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MARCH, 1894.
For Woman’s Work.
ANNA OSBOURN.
She stands within my vision yet,
Ideal ot my childhood days—
Her thoughtful eyes of violet
Look into mine with steady gaze.
The dark hair waving off herbrow,
Low-caught into a classic knot—
A brow now regal-calm, and now
With troubled shadow over shot.
Her lips—it is that same old curve,
Kindly, and yet, somehow, half-sad—
That smile alone our hearts would swerve
From aught of secret guile they had.
There is the tangly bit of lace.
Held by a golden star-tipped pin,
The rustling folds that gowned but grace,
The tiny buckled slipper thin.
The flower in her bosom caught:
A memory is yet most* fair—
How once a cherished bud I brought,
And how she put it in her hair!
My teacher! Then at such a word
My slow lips had refused to speak;
Meeting her eyes, in speech, mine blurred -
My valorous heart grew oddly weak.
I knew what 1 would fain have said,
The ungrown thoughts—child-reasoning—
But at her glance my language fled,
Nor clear could I make anything.
Then, there we knew was queenliness
When shyness all the child-heart stormed,
Our hopes and instincts she could guess;
She bettered our resolves half-formed.
■ Nor knowing it we loved her smile,
All that was purposeful and true;
Unconsciously outgrew our guile
Because but good in us she knew.
For her the lessons hard grew bright
The old songs had a newer ring,
The dullest “Reader” tale grew bright,
And full of vivid picturing.
We never thought, to us, how much
She was of love and doing right;
How much our own—,'school-days are such)
Until she spoke the last “Good Night.”
And now, as half I see her face,
I know from out of childhood’s dawn
From out our youth, with her, some grace,
Some nameless happiness was gone.
Janet Bowmaster.
For Woman’s Work.
GIVING TO THE LORD.
BERTHA PACKARD ENGLET.
“I gave my life for thee,
My precious blood I shed,
That thou might’s ransomed be
And quickened from the dead.
“I gave, I gave my life for thee,
What hast thou given forme?
I gave, I gave my life for th«>e,
What hast thou given for me?”
Sang .Nellie Mitchell in a clear, happy
voice over her baking, one warm summer
day. She sang at first unthinkingly, but
as she again and again repeated the verse
while she deftly rolled and cut out the
soft cookies, and as their brown little selves
began to heap upon the table, the anxiety
over their success lessened, and she began
to think about the words, and then about
that gift—that wonderful gift—and then:
‘•Yes, what have I done for Him? Perhaps
it hasn’t amounted to much, but I am sure
no one has ever found me unwilling to
help in all charitable works;and my mon
ey aids in all their socials and teas,” she
went on complacently. “Ever since I
first joined the church, I am sure I have
done as much as any other member, and I
suppose that’s all that is required of me.”
Just as the last cookies were left to cool
upon the table,she saw, down the road, her
husband returning from town, and she ran
out for the expected letter from home.
“Yes, its here, Nell,” Tom called as he
drew nearer, waving the white missive
above his head.
“Oh, goodie!” she exclaimed in childish
glee, as she caught it in her arms and sank
down beneath the nearest shade tree to
live again, for a little while, in the dear
old home. How she enjoyed that letter
from home! Can’t you see her hurrying
over it, and then pausing to turn back and
re-read—sometimes a whole page—to en
joy again the same sensations?
Finally, with a sigh, she found she knew
all there was to know, and sat a moment
in silence; then she said aloud, “Why yes
I’m willing if—”
“If Barkis is,” put in Tom from behind
the tree.
“O, Tom! how long did you plan to
frighten me so?” and she sprang up and
raised her letter in a threatening attitude
in front of his face, “and how long did
you stand there and read over my shoul
der?” she demanded.
“Os the letter not a minute and not a
word—but I was busy reading, just the
same. When the good news came both
ears went up one peg, and when the bad
came, down they’d go. And when it was
funny,both ears would shake and the blood
would creep up and up until they were
pink and pretty and—”
“I wont be imposed upon so, so there!”
and she started for the house.
“Say, Nell, Barkis is willing you know,"
and he took her place under the tree. She
came back then. “But Barkis may not be,
when he knows,” she said, sitting down
where she could watch his face.
“If Peggotty is, Barkis is,” Tom said,
with a mock expression of resignation.
“Well, you know what a missionary sis
ter Annie is ?”
“I know she helped my cause wonder
fully,” he put in.
“Now,Tom, be serious or I wont go on.’’
“I don’t want you to go on, but to sit
still and proceed.”
“Well,” she began, laughing in spite of
herself, “Annie is always a friend of the
street Arabs, and she has found one sick
or puny and homeless and friendless, and
she says if we’ll let him come here and get
strong, she’ll pay his way out and back.
And that’s what Barkis must decide on.”
“I told you Barkis was willing,” he re
turned with quite a serious face.
“Oh,Tom, 1 knew you were so good long
ago,” and she raised her lips in apprecia
tion.
“You’ve known me long enough to de
cide,” he laughed as he kissed her.
And they went to the house, happy in
being able to do good.
“By the by,” said Tom at dinner,
‘ there’s to be a concert at the church to
night—the proceeds to go to the church—
and I bought tickets. Glad?” he asked.
“Yes, Tom, I am always glad to go with
you, and glad to help the church and give
to the Lord.” She thought again of the
words, “What hast thou done for me?”
“Yes, we are doing all we can,” she said
to herself, and dropped the subject as set
tled.
In less than two weeks little Tim was
with them. Little and sickly and half
home-sick for the dirty streets—such was
the first night’s conclusion that Nell drew,
and her heart went out in pity for the poor,
ignorant little waif. Did I say ignorant?
W ell,he was,so far as“book-learning”went,
but he was very wise in other ways. He
had not jostled against every kind of per
son for nothing—eyes that are scanning
other faces in the hope of seeing some sign
of gentleness or pity for the unfortunate,
learn to read the face as we read the prim
er. His shrewdness in drawing conclu
sions and understanding motives, was al
most miraculous in Tom’s and Nell’s eyes.
Indeed, Nell could but confess a desire to
appear as little Tim would think right,and
So she was ever drawing him into conver
sation.
A friendship sprang up between him
and his benefactors, that was suprising.
And as the country air lent new strength
and vigor to the weary limbs, that for so
long had been walking, walking, walking,
the boy nature in Tim began to assert itself,
and Tom and Nell began to laugh and
frown at the same time over his ingenious
tricks; so, altogether, their home was live
lier than of old. Ono thing worried Nell:
she could not get Tim interested in the
Bible nor in the Sunday School.
“Yes, I know about Jesus and he knows
about me, and I think He’s good—but I
don’t think His people here act much like
Him,” that was about all he would say on
the subject. But Nell did not despair,and
she told Tom one night, “I believe Tim is
getting to be more of a little Christian
than he was, and he doesn’t use half the
rough words that he did.”
“He’s level-headed; never fear,” Tom
replied complacently.
But Nell was to find that little Tim
could teach her something, after all.
Once, when Tom was gone for the
day, Nell and Tim took their lunch and
proceeded to the cool grove to spend a
time.
“Lovely, lovely, all so lovely, isn’t it
Tim? Isn’t God good to give us so much,
and all after the gift of Christ beside;” and
from the fullness of her heart she sang
again:
“I gave, I gave sty life for thee,
What hast thou given for me?
I gave, I gave my life for thee,
What hast thou given for me?”
“Tim are you giving Him anything?”she
asked.
“What can I give?” he returned.
“You’ve no money, but you can help
others ”
“Such as you’uns,” he put in.
“Why, yes,” Nell answered.
“Well now, sposin I did help you, what
would Ido it for? Just because you’ve
been good to me and I want to do some
thin’ back; but that’s no gift, that’s payin’
back. What are you doin?” Nell started
at his pointedness, but answered all confi
dently:
“I’m always helping good movements.”
“Like that tea tother night,” he put in
again.
“Yes, we all went, and that’s sixty
cents more than if we hadn’t.”
“Was that givin’ to God?”
“Why, yes, of course, was it not the
money went to pay the minister?”
“No, I dop’t think so. You got a dandy
WOMAN’S WORK.
supper for your money. My! that cake
makes my mouth water yet; so I don’t see
what you give to Him. You got your sup
per ten cents cheaper then than it says on
the eatin’ house down town.”
“Why; Tim,” Nell began, then paused,
lost in thought as she recalled the many
who sat about those tables whom she knew
came just for the purpose of getting a good
supper.
“The money helped the minister though,
Tim,” she protested at length.
“Oh, yes, but I reckon God knew why
so many folks come, stead of givin’ their
money an’ eatin’ at home.”
Off he went with the last words—after a
squirrel—and Nell was left alone with her
thoughts.
“Is it so? What is a gift?” she asked
herself; then she thought over the very
work she had reviewed once before, with a
much more easy mind than she now had.
“Yes; at the teas and sociables I get my
money back every time. At the concerts
I get more than I give, generally, and—if
not, we think it was a sell; almost every
thing I do, I get repaid, then and there.
What have I done for God?” and her
thoughts were very painful indeed. But
soon Tim came back with a whoop and a
rush, a very damp face, and rosy cheeks.
No more was said about giving until late
in the afternoon, they started homeward.
Then Nell asked Tim:
“What is a gift, anyway?”
“Well, if I had sometning I wanted or
thought was worth a great deal, an’ I knew
if I give it to you, I give it for good, an’
would get nothin’ for it again, then if I
let it go willin’,l would make you a gift,”
and he looked up in her face to see if she
thought he had answered rightly.
“Just such a gift as Christ made,” Nell
put in reverently.
“Yes, but if I give so my pards could
see how good I was, or because they would
help me more if I did it, or do it knowin’
I would get it all back again, I don’t think
God—” then he paused in some confu
sion.
“I see, Tim, you have thought more
deeply than I. I’m—l’m afraid I never
did anything for Him alter all.”
“O, you have, you have ! You took me
in here when I was sick and dirty and had
nothin’to give you back. You "did that
for God,” and he looked up with eyes full
of tears.
“Dear little Tim,” she said, as she press
ed his hand —while her mind repeated “sick
and ye visited me, naked, and ye clothed
me,” over and over.
♦ * • « *
“Tom, Tom—” Nell began that night
in their own room, in a half hesitating
voice.
“Tom, Tom, the Piper’s son, stole a—”
“0, Tom, don’t!” she exclaimed in such
an agonized voice that he instantly took
her in his arms.
“Dear little Nell, what is it ?”
“Nothing much, only—Tom, what have
we done for God, you and 1?”
“Why, Nellie, I thought you were ever
busy, and I do all I can.”
“Yes, I knew what you would say; but
do you know Tim has opened my eyes ?
You know about the widow’s mite, Tom.
It was her all. We, from our abundance,
do not deny ourselves or deprive ourselves
of anything, for His sake. We go to con
certs, and so on, which is all right in its
way—for, of course, God meant us to en
joy ourselves righteously, if we set no bad
example or harm the cause by going—but
do you think God takes as a gift what
costs us nothing to make ? Do you, Tom? ’
and her eyes were full of tears.
“You dear little philosopher! To tell
the truth, I never stopped to think before,”
Tom replied, shamefacedly.
“Well, Tim pointed it all out so plainly,
and now if 1 give you something I didn’t
need or prize or cherish, would you think
much of it?”
“No, I would not,” Tom replied.
“Well, God must see it so, too.”
“And it took Tim, the street Arab, the
heathen, to show us our duty,” Tom said
in an earnest voice.
“‘Out of the mouths of babes,’you know,
Tom,” and she cuddled down in his arms,
and they sat till late at night talking it
over and planning their way. Before they
retired they both promised God to give a
certain share of their earnings to Him, and
not try to pass ofl the payment for their
worldly pleasures as a sanctified gift.
“I am so happy, Tom,” were Nell’s first
words the next morning. “I only want to
thank Tim for it all!’ ’ and when she did,
he said:
“If folks acted as you do, then I would
believe what they say they believe. Now,
I’d rather just depend on God, and wait
till He makes it all right.”
“You are a Christian, Tim, a little sol
dier of the cross.”
“I wasn’t until you helped me, least
how,” he put in, in a trembling voice.
For Woman’s Work.
THE BLIND CARVER OF THE
TYROL.
BY M. 8. THYNG.
There is a very touching picture, which
is drawn by a modern traveler, of a blind
sculptor, whom he fell in with at Inn
spruck, in the Tyrol. His name was
Kleinhaus; and the following is a briif
synoosis of his history:
Wnen five years of age, he was attacked
with small-pox; it aflected his eyes, and
finally made h’m entirely blind. Before
he had lost his sight, he had often played
with those little wooden figures which are
so skillfully carved by the inhabitants of »
the Tyrol, and had even attempted to
handle a knife, and to form a statuette,
himself.
When no longer permitted to behold
the light, his thoughts unceasingly turned
to those images he was wont to contem
plate with so much pleasure, and which
he would gladly have imitated. Then
he would take them between his hands,
feel them, and try to console himself for
not being able to see, by measuring them
with his fingers. Handling them again
and again, and turning them over in every
way, he was able, by degrees, to compre
hend by touch, theexact proportions of the
figure, anatomizing upon wood, marble, or
broi ze, the features of the face and the
different parts of the body, and thus to
judge of the niceties of a work of art.
He one day asked himself, when he had
acquired this skill, whether he could not
succeed in supplying the loss of sight by
the keen sense of touch with which he
was gifted. His father and mother were
both dead; he found himself alone and
destitute, and rather than beg, he resolved
to work out through his own exertions, a
means of subsistence.
Taking a piece of wood and a chisel, he
at length began to work. His first at
tempts were very troublesome and trifling.
Frequently did the unconscious blind
man destroy, by one notch made too deep,
a piece of work to which he had diligently
devoted long days of labor. Such obsta
cles would have discouraged any other,
but his love for art induced him to per
severe.
After many efforts, heat length suc
ceeded in using his chisel with a steady
hand, and so carefully would he examine
each fold of the drapery, one after another,
and the contour of each limb, that he saw,
as it were, by means of his fingers, the
figure he intended to copy.
Thus he proceeded by degrees, until he
attained to what seamed an almost incred
ible perfection, fur he is now able to en
grave, from memory, the features of a
face, and produce a perfect resemblance!
He is now seventy years of age, but ro
bust, and works every day, as in his youth.
During the course of his career he has
sculptured several hundred figures. He
lives alone in his humble apartment, and
supplies all his wants from the proceeds
of his sculpture. He is of a cheerful dis
position; no vain regrets agitate him, no
ambition for honor or riches troubles tne
dreams of the blind artist. His mind is
wholly occupied with better thoughts. In
the morning, he commences his work, and
as it advances, his face becomes more and
more animated, and his soul expands.
“I feel,” he said, “each work of art
that is presented to me, and each piece
that I carve, even to the very mi
nutest part, and I am as content with it as
if I had beheld it with my own eyes.”
Truly, perseverance wins all things.
One strong, mastering aim running
through life, and knitting it into unity
and strength, is of more value than noble
birth, diadems and kingdoms. It gathers
into itself conquering energy, and, pre
venting dissipatidn and waste, lifts a man
above his circumstances, and leads him
steadily onward to large and sure accom
plishments.
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