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NUMBER 17.
OLMSTEAD & C0.,. PUBLISHERS.
“SILLY DAVID.
In the city of New York there lived, many years
“ago, a widow with. a large family of children,
¢ of whom. two were idiots from their. birth. Mrs.
{Renot was, I think, of Dutch extraction, and was a
J) member of one of the Dutch churches, from which
. ‘she “often received assistance in. her necessity.
3 Private kindness and aid were not lacking, for she
“twas greatly esteemed for her industry and her
"+ courageous efforts to provide for her large and
j helpless family.
"3 Among the earliest recollections of the writer is
that of hearing the widow say, with a trembling
yoice and tearful eyes, to one who had been a friend
. i through many years of trial:
“I do think, Mrs.
pPotinbiai RS AES Lek genes lens 94 evan stoma etna
_
, that my David is a
often seem to me as if God teaches him,”
She then related many circumstances which had
led her to.form this hope—all of which, save one,
have passed from my memory. This was bis un-
‘ceasing efforts to impart to his idiot brother some
notion of God’s love and of their duty to please Him
by doing right. Iremember that my mother was
much moved by the relation, and from that day,
through all my childhood, I never saw poor daft
David without a feeling of mysterious awe, akin to
reverence, as one in whom the Spirit of God dwelt,
real Christian, as well as he knows; and it does|
though the temple was so unsightly.
Passing years carried away from earth many of
the friends of this poor family, ‘and the growth of
the city had crowded it with many of the same class
“up town,” where cheaper rents could be procured.
In this way we saw little of them for some years,
save when some unusual exigency brought the wid-
ow, or one of her daughters, to the house of their
ancient benefactors. _
} It was, indeed, after an interval of many years,
that I again saw David—a pensioner upon my
‘charity, ashe had been upon that of my parents
‘and grandparents. I can recall vividly his singular
figure, his shambling walk, his vacant and repul-
; e face. Ican remember, too, how the shudder, |
"which always came upon me when I looked first at
chim, passed into a feeling of interest when he
iTesponded j in his earnest st way to some word about
Jesu:
He "stuttered very much, and it was often difficult
{to understand him. ‘ At times, when excited by the
{one dear theme, he spoke plainly. . He could never
learn to read, though the poor fellow tried faith-
{ fully, so eager was he to be able to read the Bible.
} Nor could he learn to do trifling things for hire, as
his brother; who was a step farther removed from
t utter idiocy, was able todo. He often expressed
é to me his longings to be able to sew carpet rags,
: that he “might help mother.” * The mother was at
“this time dying by inches of an incurable disease,
* which for many years had consumed her strength.
i]? The other son had, by the vile arts of wicked men,
* been made a drunkard for their cruel sport, that
A might be amused by his antics and gibbering.
- His return to his home, after’ these orgies, was
- dreaded by his whole family, as causing them
1 great trouble and discomfort.
. David came to me gne morning for some old lin-
en, promised the day before to his mother. The
‘- ysual involuntary shudder came over me as I step-
ped into the hall with the bundle prepared for him.
There he stood, looking more like a piece of dough
than anything I can think of,—his head sunk into
his shoulders, and his whole body sunk into itself,
‘ « “propped up belpless, to all appearances, against
a table. Stepping toward him, and laying down
the parcel, I said: “Good morning, David.”
In his feeble, stammering way he replied: “Good
morning, Miss; I hope you're well.”
T inquired for his mother.
“Bad, very bad; she gets worser every day,
« Miss.’ ”
» I was alway's “Miss” to David, who had known
me when a child, and could not easily change.
“But she is very happy, David; she wants to go
. bome; she has been here a long time.”
‘ “Yes, ‘she’s happy; but David must go first.
Mother says then she go very glad.”
“Do you want to go?” I inquired.
“Yes, me want to go very much; I so troubled,
feel very bed, sick.”
~ What makes you feel bad?”
“0 my brudder, my brudder; he wicked, he no
aremaeqeare
i
. FIELD L.
love God; God no love him. He home now scold-
ing mother.”
And_ here the poor fellow, __began to moan
piteously.
“Jesus knows about him, Dedid: ”
‘This calmed him, and he repeated:
“Yes, Jesus knows. I tell Him very often, three, |
six times every day. . My mother, she tell Him, my
sister tell Him; but the bad men, they give him|
rum, make him very bad.” |
“How old are you, David?” I inquired, to turn|
his mind from this sad subject. |
“Mother says r be fifty year old to-day; she
told me just now.” |
“Jesus has taken care of you for fifty years, then; |in harsh tones, the words of some maudlin chorus
| that had been taught him by the fiends who gave
you must love Him very much.”
“Yes, Miss, I love Him; I do love Jesus very
much, Ife is so good to me. I think He loves poor,
silly David. O, He is very good to me. I like to,
say how good He is; I like to do something for
Him ii
Ile then made me understand how he managed |
to scatter the tracts, which he often begged of me, ;
in the homes of poor creatures more wretched than!
himself, because they had no hope of heaven and|
knew no Saviour, and how he even penetrated with ;
his artillery the strongholds of Satan, where his)
poor brother had been stripped of the ljttle sense
he had, and set up as a mark for the jibes and jeers |
of wicked men and idle boys,—evidently fecling a
kind of triumph in the latter exploit.
The last time I saw David was not many months
after the interview which Ihave described. As I
entered the little room, to which I had been sum-
moned by his request to see me once more, my
heart sank. within me; my weak human - nature
turned away, fainting, sickening at the sight it con-
tained.
In one corner was the mother’s bed. She lay
upon it, her face covered with a linen cloth like the
face of a corpse; and imagination would. picture
the horrors which lay concealed there. Everything
about the room was spotlessly clean, for the noble,
self-sacrificing daughter and sister who cared for
the invalids never wearied in her love.- In. the
opposite corner, diagonally, was David's bed. I
went up to him, fearing to look upon his poor face,
lest it should unnerve me, but I took the band he
stretched out, and waited for him to speak.
“I wanted you to come,’Miss,” he said. “I'm
going to see Jesus; I'll see Him soon, . Won’t you
say ‘Good bye, David?’ ”
T turned and looked at him.» The dull eyes were
shining with hope and happiness; something of
heayen’s glory seemed résting upon those misshap-
en features.
“Good bye, David; you are very happy to go to
esus; are you not? I knew you would be.”
“Very happy, Miss. Mother's going, too; isn’t
are
~~ ewe
ES
ABOR.
I stepped to the mother’s bed.
“Dear Mrs. R.,” I said, “your prayer is granted ;
you will not leave David behind you.”
“0,4 am so thankful,” she replied. “Lam quite
22 SCHOOL STREET, | , BOSTO
say, ‘No doubt Frank has something that will an-
swer,’ and some one travels up to your attic corner,
and sure enough the night thing is almost sure to
be found. I do not know what we should have
done last washing day if it had not been for the »
piece of rope we found in one of your boxes. Gy!
Bridget’s line broke down, and no one had time to 4
go to the store for a new one.”
“Tam very glad I had it, mother, and my stores
are free to all, if they would only be kind enough
not to stir things up with a stick when they goa
hunting,” and he glanced mischievously at his sis-
ter Sophy, who gave her head a little indignant
toss, which was designed as a denial of the charge.
“All the papers in the big box are public property,
but those on file be kind enough to respect. When
I go to Congress one of these days I shall need to
look them over, you know. The balls of twine
are in a paper box by.themselves, and the old chest
marked ‘miscellaneous’ contains a little of every
thing, though assorted as well as the case would
allow. I dare say I shall have my old stock all
cleared out and a new one in before the ‘seven
years’ are up, which grandfather says we should \
keep everything before we decide it is of no use.”
“IIe got his wonderful economy notions that ‘
winter he spent at grandfather’s,” said Sophy. oh
“It would be a good plan to send you there for'a Bos
winter, would it not, Sophy ?” said her father, look~
ing up from his paper. |
“No, I thank you, father. I will be content to hi
take my lessons second-hand. Frank means to
impress it on all the young people around, I guess,”
said his sister, still remembering the twine and pa-
pers he had saved so carefully before her young
ready now to go whenever it is God's will to take
me. It seemed as if I could not leave my poor boy
behind me. I did wish they might both go before
jme, but my Lord knows best.”
“Your daughter will care for him while he lives.”
“Yes, and she i is the only one who can manage
him now; he has got so bad.’””
At this moment I heard the sound of the wretch-
ed, drunken imbecile as he came’ into the ball,
rudely clamping his heavy boots, and yelling out,
|him drink. The mother groaned. I felt my utter
inability to comfort her heart, and turned again to
David's bedside. He was trembling violently, and
attempting, with feeble hands, to draw the cover-
ing over his face. I assisted him, saying, softly : :
“Don’t be afraid of him, David; your sister has
gone to him; she will get him away. All will be | tl
peace in heaven. ”
“Yes, dear Miss, peace, peace for David; but,
O, my poor brudder.”
“Leave him with Jesus.
“you must not forget that.”
“Thank you, Miss, for that. Yes, leave him
! with Jesus; David will do it.
A few days after David went home, and very
soon the mother followed. ‘The brother was placed
in an asylum, where he ought to have been long
before, had not the fond affection of his mother re-
fused to part with him lest he should suffer from
neglect. I know that I shall meet David in
heaven, not poor silly David, but grown wisé and
strong amid heaven’s teachings, clothed in a form
beautiful, Divine,—because the new body is made
He knows all about it;
server, *
0
FRANE’S MUSEUM. -
ing really mortifying sometimes.
sure they thought it very odd.
to speculate a little in the twine and paper line ?”
“I have not decided yet,” said Frank, pleasantly.
in search of almost any sort of supplies.”
He good? Glory be to Hisname. Amen.”
in the image of the Son of God.—New York Ob-
“Mother, Frank’s propensity for saving is becom-
Don’t you think,
to-day when the Horton girls were here, and we
came in with our parcels, he took all the wrapping
Papers and folded them up carefully, and wound
the twine on a ball he took from his pocket. . Iam
You must have
quite a museum of savings up there in the attic by
this time, Frank, Are you going about the coun-
try exhibiting, some of these days, or are you going
“I am afraid I shall have to keep closed doors on
my museum; it proves so attractive to adventurers
“That is true, Frank,” said mother, “when any
thing is wanted about the house, we are sure to
friends.
“Well, may he never do any thing worse,” said
his father, quite seriously. “No ane knows what
need we may have for economy before Jong, unless
prospects brighten some. -They look dark enough
now. Frank, if we had all followed your example
we should have been better prepared for the ‘rainy
day’ which these clouds seem likely to bring upon rd
us. If it does not prove a drenching storm I shall
be thankful. I hope we shall all avoid any need-
less expense this winter.”
The darkness did not lighten, but the cloud, “the
size of a man’s hand,” spread into one black cur
tain, which covered the whole heavens, There was
need now for the practice of frugality in thousands
of homes where it had never before been thought
of. Mr. King’s household was no exception.
Frank seemed the mainstay of the house now, \
though he was only fifteen years old, and even sis-
ter Sophy, who was three years older, learned many
useful lessons from him, Though a gay, thought-
less girl, she loved her mother and father dearly,
as wellas her brothers and sisters; and now that
adversity had waked up the better portion of her
nature, she wished for nothing so much as to add
td their comfort.
Did you ever think what a great blessing misfor-
tune is sometimes? It brings out a great many
beautiful traits of character which would have been
hidden for life without it, And heart riches are a
great deal more valuable than all the gold and sil-
ver in the world. A dry summer is necessary
sometimes, so that the roots of trees and plants
will strike down deep into the earth in search of :
nourishment. That makes them ‘strong and able
to stand the blasts. The land, too, needs to draw
up with the moisture below the mineral fertilizers
which are so’ needful to all grains; and if there is
plenty of moisture on the surface they would have
noinducement to search deeper. So continual ease
and plenty make us surface people, and cause us to
neglect the heart.
‘Now Sophia King went to work with more
energy than she had ever shown before in her life,
to help her mother fit out comfortable suits of
clothing for the children out of old materials al-
ready on hand. Frank was quite an assistant here.
Though he was a manly little fellow, he was familiar
with every sort of work that came under his obser-
vation, He could sit down at the sewing-machine
«and make up a sack for bis little brother, while
Sophy was finishing off one of Susy’s dresses, with
perfect care; and when buttons, or buckles, or
cording, or tapes were needed, there would be sure
to be something in: his “museum” that would an-
swer, saying a great many pennies and dimes. It
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