Waverley Library (Quarto Edition) (no. 109) (1881 12 13)

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The Only Young Ladies’ Lib vary of First Te. Sy Pig | f Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., KLY BY ‘ a year, at Second Olas -Class Copy whiail Rates. right No.109. VoL. V. PUBLISHED WEE BEADLE ——_—_——_- -— . Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses J BY B. L. FARJEON. Wrra a sense of infinite thankfulness upon me, I sit down to commence my Christmas story. This thankfulness is born of overflowing gratitude. I am rateful that I am spared to write it, and grateful because of the belief that the Blade o’ Grass I put forth a year ago, was out of the goodness of many sym- pathizing hearts, not allowed to wither and die. It has been pressed upon me and I have had it in my mind, to continue the history of the humble Blade o Grass that I left drooping last year; but the social events that have occurred between that time and the present would not justify my doing so now. I hope to continue it before long. By and by, please God, you and I will follow the Blade o’ Grass through a summer all the more pleasant because of the bleak winter in which it sprung, and by which it has hitherto been surrounded. In the meantime the tears that I shed over it will keep it green I trust. And in the meantime it gladdens me to see a star shining upon it, although it stands ainid snow and wintry weather. : As I sit in my quiet chamber and think of the happy season for which I am writing, I seem to hear the music of its tender influence, and I wish that the kindly spirit which animates that day would animate not that day alone, but every day of the three hundred and sixty-five. It might be so; it could be so. Then, indead, the good time which now is always coming would no longer be looked forward to. Not that life should be a holiday; work is its wholesome food. But some little more of general kindliness toward one another, of generous feeling between class and Class, as well as between person and person; some little less consideration of self; some more general recognition by the high of the human and divine equality which the low bear to them; some little more comwsideration from the poor for the rich; some little more practical pity from the rich for the poor; some little less of the hypocrisy of life too com- monly toadied to; some better meaning in the saying of prayers, and there- fore more true devotion in the bending of knees; some little more be- nevolence in statesmanship; some hearty honest practising of doing unto others even as ye would others should do unto you—may well be wished for, more appropriately, per- haps, af this season than any other, Associated as it is with all that is tender and bright and good. Why does the strain in which I am writing bring to me the memory of my mother? It is, I suppose, because that memory is the most sacred and the tenderest that I have, and because what I feel for her isin- terwoven in my heart of hearts. But there is another reason. From her comes the title of my Christmas story. And this introduction serves in part as a dedication of the beau- tiful goodness of her nature. I think that in this wide world among the thousands of millions of people who live and have away, there is not, and never was, & woman who lived her life more con- tentedly, nor one who strove more heartfully to make the most cheer- ful use of everything that fell to her lot—of even adversity, of which she had her full share. She was be- loved by all who knew her. To her sympathizing heart were confided many griefs which others had to bear; and, poor as she was for a long period of her life, she always by some wonderful secret, of which I hope she was not the only pos- sessor, contrived to help those who came to her in need. I remember asking her once how she managed it. ‘My dear,"’ she answered, with a smile which reminds me of a aceful moonlight night — ‘my ear, I have a lucky bag.’ Where she kept it, heaven only knows; but she was continually dipping ber hand into it, and something good and sweet always came out. How many hearts she cheered, how many burdens she lightened, how many crosses she garlanded with hope, no one can tell, She never did. ‘These things came to her as among the duties of life, and she took pleasure in performing them. Iam filled with wonder and with worship as I think how naturally she laid aside her own hard trials to sympathize with the trials of others. , Yj 4 / Ss = Sss NS SHE TOOK THE REM \INS OF ALOLF AN CUTTING THE BREAD, PRESSED HIM TO EAT. one selfish desire, and being devoted to her children, she made their home bright for them. There was no sunshine in the house when mother was away. She But Knobs of Chairs and Pump-Handles was the exception. Bread-and- Cheese and Kisses was the rule. And to this day Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses bears for me in its simple utterance a sacred and beautiful meaning. It means contentment; it means cheerfulness; it means the exercise of sweet words and gentle thought; it means home! Dear and sacred word! Let us away from the garish light that distorts it. Let you and I this Chrismas retire for a while to think of it and muse upon it. Let us resolve to cherish it always, and let us unite in the hope that its influ- ence may not be lost in the turmoil of the chong march to the thunderous steps of which the world’s heart is wildly beating. Home! It is earth’s heaven) The flowers that grow within the garret walls prove it; the wondering ecstasy that fills the mother’s breast as she looks upon the face of her first- born, the quiet ministering to those we love, the unselfishness, the de- votion, the tender word, the act of charity, the self-sacrifice that finds creation there, prove it; the prayers that are said as we kneel by the bedside before committing our bodies to sleep, the little hands fold- ed in worship, the lisping words of praise and thanks to God that come from children’s lips, the teaching of those words 4 the happy mother, so that her child may grow up good, prove it. No lot in this life is too lowly for the pure enjoyment of Bread-and-Cheese and Kisses. I wish you, dear readers and friends, no better lot than this. May, Bread-and- Cheese and Kisses often be your fare, and may it leave as sweeta taste in your mouth as it has left in mine. PART L—CHAPTER I. COME AND SHOW YOUR FACE LIKE A MAN. Ir I were asked to point toa space of ground which of all other spaces in the world most truly represents the good and the bad, the high and low of humanity, I should unhesi- tatingly describe a circle of a mile around Westministér Abbey. With- in that space is contained al} that ennobles life and all that debases it, and within that space, at the same moment, the lofty aspiration of the Statesman, pulses in the great Sen- ate House in unison with the de- | — desires of the inhabitant of | ld Pye Street. There St. Giles and i St. James elbow each other. There i{ | may be seen, in one swift, compre- | hensive glance, all the beauty and MH i ugliness of life, all its hopes and NIN hopelessness, all its vanity and mod- esty, its knowledge and ignorance, all its piety and profanity, all its fragrance and foulness, The wis- dom of ages, the nobility that sprung from fortunate circumstan- ces or from brave endeavor,the sub- lime lessons that lie in fiith and heroism, sanctify the solenin aisles of the grand old Abbey. Within its sacred cloisters rest the ashes of the great; outside its walls, brush- ing them with his ed garments, skulks the thief—and worse. But not with these contrasts, nor with any lesson that they may teach, have youand I to deal now Our attention is fixed upon the strik- ing of eight o’clock by the sonorous tongue of Westminster. And _ not our attention alone—for many of the friends with whom we shall pres- ently shake hands are listening also; so that we find ourselves suddenly ylunged into very various company. Ben Sparrow, the old grocer, who just as One tolls, is weighing out a uarter of a pound of brown sugar ora young urchin without a cap, incJines his head and listens, for all thé world as if he were a sparrow,so birdlike — perso cat — Sparrow, his grandda ter, who, avis put Tottie to bed, is coming down stairs in the dark (she has left the candle in the wash-hand Mi i i RUN VAY \ ANY yy VEY Vie