don’t say you dit mad now,
Dramma.”
“The other day, Jack, I sent away
Bridget, the housemaid, because she quar
reled with good old Mary, who has lived
with me so many years; and 1 found she
had reported wherever she went for a place
that I was such a mean woman no one
could live with me. I was so angry, I
felt my face getting hot, as yours does,
Jack, and I had to go away and pray, or
I should have said something hasty that
might have taken away the poor girl’s
character and prevented her getting a
place.”
“Oh Drammal I never fought any
one would call you mean I Didn’t you
want to kill her?”
“Oh no, Jack. I believe I never wanted
to kill anyone, no matter how angry I
have been.”
“ Well, I have, Dramma. I often wish
God would kill ’em any way.”
“ Oh, Jack, my poor little fellow, you do
need to pray for help. That is the way
men feel when they commit murders.
Perhaps they never meant to do such a
dreadful thing five minutes before; but
something is said that makes them angry,
and they strike a sudden blow, and a man
lies dead at their feet, and they do not
know what they have done, till they wake
up in prison, or find they are going to be
tried for their lives.”
“ Oh, Dramma, I hope I shan’t ever kill
anyone ! I dess I’ll pray twenty-one times
more.”
“Yes, Jack, and seventy times, and
seventy times seven—and not only pray,
but try, and you’ll find after a time you
will be helped to overcome your temper.”
“ If I could only stay with you, Dramma,
I think I would be a better boy; but they
do make me so mad at home.”
Poor little Jack seemed to be always
getting into trouble. There came three
days of pouring rain, and the gutters were
running like rivers. Jack stood watching
them from the window. There were
rapids, waterfalls, islands and promon
tories; and more than that, there were
boys sailing chip boats down the foam
ing torrent. Oh, what fun they were
having! If he could only be with them !
His mother was making preserves in the
kitchen, and she had told Jack, who was
the only one at home except the baby, to
stay in the nursery and not to go out of the
front door.
Ellen had put the baby to sleep, and
was busy elsewhere, and there was no one
to watch Jack. The fun in the street be
came so interesting that he slipped
down the stairs, just to watch the result
of a race between two of the boats. At
length one of them stuck fast on a little
island not far from Jack’s door, and he
dashed out and down the steps, picked up
a stick and helped it off.
Then all was over with poor Jack. He
was soon sailing his own chip boat, and
dashing into the muddy stream to steer it
along, till presently he was a sight to be
hold! Such a wet, muddy, be-draggled
little boy as his mother saw when she
happened to look from the kitchen window.
She dashed out of the front door, and
seizing him by the arm, dragged him
into the house and up to the bath-room,
stripped him roughly, and rjibbed him
harder than was necessary when she bathed
him; then seating him very emphatically
upon a sofa, she said, “ Now you sit there,
sir, and don’t you dare to stir till I give
you leave.”
Jack was in a great rage. He was too
angry to think or to pray. As soon as his
mother disappeared he slipped down from
the sofa, went up to his room and dragged
from under the bed a little old trunk. He
opened its drawers, pulled out the first
things he saw, crammed them back into
the trunk, closed and lockedit; and then
started to drag it down stairs. It made a
great bumping noise, but his mother was
down in the kitchen, and the other chil
dren were at school, so nobody heard him.
Jack took the little trunk out of the
house, down the front steps, and presently
he saw a boy coming along with a wheel
barrow.
“ Boy,” he said, “if you’ll take this
trunk down to my Dramma’s I’ll dive
you this five cents.” So the boy put the
trunk on his wheelbarrow, and Jack walked
beside him.
“ Where does your grandmother live?”
asked the boy.
“ Oh, down here, two streets, then round
the corner, then down—oh, I’ll show you
when we get there.”
“ Well, I guess that’s a good way to go
for five cents; besides, I ain’t going that
way,” said the boy.
“Never mind,” said Jack, “you go five
cents’ worth, and then perhaps I can take
it the rest of the way myself.”
So the boy wheeled the trunk as far as he
thought five cents would pay for, and then
took it off and placed it on the sidewalk ;
.then Jack took hold of the handle and
tugged and pulled. His little face grew
red and hot, and the perspiration streamed
down his cheeks. Sometimes he sat down
on the trunk to rest, and the people who
passed by looked at him, and wondered to
see such a little bit of a boy trying to
drag a trunk along the street.
At length a poor looking boy stopped
him and said, “ Where are you going to,
young ’un ?”
“I’m doing to my Dramma’s,” said
Jack.
“ Why don’t you have someone to carry
your ohist then?”
“ Tause I’m runnin’ away. My mover
pounced me and bumped me, and I wont
stay there any longer. I’m doing to my
Dramma’s to live.”
WOMAN’S WORK.
“Why, you poor little kid, where does
your grandmother live ?” asked the boy.
“ Down there. Don’t you see that big
white house on the corner?”
“ Well, here then, give me a holt and I’ll
carry your chist.”
“ I haven’t got but two cents left,” said
Jack, “ but I’ll dive you them.”
“ All right; that’ll git me a couple o’
rolls, an’ I hain’t had nothin’ to eat to
day.”
“ Nothin’ to eat to-day ? Why you come
to my Dramma’s house, and Nora’ll
dive you some coflee and meat—she always
does. ”
The trunk was dragged in by the rear
way to the kitchen.
“Why Jack Henry! what does this
mean ?” exclaimed Nora.
Jack told the tale of his wrongs, and
asked Nora to give the poor boy something
to eat.
“Yes, I’ll give the boy something to
eat,” said Nora, “but whatever your
grandma’ll say to this performance I don’t
know. Like as not she’ll send you straight
home again, trunk and all.”
This was something of a damper to poor
little Jack, and it was with a trembling
heart that he climbed the stairs to his
grandmamma’s room.
“Why, Jack! what does this mean?’’
asked the old lady.
“ I’m come to live here, Dramma; my
trunk’s down stairs,” said Jack.
“Come to live here, Jack? Did your
mother send you ?”
“ No, Dramma. I ran away. She
pounced me and bumped me, and called
me ‘ Sir !’ just so, and I don’t b’lieve she
loves me one bit, and I «an’t stay there any
longer;” and little Jack’s lip began to trem
ble. and the tears started down his cheeks.
His grandmother rose, rang the bell for
Mary, her maid, and told her to telephone
to Mr. Henry’s office and ask him to come
up to her home at once.
Mr. Henry was her son, and little Jack’s
papa. By the time he arrived, Ellen had
come running down, sent by Jack’s mam
ma, to ask if he was there. She was told
to go back and say that Jack was there,
and that his papa would bring him home.
There was a long private talk between
old Mrs. Henry and her son, and of course
it was decided that Jack must go home.
It was a delicate case to deal with, for poor
little Jack did seem to have some show of
an excuse for his conduct, though he had
been naughty and disobedient. Yet it
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WOMAN’S WORK, Athens, Georgia.
seemed hard to punish him for an exhibition
of temper such as he witnessed every day
it home, and by which his temper was con
stantly aggravated. Still it would not do
to yield to such a defiance of parental au
thority as Jack had given way to that day.
So his father, after talking to him a long
time, while Jack shed many tears and
made many promises, took him home and
made him ask pardon of his mother for his
disobedience. His mother kissed him and ‘
forgave him and told him she was sorry
she had been so rough, and then the
skies were bright again.
A few days after this the old lady or
dered a carriage and drove to her son’s
house; and there she made a proposition to
her daughter-in-law that she should allow
her to adopt little Jack, and take him
home to live with her. “You know I am
all alone with my servants,” she said, “ and
you have such a house full of children, I
think you might spare one to me.”
“ I know well why you make this prop
osition,Mother,” said the younger woman,
“ you think my own temper is so ungov
erned, that I am not fit to deal with such
an impulsive child as Jack. I suppose it
is so. The others are easy enough to man
age ; but he tries me, and I suppose I ag
gravate him. Ido love him dearly, and
it will be very bard to part with him, but
if his father thinks it will be for his good,
I must consent.”
So it was settled that Jack should go and
live with his grandmamma. Here, under
her kind, gentle influence, and with her
daily admonitions, we hope he will learn,
by God’s help, to govern his temper and to
pray, not twenty-one times, but “without
ceasing,” for strength to conquer the evil
spirit within him.
Experience clearly demonstrates that
on the whole there is less danger or moral
contamination in a well-managed school,
where rich and poor, high and low, meet
together on a common fraternal basis, than
in schools founded on class distinctions;
and certainly the hot-house system of edu
cation, which many parents favor, has
never produced good results. Your healthy
child is safer amid the rough-and-tumble
of the public school yard than in the soc ; -
ety of the nursery. Sturdy morality is
not secured by seclusion from the world,
nor by continuous application to dry tomes
concerning the haps and mishaps of the
past ages.
11