TESTIMONIALS. 
 
 The story is bused upon facts, and the author gives only 
 the. result of her own observation. The story is a sad one, as. 
 any story dealing with the dark side of human nature must 
 necessarily be, but it is written sympathetically with sugges- 
 tions of rebuke and encouragement. 
 
 THE NORTHWESTERN CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE. 
 
 After a careful reading of "Suffering Millions" I am per- 
 suaded that the author took up the burden of the pen and pub- 
 lished her work, hoping that she might reach many disinterested 
 hearts in behalf of the children of fallen parents, and thus ac- 
 complish the mission to which she believes herself called. 
 PRESIDENT WOMAN'S INDUSTRIAL HOME, 
 Bloomington, 111. 
 
 The author has given helpful words to many a hungry 
 soul, and the worries and trials of life will be lighter to many 
 after perusing the book. ALICE B. STOCKHAM, M. D., 
 
 Author of Tokology. 
 
 The author is tilling new soil in the literary world, which 
 will reap a rich harvest for children yet unborn. 
 
 EDITOR, CHICAGO, 
 
 There are a great, great many good things in the book, 
 which will be a blessing to the world. 
 
 EDITOR INTER OCEAN. 
 
 The work is an inspiration and should be read by millions. 
 
 P. ANNETTA PECKHAM, 
 
 Author of Welded Links and Poems. 
 
 Syracuse, N. Y.
 
 y
 
 TZHZIE 
 
 Suffering Millions 
 
 By ROSETTA OTWELL CROSS. 
 
 EDITED BY A GRADUATE OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN. 
 
 ANN ARBOR, MICH.: 
 
 THE COURIER OFFICE, PRINTERS. 
 
 1890.
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1890, 
 
 BY ROSETTA OTWELL CROSS. 
 In tbe office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
 
 PREFACE, 
 
 THE author, after a painful observation of more than a 
 quarter of a century, was drawn to write this sad story, 
 hoping by the sale of the book to help educate and elevate 
 the children of unworthy parents. Those of us who enjoy 
 comfortable homes, finding father and mother but syno- 
 nyms of love and protection, can hardly be brought to real- 
 ize what demons in human garb stalk through the homes 
 of some of the children of the land. 
 
 Rev. T. Dewitt Talmadge, in one of his sermons, said : 
 " The children of besotted parents are worse off than the 
 orphan. Look at the pale cheek, woe bleached it. Look 
 at that gash across the forehead, a drunken father struck 
 it there. Hear that heart-piercing cry, a fallen mother's 
 blasphemy compelled it. The ranks of an army of neg- 
 lected children are being filled up from all the homes of 
 iniquity and shame. The death-knell has already begun 
 to toll, and the angels of God hover like birds over the 
 plunge of a cataract. While such children are on the brink 
 they halt, and throw out their hands, and cry : ' help ! help !' 
 0. Church of God, will you help?" 
 
 As the author of this very sad story, I feel to make an 
 apology. No doubt my readers will think me cold and 
 cruel, and possessing no true respect for a mother. But, in- 
 deed, such is not the case. My own dear mother's image 
 is fresh in my mind, although many years have passed 
 since she died, I remember her with a sweet smile and 
 a soft, cheerful voice. I now remember standing by her 
 side and listening to her tender, earnest reproof. Me- 
 
 2073064
 
 4 Preface. 
 
 thinks I can now see her loving face, and ijt- is because I 
 saw almost perfection in her that I realize the importance 
 of a mother's God-given work yet few, comparatively, seem 
 to realize the importance of their mission. And now while 
 darling little ones play around ray own door, I fully realize 
 my important duty. Oh, may I have mind and strength 
 to perform my task aright. But yet my heart bleeds, not 
 for Lulu Montroville alone, but for the thousands of helpless 
 children in homes illy kept, who have no kind relative to 
 raise them from sorrow and disgrace ; without one ray of 
 encouragement to battle with the trials of life. "Ah, yes," 
 says one, " Where there is a will there is a way." But 
 tell me, pray, where is the way for the child of a dissipated 
 parent, who barely provides bread? How can the child 
 who has no early advantages, who has to wrestle with pov- 
 erty and want, besides having a parent who by life and 
 conduct daily drags his children down, be expected to have 
 the knowledge and the will-power necessary to succeed in 
 an attempt to elevate himself from th position in which 
 he is by such circumstances placed. Hard, indeed, it is 
 for a youth to be pointed out as the son of a drunkard, 
 or the daughter of a mother of disgraceful character. Al- 
 though sad, yet it is nevertheless true, that there are many 
 children who have both sides of this question to face. 
 Methinks I can almost feel their little hearts beat, and see 
 the tears trickle down their cheeks, while they are sur- 
 rounded by the children of worthy parents who have m6re 
 than they need.
 
 CHAPTER I, 
 
 Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid, 
 
 My verse alone had all thy gentle grace ; 
 But now my gracious numbers are decay'd 
 
 And my sick muse doth give another place. 
 I grant, sweet love, thy lovely argument 
 
 Deserves the travail of a worthier pen ; 
 Yet what of thee thy poet doth invent, 
 
 He robs thee of, and pays it thee again, 
 He lends thee virtue, and he stole that word 
 
 From thy behavior; beauty doth he give, 
 And found it in thy cheek ; he can afford 
 
 No praise to thee but what in thee doth live, 
 Then, thank him not for that which he doth say 
 
 Since what he owes thee, thou thyself dost pay. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 In some way, my mind has to-day wandered 
 back to a visit I made many years ago. At that 
 time my health was quite poor, and I had been 
 trying the air of different countries. I happened 
 to meet an old acquaintance once or twice with 
 whom I spent a short time. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Bradberry, a gentleman at 
 whose house I was visiting, " there are some new 
 comers that have moved into our neighborhood, 
 would you not like to go with wife and I this after- 
 noon and call upon them ?"
 
 6 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " I think no doubt it would be pleasant to do so," 
 said I. 
 
 After dinner Mr. Bradberry said to his sons, 
 " saddle the horses, and we will call upon our new 
 neighbors." 
 
 As we were on our way, Mr. Bradberry said, 
 " in some way I feel a peculiar interest in Mr. 
 Montroville, which, by the way, is our new neigh- 
 bor's name." 
 
 As we came in sight of the residence, which I 
 saw to be newly built, I observed that there was 
 only a small clearing around the house. As we 
 drew near a gentlemanly-looking man came out of 
 the house to meet us. 
 
 kt Good afternoon, Mr. Bradberry, "said he, " glad 
 to see you. Will you not alight from your horses?" 
 
 " I think we will," said Mr. Bradberry. " We 
 have a friend visiting us whom 1 thought you 
 might be glad to meet." 
 
 " Indeed," said Mr. Montroville, " we will be 
 glad to form new acquaintances, as we are very 
 lonely in our new home." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Bradberry, turning to me, 
 t; this is Miss Atwood, an intimate friend of my 
 wife." 
 
 u Glad to meet you," said Mr. Montroville, 
 " corne now into the house." 
 
 After being made acquainted with the family, 
 Mr. Bradberry said, " wel), friend Montroville. you 
 seem to be very pleasantly situated in your new 
 home."
 
 Suffering Millions. 1 
 
 At this remark of Mr. Bradberry's I saw the 
 color mount to Mr. Montroville's face. 
 
 " Well," said ho, " we try to make it as pleasant 
 as possible." 
 
 I now noticed what a fine, noble, and intelligent 
 looking man he was. I at once read in his looks 
 that he had known better days, and that he was 
 somewhat embarrassed at his surroundings. Mrs. 
 Montroville appeared more at ease. She seemed 
 to be a good-hearted woman, but I was somewhat 
 amused at her peculiar vocabulary. Although 
 strange to me, yet I knew it must be her native 
 dialect. 
 
 " By the way," said Mr. Bradberry, " I met a 
 man the other day that had known you years ago." 
 
 " Indeed," said Mr. Montroville, who could he 
 have been, and why did he not come to see me?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Mr. Bradberry, " it was when 1 was 
 in Cincinnati. I believe he called his name 
 Bryant." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed, was it he ?" said Mr. Montroville. 
 
 " He seemed very much astonished to hear you 
 were living here." 
 
 " I suppose he was," said Mr. Montroville. 
 
 " He thought." said Mr. Bradberry, " you were 
 in a far away country." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Montroville, " when I last saw 
 him I was in far different circumstances." 
 
 " So he told me," said Mr. Bradberry. 
 
 " When I sold my property it was my intention
 
 8 Suffering Millions. 
 
 to go to another country," was the reply. " Little 
 did I think I should ever come to this. But there 
 arose against it, as it were, a tempestuous wind. 
 No doubt if I had gone I would now have been 
 well situated." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Mr. Bradberry, " the winds 
 were God's messengers." 
 
 " No, indeed, rather do I believe they were the 
 messengers of the evil one." 
 
 "But," said Mr. Bradberry, " God does not wish 
 us to despair." 
 
 " Well," replied Mr. Montroville, " how easy it 
 is to be cheerful in the sunlight. How hard it is 
 to be bright in a dark day. No, indeed, God's 
 messengers never brought me here. Everything 
 has gone wrong with me since I came here. No, 
 the dear messengers of God, 1 do believe, did at one 
 time call me to labor in his vineyard, but 1 heeded 
 not the call." 
 
 " Why did you not do as God commanded you ?" 
 
 u Well, I must acknowledge my mind was drawn 
 away by the vanities of the world I, being some- 
 what ambitious to gain wealth and a position in 
 the world so I might better provide for my chil- 
 dren. But now I fully realize the change has 
 been one that will involve my family in sorrow 
 and suffering." 
 
 " Why do you thus think ?" 
 
 " I fully understand now, that it was unfaithful- 
 ness on my part not to heed God's call. No, I
 
 Suffering Millions. 9 
 
 can now never view the promised land that my 
 blessed Savior had intended me to enjoy." 
 
 I saw in his noble face a look of dispair, a 
 wasted talent, one of God's best gifts to man. I 
 very much feared he was as was one of old : Matt. 
 25 chap. 25 v.: "And I was afraid and went and 
 hid thy talent in the earth: Lo! there thou hast 
 that is thine." Matt. 25-26: " For unto every 
 one that hath shall be given, and he shall have 
 abundance ; but from him that hath not, shall be 
 taken away even that which he hath." 
 
 Shortly after our arrival a lady came in from 
 another room, whom Mrs. Montroville introduced 
 as Mrs. Lovejoy, and whom we soon found out was 
 an old acquaintance of the family. As my cu- 
 riosity was aroused I was quite anxious to learn 
 something about the former circumstances of Mr. 
 Montroville and his family. 
 
 While Mrs. Montroville was busily engaged in 
 making some arrangements for tea, Mrs. Lovejoy 
 said, " I have known Mr. Montroville's family for 
 many years. At one time," said she, u Mr. Mon- 
 troville was quite wealthy, having farms, horses, 
 and cattle, and enjoying more of the luxuries of 
 life than were common in that early day, but he 
 finally became interested in speculation which 
 wrought his financial ruin. Since that time he 
 has never been the same man." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Bradberry, "I think it best 
 for men who are comfortably situated to let well 
 enough alone."
 
 10 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Lovejoy, " I know it is, yet you 
 know people do not all think so." 
 
 Just then Mrs. Montroville came in and invited 
 us to tea. Shortly after this we took our de- 
 parture. But I had become so much interested in 
 the family that I made up my mind I would learn 
 more about them.
 
 Suffering Millions. 11 
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 There was a " logging " at Mr. Sherman's. These 
 were common at this time. Men would invite 
 their neighbors to help in rolling logs into large 
 heaps, in order to clear up the land. For the boys 
 and young men these were great places for sport. 
 
 " Hurrah," said Bill Lawton, " now for some fun. 
 We now ken see, arter all, who is the smartest 
 man. Whoa! gee! ha we! you poor old critter," 
 said he to his large red oxen, which he felt very 
 proud of, although trying to pretend to the. con- 
 trary. They were the finest yoke of oxen in the 
 whole country, and considered in this early day, as 
 a very valuable piece of property. Now, Bill was 
 a good-hearted fellow, according to his light, which, 
 however, Was not great, yet he deemed it very 
 smart to talk loud, boistrous and commanding to 
 his faithful oxen. "Wai. boys," said he, u ef I 
 was you I would begin showin' what I could do ; 
 jest fly in. S'pose, I reckon, you are thinkin' 'bout 
 the gals. Jest let 'em alone till we get all of these 
 logs together, then to-night at the kissin' bee, you 
 can do all of the smilin' on the gals you wan' to, 
 which ain't railly any fun for me; but laws a 
 massy, I can remember when I, arter all, liked to 
 smack a purtty gal's lips middlin' well. I dunno
 
 12 Suffering Millions. 
 
 that there is any harm in it, mebby arter all it 
 kindy cheers a fellow up once in a while." 
 
 At this speech of Bill Lawton, there was a shout 
 of "hip. hip, hurrah!' 1 by a dozen or more boys 
 who were wild with the love of sport. 
 
 "Now, Bill," said one, "if you do not mind, 
 Fred Brown's oxen will do more work than yours." 
 
 " Not much, Whoa, gee, hawe, Buck and Bright," 
 said Bill, " Arter all, not wantin' to brag on these 
 critters, ef any one thinks they have a yoke that. 
 can do half as much work I would like to see them. 
 'Mazin' strange, 'mazin' strange how much they 
 can do." The shouts of the boys made the woods 
 ring with the melody of their voices. "Whoa, 
 gee, hawe," said Bill, as he rolled together one or 
 two of the largest logs. 
 
 As the dinner horn sounded there was a general 
 rush of the hungry men and boys for the house, 
 and after washing the coal and dust from their 
 hands and faces they gathered around the dinner 
 table. 
 
 "Well," said Billy Lawton, "I s'pose you all 
 know who done the most loggin'; bimby, I reckon, 
 you know who'll do the most at the table." 
 
 "Well," said Captain Carlton, a man of action 
 as well as thought, " Bill, I suppose you are capa- 
 ble of doing justice to both." 
 
 "I reckon so," said Bill as he handed his cup 
 for some more coffee. 
 
 " By the way," said young Preston, ' have any 
 of you heard of the marriage ? "
 
 Suffering Millions. 13 
 
 " The marriage ! " said Carlton, " Who is mar- 
 ried ? " 
 
 ''Have you not heard of it? Why, William 
 Montroville has taken unto himself a wife." 
 
 u Laws a massy ! do tell ! did I ever !" said Bill 
 Lawton, " Will Montroville, married ! Why, he is 
 only a young boy !" 
 
 " Yes," said Preston, "only seventeen." 
 
 " What a pity," said Captain Carlton. " Will is 
 entirely too young to get married. Who did he 
 marry ? " 
 
 " He married Jane Winters." 
 
 " For mercy sakes," said Carlton, "worse and 
 worse. How did he get acquainted with her? " 
 
 " Oh ! he met her at a party and in just twenty- 
 six days afterwards they were married. She just 
 infatuated the boy. You know she is the older of 
 the two." 
 
 "Well,"' said Capt. Carlton, "This surely is too 
 bad. William would have made a fine young 
 man had he remained single." 
 
 "Laws a Massy !" said Bill Lawton, "Jane be- 
 longs to a good family, arter all." 
 
 " I don't care if she does," said Carlton, " She is 
 no wife for him." 
 
 " 'Mazin' strange! 'mazin' strange," said Bill, 
 " You think so little of Jane." 
 
 " Well," said Carlton, "Nothing could be more 
 effectual than educating the future mothers for 
 the advancement of the people!"
 
 14 Suffering Millions, 
 
 " Wai," said Bill, "Jane larnt some eddication." 
 
 " Well," said Carlton, " She has not been prop- 
 erly educated, besides, she is not a fit person for 
 any one to marry." 
 
 " Do tell ! Laws a massy ! She belongs to a good 
 family," said Bill. 
 
 " I don't care if she does, I think wisdom should 
 dictate the person and not the family; besides you 
 just remember," said Carlton, " this marriage will 
 turn out bad. Beside, Will is too young." 
 
 "Arter all, I dunno, Peggie and I were married 
 young. I had nothin' at the beginin', and nothin' 
 much yit. Mebby if we had staid single, and as 
 you say got some eddecation, it mite of ben better. 
 But arter all 1 and the old gal has got along mid- 
 dlin well." 
 
 " I suppose you will think me a Philomath," 
 replied Carlton, u but nevertheless I do love edu- 
 cation. Why did Mr. Montroville let him marry 
 so young, and on such short acquaintance?" 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Sherman, " since Mr. Montro- 
 ville met with his reverse in fortune he has never 
 been the same man. He knew nothing of the 
 marriage until one or two days before it took 
 place. He then talked to William and the boy 
 threatened to run away. This Mr. Montroville 
 could not stand. He just idolized William, and 
 has always indulged him very much." 
 
 " Poor boy," said Capt. Carlton, " he will regret 
 this hasty step. Just remember if my words are 
 not true."
 
 Suffering Millions. 15 
 
 "Another cup of coffee," said Bill Lawton, 
 "Carlton has made me nervous. Nothin' jist like 
 coffee, I reckon, ken quiet the nerves. S'pose ef 
 we don't hurry we hain't goin' to git that piece of 
 ground logged off. I railly 'spect, arter all, the 
 boys begin to git scar't about the frolick to-night. 
 Mrs. Sherman, another cup of coffee, I see my cup 
 has run dry agin." Now, Bill was a good hearted 
 fellow, was very fond of coffee, and thought it 
 nothing, especially at a logging bee, to drink four 
 or five cups to stimulate his nerves. But never- 
 theless this tickled the girls who were waiting on 
 the table, they would insist upon Bill's having 
 more coffee, winking at each other. Finally Mr. 
 Sherman noticed their fun and gave his daughter 
 a frown that made her plainly understand that he 
 wished their sport stopped at once, for Bill Law- 
 ton was a good, hard working man, and welcome 
 to all the coffee he wished. Coffee was a very 
 important beverage in those good old days, espec- 
 ially for such fellows as Bill. 
 
 " Marriage," observed Oapt. Carlton, " is a very 
 important step. An eminent man once said that 
 people should pray more over their marriage for 
 God's assistance to direct them, than any other step 
 in life, as it is the one of the most importance." 
 
 " Laws a massy ! " said Bill, " I jest s'pose ef 
 arter all they would use a little common sense, 
 sich amount of prayin' railly ain't of no use. I 
 reckon ef a person is a middlin' weak-minded fel-
 
 16 Suffering Millions. 
 
 low prayin' might ease his mind. 'Mazin' strange 
 how some people think." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Sherman, " Friend Lawton," 
 as she helped him to another cup of coffee, " mar- 
 riage is a very important step, and one that a per- 
 son should ask God's guidance in, for, as Capt. 
 Carlton says, it is the most important step of a 
 worldly nature. I once knew a girl, a bright intel- 
 ligent girl, that had been as well educated as any 
 girl in the whole country around where she lived." 
 
 " Do tell," said Bill, " wasn't that right ? " 
 
 "Yes, but I was going to say, she became ac- 
 quainted with a young man that was uneducated. 
 Being very handsome he soon won the girl's heart. 
 She being an orphan and feeling very lonely, very 
 much needed some one to lean upon. He was 
 constantly by her side, her every wish he tried to 
 grant and soon became all the world to her. She 
 gave the subject of the difference in their educa- 
 tion no thought. She looked upon him as the best 
 and most handsome man she ever saw. Her 
 mind was fairly crazed with the love she felt for 
 him. Led on by her foolish love she became his 
 wife, never once thinking that they were entirely 
 unsuited for each other." 
 
 " Wai arter all 1 reckon the gal was happy, was 
 she not? "said Bill. 
 
 " Yes, for a number of years she was, but her 
 cultured mind longed and craved cultured society. 
 This I discovered although she tried to keep it to
 
 Suffering Millions. 17 
 
 herself. She was my nearest and dearest friend. 
 As the beauty of youth wore away, leaving his 
 mind unstored with knowledge, the difference be- 
 came more apparent. This she could not help 
 seeing, but being a true woman there was no other 
 way, but to try and bear this mortification." 
 
 After dinner the men were soon engaged again 
 in rolling the logs together. I noticed a number 
 of other men and boys had come in to help Mr. 
 Sherman during the afternoon. Among the num- 
 ber I noticed William Montroville. At the supper 
 table, I could not help watching him as I had 
 heard the conversation at noon about his mar- 
 riage. I was touched with a feeling of sorrow, as 
 I watched the youthful one. William was rather 
 a heavy built boy. I must call him a boy, as sure- 
 ly that was all he was. His hair was a rich dark 
 auburn, which lay in wavy curls around his 
 noble brow. 
 
 " For mercy sakes," said Mrs. Sherman, " why 
 did Mr. Montroville let a boy so young get mar- 
 ried?" 
 
 I replied, " That is more than I can tell." 
 
 " He surely indulged William too much." 
 
 " Yes, he just idolized the boy.'' 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Sherman, " Spare the rod, 
 and you spoil the child. But in these days par- 
 ents let the children govern the household. Is it 
 not a pity ? " 
 
 Capt. Carl ton turned to William, whom he
 
 18 Suffering Millions. 
 
 watched with a tender, fatherly look, " How did 
 your father make it with Mr. B. about those mules 
 he let him have? " 
 
 " Oh ! " said William, " Mr. B. would not change 
 back." 
 
 " Well," said Carl ton, " he did not act right, did 
 he?" 
 
 " No, he did not. I had a very peculiar dream 
 last night about Mr. B. and those mules." , 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 " I dreamed 1 was going up a high hill, over a 
 very hard, stony road. I thought I heard a noise 
 behind me, and upon looking around, I saw Mr. 
 B.'s father-in-law coming, standing up in his wag- 
 on, driving those mules just as fast as he could. 
 When, lo and behold! Just as Bunyan described 
 Christian with that great burden on his back, so 
 likewise he had Mr. B. secreted on his back trying 
 in this way, as I dreamed, to get him into heaven." 
 
 At this witty sally of William's a hearty laugh 
 went round. 
 
 " Well." said Lawton, " Ef he ever gits thare, I 
 s'pose that is the only way for him, bekase he is 
 too mean to git thare any other way." 
 
 " Friend Lawton you are most too hard on Mr. 
 B.," said Carlton. " You know. ' while the lamp 
 holds out to burn, the vilest sinner may return.' " 
 
 Turning to me, Mrs. Sherman said, " William 
 Montroville is the most witty boy I ever saw. He 
 is always full of fun and his fun is usually very
 
 Suffering Millions. 19 
 
 innocent. But you see Mr. B. took advantage, in 
 some way, of Mr. Montroville about those mules, 
 therefore William has been rather cutting in his 
 remarks." 
 
 "Well," said Bill Lawton, "gist good enough 
 for him. Old B. is always doin' somethin' he had- 
 ent orto. Ef I was in Montroville's place I'd give 
 him a good thrashin'. That's gist what he needs. 
 That Bill Montroville is gist the right kind of 
 stuff. Bimby ef B. don't look out he may be sorry 
 yit for some of his mean tricks, bekase some day 
 he will run across the wrong feller, and ef he does 
 he'll git it." 
 
 In the evening all of the young people of the 
 neighborhood gathered. The odor of wild flowers 
 filled the house. Girls and boys both, with ruddy 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes, presented perfect em- 
 blems of health. Oh, youth and health! what 
 are like thee? I some times now sigh for those 
 good old days of yore. It was not long before the 
 young folks were whirling in the giddy mazes of 
 the dance. 
 
 A short time after this logging bee I engaged 
 board for three or four months at the home of Mr. 
 Montroville. I had intended to board during the 
 fall and winter with my friend Mr. Bradbury, but 
 as it was impossible for them to accommodate me, 
 and there were very lew places in this early day 
 where a person could secure board, I had to be 
 satisfied in doing the best I could in securing: a
 
 20 Suffering Millions. 
 
 boarding place. But I felt a change in scenery 
 and climate would be beneficial to my health. 
 
 In the family there were three children, two 
 boys and one girl; the girl being the youngest of 
 the family. The boys names were William and 
 Ward, which were their true names. The girl we 
 will call May. This family were very happy in 
 their home, while prosperity was theirs to enjoy. 
 The mother, Mrs. Montroville, was one of those 
 good gentlewomen who indulged her children in 
 almost their every desire. She was a good, kind 
 and loving mother. Mr. Montroville was a man 
 of government who tried to instruct his children 
 in the way that they should go. Things passed 
 pleasantty along until Mr. Montroville invested in 
 some speculation that wrought his financial ruin. 
 We now find them as the reverse of fortune 
 always leaves people, in changed circumstances. 
 Mr. Montroville being proud and ambitious was 
 crushed at leaving his fine home, went to a city to 
 live. But that did not suit the family, as the ways 
 of city life were different from what they had been 
 used to. Mr. Montroville also saw that the city 
 was no place for his boys, he therefore took the 
 means he had left, and bought him a home in the 
 then wilds of southern Michigan. Mrs. Montro- 
 ville and May remained in the city while Mr. 
 Montroville, William and Ward went into the 
 wild forest to make a home. Mr. Montroville 
 hired a carpenter to build him a house, which,
 
 Suffering Millions. 21 
 
 when completed, was quite a respectable frame 
 house. Mr. Montroville and the boys began the 
 hard task of clearing up a farm. The great and 
 lofty trees that towered away up toward the heav- 
 ens looked like giants and almost disheartened 
 Mr. Montroville as he had not been used to such 
 work. But, as man was to go forth and subdue 
 the earth, they labored on, and as industry and 
 perseverance will accomplish all things so in this 
 case it was not long before they had cleared from 
 the forest quite a farm. The boys enjoyed the 
 sports of a new country. There was plenty of 
 game in the woods, and the boys when they had 
 time would hunt the game common to the country. 
 Mr. Montroville bought the boys a large hound to 
 hunt with which amused them very much. Wil- 
 liam was the oldest of the children, he therefore 
 felt the reverse of their circumstances the most. 
 "Ward was a very bright, active boy that enjoyed 
 the fine scenery of the woods. While in the city 
 he had attended some of the great caravans that 
 traveled about the world, and he there saw the 
 fine bare-back riders and show men expert in rid- 
 ing horses in every imaginable way. He there- 
 fore gained a love for that fine sport, and though 
 but a boy of thirteen years yet he became very 
 expert as a horse trainer. He would ride a horse 
 as fast as it could run, while standing on its back. 
 He was so active he could do almost anything in 
 the line of climbing a tree, or riding a horse. He
 
 22 Suffering Millions. 
 
 could climb a tree almost equal to a squirrel. He 
 would almost run from the Bottom to the top of 
 great tall trees. He was looked upon by the peo- 
 ple as almost a clown. Many were the hardships 
 the family had to encounter, but as industry and 
 activity always bring happiness, they were happy 
 in their new home. There are many pleasures 
 in a new region that the people of an older and 
 more improved country know nothing of. The 
 people were warm-hearted and kind, as is almost 
 always the case in a new country. In older and 
 more improved countries the people become 
 more formal. One sad affliction was, that the 
 boys had not the opportunity of attending school, 
 as it was impossible for their father to spare 
 them, as he had so much work to do and was 
 not able to hire help. This was a very great 
 pity, as youth is the time to improve the mind 
 for future usefulness. We will here remark 
 that one of the greatest mistakes of life is 
 not to educate children. Although these boys 
 grew to be smart and intelligent men ; with more 
 than ordinary capacity of mind; yet they never 
 could attain the same usefulness in life that they 
 might and that they would have been so well able 
 to have filled. But nevertheless they grew to be 
 noble and good men. With May the circum- 
 stances were different. Mrs. Montroville was a 
 healthy, industrious woman that took all of the 
 household care upon herself. The family being
 
 Suffering Millions. 23 
 
 small she did not need the services of May very 
 much; and being the youngest, and the only girl 
 she indulged the child very much. May therefore 
 had the advantage of attending school as much as 
 she wished. For a new country the school advan- 
 tages were very good. Among the leading citizens 
 were a family* of Puritans, descendants of the 
 noble settlers of Plymouth Rock. They were 
 cultured and educated people. This was a great 
 help to the neighborhood for they did much to 
 improve and elevate the people. They secured 
 fine and able eastern teachers, to the great advan- 
 tage of the schools, and for a new country the 
 school advantages were better than are generally 
 found. May at first felt very bashful to go to 
 school alone, without her brothers. It was some 
 time before she felt easy and contented in a 
 strange school, but as she became acquainted with 
 the scholars her bashful ness wore away. She soon 
 began to enjoy the school, and being bright and 
 intelligent she soon made rapid progress in her 
 studies. The school house was one mile from her 
 home. The road about half way was through the 
 woods, fine large trees shading it on either side. 
 There also ran a beautiful stream of water over 
 which she had to pass. 
 
 Mrs. Montroville was of southern blood, born 
 and raised in the south. Her people were slave- 
 holders, and she therefore possessed much of the 
 disposition of southern folks. She did not like
 
 24 Suffering Millions. 
 
 the hardships of the working class of people, and 
 ever sighed for her southern home. She had been 
 brought up as the people of the south were, at 
 that time, to believe in slavery. She had received 
 but little education and used many of the southern 
 terms of speech. Although gentle herself, yet her 
 children partook largely of the fiery and ambitious 
 nature of the southern people. Mr. Montroville 
 also was of southern descent, although born and 
 raised in the north. But his disposition was much 
 as the disposition of southern people are, there- 
 fore this family felt much the change of their loss 
 of property, but they tried to make the best out of 
 life they could, they labored hard to make a home 
 in the woods.
 
 Suffering Millions. 25 
 
 CHAPTER III, 
 
 Said Mr. Montroville to his wife, " I very much 
 fear there is going to be trouble about the slave 
 question. To-day, while 1 was in town, every- 
 thing was excitement. You know there has been 
 hard feelings by many because Mr. Douglas was 
 not elected. On the occasion of Mr. Lincoln's 
 inauguration he delivered a long and thoughtful 
 address, declaring his fixed purpose to uphold the 
 Constitution, enforce the laws, and preserve the 
 integrity of the Union." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Montroville, " I suppose that 
 is right, is it not ? " 
 
 " Of course it is," said Mr. Montroville, " but you 
 know there has been hard feeling for a long time 
 about the slave question." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Montroville, " they had better 
 let the slaves remain just where they are, for I 
 do believe that the slaves in my father's kitchen 
 were better off than are the poorer class of people 
 here in the north." 
 
 " Yes, but I hold these truths to be self evident, 
 that all men are created equal; that they are en- 
 dowed by their Creator with certain inalienable 
 rights ; that among these are life, liberty, and the 
 pursuit of happiness."
 
 26 Suffering Millions. 
 
 'Then they had better let the negroes be just 
 where they are, for they are the happiest people I 
 ever saw. I have heard them sing and dance, and 
 shout, and have more fun in one night, than I have 
 ever seen any one have in all of the time I have 
 been in the cold, frozen north. The people of the 
 north do not understand their natures, and that 
 they are free from care. There was Uncle Nathan 
 Chaffin's slaves. They were ten times better off* 
 than half of the poorer working class of the 
 north." 
 
 u No doubt some were, but if they happened to 
 have such a Master as old Legree, in Uncle Tom's 
 Cabin, then what ? " 
 
 u Well, I know," said Mrs. Montroville. " Such 
 men as he. is what makes slavery bad, yes, very 
 bad, indeed. Of course there are some brutes in 
 the form of men, who are very mean to their 
 slaves." 
 
 "I shall go to town to-morrow to get my paper 
 said Mr. Montroville, then I can find out what 
 they are doing down south. Also who the new 
 cabinet are." 
 
 The next evening, as the family were seated 
 around the fire, Mr. Montroville read that the new 
 cabinet was organized with W. H. Seward, of New 
 York as secretary of State; Salmon P. Chase, of 
 Ohio, secretary of the treasury ; and Simon Cam- 
 eron, secretary of war, (who in the following 
 January was succeeded in office by Edwin M.
 
 Suffering Millions. 27 
 
 Stanton). The secretaryship of the navy was con- 
 ferred on Gideon Welles. 
 
 " I hope he has made a wise choice for his cabi- 
 net," remarked Mr. Montroville. In his inaugural 
 address the President indicated the policy of the 
 new administration by declaring his purpose to 
 repossess the forts, arsenals and public property 
 which had been seized by the Confederate authori- 
 ties. On the 12th of March an effort was made by 
 commissioners of the seceded states to obtain from 
 the national government a recognition of their 
 independence. 
 
 u No doubt this will be best for the north as 
 well as for the south, ?aid Mrs. Montroville." 
 
 " No, indeed," said Mr. Montroville. " Prudence 
 will dictate that governments long established 
 should not be changed for light and trivial causes. 
 All experience hath shown that mankind are more 
 disposed to suffer, while evils are sufferable, than 
 to right themselves by abolishing the former to 
 which they are accustomed." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Mrs. Montroville, " I was raised in 
 the south. I think I have a better right to know 
 about it than you do. We had better times there 
 than I ever expect to have here in the north." 
 
 " No doubt you did at the expense of some one 
 else's labor." Just here Mr. Smith came in. Said 
 he to Mr. Montroville, "I suppose you have heard 
 of the trouble down south t " 
 
 " No," said Mr. Montroville.
 
 28 Suffering Millions. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Smith, "you know the de- 
 fences of Charleston Harbor were held by Major 
 Robert Anderson. His entire forces amounted to 
 seventy-nine men. Owing to the weakness of his 
 garrison, he deemed it prudent to evacuate Fort 
 Moultrie and retire to Fort Sumpter. In the 
 meantime Confederate volunteers had flocked to 
 the city and powerful batteries had been built 
 about the harbor. As soon as it became known 
 that the Federal government would reinforce the 
 forts, the authorities of the Confederate States de- 
 termined to anticipate the movement by com- 
 pelling Anderson to surrender. Accordingly, 
 General Beauregard, commandant of Charleston, 
 sent a flag to Fort Sumpter demanding an evacua- 
 tion. Major Anderson replied that he should hold 
 the fortress and defend his flag." 
 
 "That was right," said Mr. Montroville, " it 
 showed him to be a brave man." 
 
 Mr. Smith continued, " on the following morn- 
 ing the first gun was fired from a Confederate 
 battery. A terrific bombardment of thirty-four 
 hours 1 duration followed ; the fort was reduced to 
 ruins, set on fire, and obliged to capitulate. The 
 honors of war were granted to Anderson and his 
 men, who had made a brave and obstinate resist- 
 ance." 
 
 " Just as I expected. With this begins actual 
 hostilities. I am very sorry indeed. This is going 
 to make a bloody war. It will not be as many of
 
 Suffering Millions. 29 
 
 the northern men think. I well understand 
 the disposition of those southern people; they will 
 fight until they die. It is as brother against 
 brother. Many of my relations are in the south. 
 Yes, indeed, I am very, very sorry. How many 
 lives were lost ? " 
 
 "There were no lives lost, but the fort was 
 ruined,'' replied Mr. Smith. 
 
 The news of this startling event went through 
 the country like a flame of fire. There had been 
 expectation of violence, but the actual shock came 
 like a clap of thunder. Public opinion in both 
 the north and south was rapidly consolidated. 
 Three days alter the fall of Sumpter, President 
 Lincoln issued a call for seventy five thousand 
 volunteers to serve three months in the overthrow 
 of the secession movement. But, as Mr. Montro- 
 ville feared, the war did not stop there, but con- 
 tinued to be a long and bloody one. On the 19th 
 of April, when the first regiment of Massachusetts 
 volunteers were passing through Baltimore on 
 their way to Washington, they were fired upon 
 by the citizens, and three men killed. This was 
 the first blood shed in the war. 
 
 Virginia seceded from the Union. On May 6th, 
 Arkansas followed, then North Carolina on the 
 20th of the same month. In Tennessee especially 
 in East Tennessee there was a powerful opposi- 
 tion to disunion, and it was not until the 8th of 
 June that a secession ordinance could be passed.
 
 30 Suffering Millions. 
 
 The people of Maryland were divided info hostile 
 parties. In Missouri, the movement resulted in 
 civil war. In Kentucky the authorities issued a 
 proclamation of neutrality. Already the Southern 
 Congress had adjourned from Montgomery, to 
 meet on the 20th of July at Richmond, which was 
 chosen as the capitol of the Confederacy. To that 
 place had already come Jefferson Davis and the 
 officers of his cabinet, for the purpose of directing 
 the affairs of government and the army. So stood 
 the anatagonistic -power in the beginning of June, 
 1861, and before the close of this year ten states 
 had seceded from the Union. It was now evident 
 that a great war, perhaps the greatest in modern 
 times, was impending over the nation. " What 
 do you think were the causes of the civil war ? " 
 
 "Well," replied Mr. Montroville, "the- first and 
 most general cause of the war, was the different 
 construction put upon the national constitution 
 by the people of the north and south." 
 
 " Do you think this the greatest cause, said I ? " 
 
 " No. A second general cause of the civil war 
 was the different systems of labor in the north and 
 in the south. In the former section the laborers 
 were freemen, citizens, voters; in the latter, 
 bondmen, property, slaves." 
 
 " Your wife, Mr. Montroville, stems to believe 
 in slavery." 
 
 " Oh yes ! You see my wife was born and raised 
 in the south. Her best days were spent there.
 
 Suffering Millions* 31 
 
 She knew nothing but happiness there, so it is no 
 wonder she believes in it. I, too, am of southern 
 descent, yet I believe in abiding, by the laws of 
 my country." 
 
 u That is right," said I. 
 
 " In the south,' 1 said Mr. Montroville, the theory 
 was that the capital of a country should own the 
 labor. In the north that both labor and capital 
 are free. Thus there came to be a dividing line 
 drawn through the Union, east and west." 
 
 " Were these the only causes ? " 
 
 " No. The danger arising from this source was 
 increased, and the discord between the sections 
 aggravated by several subordinate causes. The 
 first of these was the invention of the cotton gin, 
 in 1793, by Eli Whitney, a young collegian of 
 Massachusetts. He went to Georgia, and while 
 there his attention was directed to the tedious and 
 difficult process of picking cotton by hand, that is 
 in separating the seed from the fibre. The indus- 
 try of the cotton growing states was paralyzed by 
 the tediousness of preparing the product for the 
 market." 
 
 " It must have been very tedious." 
 
 " It was, and young Whitney undertook to re- 
 move the difficulty, and succeeded in inventing a 
 gin which astonished the beholder by the rapidity 
 and excellence of its work." 
 
 " Surely this could have had nothing to do with 
 the war ? "
 
 32 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Montroville, " from being profit- 
 less, cotton became the most profitable of all the 
 staples. The industry of the south was revolution- 
 ized. Before the war it was estimated that Whit- 
 ney's gin had added a thousand millions of dollars 
 to the revenues of the southern states. Slave 
 labor became important, slaves valuable, and the 
 system of slavery, a fixed and deep rooted institu- 
 tion." 
 
 " Well," said I, " It would not have been so bad, 
 had it not been for such brutes as Legree." 
 
 " Of course it would not, yet, no doubt many a 
 man has lost his soul on account of slavery, 
 and what can be compared to the worth of one 
 soul. From this time onward there was constant 
 danger that the slavery question would so embitter 
 the politics and legislation of the country as to 
 bring about disunion. The danger of such a result 
 was manifested in the Missouri agitation of 1820- 
 21. Next came the IN unification acts of south 
 Carolina. But still I love the south, for it was 
 the land of my parents' nativity. I also love the 
 north for it is my home. The place where my 
 children were born." 
 
 Thus sang a poor old colored woman at the be- 
 ginning of the trouble down south : 
 
 Ah ! Praise and t'anks de Lo'd. 
 
 He comes to set de people free, 
 
 And Massa t'inks it day ob doom, but we of jubilee. 
 
 Ah ! poor ole Dinnah is afe'rd de Lo'd will let
 
 Suffering Millions. 33 
 
 you sing and shout de year of jubilee, 'spesually 
 ob bein' free. Dis chile haint one ob de kind dat 
 belibes in sich po'er ob de Lo'd ; bekase ef de Lo'd 
 had ben so mighty good he wou'dn't let dem sold 
 my poor wife and chile. 
 
 " Well," said Dinah, " now Sambo dare am foun' 
 in de book of Solomen deze wo'ds, ' fo' dem dat sews 
 de same shall they rip,' now de kashin ob my inter- 
 ducin' dis subjec' am as wu'ked out en de las' 
 meetin in dat dar grove." 
 
 " In de fust place," said Sambo, u I tuk notice dat 
 'mong de darkys de subjec' was bein' fabercated 
 for de po'r headens, yo' look'd like a pack of po'r 
 old fools don' on yo' shin bon's prayin' to be free. 
 Fuddermo', an' in de nsx' place lemme tell yo' 
 dis, dat de Lo'd can no mor' do any t'ing 'bo't 
 settin' yo' fee dan I can. Yo' gwinto see 'bo't dis, 
 an' yo' kin ram dis truf down yo' t'ro't." 
 
 " Well, Sambo, Iz bin one ob de kind dat had 
 conwictions dat de Lo'd is gwinter set us free. De 
 Lo'd can take care of de babes ob de lam'." 
 
 " Well," said Sambo, as the tears flowed down 
 his dusky cheeks, " why did de Lo'd den let dem 
 sell my po'r wife an' den tare ou' po'r little chile 
 from it mudder's bre'st ? De po'r little t'ing tried 
 to cling to its mudder. Oh, de'r, ole massa is 
 good, but de kinder de massa de harder to be sold. 
 Dat it haint gwinto see de lubed ones any mor'. 
 Day took my wife to Georgia to toil in de cotton
 
 34 Suffering Millions. 
 
 an' de cain. Day took oir po' little babe, wh'ar 
 we can never see it agin." 
 
 " We kno' de Lo'd he gib us sign, 
 Dat some day we be free ; 
 De norf wind tell it to the pine, 
 De wild duck to de sea. 
 We t'ink it when de church bell rings, 
 We dream it in de dreams, 
 De rice bird means it when it sings, 
 De eagle when he screams."
 
 Suffering Millions. 35 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 
 As we have before made mention after associat- 
 ing for sometime among the young people,William 
 became acquainted with a young lady, whom he 
 shortly afterward married. Being yet very young 
 Mr. Montroville thought best for him to live at 
 home for a while, as their family was small, and 
 he did not like to spare one of the children from 
 the parental roof. William therefore brought his 
 wife home. Being much attached to his wife, also 
 to his father's famity, he was very happy. Things 
 passed pleasantly along for some time. But about 
 this time there was a dark cloud hovering over our 
 beloved United States. Our nation was threat- 
 ened with being disunited in heart and hand. 
 South Carolina had already seceded, Jefferson 
 Davis declaring that she was a free and independ- 
 ent State. It was then that our country called for 
 brave men. As a good father would try and 
 govern his household, so she saw something must 
 be done. She needed men to try and prevent dis- 
 union. William looked at his country's need, and 
 fired with the same warm blood that runs in south- 
 ern veins, was ready and willing to go. Although 
 his friends were dear, yet duty called him now. 
 His country needed his help to protect the homes,
 
 36 Suffering Millions. 
 
 in one of which was all he held dear, that peace 
 might yet reign; and that children yet unborn 
 might enjoy the same liberty that he had ever 
 enjoyed. He bid wife, parents, brother and sister 
 adieu, and went at his country's call ; if need be to 
 lay down his life, or to spill the last drop of blood 
 for freedom's sake. Sad was the parting. His 
 friends wrung their hands and wept, but they would 
 not hold him back, for they knew that duty called 
 him away. He was among the youngest and 
 bravest of northern men. 
 
 My health had so improved in this climate that 
 I made up my mind I would secure a regular 
 boarding place and remain for sometime. Mr. 
 Bradberry, whom I considered a very dear friend, 
 had enlarged his house, and now very kindly 
 offered me a home in his family. The Montrovilles 
 were not quite as comfort ably situated, so I changed 
 my boarding place. But as I had become some- 
 what interested in the family I still kept up an ac- 
 quaintance with them, partly on account of their 
 kindness towards me, and partly on account of 
 their peculiar temperaments. I was very much 
 affected at the parting of William and his friends, 
 yet I knew it was necessary that our country 
 should be protected. 
 
 " What bosom beats not .for his country's cause 
 Briton's attend; be worth like this approved." Pope. 
 
 Those were dark days for the people of this 
 country. Not like a war with a foreign nation, but
 
 Suffering Millions. 37 
 
 with brother against brother, both fighting as they 
 thought, for their rights. Death and destruction 
 invaded both armies. Blood flowed on many a 
 battle field. The hearts of friends at home grew 
 sad as they waited and longed for peace to be 
 restored. But still the war swept on. A call was 
 made for seventy-five thousand men. But even 
 this number was too small, although more than 
 the number of children of Israel that died with the 
 plague in King David's time. Then again came a 
 call for three hundred thousand more, and still 
 again for three hundred thousand more. Then 
 brave men rallied for the cause from Mississippi's 
 winding stream, and from New England's shore, 
 and still the war was continued. Starvation and 
 all kinds of hardships, the soldiers in both armies 
 endured. I speak of these sufferings to try and 
 impress on the minds of the young and rising gen- 
 erations, and to those that know little or nothing 
 of the sorrows of this dreadful war, what a bad 
 thing it is for a nation to be divided and go to war, 
 the one portion against the other. It is as 1 ' A 
 house divided against itself shall not stand," and 
 also, "Though the tongue is a little member it 
 boasteth great things," yet it can " set nations on 
 fire," therefore all should try and govern the 
 tongue as well as the thoughts, for both used .in 
 the wrong direction can do great harm. It is my 
 object in writing this volume to impress upon the 
 mind of the young a right object in life, and the
 
 38 Suffering Millions. 
 
 great necessity of trusting God at all times, and in 
 all things, in little things as well as great. 
 
 After leaving home William met many trials 
 and temptations. Many are the wicked influences 
 thrown around a young man in the army. Although 
 almost overcome with grief at the parting with 
 friends and loved ones at home, after leaving 
 the north, and while in the south his mission was 
 to aid his beloved country. He made a brave and 
 gallant soldier. Although he loved the south and 
 the southern people, because it was his mother's 
 native land, yet he loved liberty and thought it 
 better for both north and south to be united, for 
 in unity there is strength. "United we stand 
 divided we fall,'' is a good maxim for either home 
 or country. Although away from home and friends, 
 and strange as it may seem, yet his brave and 
 dauntless nature enjoyed the wild and romantic 
 scenes of war. From his quick and active nature, 
 and possessing as he did the ability to imperson- 
 ate others, he acted many times as a spy. thereby 
 ofttimes doing more good to his country than he 
 could in any other capacity. He did not at this 
 time enjoy religion, therefore did not feel the 
 remorse of acting in such a capacity. The south- 
 ern people were indignant at the northern soldiers, 
 and did all in their power to do them harm in 
 every way they could. There were many good 
 and loyal people in the south, which sometimes 
 made it hard to tell the loyal from the disloyal
 
 Suffering Millions. 39 
 
 ones. In one of the southern states lived a very 
 rich, and influential man. who claimed to be loyal, 
 but it was rumored that he was not loyal, and that 
 he was helping the south in many ways, in fur- 
 nishing provisions, and, also by acting as a spy, 
 gaining knowledge of the northern army, and then 
 communicating the same to the southern army. 
 The union soldiers tried in many ways to find out 
 whether he was really loyal or not. At last the 
 officers of William's regiment conceived the plan 
 of sending him as a spy. They therefore obtained 
 a suit of southern planter's clothes, with broad 
 rimmed hat, suph as was worn by southern plant- 
 ers at that time, and William went to the old 
 farmer's plantation, dressed as a young southerner. 
 He well knew that if his identity was discovered 
 death would be his immediate portion, because 
 they do not parley long with one acting as a spy. 
 Yet he was too brave to fear death, if by it he 
 could aid his country, for this is what the truly 
 brave soldier expected. 
 
 The old southern planter received him in truly 
 southern style. After having him alight from his 
 horse he had his servants bring out decanters of 
 brandy, thereby showing his hospitality in true 
 southern style. After conversing on different 
 topics of the day, the old planter referred to " the 
 d d war " as he called it, which was ruining his 
 country. He went on to tell how he had helped 
 the confede; ate army, and stated that he had a
 
 40 Suffering Millions. 
 
 son, an officer, in the rebel army. William asked 
 him many questions in regard to the situation of the 
 confederate army, and gained much information. 
 As the old man was showing him his room up stairs 
 William noticed the stars and stripes, our dear na- 
 tional flag, made into a bed quilt. If anything 
 will make a loyal person's blood run cold, it is in 
 seeing our beautiful flag mistreated. William 
 stepped to the bed and raising the flag said, " You 
 have the stars and stripes made into a quilt ? " 
 
 ' ; Yes," said the planter, " and a nicer one than 
 that I dragged through the streets of Kichmond, 
 tied to my horse's tail." 
 
 This and many other things showed how loyal 
 he was. At supper the planter's wife, more 
 shrewd than her husband, a trait for which south- 
 ern women were noted, looking over her spectacles, 
 said to her husband, "you had better be a little 
 careful of what you say, just as likely as not this 
 young man is a union soldier." 
 
 'Not much," said the old man, " I guess I can 
 tell a southern man's talk." 
 
 William was well acquainted with many of the 
 southern phrases of speech, learning many of them 
 years before of his mother, and they were very 
 natural for him to use. In this way he had com- 
 pletely fooled the old planter. But this made 
 William's blood run cold, for he well knew the 
 result if he was found out. He remained with the 
 planter until morning, and then excusing himself
 
 Suffering Millions. 41 
 
 returned to the union army to relate how loyal the 
 old gentleman was. His officers received him with 
 warm congratulations for doing so brave and dar- 
 ing an act. One of the union Kentucky regiments 
 seeing his bravery, and knowing him to possess 
 southern blood, offered him an honorable position 
 to serve with them, but his officers would not give 
 him up. This he somewhat regretted, for he 
 thought that he might be able there to better serve 
 his country. We will leave him in the south, and 
 return to his home in the far away north, with 
 God's blessing upon him.
 
 42 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER V, 
 
 We now come back to the home in the north. 
 Sad, indeed, is the home of the soldier. While 
 away, where death and hardship meets him on 
 every hand, little can cheer the hearts of parents or 
 wife as they wait, not knowing but the next mail 
 may bring them tidings that will crush the heart 
 and cause "an aching void that time can never fill." 
 Mr. Montroville's family being so small, and so 
 very lonesome, it was thought best for William's 
 wife to remain with them, not only because of 
 that fact but also because her father and mother 
 were dead and she had no better place to stay. 
 Things passed as pleasantly as could be expected. 
 But there was soon to be a change that Mrs. Mon- 
 troville and William's wife feared might cause 
 trouble. May had always been the baby, never 
 knowing the love of one younger than herself. 
 She had been badly spoiled, and from being 
 always indulged in having her own way, had 
 become very selfish. She knew no government 
 higher than her own. It is no kindness to a child 
 to indulge it in a way that will cause it misery 
 and sorrow all its life. This is one of the sins that 
 will remain to the " third and fourth generation." 
 God's laws were laws of government. He did
 
 Suffering Millions. 43 
 
 not intend to make a law and then to have it 
 broken. I have no patience with parents who 
 will kneel down at a prayer meeting, or at any 
 other public place, and pray for God to pour ont 
 his blessings upon their children, and then while 
 at home let them do just as they please. Such 
 prayers as these, in my candid opinion, do more 
 harm than they do good. Worldly people point 
 those Christians out and sny, " Look at such a 
 Christian's children ! They are the worst children 
 in the neighborhood." Which is oflen the truth. 
 It does more harm than this, for the Bible says, 
 "Ask and ye shall receive," but it also says " God 
 cannot lie," and it is not his plan to bless the 
 raising of the children of parents, who let them 
 act at home, here in an enlightened and a civilized 
 land, worse than the children of parents in a 
 heathen land. I have now in my mind a very 
 devoted and saintly-appearing woman, who will 
 kneel in public worship and ask God's blessing 
 upon her children in the most eloquent language, 
 and while at home allow those children to do all 
 manner of wrong things. I do not believe that God 
 looks upon such prayers with the least allowance. 
 They put me in mind of the Pharisee who "loved 
 to make long prayers in public to be seen of men." 
 The Holy Bible says this is all they will receive. 
 Their children should be pitied instead of being 
 hated as they always are. The parents in their 
 love of display in prayer, do not stop to think that
 
 44 Suffering Millions. 
 
 they are doing their children an injustice. Such 
 prayers are a shame and disgrace to the Christian 
 religion. -But one might say they have no faculty 
 to govern. But that is no excuse. We can culti- 
 vate our faculties if we try. If they have no fac- 
 ulty to govern, then let (hem " ask God in secret^ 
 and he will reward them openly. " 
 
 May's mother made no such prayers as these, 
 but she kad always indulged her in having her 
 own way, and May was of a very impatient and 
 nervous temperament that made her very hard to 
 get along with. For this cause, Mrs. Montroville 
 feared that the change that was about to take 
 place might not make it as pleasant as it now was. 
 There was soon to come to that lonesome home 
 another litlle one. Many of the friends of Wil- 
 liam's wife said there would bo trouble with May. 
 This they all feared, as William's wife was a 
 quarrelsome and inconsiderate woman. But when 
 the little stranger made its appearance May looked 
 upon it as a gem of unearthly sweetness. A new 
 joy had come to her heart and home. She had 
 never loved anything so well in all of her life 
 before. At first when she looked at it she felt 
 that she must cry. She thought of her brother far 
 away, for whom she had a very tender regard. 
 But as the little baby was happily a girl, May 
 made it the idol of her heart. It grew quite 
 rapidly, developing in sweetness day by day. 
 May had not much work to do, so she had much
 
 Suffering Millions. 45 
 
 time to spend with her little niece during her 
 vacations. Mrs. Montroville and William's wife 
 were will pleased, as might be expected, by the 
 way May received the little stranger. We will 
 call the baby Lulu, although this w r as not her true 
 name. Ward and Mr. Montroville also thought 
 the baby very nice. So many years had passed 
 since there had been a baby in the family that 
 the entire household received it with great joy. 
 As Lulu's mother \vas one of those idle women 
 who casts her burdens on some one else, Mrs. 
 Montroville had the care of little Lulu. 
 
 "Well, May," said I, "how do you like that 
 baby at your hou.-e ? " 
 
 " Like Hint baby,'' said May, " Why, I just think 
 it splendid." 
 
 u Well," said 1, "it is nothing remarkable, it is 
 only a baby." 
 
 " Only a baby ! Well 1 guess you never saw 
 one quite as nice as it is, did you?" 
 
 " P?ha\v ! there is Mrs. Harverland's, with beau- 
 tiful brown hair, and those eyes! 1 hope you 
 don't think your baby half so nice as that one is, 
 do you I " 
 
 " Yes, I do," said May. " Mrs. Harverland's 
 baby is not pretty at all, just as homely as it can 
 be. Our baby has beautiful auburn hair, and I do 
 believe it is going to curl. Oh ! I do hope it will 
 be curly, for if it does, then it will be the prettiest 
 baby in the world. Did you notice its eyes I They
 
 46 Suffering Millions. 
 
 are the prettiest, laughing, sparkling eyes I ever 
 saw." 
 
 " Well, May," said I, "I should not think you 
 could think so much of it. You have been the baby 
 for fourteen or fifteen years. Now you will have 
 to give all of your playthings to it. Besides, all of 
 the new ones will be bought for it. You no longer 
 are the baby, now you will have to stand back. 
 You now are nothing but a great awkward girl." 
 
 " I don't care if I do. I never was half as nice 
 as our baby is, nor do I think there ever was 
 another half as sweet as she is. The other day 
 when I went into the room where she was sleeping 
 she opened her beautiful eyes and began to laugh, 
 rubbing her little nose with her fist. I caught her 
 in my arms and as I was kissing her she held on 
 to my lips, sucking them until the blood nearly 
 came." 
 
 ' Well," said I, "I guess she wanted to punish 
 you, by making your lips bleed for kissing her so." 
 
 u No, she didn't," said May. " She likes me. 
 Mother says she never saw the like. She believes 
 the baby likes me better than she does any of the 
 rest. If anything goes wrong with her she will 
 put up her little mouth and watch me all the 
 while, and want to come to me." 
 
 " Oh ! " said I, " she is making fun of you. She 
 is nothing very nice, only a baby." 
 
 "Weil, she is ten times nicer than you are," 
 said May, as she left the room, slamming the door
 
 Suffering Millions. 47 
 
 after her. In a few minutes back she came. (I 
 now saw she had been thinking about our conver- 
 sation, and had become angry at what I had been 
 saying about the baby.) " Well, said she, " I sup- 
 pose you think that baby which belongs to your 
 family, I mean your aunt's baby, is nice? " 
 
 " Yes," said I, " I do." 
 
 " It looks just like a little nigger. It is black as 
 a stack of black cats," said May. "Our baby is 
 just like a snow-flake, white and pure and like a 
 lily fair." 
 
 "Oh !" said I, "you are getting poetical." 
 
 " I don't care how I am getting," said May. 
 
 " I am happy because we have got a baby at our 
 house. I never had a sister or a baby to play with 
 before. I always had to play with the boys," 
 said she. 
 
 " That is why you are so rough and torn- boyish," 
 said I. 
 
 " Perhaps, then," said May, " this dear, gentle, 
 angelic baby will help to make me more ladylike. 
 I have always had to play with my brothers. I 
 love their wild sports." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " but you are the worst of the 
 three. The other day as I passed you and your 
 brother Ward you were whipping your horse down 
 to the keen run. I heard Ward say, be careful, 
 May, you will get thrown, your horse is running' 
 I watched you until you went over the hill and 
 out of sight."
 
 48 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " But, as I had the fastest horse, I left him far 
 behind." 
 
 " Ward is just as mischievous as he can be," I 
 said. " I noticed that he had two little American 
 flags in his horse's bridle. I was glad to see that, 
 for I do love a noble, patriotic spirit in our Amer- 
 can boys." 
 
 " Oh! yes," said May, " we love to trim up our 
 horses to make them look nice, and as we were 
 returning we passed young Crosby. 1 thought I 
 would make a very favonible impression. But 
 Ward gave my horse a cut with his whip, my 
 horse gave a spring throwing me over its head, 
 though I alighted on my feet the impression was 
 a failure. He ^looked at us as if we were young 
 Comanches." 
 
 " I should have thought he would," said I. " It 
 is a great wonder you both do not get killed." 
 
 " Oh ! " said May, " we are not as fraid of getting 
 killed as you are. Don't you like to run horses? " 
 There would have been entire happiness in the 
 family, had it not been for the loved one who was 
 not there to enjoy the quiet and peace which 
 reigned in that household. They watched the 
 mail to hear from him and all were delighted by 
 receiving letters. William wrote at every oppor- 
 tunity although it was somewhat difficult for him 
 to write, as he had his two first fingers from his 
 right hand shot off. Yet he did the best he could 
 for he knew his friends were anxious to hear from
 
 Suffering Millions. 49 
 
 him. After one of the hard fought battles, that of 
 Atlanta, news came to Mr. Montroville that 
 William was mortally wounded. The grief they 
 endured was intense. They anxiously watched the 
 papers hoping to learn any information of the killed 
 and wounded. At last, joyful news came. A letter 
 from William stating that he had passed through 
 the battle safely, although many brave men had 
 fallen on that dreadful battle-field. War always 
 causes sadness and gloom over a bleeding country. 
 People always speak in honor of the brave men 
 who will lay down their lives for their country's 
 sake. Although we think war is not right, yet 
 when our country is invaded, or there is danger of 
 our beloved government, for which our forefathers 
 fought and bled that we might have free and 
 happy homes where we can worship God accord- 
 ing to the dictates of our own consciences, none 
 to molest or make afraid, or when there is danger 
 of our beautiful stars and stripes being torn from 
 its lofty position and another emblem waving in 
 its stead, then the brave will come forth. And 
 although it is sad, yet it is noble, for our country 
 to die.
 
 50 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 
 After four years of bloodshed, devastation, and 
 sorrow, the Civil War in the United States was at 
 an end. At the outbreak of the war the financial 
 credit of the United States had sunk to a very low 
 ebb. By the organization of the army and navy 
 the expenses of the government were at once 
 swelled to an enormous aggregate. At the presi- 
 dential election in the autumn preceding the down- 
 fall of the confederacy, Mr. Lincoln was chosen 
 president for a second term. As vice-president, 
 Andrew Johnson, of Tennessee, was elected in 
 place of Mr. Hamlin. On the 4th of March, 1865, 
 President Lincoln was inaugurated for his second 
 term. A month afterward the military power of 
 the confederacy was broken. Three days after 
 the evacuation of Richmond by Lee's army, the 
 president visited that city, conferred with the 
 authorities, and then returned to Washington. 
 
 Coming home one evening from town, there was 
 a look of sorrow and anxiety on Mr. Montioville's 
 face. Said he to his wife, " have you heard the 
 sad news?" 
 
 "No," was the reply, becoming somewhat. ex- 
 cited."
 
 Suffering Millions. 51 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Montroville, " a disreputable 
 actor at Ford's Theatre, by the name of John 
 Wilkes Booth, stole unnoticed into the president's 
 box. leveled a pistol at the head of Mr. Lincoln, 
 and shot him through the brain." 
 
 " Why ! for mercy sake !" exclaimed Mrs. Mon- 
 troville. 
 
 " And killed the president, continued Mr. Mon- 
 troville. " He lingered in an unconscious state 
 until the following morning and died." 
 
 " Oh, dear !" said Mrs. Montroville, " this is the 
 greatest tragedy of modern times." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," added Mr. Montroville, " the 
 most wicked, atrocious and diabolical murder 
 known in American history. And this was not all. 
 At the same hour another murderer, named Lewis 
 Payne Powell, burst into the bed-chamber of Sec- 
 retary iSeward, sprank upon his couch, and stabbed 
 him nigh unto death. The whole country is wild 
 with alarm and excitement. It is clear that a plot 
 was made to assassinate the leading members of 
 the government." 
 
 Mrs. Montroville then remarked: "This is very 
 bad indeed. What will they now do without a 
 president?" 
 
 " Oh !" was the reply, k ' on the day after the 
 assassination of Mr. Lincoln, Andrew Johnson, the 
 vice-president, took the oath of office, and became 
 president." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Montroville, "I fear he will
 
 52 Suffering Millions. 
 
 not fill Mr. Lincoln's place. He was born in 
 Raleigh, North Carolina, you known that was my 
 native state." 
 
 " Why do you think he will not fill Mr. Lincoln's 
 place." 
 
 "Mrs. Montroville replied, "He had no early 
 advantages of education, he passed his boyhood in 
 poverty and neglect, and I have heard his relatives 
 very badly spoken of. You see I had a chance to 
 know something of him. He was born in 1808, 
 one year after I was born." 
 
 " You must not judge too harshly, you know Mr. 
 Lincoln also had many difficulties to encounter, 
 but he was one of the most remarkable men of 
 any age or country a man in whom the qualities 
 of genius and common-sense were strangely 
 mingled. He was prudent, far-sighted and reso- 
 lute." 
 
 "In 1826," said Mrs. Montroville, "Andrew 
 Johnson removed with his mother to Greenville, 
 Tennessee. Here he married an intelligent lady 
 who taught him to write and cypher." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Montroville, "by dint of 
 native talent, force of will, and strength of char- 
 acter, he first earned the applause of his fellow- 
 men, did he not?" 
 
 " Yes, but in someway, " said Mrs. Montroville, 
 " I feel he is not the right man to fill such an im- 
 portant place, and I do believe all southern people 
 would agree with me."
 
 Suffering Millions. 53 
 
 Said Mr. Montroville, " As a member of the 
 LJ. S. Senate in 1861, he opposed secession with all 
 of his zeal, even after the legislature had declared 
 Tennessee out of the Union." 
 
 " I hope he will do well," was the reply. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Montroville, " at least I think 
 the lives of these two men, should be an encour- 
 agement to the young, they both have arisen from 
 obscurity to the responsibilities of Chief Magis- 
 trate of these United States of America. I thank 
 the great, living God that peace has been declared, 
 continued he, and you know ' The darkest hour, is 
 just before day.' " 
 
 After the close of the war the poor old woman 
 that had such faith in the Lord, still clung to 
 Providence. 
 
 " Well, Sambo," said Dinah, as she rolled the 
 whites of here eyes heavenward, and while a smile 
 wreathed her face, which showed her pearly teeth. 
 
 " We kno'd de promise nebber fail, 
 
 Xor nebber lie de wo'd ; 
 So like de prisoner in de jail, 
 
 We waited for de Lo'd. 
 An' now he open every door 
 
 An' t'row away de kee ; 
 He t'ink we lub him so before, 
 
 We lub him better free." 
 
 " Tanks de bless'd Lo'd," said Sambo, dis po' 
 chile waz too ignorent to t'ink dat he could eber 
 see poor ole wife an' chile, but one day looking
 
 54 Suffering Millions. 
 
 out in de gloomerin' meadows, I seed som' one 
 corain'. Who dat? said I. In jist one minute 
 my po' ole wife throw'd herself into my arms. 
 She had found our chile, when de massa told her 
 she waz free, she at once came all de way, t'ro' 
 night, rain and win' from Ole Georgia. You seed 
 she kno'd whar to fin'.me, but dis chile den did not 
 kno' whar to look fo' dem. Yes, bless de Lor'd ; 
 Dey po' los' sheep ob de sheepfol', dey all comes 
 gadderin' in." 
 
 " Yo' see, Sambo, de Lo'd nebber fail. 1 " 
 
 " Well," said Sambo, "dis chile am so blind, be- 
 kase he iz so mighty wick'd dat he could not at 
 dat time hab faith. But bless de good Lo'd, he 
 nebber fail." 
 
 " Oh ! no," said Dinnah, " de dear Lo'd nebber 
 fail, nor nebber lie de wo'd, if only like de prisoner 
 in de jail, we have faith in his wo'd." 
 
 " Well," said Sambo, " I did think yo' lookt like 
 a pack of poo' old fools, prayin' to be free, bekase 
 I did not believe de Lo'd could do such a mighty 
 thing." 
 
 "Ah!" replied poor old Dinnah, as she rolled 
 the whites of her eyes heavenward, " did de dear 
 Lo'd not lead de children thro' de Red Sea? Did 
 he forsake Jacob when he wrestled all night? No, 
 de dear Lo'd nebber lie de wo'd. De whole truble 
 is in de weakness of de flesh, bekase we habe not 
 de faith of mustard seed." 
 
 Brave men are always honored, while cowards
 
 Suffering Millions. 55 
 
 are always despised, even by the lower order of 
 animals, but much more so by the human family. 
 Even on a battle field the enemy will honor the 
 brave on either side, while cowards are held in 
 derision. The war of the Great Rebellion was a 
 very sad thing because it was as brother against 
 brother. But as children of one family often 
 quarrel and fight, still their love for each other is 
 intense. So in this war. But after the good Heav- 
 enly Father severely chastised both the north, as 
 well as the south, he then let the palm of peace 
 wave over our beloved country. And although 
 more than a score of years have passed away, yet 
 peace and prosperity still reigns. This was plainly 
 seen at the death of our late loved Martyr Presi- 
 dent, James A,. Garfield. Both north and south 
 stood hand in hand, and wept the silent tear, and 
 may the blessing of an Allwise God still continue 
 to bless both, as they stand hand in hand. Al- 
 though we were badly chastised, yet we should not 
 complain, for " whom the Lord loveth he chasten - 
 eth." It was a long and bloody war. Many loved 
 ones parted there to meet no more on earth, but 
 as William Montroville was not born to die on a 
 battle field, after passing through nineteen battles 
 and skirmishes, he was permitted to return home 
 after the war closed and peace was restored, with 
 an honorable discharge. He had been promoted 
 to an office sometime before the close of the war, 
 yet he always felt proud of being called a soldier,
 
 56 Suffering Millions. 
 
 for it was then that he did his work in restoring 
 the Union. Mr. Mcntroville's folks knew that 
 peace had been declared, but they did not know 
 just when William would be at home. But they 
 were anxiously expecting him. At last, unex- 
 pectedly to all, he came. He was so anxious to 
 get home, that he did not write to have any one 
 meet him at the station, near his father's, there- 
 fore he walked home from the train. It was just 
 about noon on a beautiful autumn day. So over- 
 come was he with joy at mteting his loved ones 
 that at first he could not speak. He met his father 
 first and they clasped each other in their arms. 
 "Ward, the younger brother, was some distance 
 from the house, but he knew him at a glance. He 
 made one or two bounds and in a moment had his 
 brother in his arms. Next came May, so delighted 
 was she at seeing her darling brother once more 
 that she almost smothered him with kisses. Then 
 came Mrs. Montroville, calm and quiet, but thank- 
 ing God, who had taken care of her boy through 
 an awful and bloody war and had permitted her to 
 see him once more. William's wife and Lulu were 
 away irom home on a visit, therefore he did not 
 see them just then. The family were so delighted 
 and overcome with joy that a young lady visiting 
 at Mrs. Montroville's, an intimate friend of Ward 
 and May, especially of Ward, had to finish the 
 dinner that had already been begun. The boy 
 who went away, for William was not eighteen
 
 Suffering Millions. 57 
 
 years old, although he was married, had grown 
 into a man. Three long years of war, 'neath the 
 burning rays of a southern sun, had changed his 
 looks and had improved his manly form. But his 
 heart was just the same. In afterwards speaking 
 of their meeting, he said it effected him worse than 
 the battle's awful roar, because it so effected him 
 that he could not speak, and he had never been 
 effected in that manner before. After dinner May 
 was anxious to send for William's wife so that 
 he might see little Lnlu, as he had never seen her, 
 she being born after he went away. Therefore 
 Ward went after them. They were only two or 
 three miles from home, so it did not take them 
 long. This, also, as might be expected, was a 
 happy meeting. William looked for the first time 
 on his lovely little daughter. Lulu had grown to 
 be a very lovely child. Her hair hung in wavy 
 ringlets around -her head, with an angelic look on 
 her handsome face. Eyes so impressive that my 
 pen fails to describe them, and so gentle was she 
 in her nature so different from May and so 
 woman-like, that she always appeared just like a 
 little lady. William and his wife remained for 
 sometime at Mr. Montroville's, then he built him 
 a house near his father's and went to house-keep- 
 ing. Now that peace was restored things passed 
 along quietly, nothing of importance occurring for 
 some time. It was not far from William's to his 
 father's, so little Lulu could run back and forth as
 
 58 Suffering Millions. 
 
 much as she wished. She was always a welcome 
 guest at her grandpa's, a fact she well knew. 
 When she had been away for sometime she would 
 walk in triumphantly, clapping her little hands 
 and say, u Dranpa ! I's dot home !" well knowing 
 that all were so delighted to have her there that 
 they could not bear to have her away. William 
 never lorgot his days in the south. He delighted 
 to talk and dwell on them. He would often spend 
 the long winter evenings at his father's talking of 
 the dashing scenes of war. Although he did not 
 like to have people killed, yet there was something 
 about it that was animating to his nature. Mr. 
 Montroville made an idol of William. He could not 
 bear to have him away from his side. He seemed* 
 to feast upon his society, as he was his first born.
 
 Suffering Millions. 59 
 
 CHAPTER VII, 
 
 After William went to housekeeping, his par- 
 ents, and Ward and May were somewhat lonesome, 
 but little Lulu visited them very often. Mrs. 
 Montroville had some relics of her southern home, 
 among them was a side-saddle, a gift from her 
 father. In her day in the south it was fashionable 
 for women to ride horse back. The southern peo- 
 ple were a sport loving people. She often loved to 
 tell of the gay times she had when a girl nway 
 down in the sunny south. She would tell of 
 meeting with girls of her own age, then taking 
 their fathers' race horses, and go, when they 
 thought no one would see them, to the race paths 
 where the men trained and ran their horses, 
 and there try their skill at speeding them. This 
 may not seem right to some, but in those days in 
 the south things were looked upon differently than 
 they are now. Nevertheless she enjoyed such 
 sport, and as southern people in her day owned 
 slaves to do their work they had to exercise in 
 some way, and although this might look a little 
 rude to some in these days, but then in the south 
 the young lady most skilled as a horseback rider 
 was thought to be fine. May received from her 
 mother a love for such sport. She became expert
 
 60 Suffering Millions. 
 
 as a horseback rider and feared no horse. As the 
 country was new with forests of breezy trees all 
 around, she delighted in riding as fast as she could 
 go. She and Ward would often ride out together, 
 and as he was full of mischief, he would try her 
 skill at running horses. This she could do as well 
 as he, except in standing on the horse's back, 
 which was a feat she could not accomplish, while 
 he could ride in that manner as fast as the horse . 
 could go. He was so full of mischief that some- 
 times when she was not expecting it he would give 
 her horse a cut with the whip, which would cause 
 it to spring from under her and she would alight 
 on the ground. But this she thought nothing of 
 as she was fortunate in never getting hurt. As 
 strange as it now will seem, she often had horses 
 run with her and was often thrown off but never 
 hurt. I saw a horse run with her one time, and 
 every moment I expected her to be killed. There 
 were visiting at her home a gentleman and his wife 
 who came on horseback. They tied their horses 
 at her father's gate and went into the house. May 
 thought now was her chance for a horseback ride. 
 She therefore untied one of the horses and went 
 to a neighbor's house about a half mile from her 
 home to see a sick lady of whom she thought a 
 great deal. When she got there she tied her horse 
 and went into the house. The horses were fine, 
 large, black ones that fairly disdained the ground 
 they walked upon. As the distance was not very
 
 Suffering Millions. 61 
 
 far the horse which she tied at her friend's gate 
 could see its mate at her father's gate. This made 
 the animal so impatient that it reared and pitched 
 to get back to the other horse. A gentleman vis- 
 iting at the house untied the horse and held it 
 until May was ready to go home. He told her she 
 had better be a little careful, but she never 
 thought of fear, and as everybody knew, was a 
 fine rider. He helped her on the horse, but when 
 she got on it reared up in the air and stood on its 
 hind feet. The man, somewhat excited, told May 
 to let the reins loose. This she did, but the frac- 
 tious horse took the bifs in its mouth, and she 
 therefore was as one upon the water in a boat 
 without an oar. The horse dashed away at full 
 speed. As the road was newly made there were 
 stumps of trees on either side. The animal did 
 not keep the road but flew along among those 
 stumps with all its might. May said she expected 
 every moment to land against a tree, as she could 
 no more guide the horse than she could an angry 
 tiger. She had the presence of mind to take her 
 foot out of the stirrup. By this time the horse 
 tied at her father's gate had broken loose and 
 come to meet the other one, with one of the rails 
 of the fence still tied to its bridle, which in its 
 speed swung from one side of the road to the 
 other. Her folks by this time saw her situation 
 and ran to her assistance with all of their might. 
 In passing her brother William's house, little Lulu
 
 62 Suffering Millions. 
 
 saw May, and all breathless thought she would 
 do all she could, and ran towards her grandpa's 
 house, but the horse in its speed left the little 
 girl i'ar behind. For once May saw death stare 
 her in the face. To remain on the horse she knew 
 would be almost certain death, so she with one 
 tremendous bound sprang from the horse, and in 
 doing so caught it by the bridle. The other horse 
 was only a few rods away but the gentleman 
 who owned the horses was now by her side. He 
 said, " Hold the horse if you can until I get there." 
 And this May did, for she knew that it was her 
 fault, and if the horses should get away they 
 would go to their home, which was fifteen miles 
 distant. That she well knew would make lots of 
 trouble. Soon little Lulu arrived all out of breath 
 and excited to tell grandma of May's narrow 
 escape. L-.ilu was very, very much attached to 
 May although so different in disposition. A great 
 many other just such narrow escapes as this, did 
 May pass through, being thrown from horses or 
 having them run with her, and yet for some unseen 
 purpose God in his mercy spared her life. But as 
 " God's ways are not our ways," and " His thoughts 
 are not our thoughts," still in his own good time 
 he doeth all things well. 
 
 Ward I do not know as much about as I do of 
 May, although I know he was just as full of mis- 
 chief and more daring if anything. I remember 
 one time that he and May were playing with
 
 Suffering Millions. 63 
 
 matches, when Mr. and Mrs. Montroville were not 
 at home. It was many, many years ago, and while 
 they were very young. They started a fire in the 
 edge of a little hay marsh for the sport of whip- 
 ping it out, and then setting it on fire again, just 
 for the fun of it. Finally there came a gust of 
 wind that sent the fire beyond their control. This 
 scared the children, yet the thing was done. The 
 fire swept along like the speed of lightning. The 
 little marsh joined a large hay marsh, and the fire 
 ran for. miles and miles. This reminds me that 
 no doubt often large fires are kindled and a great 
 deal of mischief often done through the careless- 
 ness of children, who are only at play. Of course 
 Ward and May were frightened almost to death, 
 yet they could not help it then. They only 
 did it for fun, never dreaming of the mischief 
 it would cause. At another time Ward wished 
 to take his sister sleigh riding. He happened 
 to have no sleigh, so he thought he would 
 arrange one of his own planning. I do not 
 know just how he arranged it, but I know that he 
 had no thills to his sleigh. So he hitched the horse 
 to the sleigh with the tugs of the harness. The 
 horse he drove was a fast one that ran away every 
 chance it had. But it made no difference to him. 
 He was not one of the kind of boys who was 
 afraid of anything. It was fine sleighing so they 
 started. They thought they would take one of 
 the neighbor's girls with them. But the mother
 
 64 Suffering Millions. 
 
 of the little girl did not like the looks of the 
 vehicle and did not let her go. But Ward and 
 May thought it all right, they went up and down 
 hills with such speed that the tugs worked well. 
 When about two miles from home they happened 
 to notice their father, who had been away from 
 home, coming toward them. They knew he would 
 not approve of what they were doing, so in their 
 haste to turn around the tugs did not work well. 
 They of course were not stiff like thills, and the 
 sleigh upset frightening the horse and causing it 
 to run away. Ward and May were thrown out, 
 but Ward was too expert to let the horse get away 
 from him. He held on to the lines, narrowly 
 escaping being struck by a stump of a tree. 
 Finally he succeeded in stopping the horse and 
 they got on the sleigh again. Ward let the horse 
 out, for well he knew that his father would not 
 approve of such work. But before they got home 
 the horse ran away again. And still God in his 
 mercy spared their lives. Many other times did 
 they pass through just such tricks. I remember 
 at one time, when Ward was quite young, his 
 father was away from home and there were some 
 young men at their house. One of them thought, 
 because Ward was little he could do as he pleased 
 with him. He therefore stopped him and threw 
 him on the ground, and hurt him in many 
 ways. Ward stood it as long as he could, but 
 at last forbearance ceased to be a virtue. His
 
 Suffering Millions. 65 
 
 southern blood burned in his veins and he sprang 
 for his father's rifle. The young man saw venge- 
 ance in his eye, and knew on the impulse of the 
 moment something must be done, and started to 
 run turning the corner of the house, and just as he 
 did so Ward shot, tearing a hole through the 
 house. But as some unseen hand stayed the ball, 
 the young man's life was spared. Of course as 
 soon as it was done Ward was very sorry. The 
 young man knew he was himself to blame and at 
 once made friends with Ward. I only speak of 
 this to show how careful a person should be with 
 a child. When they are young they will in haste 
 do things that they would not do in after life for 
 anything in the world. In just one moment after 
 Ward shot he would not have done it for any- 
 thing. He loved the young man before, and also 
 afterward. He only did it on the impulse of the 
 moment and would not have killed him for all this 
 world, had it all been gold. No doubt there is 
 many a person to-day wasting life away in prison 
 that acted just as this boy did, on the impulse of 
 a moment. May God in his great mercy stay the 
 hand of any child that attempts to do a wrong 
 thing. He does not always do so. No doubt he 
 did it this time that some good might come out 
 of it. 
 
 One day, at Mrs. Bradbury's, we were speaking 
 of the Montroville children : " Well," said Mrs. 
 Bradberry, "did you ever see such children as 
 5
 
 66 Suffering Millions. 
 
 those Montroville children are ? They fairly set 
 me wild. I do believe they are the worst chil- 
 dren I ever saw." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Bradberry, "wife, I don't 
 know about it. They only give vent to their 
 nature. They mean all right." 
 
 " All right, indeed ! I should think they did. 
 The other day when I was there visiting," 
 replied Mrs. Bradberry, " Ward, that mischievous 
 little rascal, caught a cat and tied a rattlebox to 
 her tail, and then she went squalling enough to 
 deafen everybody." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! ha ! " laughed Mr. Bradberry, " That 
 boy always puts me in mind of Putnam, the Gen- 
 eral, I mean. You remember the story about him, 
 when only a boy, climbing the tree after a bird's 
 nest, and the limb broke quite off, letting him fall, 
 but not to the ground. His fall was arrested by 
 one of the lower branches of the tree, which 
 caught in his pantaloons, and held him suspended 
 in .mid air with his head downward. * Put, are 
 you hurt ? ' cried one of the boys. ' Not hurt,' 
 answered the undaunted boy, l but puzzled how to 
 get down.' At last he cried to a boy equally as 
 brave as himself, and who afterwards fought 
 bravely by Gen. Putnam's side, ' Randall, shoot 
 me down.' Crack, rang the sound of Randall's 
 rifle and Putnam fell to the ground." 
 
 " It is a shame for boys to act so," said Mrs. 
 Bradberry.
 
 Suffering Millions. 67 
 
 " Well, it does seem so," replied Mr. Bradberry, 
 "but nevertheless none of your sleepy boys for 
 me. A boy ought to run, jump, play, climb, yell." 
 
 "Well, then," said Mrs. Bradberry, "Ward 
 Montroville must be a real boy. Why, I saw him 
 climb a great tall tree, just like a squirrel, turn 
 hand-springs, and run a horse as fast as he could 
 go, standing on its back.
 
 68 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII, 
 
 I do not know but the reader will think me di- 
 gressing from my subject, yet my intention in 
 writing this story is, if it is possible for me to do 
 so, to bring out the great truth of home influence 
 in the rearing of children. It has been my privi- 
 lege for a number of years, to be a close observer 
 of the training of children, and my mind has been 
 so terribly pained oftimes to see bright and in- 
 telligent children, who, had they been well edu- 
 cated and trained aright, would have been a great 
 blessing to the world and to humanity, yet on 
 account of their early teaching have often filled 
 drunkard's or pauper's graves, or at least led lives 
 of wickedness. May God in his mercy help us as 
 a people to "raise the blood-stained banner of 
 Prince Emanuel," that we may be missionaries in 
 our own beloved America, to save the rising gen- 
 eration. Of course, in well regulated families the 
 children are protected from many things, but in 
 families that are not so well regulated such is not 
 the case. The mind of a child is easily influenced 
 by those with whom it is brought in contact. I 
 think the first impressions of a child are good and 
 pure. Although we are born naturally sinful, yet, 
 Adam and Eve did not sin until they were
 
 Suffering Millions. 69 
 
 tempted ; therefore, if temptation had not been in 
 their way they would not have sinned. Although 
 they should have overcome temptation. A child, 
 when surrounded by wicked and bad influences 
 will readily take to those things that it should not. 
 One or two of the most truthful children I ever 
 saw, while very young were surrounded by bad 
 influences. I soon noticed a change in the little 
 ones, who soon became rough, bad, and also un- 
 truthful. I think if those children had been 
 raised by good and pure people they would have 
 been the purest of earth's children. Perhaps I 
 can express the idea that I am trying to express 
 better and more plainly by an other figure. You 
 may take a French child, or a child of any other 
 country, and place it in an English family. It 
 makes no difference whether its parents could 
 speak one word of English or not, unless the child 
 is deaf and dumb, it will speak the English 
 language. Just so you may take the child of 
 wicked and uneducated people, and place it with 
 good people, let it be educated and well trained, 
 and nine cases out of ten the child will be like the 
 people who raised it. We often see good Christian 
 people who have bad children, for which I think 
 there is always a cause. Some times it is because 
 they indulge their children too much. But if you 
 give it close attention you will surely find some 
 cause. 
 Eunice Williams, who was taken captive by
 
 70 Suffering Millions. 
 
 savages of Canada one hundred and seventy-five 
 years ago, was the daughter of a most saintly 
 minister, of the old Puritan stamp. But a very 
 few years of savage life made her a savage. Her 
 mind was cut off from all culture and good society, 
 and could only tend to savage ways. She retained 
 a knowledge of her history, and many years after 
 her capture revisited her home, accompanied by 
 her dusky husband ; but no persuasion could tempt 
 her to give up her savage life. 
 
 " Well," said a friend to whom I was speaking, 
 "I don't know about the duty of parents to their 
 children. If they are going to be bad they will be 
 so any way." 
 
 " Perhaps," said I, " my dear friend, you might 
 just as well say a man might plant a garden, and 
 never cultivate it at all. He could say if it is going 
 to be a good garden it will be so, any way ; but 
 will it, if not tended?" 
 
 My friend replied, u now there is old preacher 
 
 S 's children. Just look, if you please, at 
 
 them. They are the worst children in the whole 
 neighborhood. They swear, steal and lie. What 
 can you say about them ? You will surely admit 
 that their father is a good man." 
 
 " Yes, indeed I will, but nevertheless he both 
 neglects and indulges his children too much. You 
 know the bible says, ' spare the rod and spoil the 
 child,' but it does not say to use the rod unless it 
 is necessary. Again it says, ' train up a child in
 
 Suffering Millions. 71 
 
 the way he should go, and when he is old he will 
 not depart from it.' " 
 
 " I don't care," said my friend, " I do believe 
 that ministers of the Gospel have just the worst 
 children in the world, now don't you?" 
 
 " No," said I, " I do not. I know we often hear 
 the expression that preachers' children are worse 
 than any other children, but we do not think this 
 is always true. If it were true, I think there 
 would be a very good cause for it. Ministers have 
 to be away from home much of the time. Their 
 children are exposed to all kinds of society. They 
 are humored and petted by many people, and 
 scolded at and despised by others ; therefore, I 
 think there are good reasons why ministers' chil- 
 dren naturally have many temptations to en- 
 counter, and yet I do believe if you will watch 
 them from the cradle to the grave you will find 
 that most of them make good men and women, 
 and that they have to bear a great many cruel and 
 unkind remarks from people who like to slur the 
 ministry. Yet I believe in cause and effect, and 
 the same thing is true of a minister's child, as well 
 as any other."
 
 72 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 May was very young when she began teaching 
 school, and she looked upon it as a fine event 
 in her life, being but a child in years. Possess- 
 ing a warm and impulsive nature, she won many 
 hearts to her. She did quite well in her school, 
 although had she in her early years been taught 
 the necessity of obedience, and the noble traits 
 that go to make a success in life, how much better 
 she might have done. 
 
 We will here describe May. She was about 
 medium size ; with black eyes and hair, and a 
 dark complexion. Her hair she wore in heavy 
 braids that hung far below her waist. She was 
 only seventeen, possessing a very romantic nature, 
 and had always been indulged in having her own 
 way. She soon formed many new acquaintances. 
 Life began to have many new charms for her. 
 She enjoyed the many new changes. 
 
 As I had formed quite an attachment to May, 
 and felt very much interested in her welfare. I 
 thought I would visit her at her school. It was 
 noon when I arrived and I found May alone in the 
 school house, while the children were at play in 
 the yard. 
 
 " Oh, how delighted I am to see you," said May.
 
 Suffering Millions. 73 
 
 " I thought perhaps r you would be lonesome, 
 away as you are among strangers, so I thought I 
 would come and see you." 
 
 " Oh, I am very glad you came, but I am not 
 one bit lonesome. I am having just splendid 
 times." 
 
 " I am glad to know you are happy and enjoy- 
 ing yourself. But May you are young, and away 
 among strangers, you must be a little careful how 
 you conduct yourself." 
 
 " Oh," said May, " do not worry one bit about 
 me, I am very capable of taking care of myself. 
 You know I am a teacher, and of course I am 
 capable of doing as I please." 
 
 " Well, how are you getting along with your 
 school ? " 
 
 " Quite well, but I don't care quite as much 
 about teaching as I thought I should ; but I am 
 just perfectly enchanted with the young people 
 around here, they are just fine. Oh ! I tell you I 
 am having grand times." 
 
 I could plainly see in May's dark eyes, that 
 there was some great attraction among the young 
 people. " Well May," said I, " you are young and 
 away from home, now you must remember, 'All 
 is not gold that glitters.' " 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said May, " you are always preach- 
 ing a sermon. I know I can take care of myself. 
 I am sure a girl seventeen years old is just as able 
 to care for herself as she ever will be."
 
 74 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " I know they should be ; yet some girls are 
 more capable at ten than some at your age." 
 
 " Well, I don't care, I am having fine times and 
 I hope you will not say one word to mar my hap- 
 piness. Oh, dear me ! " continued May, " I do 
 wish you could know how much fun I have. I am 
 just perfectly happy. Tell mother not to worry 
 one bit about me, for I will get along alright." 
 
 No wonder she was happy, for it was beautiful 
 scenery that surrounded her on every side. The 
 school house was situated in just the right place 
 for one of her nature to enjoy. To the right and 
 rear of it, almost up to the windows was a fine 
 forest of beautiful trees, and it being just the be- 
 ginning of spring, all nature seemed grand. My 
 heart was almost overcome by the grandeur of 
 nature. The wild bird warbled its thrilling notes 
 amid the lofty trees, and flitted with joyful melody 
 on either side. In front of the school house broad 
 fields stretched far westward and before her school 
 closed they were covered with golden grain that 
 waved on the summer breeze. Everything looked 
 so grand that her heart constantly beat with wild 
 admiration. She had not been teaching long be- 
 fore she formed the acquaintance of a young man 
 to whom she soon became much attached. He 
 was most elegant in form, with handsome, spark- 
 ling eyes, and teeth of pearly whiteness, just her 
 ideal of manly beauty. He being much older 
 than she and more experienced in the ways of the
 
 Suffering Millions. 75 
 
 world, did all in his power to win the heart of 
 May. We will call him William Bryant. They 
 spent hours together, either at her boarding place 
 or taking walks picking wild flowers, or in sitting 
 in shady groves. He looked upon her as almost a 
 child in years. But still his heart went out in 
 love and admiration for her wild and dauntless 
 though childlike ways. She had not known much 
 of life's sorrows ; all then was joy and happiness. 
 The earth, to her, seemed almost a heaven. As 
 she spent hours listening to his words of love or 
 as she slipped her hand in his, he would breathe 
 words of tenderest love into her ear. 
 
 He was constantly by her side. He could not 
 bear to have any of the other young men, who 
 would gladly have taken his place in May's af- 
 fections, share her company. He seemed con- 
 stantly to feast upon her society and the days 
 passed happily away. I will here mention one 
 walk they took. He called at her boarding place 
 one beautiful Sunday afternoon and asked her to 
 take a walk with him. After wandering about 
 for some time, and becoming considerably tired, 
 they sat down under the shade of a tree. The sun 
 was just setting, and threw its rays of light 
 around them. The sky was clear above and the 
 soft breezes played among the leaves in the trees 
 over their heads! Every thing seemed grand and 
 sublime and threw a magic spell around them. 
 Their hearts were filled with joy and happiness.
 
 76 Suffering Millions. 
 
 A sweet silence seemed to reign as if an angel 
 hovered about them. Earth, just now, had no sor- 
 row for them, for earth's sweetest love filled their 
 hearts. Happy indeed was May as Mr. Bryant 
 took her hand in his and looking with tender love 
 into her eyes, asked her to become his wife. Too 
 happy to answer him just then, because of the 
 love that filled her breast, yet she became his be- 
 trothed. They sat for some time enjoying the 
 silence that reigned, and then softly wandered 
 back to May's boarding place, little dreaming of 
 the sorrow they were going to pass through in 
 after life. 
 
 The summer passed away, bearing much pleas- 
 ure and happiness with it. Finally the last day 
 of school came, as all things have to come to an 
 end, and these days too happy to last, at last were 
 ended. The parting was very tender. Hard in- 
 deed it was for May to leave the place where she 
 had enjoyed herself so much. One mistake no 
 doubt which May made was on account of her 
 age. She set the time of her marriage in the far 
 away future. Perhaps 'if they had then been mar- 
 ried all would have ended well, but May was 
 young and looked forward to accomplish much 
 with her education. She wanted to enjoy young 
 society and did not care to become a married wo- 
 man so young. This I think was alright, but I 
 doubt the propriety of so young a girl being al- 
 lowed to place her affections on a young man.
 
 Suffering Millions. 77 
 
 Mothers do wrong in permitting their girls to ac- 
 cept of steady company so young. 
 
 After she closed her school she returned home, 
 but there was an aching void. A sadness filled 
 her heart. Although glad to see her friends again 
 yet her home did not seem as it did in days of 
 yore. Her mother tried to make things pleasant, 
 but her heart constantly sighed for other scenes 
 and for friends far away. She was naturally 
 proud and knew full well that her folks were 
 poor. This she felt all the more keenly from 
 the fact that early in life her father had been 
 quite wealthy, having everything at that time to 
 make life pleasant. But it was not so since his 
 reverse in fortune. This hurt and pained her so 
 much that she felt she could not have her lover, 
 the one on whom her entire happiness depended, 
 come to see her, for his people were well off, and 
 possessed everything to make life pleasant. She 
 knew that it would make a difference with them. 
 She knew that he had a vain, proud-hearted 
 mother who desired that her son should marry for 
 wealth and position. This she keenly felt, and 
 although as much as she loved him, she felt she 
 could not have him come to see her. She loved 
 her own folks and felt veiy sorry for them, for she 
 knew it was no fault of theirs that they were now 
 so poor. Yet she felt that it would almost kill her 
 for him to know of her poverty. She also felt 
 that wealth and influence have a great deal to do
 
 78 Suffering Millions. 
 
 in securing friends in this sinful world. Weeks 
 rolled into months and still she did not see him, 
 only hearing from him through the mail. Her 
 heart constantly sighed for him, and she longed to 
 once more be folded in his arms and to listen to 
 his words of tender love. Tears would blind her 
 eyes as she thought of happy days gone by. 
 
 After months had passed, unexpectedly he came 
 to see her. She met him and naturally as might 
 have been expected was very much pleased at 
 seeing him again, although she was very much 
 embarrassed at his becoming acquainted with the 
 fact her family were poor. If at this time she had 
 been able to ask the assistance of the One that 
 can heal all sorrows, the One that gave His life a 
 ransom for the sins of this wicked world, and had 
 looked to Him, she could have been better able to 
 have borne the sorrow of this embarrassment. But 
 she could not say Thy will be done, for she did not 
 know at this time how to thus be comforted. 
 After making his visit, he bade her farewell, and 
 returned to his home. She went to her room and 
 wept bitterly. She thought this visit might be the 
 last one that she would ever enjoy with him. Yet 
 she knew he loved her more than any one else, but 
 she thought that his friends desired him to marry 
 some wealthy lady. Being proud and ambitious, 
 this pained her very much. After his return home 
 she received several letters from him, but once or 
 twice she heard, through communications from
 
 Suffering Millions. 79 
 
 other friends, that he was paying attention to 
 another lady, one of wealth, and one who suited 
 his mother very much. Yet in his heart he could 
 not forget the girl he truly loved better than all 
 else in this world. But being rather sickly, and 
 influenced by his friends, he gradually crushed the 
 memory of the one he loved. Months rolled by, 
 and still he spent much time with the lady of 
 wealth, and no doubt forming some attachment 
 for her. Kindly he wrote to May that his health 
 was very poor, that he would never marry, and for 
 her to write him a farewell letter. This pierced 
 her heart through and through. She tried often 
 to write him a letter and tell him that her heart 
 was breaking, that she could not give him up, but 
 the tears would blind her eyes and she could not 
 write. Her grief was almost more than she could 
 bear. At times her proud nature would assert 
 itself, and she would think : " If this is all he cares 
 for me I will give him up," but it was easier thus 
 to think than it was to do. There came over her 
 mind a sad and melancholy gloom, which she 
 could not shake off. The world to her had lost all 
 of its sweetness. So very young, yet her heart 
 had lost all its joy. Nothing but sadness filled her 
 mind. IN one of the joy of youth filled her heart. 
 She was gradually wasting her life away. She 
 tried sometimes to rally, and again enjoy youth 
 and happiness, but this she could not do. The 
 world seemed to have lost all of its happiness.
 
 80 Suffering Millions. 
 
 Ah ! then she remembered that the world at large 
 sought the bible for comfort and peace. She then 
 began to read this holy book, to see if she could 
 find comfort there, and as strange as it may seem, 
 she found no comfort there. This was because she 
 read it as she would have read any other book. 
 She did not read it with the spirit of understand- 
 ing, nor a faith that will not shrink, though pressed 
 by every foe. After reading the blessed bible, one 
 or two chapters every day, for over one year, and 
 still remaining sad and despondent, receiving no 
 comfort from it, there began to hover around her 
 mind a darkness that almost caused her ruin for 
 time and eternity. She began to gradually lose all 
 faith in the bible, and the things that truly go to 
 make a happy life. She leaned entirely upon her 
 own weakness to gain strength. If she had said 
 within herself, " Here Lord, I give myself to thee, 
 it is all that I can do," then would she have gained 
 strength. But this she did not do. She did not 
 understand how to gain strength and comfort from 
 reading the Holy bible. She therefore began to 
 disbelieve its teachings. She did not receive the 
 peace that it spoke of. All was darkness. Her 
 soul was overwhelmed with grief. Months had 
 passed by. Ofttimes she had attempted to write 
 the farewell letter, but just as often, amid blinding 
 tears, and with a grief stricken heart, did she fail 
 to express to him (the one she loved far better than 
 her own life) the grief that was crushing her heart,
 
 Suffering Millions. 81 
 
 and causing the sorrow of life to be more than she 
 was able to bear, and making the awful abyss of 
 hell to stare her in the face. At last she gave up 
 the idea of writing. She thought he should never 
 know the sorrow she felt (which he never did) and 
 that she would try and give him up. It was not 
 long after this that he married the lady of wealth. 
 When May heard of this the noble nature within 
 her rallied. She said to me, " he now is the hus- 
 band of another, and it is not right for me to mourn 
 for a married man." 
 
 "No, indeed," said I, "let him go." 
 
 She therefore took his picture, the last thing she 
 had to remind her of him; took a last, half fright- 
 ened look at it, and then cast it in the fire and 
 burned it up. Her nature was too noble to mourn 
 for a married man. She therefore began to forget 
 the one great sorrow of her life; but still her na- 
 ture was changed. Such sorrows leave their im- 
 press on our natures. Her heart was hardened. 
 She seemed to care nothing for the things of life. 
 The words of the Gospel fell on her ear, "As 
 sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal." But all 
 the time she tried to let no one know of her sor- 
 row. She did not want to let any one know that 
 she doubted the doctrine of the bible, but as for 
 herself she could not feel the peace that it spoke 
 of. Life, nature, the bible, all had lost their 
 charms. 
 
 She now came to me for comfort, but my ad\dce 
 6
 
 82 Suffering Millions. 
 
 seemed to do but little good. So changed was she, 
 yet so quietly did she bear her grief, that her most 
 intimate friends knew not of the sorrow she felt, 
 or the pain she was passing through. But as time 
 rolled on, she knew that she must try and make 
 the best of life. Others sought her hand in mar- 
 riage, but she could not make up her mind to ever 
 again think of placing her affections on any one. 
 The sorrow of the past was too severe to think of 
 again trusting any one that might cause her sor- 
 row. After the marriage of her old lover, she 
 heard but little of him. The distance between 
 them was a number of miles, and she tried in 
 every way to forget him. She felt that she never 
 again wanted to see or hear from him. One great 
 advantage to her was that no one in the neighbor- 
 hood where she lived knew of her former engage 
 ment. Therefore they knew nothing about the 
 mortification she felt at being treated so by one 
 who should have treated her differently. 
 
 Many were the scenes she constantly passed 
 through, but the worst of all was that she seemed 
 to have no feeling in regard to religion. How 
 dark and sad life is, when trouble and disappoint- 
 ment overshadows our mind and soul, and when 
 all of earth's miseries crush us to the extent of 
 our being, and no one to go to for help. To try to 
 struggle with life's tempestuous tide, leaning only 
 on our own strength. Had she leaned upon her 
 Saviour and listened to his gentle voice, she would
 
 Suffering Millions. 83 
 
 have received strength. But this she did not do. 
 She tried sometimes to forget all of the past, but 
 found it very difficult to do. Past sorrows and dis- 
 appointments are not as easily forgotten as one 
 might think, and for her it was almost impossi- 
 ble. Being of so nervous a temperament this 
 sorrow seemed greater than she was able to bear, 
 and especially trying to bear it as she did, in her 
 own strength.
 
 84 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 As we have already said, Mrs. Montroville was 
 a healthy woman, who took the household cares 
 upon herself, not depending upon May for much 
 assistance. Now comes a change, and one that 
 throws much care and responsibility on May. Mrs. 
 Montroville is taken suddenly very ill with a 
 malignant fever. Anxiety now fills the mind of 
 every member of her family, and it is feared that 
 she may not recover. Her sons stand by her bed- 
 side, and try to soothe her pain. Mr. Montroville, 
 seeing that death is drawing near, does all in his 
 power to have the dreadful monster stayed. May's 
 bleeding heart knows not what to do, for she had 
 leaned so heavily upon her mother. Now as she 
 stands by her bedside and holds her feeble hands 
 in her own, she fears that her mother will soon be 
 gone. 
 
 " Well," said I to May, " death is pronounced 
 upon all of the sons and daughters of Adam. We 
 must look upon it only as a visitation to be ex- 
 pected by all mankind, the high as well as the 
 low." 
 
 Mrs. Montroville had made a great pet of her 
 little granddaughter Lulu, as Lulu's mother had 
 alwa3 T s cast the care of the child upon her. She
 
 Suffering Millions. 85 
 
 now felt great anxiety for Lulu. She knew that 
 May was old enough to take care of herself, but in 
 her wild delirium, she constantly spoke of Lulu, 
 often exclaiming: "But she is little. She is 
 little." She feared that when she was gone the 
 little darling might be neglected. Little Lulu 
 would not leave her grandmother's house. She 
 remained both night and day, that she might be 
 near her dear grandma. At last the hour was 
 drawing near. Early in the morning of a winter's 
 day, Mrs. Montroville called her friends to her 
 side. She said she could not stay long, and asked 
 that Lulu might sit by her on the bed. She looked 
 upon her little, helpless form, and the only favor 
 she asked of Mr. Montroville was that he would 
 always take care of little Lulu, which he solemnly 
 promised to do. She lingered unconsciously until 
 the middle of the afternoon, then closed her eyes 
 forever to the things of earth, to bask in an eter- 
 nity of sunshine, in a world that is free from care. 
 May now was surrounded with sorrow on every 
 side, but she had some warm friends and also some 
 bitter enemies on account of a hasty temper which 
 was the result of nervousness and entirely beyond 
 her control. Those of her friends who were true 
 now came forward and showed themselves such. 
 Among the number was a young man who had be- 
 come an intimate friend of May's, who did all he 
 could to comfort her, and while friends were pay- 
 ing their last tribute of respect to her mother, this
 
 86 Suffering Millions. 
 
 young man, whom we will call young LaMarr, 
 stood by May's side and tried to help her bear her 
 grief. Of course as a friend in time of need she 
 could not help appreciating his kindness. 
 
 After the funeral, Oh ! how sad to return to that 
 lonely home ! May, who had never known much 
 of household care, now had to take the place of 
 her mother. It was nearly night when we arrived 
 home. The very things that were around her 
 mother, May and I had to put away. Everything 
 was so dark and dismal. Oh! now how much she 
 needed the grace of God to help her in her lonely 
 lot. But this she did not have. Mr. Montroville's 
 health was fast failing, which made it much worse 
 for May, as he was not much company for her. 
 
 As I could not stay long at Mr. Montroville's, it 
 would have been almost impossible for May to 
 have kept house for her father had it not been for 
 little Lulu. William and his wife were willing to 
 have her live with May, who just idolized the 
 child. They were constantly together. May had 
 no company with whom Lulu was not a welcome 
 guest. May used what means she had to dress 
 Lulu and as she was very pretty, she felt proud of 
 her little curly-headed niece. Lulu was very 
 active and had a great desire to help with the 
 work. She seemed to want a part to do, and 
 usually in the morning, as the work was being 
 done, would take a small basin and cloth and go 
 out into the yard and wash the pump, as if it was
 
 Suffering Millions. 87 
 
 quite necessary that the pump should be washed 
 every morning just the same as the dishes. May 
 thought everything Lulu did was very cute. Al- 
 though May was very quick tempered, yet with 
 Lulu she was always kind. Mr. Montroville, too, 
 was very fond of Lulu. 
 
 Now that his father's health seemed gradually 
 failing him, William and his wife usually spent 
 their evenings with him. William loved to talk 
 of his days while in the army, and never seemed 
 to lose sight of the changing scenes of war. He al- 
 ways referred to it with pride. No coward's blood 
 ran in his veins. He was one of those noble boys 
 who was willing to brave the battle field, and if 
 necessary to have lain down his life for those he 
 loved. William was a. great comfort to May's 
 lonely lot. He was more cheerful than any of the 
 rest of the family. May sadly missed her mother. 
 It is very lonely for a girl to keep house without 
 her mother. I noticed although hasty and im- 
 pulsive as May was, and imprudent too, yet through 
 a great many sorrows and afflictions, the dear 
 Savior watched over her, and although she felt not 
 his love and tender care, yet in an unseen way he 
 was gently leading her. His sympathy was to- 
 ward her for the blind way she sought or tried to 
 seek comfort from the holy bible, and gained 
 none. She thought then she had done all in 
 her power to gain the assistance of divine help, 
 if there was such a thing to be gained. And
 
 88 Suffering Millions. 
 
 because she received not forgiveness for her 
 sins, her way was so dark that finally she almost 
 gave up in despair, and although she loved 
 the truth, and everything that goes to make a 
 noble life, yet with regard to religion she was en- 
 entirely in the dark. But as God's ways are not 
 our ways, yet in an unknown way to her, he was 
 leading her, and although she did not then know or 
 feel his mercy, in his own way he was bringing 
 her to understand that the things of life were 
 nothing to compare with his mercy and truth. Of 
 course the things he has given us to enjoy are good 
 in their places, but as her's was a selfish nature 
 she thought too much of the things of this life. 
 She had such a love for those things that are of the 
 world, that the dear Savior had to lead her through 
 many places in bringing her to the true light of 
 the Gospel, that made her heart sick and sore, and 
 over ways that left her feet pierced and bleeding. 
 Oh ! the darkness of earth that hung around her 
 soul ! She did not feel the love and comfort that 
 the blessed Savior of the world has promised to 
 those that ask in faith believing. James: 1 chap., 
 6 verse. 
 
 I will mention here that it is best to associate 
 with Christian people, although we do not feel 
 their love, or that our hearts will gradually unite to 
 theirs. No doubt if this girl had always been with 
 wicked and sinful pecple she might have always 
 remained in the dark, and her soul would have
 
 Suffering Millions. 89 
 
 been eternally lost. Oh, how much better it is in 
 the morning of life to give the heart to God ; and 
 commit all of our ways to Him. Then we will 
 omit many of the sins and lusts of youth that will 
 be thrown around our pathway ; for just as we sow, 
 we shall reap. How grand and sublime it is for 
 children to " Remember their Creator in the days 
 of their youth," before the cares and sorrows, of 
 life come upon them, for then they will have a 
 strong hand to lean upon ; and an eye that never 
 sleeps to watch over their ways and to direct their 
 path ; for as sure as they do they have the promise 
 " commit thy ways to the Lord and he will direct 
 thy path." What a grand promise, and as sure as 
 God is true this will be so. The whole mistake in 
 regard to the Gospel is ; in not believing, and in 
 not submitting our souls into the hands of God. 
 Of course this is easy enough to those who do be- 
 lieve, but to those who are in the dark it is not so 
 easy, for "the devil goeth about like a roaring lion 
 seeking whom he may devour," and as he is very 
 cunning he weaves his web around the heart of the 
 unbeliever, and holds him in his grasp. It is hard 
 for some people to understand these mysteries, 
 and they remain in the dark until some extraordi- 
 nary thing brings them into the glorious light of 
 the Gospel. All are not constituted alike. What 
 will do for one does not always do for another. 
 " God's ways are not our ways," but all his paths 
 are peace. Bles? his holy name.
 
 90 Suffering Millions. 
 
 "But May," said I, "you must ask in faith, 
 nothing wavering, for he that wavereth is like the 
 waves of (he sea, driven with the winds and tossed. 
 You are as one drifting on the ocean of time, 
 drifting you know not where." 
 
 Although young yet May had a great deal of ex- 
 perience in the things of the world. The hand of 
 death had made its inroad into her family. But 
 as she knew more of suffering now than she did 
 earlier in life, she tried to bear it as bravely as she 
 could. Several friends within a short time had 
 died who had lived Christian lives. This of course 
 left the greatest impression on her mind of any- 
 thing in regard to religion, as it always does. 
 The holy, upright life of the Christian is the great- 
 est thing in the world to bring the unbelieving 
 heart to God. At the time of the death of her 
 mother there came to her a different feeling. 
 
 I noticed a change, " What is it?" said I to May. 
 
 " Well," said May, " it seems as if something 
 was helping me to bear the sorrow." 
 
 At one time she said there came to her an un- 
 earthly feeling as if an angel or a heavenly light 
 shown around her, and although it affected her, 
 and she often wondered what it could be, yet her 
 heart and mind was so in the dark that she almost 
 disbelieved the power of God, and that death would 
 be the end of all earthly things. No doubt oft- 
 times amid the sorrows she encountered, the 
 blessed Savior gladly would have shared them
 
 Suffering Millions. 91 
 
 with her, if she had only believed on his holy name. 
 But that she thought was impossible for her to do. 
 Ofttimes she thought if there was such a thing as 
 prayer that she would pray, but her prayers were 
 as her belief, without faith. 
 
 " If we receive," said I, " we must ask in faith, 
 believing, then we shall receive. But we must 
 ask not for things to consume upon our lusts for 
 then," said 1, " our desires may be of a selfish 
 nature and the blessed Savior may not grant our 
 petitions, for as an earthly parent pittieth his 
 children, so also doth our heavenly father pity 
 them that love an serve him. And a great many 
 times we may ask for things that would not be 
 well for us to have. This the One that knoweth all 
 things, knows, therefore He does not always grant 
 everything we ask for, because He knows it might 
 cause us trouble, and in many ways it would not. 
 be well for us, and because He loves us He with- 
 holds them. But we have this promise, that no 
 good thing will He withhold (that is, nothing that 
 would be good for us to have). But we are com- 
 manded to pray, we must pray. But let us humbly 
 ask that we may pray aright, for oft times we get 
 into the dark by asking for things that would not 
 be well for us to have, therefore we do not always 
 receive."
 
 92 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 "I called to day to see William Montroville," 
 said Mr. Bradberry, " he is very sick." 
 
 Mrs. Bradberry replied, " I am very sorry indeed. 
 What do you think is the matter with him ?" 
 
 " Well, he caught cold and now has lung fever." 
 
 " I suppose they have a doctor by this time ?" 
 
 " Yes, they employed Dr. D ." 
 
 " Well, what did the doctor say ?" 
 
 " He said it would be a very doubtful case. You 
 see William has no care whatever. His wife acts 
 more as if he were a brute than a human being. 
 Poor boy, his has been a hard lot." 
 
 " Yes, indeed it has. I don't suppose he ever 
 had one decent meal of victuals in his own house, 
 unless someone besides his wife got it for him. 
 No wonder the poor boy is sick, such indigestible 
 food is enough to make any one sick." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Bradberry. " The doctor said 
 to me, he never before saw such a woman in his 
 whole life. Why, he said she fairly abuses 
 William." 
 
 u I guess we had better go over and see him as 
 soon as possible." 
 
 " Yes, indeed we must," said Mrs. Bradberry. 
 
 The same afternoon Mrs. Bradberry and I went
 
 Suffering Millions. 93 
 
 to see how William was getting along. I was sur- 
 prised to see how very sick he was. He was lying 
 on his back, his face was tinged with a yellowish 
 hue, his eyes were rolled away back in his head. 
 In an instant his wife came into the room where 
 he was. 
 
 ''Your husband is very sick, is he not?" said 
 Mrs. Bradberry. 
 
 " Oh !" said his wife, " he is always a great hand 
 to make a fuss when anything is the matter with 
 him." 
 
 '" Surely he is very sick and something should 
 be done at once," said Mrs. Bradberry. 
 
 "'Well, if anybody wants anything done they 
 will have to do it themselves. I have done all I 
 intend to do. I don't care if he would die ; then 
 perhaps I could have a little comfort." 
 
 At this unfeeling remark, Mrs. Bradberry, in 
 perfect astonishment said, " Why, you must not 
 talk so." 
 
 Not long after we had been in the house the 
 doctor arrived. He stepped to the bed, looked at 
 William, felt of his pulse, and then pushed back 
 his sleeves, as if bound to do all he could. You 
 could plainly see a troubled look on his face. 
 
 " I will give ten dollars, out of my own pocket, 
 
 to have Dr. W , of T , brought here for 
 
 counsel, as quick as possible. This young man 
 must live, and I have done everything in my 
 power."
 
 94 Suffering Millions. 
 
 The doctor he referred to was one of the oldest 
 as well as one of the best in the whole country, 
 but lived at a town some twelve or fifteen miles 
 away. 
 
 Then turning to Mrs. Bradberry he said, " Mon- 
 troville is very, very sick, but he must live." He 
 then turned and looked at the baby and pointing 
 at it said, " What would become of that little one ? 
 Yes, he must live. This is a difficult case, every- 
 thing is so uncomfortable, but nevertheless for the 
 sake of those children I am bound to do all in my 
 power. He must live, yes he must live." After 
 a moment's thought he said, "As I have a very 
 fast horse, I will go myself." Then turning to me 
 he said, " You stay here until I return. Be sure 
 and keep him well covered up as he is liable to 
 take cold. I will return just as quick as possible." 
 
 I watched the doctor as he drove away. He 
 jumped into his cutter, wrapped his robe around 
 him, and then dashed away at great speed. 
 
 "Why," said William's wife, "what a fuss that 
 doctor always makes. I felt like ordering him out 
 of the house. I suppose he thinks me not capable 
 of tending to my own house ; but I shall show 
 him about it. He better not come back here again 
 showing his authority, or he will get his walking 
 papers. Lulu, you good-for-nothing thing, sit 
 down or I will give you a slap," said she. 
 
 Not long after the doctor went away William
 
 Suffering Millions. 95 
 
 awoke and began to talk. " Do you feel better ? " 
 said I. 
 
 " No," was the reply, " I do not." He then 
 turned around and as May was standing by her 
 brother's bedside he said to her, " May, come here." 
 
 " What will you have ?" said she. 
 
 " Well May," said he, taking her hand in his, " I 
 am going to die." 
 
 " Oh ! my dear brother," said May, as she kneeled 
 by his side, "do not say that. We cannot give 
 you up." 
 
 " But, May, poor May, it is so. I cannot long 
 remain here. I have nothing to live for but my 
 children. You know how very unpleasantly I am 
 situated. May, I made a sad mistake when I was 
 only a young boy. I married when I was only, as 
 you might say, a child. This marriage has blighted 
 my life. But by it there have come to me 
 children. Poor, dear, darling little children. 
 Oh! May, I now have to leave them in a cold 
 and sinful world. I have not much to leave 
 them ; and May, you know Jane is not capable of 
 taking care of them. Oh ! May, dear May, when 
 I am gone, will you be kind to them? I know it 
 will be hard for you, but May it is hard for a poor 
 little orphan child to live among strangers. There 
 is my poor little curly headed Lulu, sweet little 
 girl that she is, please look after her. Dear little 
 Charley I will give to Ward. I know he has 
 children of his own, but I know he will do all he
 
 96 Suffering Millions. 
 
 can for him. He has a good wife. But my baby 
 Willie, poor little baby boy. I expect, Jane will 
 have to keep him." Here his feelings overcame 
 him and he broke down arid wept. "Oh! may 
 God in his great mercy take care of the little fel- 
 low. Oh, I fear, I fear for him. Oh! May, dear 
 May, if I could write with my heart's blood, I 
 would warn the young to be careful about that 
 great and most important step of choosing a life 
 companion. I'.ut. then, it in often hard to tell. 
 You know that Jane seemed all right at first. I'ut 
 May, when I am gone be kind to my children, rny 
 dear little orphan babes." 
 
 " Yes brother, dear brother, I will do all 1 can 
 for them," said May, as she knelt by his bed, her 
 face Hooded with tears. 
 
 I then went to his wife and asked her if she 
 believed him dying, but little did she seem to care. 
 She only cared for herself. William, tortured with 
 pain, sometimes rolled in wild delirium on his 
 bed. May stood by him and smoothed his auburn 
 hair. It happened that there was an entertain- 
 ment at the school house near by. Almost the 
 entire neighborhood were there, both young and 
 old. Of course May would have been glad I- 
 as she enjoyed such things very much, yet, |bfl 
 knew she was more needed by her brother. Wil- 
 liam becoming somewhat better, looked into her 
 Mid said, " You will not h-ave me all alone." 1 
 This touched May's heart. "No," she said, " I
 
 Suffering Millions. 97 
 
 would not leave my darling brother all alone for 
 all of the entertainments in the world." She 
 would rather stand by the bedside of her brother 
 and try to ease his pain. 
 
 Mrs. Hradberry had returned home and the 
 doctor had not yet arrived. Myself, the wit'e, and 
 sister, were now alone. The shades of night had 
 gathered and a loneliness hovered around. Wil- 
 liam at last expressed a desire to sit up and be 
 dressed. May told him it would not do for him to 
 get up. as he might take cold. After this he lay 
 quietly in a very straight position, talking some. 
 The wit'e retired in another room for the night. A 
 neighbor eame in to stay with May, and help take 
 care of William. After a little while he seemed 
 to rest well. May watched the clock, and just at 
 eight she prepared his medicine. As she stepped 
 to the bedside she beheld the pallor of death 
 spreading its mantle over her brother's face. Her 
 friend stepped to the bedside and they together 
 beheld him gently breathe his last. He fell asleep 
 in death as softly as a little babe goes to sleep 
 upon its mother's breast. They stood for a 
 moment horror struck. May felt she could not 
 stand by the death bed any longer, and said to her 
 friend. " Stay here while 1 go for assistance." She 
 sprang to the door and out into the darkness. She 
 was very much excited, her only thought being to 
 get her brother Ward there, and as God has prom- 
 ised to always be with those in trouble so in this 
 B
 
 98 Suffering Millions. 
 
 Case he afforded assistance to May. She had gone 
 but a short distance when she overtook a cutter 
 with a young lady and gentleman out sleigh riding. 
 They took her in the cutter. The young man 
 drove as fast as he could to the school house. 
 May rushed into the school house and up to her 
 brother Ward and sail, " Come, William is dying." 
 Ward bounded like a wild deer to the door, and 
 soon stood by the bedside of his dear brother. 
 May's friends tried to quiet her, and told her that 
 she was only excited, that William was better. 
 But she knew that she was not mistaken, but that 
 he was dead, as they were all soon made to realize. 
 This was a sad hour. All was excitement. A 
 young man folded in the arras of death unexpect- 
 edly. It threvv a sadness over all. 
 
 Mr. Montroville, who was at home, knew nothing 
 of the death of his son. lie was shortly afterward 
 summoned to the bedside, and he came in great 
 haste, thinking perhaps his son might want to see 
 him. But as he came in and saw that death 
 had done its work, and as he looked upon the 
 pale face of his son, he wrung his hands with 
 grief. His heart was crushed. His oldest son, his 
 darling boy, the one whose assistance he most 
 needed, gone, forever gone. 
 
 " Dear, oh dear !" said Mrs. Bradberry, " what 
 will become of those poor little children ?" 
 
 " Sure enough," said her husband, " poor little 
 ones." Mr. Bradberry sat with his hands upon his
 
 Suffering Millions, 99 
 
 head for some time, and then said, " If I were abte 
 I would take all of those little children. Poor 
 little Lulu is such a frail child. What will become 
 of them is more than I can tell. If their mother 
 were only capable of taking care of them." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Bradberry, "you know she is 
 not, therefore it is a very difficult case. Yes, 
 indeed, for anybody that takes those children will 
 always have trouble with that woman, of course 
 they will. She acts as if she naturally despised 
 everybody and everything. But nevertheless 
 those dear little children should not suffer on 
 account of their mother. I must confess I am 
 puzzled to know what will become of them, they 
 are all so very young. Can we do anything ?" 
 
 We have now come to the place in our story 
 where we are compelled to describe the wife of 
 William. Although it is a painful task for me to 
 do, causing my brain to reel and my blood to run 
 cold, yet truth is truth, showing no injustice to any 
 one. Glad indeed, would 1 be if I could describe 
 ^her in any other way than the way I will have to. 
 She was one of those silly, trifling women, who had 
 no love for her husband nor her home, although 
 she had influenced William to marry her when he 
 was only a little past seventeen, she being much 
 older than he. At first he seemed very much 
 attached to her, but as he learned the ways of the 
 world and saw how slovenly and good-for-nothing 
 she was, and how she tried in every way to make
 
 100 Suffering Millions. 
 
 him unhappy, his love for her apparently wore 
 away. She belonged to one of earth's noble and 
 good families, having one of the best and purest 
 hearted brothers I ever knew, who tried to do 
 everything in his power to make her a better 
 woman, and cause her to care more for her children 
 and her home. Yet for all he could do she was 
 the same trifling, careless woman. May God in 
 his great mercy protect the children of such a 
 mother. I do not think ever in the records of 
 time was there a more helpless little orphan fam- 
 ily than this one. This woman not only neglected 
 her children, but seemed to despise those who 
 1ried to take care of the little darling ones. I 
 have often been made to weep, when I thought of 
 William, a bright and noble young man, who was 
 brought to sorrow and no doubt the grave, by a 
 trifling woman. While they kept house few were 
 the comforts he enjoyed. The house was always 
 nasty and dirty, with nothing pleasant, although 
 he was very neat.
 
 Suffering Millions. 101 
 
 CHAPTER XII, 
 
 The friends of William soon gathered at his 
 house, and to the astonishment of all they found 
 that May's message was true, and that he was 
 dead. Friends rendered all the sympathy and as- 
 sistance that they could to this bleeding-hearted 
 family. Yet this sorrow, time could never change, 
 or at least could not restore the dear one back to 
 life again. Mr. Montroville was crushed and over- 
 whelmed with grief at the loss of his son, and as 
 his health was so poor he could scarcely stand the 
 sorrow and excitement, it was thought best that 
 Ward should take his father back to his house to 
 stay with him, and see if he could not be more 
 reconciled and get some rest. But the sorrow was 
 too great. No doubt he thought of William's help- 
 less little orphan children. He knew his own 
 health was gone, and that William's wife was 
 worse than no woman at all. Well indeed would 
 it have been for this family and for those little 
 children had they been motherless also, for their 
 mother was entirely incapable of taking care of 
 them, both on account of her careless and willful 
 nature, and because she possessed no faculty for 
 taking care of children. Mr. Montroville was 
 agonized with pain and sorrow all night. He
 
 102 Suffering Millions. 
 
 could not rest. The grief he bore was too great to 
 afford the peaceful sleep that comes to the tired 
 body. When the mind is over burdened, as the 
 troubled sea, it cannot rest. At dawn of day he 
 arose, and as the sun mounted the heavens, shed- 
 ding light and beauty all around, he stood by his 
 chamber window that looked over the fields to 
 William's residence, where his son's lifeless body 
 lay. 
 
 He said to Ward, " It is a beautiful morning, but 
 it affords no happiness to me." 
 
 Although a Christian, yet there are times in a 
 Christian's life when the barge is so tempest tossed 
 that this earth can not give peace; that heaven 
 alone can give the rest our weary souls thirst for. 
 
 Ward had to attend to making the arrangements 
 for the funeral. May, although all worn out, yet 
 remained at the home of her brother to help care 
 for the children and get things ready for the last 
 sad rites over one she had loved so well in life. 
 At last the hour arrived, and the lifeless body was 
 borne from the sad home, amid the blinding tears 
 of a grief stricken family. There was a large con- 
 gregation of sympathizing friends, who filled the 
 school house where the funeral services were held. 
 As little Charlie wept and cried for his father 
 there was hardly a person who did not shed 
 tears. 
 
 Mr. Montroville, as he was taking the last look at 
 his son, in the language of King David exclaimed,
 
 Suffering Millions. 103 
 
 " Oh ! my son, would to God I had died for thee 
 my son, Oh ! my son !" 
 
 After the body had been laid to rest in the quiet 
 grave, and they had returned home, a good 
 Christian minister accompanied Mr. Montroville 
 home, <o try and afford some sympathy. But the 
 stroke had been too great. His feeble frame gave 
 away and "the brittle thread of life was almost 
 severed." He sank into a decline, would have no 
 doctor, would take no medicine, and once or twice 
 while great drops of sweat (although his body was 
 icy cold) trickled down his cheeks, he said to May 
 and a young friend of hers who stood by his bed- 
 side, u you know nothing of the pain I am now ex- 
 periencing.'" Yet he bore it so peacefully, al- 
 though nervous and impatient; but now as the 
 sands of life had nearly ceased to run, so mild and 
 patient did he wait, and as the minister asked him 
 his hopes of heaven, he trustingly replied : " with 
 the rest of mankind I must stand my chance." A 
 short time after this, about the same hour of the 
 night, just one week from the da}'- that William 
 died, he spoke to Ward (Ward and May were now 
 alone with their father as the minister had just 
 gone away) and said that he would like to get up, 
 as he was tired of lying on the bed. Ward assisted 
 him to arise, and as he was supporting his father 
 in his arms, his life gave away. Ward noticed the 
 change and called May to his side. They together 
 laid the trembling form of their father on the
 
 104 Suffering Millions. 
 
 bed. He tried to look once more into their face, 
 and then the lamp of life ceased to burn. Friends 
 were soon summoned to their assistance. Kind in- 
 deed were those warm-hearted people who ren- 
 dered love and sympathy now to Ward and May 
 No doubt their hearts would have been crushed 
 had it not been for the kind and loving acts of 
 friends who tried to afford them all the comfort 
 they could. Noble indeed is the person who will 
 try in time of sorrow to help a friend bear a grief, 
 and to smooth the rugged paths of life. Ofttimes 
 when the heart is sore and bleeding, just one little 
 word or sometimes a tender look help make the 
 tide of life flow much more peacefully. Just one 
 week from the very hour, in the little old fashioned 
 school house the funeral dirge again was sung; but 
 now the family had dwindled down until the 
 mourners were few. Ward and May now occupied 
 the same seat that their father did just one week 
 before, but now by him it would be forever vacant. 
 Ward took the death of his father very hard. 
 He now felt himself almost alone. He well knew 
 how much depended upon him. He had been so 
 much attached to his father and brother, of both of 
 whom he had been bereft in one short week. 
 May seemed more resigned yet she felt the help- 
 lessness of William's little children. After the 
 burial they returned to their lonely home, for the 
 death of Mr. Montroville left May entirely alone 
 in her father's house. Ward thought best that she
 
 Suffering Millions. 105 
 
 should stay at his house until other arrangements 
 could be made. As I have said before, little 
 Charlie also lived with Ward. Dear little Lulu 
 now lived with her mother in that sad and dismal 
 home. 
 
 In a little while after this Ward took possession 
 of his father's farm and moved in his house. As 
 he was the only one capable of attending to the 
 farm and settling the estate, this duty he per- 
 formed in a good and honorable manner. May 
 still remained with him. Things were now so 
 changed, in so short a time, but they all did as well 
 as they could to make the best out of life. Had it 
 not been for William's family they could have got 
 along very well, but on account of the inability of 
 his widow to take care of her children, as well as 
 herself, it made things very unpleasant. Ward 
 had all of the responsibility resting upon him that 
 any one person ought to have, yet he was willing 
 to do all he could for his brother's family. May's 
 love for Lulu was intense, but as she was now sit- 
 uated it was impossible for her to do as much for 
 the child as she would have been glad to have 
 done. It was not long after the death of her father, 
 that Lulu was taken very sick. Again May was 
 called to stand by a bed of suffering. Her heart was 
 very much pained for the little one. I will here de- 
 scribe one very severe trial she had to encounter. 
 There was a woman who lived near, a woman who 
 had been a grass widow of Irish descent, who
 
 106 Suffering Millions. 
 
 came into the neighborhood an entire stranger, and 
 by some method succeeded in influencing a well- 
 to-do farmer to marry her. This of course ele- 
 vated her very much. But as her heart was as 
 hard as stone, and as the work of the evil one is 
 always shrewd and cunning, so this wicked woman, 
 whom we will call Rebecca, which was her true 
 name, hastened to this house. She was accom- 
 panied by another woman and also by her brother. 
 They found May, Lulu, and her mother alone. 
 Lulu was very sick. She marched in with the dig- 
 nity of a queen, but her heart was as wicked as the 
 evil one could have wanted it to have been. She 
 took in the situation at a glance, and well knew 
 that Lulu's mother was not capable of taking care 
 of her. She also knew that she could sow discord 
 and make trouble between May and the mother. 
 So she began in the most abusive language she 
 could command, saying that Lulu was not being 
 well taken care of. She seemed to direct all of her 
 abuse upon May and the other members of May's 
 family who were not present. She chided and in- 
 sulted in every way that her vile tongue was cap- 
 able of. She claimed to have done much for them, 
 but in fact had done very little, which no doubt in 
 her eyes looked very large. May stood her abuse 
 as long as it was possible for one of her hasty tem- 
 per. At last her fiery southern blood arose. She 
 told the woman she had better mind her own busi- 
 ness, hinting that she perhaps did not know what
 
 Suffering Millions. 107 
 
 people thought of her. At this the woman's 
 brother began on May. He, too, possessed much 
 of the overbearing disposition of his sister. Now 
 May became so enraged that she said many things 
 she ought not to have said, forgetting in the excite- 
 ment of the moment all about little darling Lulu. 
 For a while pandemonium seemed to reign. The 
 woman's vile tongue seemed fired with a viper's 
 sting. All at once May happened to look at little 
 Lulu, whose little innocent eyes were bent on her. 
 This was enough for May, who read the look of 
 love on Lulu's lonely face. Lulu looked to May 
 for her care. Although a little child, yet she had 
 long ago learned where her care came from. May 
 was overcome at once. She well knew there was 
 need of good and speedy care for Lulu. After the 
 woman left May was all excitement. Death had 
 made such a sad inroad into her family that she 
 felt they could not spare dear, precious little Lulu. 
 Oh ! if Lulu's mother could only have been cap- 
 able of taking care of her, but as this was impos- 
 sible it was a very trying position for May. She 
 was young and had never taken care of a sick 
 child, therefore she felt her inability to take care 
 of her now that she was so very sick, and yet to 
 act, seeing Lulu's mother was present was very 
 hard. It was almost dark. May knew something 
 must be done, she therefore went to see if she 
 could hire a good old Quaker lady to come and 
 take care of Lulu, a lady who understood medicine
 
 108 Suffering Millions. 
 
 and was a good nurse. As it happened I was at 
 the lady's house when May came. I saw she was 
 very much excited as well as very much grieved 
 about Lulu. She at once made her business known. 
 She seemed to have no time to lose. 
 
 " I came," said she, u to see if I could get you to 
 go and help take care of Lulu, as she is very sick 
 and we know -not what to do." 
 
 u Did thee not know my boy was sick ?" 
 
 " Of course I did not, or I should not of come," 
 said May. 
 
 " I feel very sorry for thee, but I can not leave 
 my child, to take care of thy niece." 
 
 " Well," said May, " I do not wish you to do so, 
 but we are in trouble. Lulu is very sick, and I am 
 afraid that if we do not get something done at once 
 dear little Lulu will die." 
 
 " Thee go back and do what thee can, and she 
 may get better," said the lady. 
 
 " But folks are accusing us of neglecting dear, 
 darling Lulu," said May. 
 
 "Who is accusing thee of neglecting her ?" the 
 good lady asked. 
 
 " Mrs. Rebecca F came to-day with some of 
 
 her friends, and she abused us in the most insult- 
 ing way, saying that it was only put on, that we 
 only made believe that we cared for Lulu. She 
 also threw out slurs against my friends who 
 have just been laid in the grave. Oh, dear, what 
 shall I do?"
 
 Suffering Millions. 109 
 
 " Well, replied the good Quaker lady, " we all 
 know what kind of a woman she is. Her tongue 
 is ever ready to condemn the innocent. But never 
 mind. May, go back, do the best thee can and God 
 will bless thee." Then turning to me she said, " it 
 is a shame for Rebecca to so abuse May. Had it 
 not been for the Montroville's taking her in when 
 a stranger and protecting her, Edmund would never 
 have married her, but now I suppose she feels in- 
 dependent. As the bible says, ' cast not thy pearls 
 before swine, least they turn again and rend thee,' 
 I suppose this is the way she is paying them back." 
 
 "Well, "said I, "I do feel very sorry for the 
 Montroville's. They are having a very hard time. 
 We all know and so does this Rebecca, that Lulu's 
 mother is not capable of taking care of the children 
 when they are well, much less when they are sick. 
 Yet she is very hard to get along with. She is not 
 willing for the Montroville's to do as they would 
 like to by the children. Of course this wicked 
 woman knew this, so she has been trying to make 
 trouble. But the devil always wants some one to 
 do his work and always uses just such persons as 
 she to perform it." 
 
 Then turning to May, I said, " I will go home 
 with you and do all I can." 
 
 But as my experience was about as little as was 
 May's, I felt incapable of doing as much good as 
 I should have been glad to have done. 
 
 " As we started, I noticed that May was all ex-
 
 110 Suffering Millions. 
 
 citement, she rushed along almost on the run, and 
 exclaimed, " Oh, I do not know what to do for 
 dear Lulu! I can not give her up, she is my only 
 comfort. Dear, dear Lulu, the little darling girl. 
 I would rather die than to give her up. Tears 
 streamed down May's face. Although quick tem- 
 pered, yet May's heart was very tender. 
 
 " Well, May," said I, " we will do the best we 
 can. There yet may be some chance for Lulu to 
 get better." But I noticed May was very anxious 
 to get back to Lulu, though she did not say very 
 much. It had become very dark, the roads were 
 muddy, and as we hastened along we saw a light 
 at the lonely dwelling, and as we approached the 
 house we heard voices and soon discovered that 
 there were people in the house talking to Lulu and 
 her mother. As we entered the house we soon 
 noticed that there were several neighbors, also a 
 gentleman and lady, people of culture and refine- 
 ment, who had come in while May was gone. May 
 had become so nervous and excited that she could 
 not understand who the people were. Turning to 
 me she inquired, in a whisper, " who are those 
 people? Are they friends or are they foes ?" But 
 this I could not tell, as I had never before seen 
 them. 
 
 The gentleman observed that we were some- 
 what astonished at their being there, so turning to 
 me he said, "I was very much surprised a few 
 days ago to hear that my dear friend, William
 
 Suffering Millions. Ill 
 
 Montroville,was dead." He continued, saying that 
 he knew William very well while in the army. 
 " William was one of my bravest and best soldiers," 
 said he. " I have never seen a man who was more 
 daring on the battle field. He feared not the 
 cannon's roar, and when blood run fast and deep 
 we could always depend on him. 1 learned to 
 love him for his warm and noble spirit. Although 
 loyal, yet he possessed much of the warm nature 
 of southern people, and because of this he was of 
 great service to us. A few days ago I learned the 
 sad news of his death. I felt very much pained 
 that I did not learn of it in time to attend the 
 funeral, and now I have come to see if I can be of 
 any service to his family." 
 
 We soon were made to understand vho the 
 gentleman was. He was an officer in the regi- 
 ment that William belonged to while in the army, 
 and hearing of William's death, and no doubt 
 learning of the situation of his family, had come, 
 bringing with him his noble wife, to assist in tak- 
 ing care of William's children. I noticed he was 
 very much surprised in William's wife. He at 
 once observed, as might any intelligent person, 
 that she was unfitted to take care of the children. 
 He watched May for a while, and then remarked 
 to me, " I see the look of William in his sister. I 
 know she must be his sister," said he, as she is 
 almost his very picture." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " May is his only sister. She was
 
 112 Suffering Millions. 
 
 very much attached to her brothers, and now 
 seems to possess an undying love for his children, 
 especially little Lulu." 
 
 " The little girl is very sick, is she not ?" said 
 he. "There must be something done for her at 
 once '.'' 
 
 At this May came up and said, " Yes, dear little 
 Lulu is very sick. I do wish something could be 
 done for her. We have lost so many friends that 
 we cannot give Lulu up." 
 
 At this the officer's face first grew red, then 
 turned pale. " Yes," said he, u there must be 
 something done. My wife is a splendid nurse. She 
 will be glad to take care of the little girl for a 
 while until other assistance can be provided." 
 
 At this May was so glad she did not know 
 hardly what to do. Now instead of pandemonium, 
 Elysian shades seemed to have gathered. 
 
 "How I pity those little children of William 
 Montroville's," said Mrs. Bradberry, " because it is 
 no small job to properly care for little children. 
 The impressions made on the mind of a child are 
 very important indeed," 
 
 u I know they are," said a friend to whom she 
 was talking, " yet we often see little ragged chil- 
 dren, fat, and as healthy as they can be. Open air 
 and exercise are just what they need. I well re- 
 member, and to my sorrow, too, an accident that 
 happened to me when I was quite a small child. 
 There was a lady visiting at our house who had a
 
 Suffering Millions. 113 
 
 very sweet little baby girl. I played with her and 
 thought I never before saw a child quite as lovable 
 as it was. I happened to notice that it had very long 
 finger nails. I never could tell what caused me to 
 do it, but nevertheless I took the scissors and cut 
 the baby's nails, never once thinking of any harm 
 in so doing. But when it's mother noticed what I 
 had done the poor woman took her baby and ap- 
 peared half frightened to death. ' Why,' said she, 
 ' it is a sure sign that a baby will not live one year 
 if its finger nails are cut before it is a year old.' It 
 seems that there is an old superstitious saying to 
 this effect but of course I had never heard it, for 
 if I had I would not have done it for anything in 
 the world. I was very much frightened and very 
 sorry indeed for what I had done. My mother also 
 gave me a good scolding, which of course I needed. 
 The poor woman went home believing that her 
 child would surely die, and as strange as it may 
 seem, the baby did not live more than two weeks. 
 But of course the cutting of those nails had no 
 more to do with its death, than do any of those 
 old superstitious sayings. But when my poor 
 mother heard it she thoughtlessly gave me an- 
 other very severe scolding, never once thinking of 
 the injury she was doing me. Of course I thought 
 I had surely caused that sweet little babe's death. 
 I naturally was very nervous, and that baby's 
 death so frightened me that I truly believe I suf- 
 fered every pang of an actual criminal. After I
 
 114 Suffering Millions. 
 
 had retired to bed I would begin to think of the 
 baby, would turn icy cold and tremble from head 
 to foot. 1 would sometimes imagine that I could 
 hear demons in my room. I began to feel very 
 poorly in health, arid finally went into a nervous 
 decline. I did not speak to my mother about the 
 cause of my suffering, because I was afraid to do 
 so. Poor woman, kind and good as she was to me, 
 yet they had made the wrong impression on my 
 mind, which neither they nor any medical skill 
 could cure. For months and months I suffered 
 and suffered, and even after years had rolled away 
 I would turn icy cold when I thought of that sweet 
 little baby, and as strange as it may seem, I never 
 fully recovered until I was old enough to learn for 
 myself how foolish such superstitious sayings were. 
 In reality I had only done what should have been 
 done by its mother, for with its long nails it nat- 
 urally would hurt its poor little self. I always 
 feel very indignant at those willful nurses that 
 will frighten little children half to death in order 
 to make them afraid of them." 
 
 " Yes," said Mrs. Bradberry's friend, k ' I know 
 there are very many little children that on ac- 
 count of wrong impressions suffer very much, aside 
 from careless neglect. ' Oh, precious childhood.' 
 There is naught so sweet as an innocent child. No 
 wonder the Savior said, ' suffer little children to 
 come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is 
 the kingdom of heaven.' The mind of a child to
 
 Suffering Millions. 115 
 
 thoroughly develop, should be occupied with 
 pleasant amusement, and as it grows older should 
 be encouraged with higher and holier aspirations. 
 I don't believe that a child unless surrounded with 
 things that are bright and cheerful, can possibly 
 be happy."
 
 116 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII, 
 
 The next morning I thought I would call on 
 
 Mrs. Rebecca , as she lived just across the 
 
 road, and find out if I could, why she had so 
 abused May. I therefore went. 
 
 " Good morning, Mrs. , nice morning." 
 
 " Very nice. Come in and be seated." 
 
 " Your folks all seem to be well and enjoying 
 the blessings of life and a pleasant home." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, we usually are well, and have much 
 to enjoy in our home." 
 
 " What a blessing good health and a pleasant 
 home is. But all people are not so fortunate as to 
 have them." 
 
 "1 suppose there are some who are not, but 
 usually, I think, it is their own fault." 
 
 u Well," said I, u I hear the Montrovilles are 
 having a sad time now that little Lulu is sick." 
 
 " Oh ! they are always having a bad time. Some 
 folks make a great fuss over a mighty little thing." 
 
 " Yes, but sickness, and death, are not such little 
 things, after all," said I. " Have you been over to 
 see them ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I'll not step my foot in the house 
 again, if they all lay there and die," said she. 
 
 " What is your reason for saying so ? "
 
 Suffering Millions. 117 
 
 " Oh ! yesterday I called there, with my brother 
 and a friend, and I just happened to remark that 
 the Montrovilles always pretended to think so 
 much of Lulu, but that it was no such a thing, as 
 the child was really suffering for care. May sat 
 there all dressed in mourning, as if she had lost 
 every friend in the world," said Rebecca. 
 
 " Well, you know she has in a short time lost 
 mother, father, and brother, and has not many 
 relatives left. No doubt she feels like dressing 
 in mourning." 
 
 " Well, as I was saying, I just made Jane by 
 this she meant Lulu's mother, although it was not 
 her true name, but by this name we now will call 
 her understand about what I thought. I just 
 said everything I could think of. I got fighting 
 mad. I told May she had better take off that 
 dress and do something for Lulu." 
 
 " Well," said I, " but you know there is Lulu's 
 mother who does not like May very much, which 
 makes it hard for her to do anything. It is a pity 
 that Jane cannot take care of her children." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, but she don't know enough to come 
 in out of the rain," Rebecca replied, " and if she 
 did, she is so trifling and dirty that it would make 
 a well person sick for her to do anything for 
 them." 
 
 " So you see it is difficult, do you not ? The 
 Montrovilles are placed in a very trying position," 
 said I.
 
 118 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " Oh yes, but I would do something," said she. 
 
 " Well, what would you do ? " 
 
 " Well, I would do something ! " 
 
 " But what would you do ? " 
 
 " I do not know just what I would do, but I 
 would do something," she went on to say. 
 
 "That is just as I thought. It is pretty hard to 
 say just what one will do until they have tried 
 it," said I. 
 
 " I don't care. I just gave that good-for-nothing 
 May to understand what I thought of the Montro- 
 villes. At this May got mad and called me all 
 kinds of names. At last my brother took it up, 
 and he told her what he thought of her. We had 
 the young lady just where we wanted her. We 
 give it to her. Jane came very near ordering her 
 out of the house. I told Jane I would, if I were 
 her. At this May stamped her foot and said it 
 was her father's house, and then she ordered my 
 brother out of doors." 
 
 " Well, it is her father's house, or was when he 
 was living, and I suppose she thought she had a 
 perfect right to order him out." 
 
 " But I want you to understand that he did not 
 go. He just got up and I thought he would strike 
 her, for she is one of the most provoking things 
 I ever saw. He was just giving her fits, when lo, 
 and behold, in came one of her gentleman friends, 
 and don't you believe he had the impudence to 
 pull off his coat as quick as a flash, and step up to
 
 Suffering Millions. 119 
 
 my brother and demand what all this fuss was 
 about. At this my brother said not another word, 
 bat just left the house at once, as he always thinks 
 peace is the best thing. That fellow no doubt 
 thinks himself very brave. My brother is twice 
 as large as he is. But you know he did not believe 
 in quarreling, because he loves peace." 
 
 " No doubt," said I, " in that case it was best for 
 him to love peace, because that fellow, although 
 not as large as your brother, is not to be fooled 
 with." 
 
 "But didn't I tell him as soon as my brother 
 was gone that no one was to blame but May?" 
 Rebecca replied. 
 
 " What did he say then ? " said I. 
 
 " Oh ! he said he did not wish to quarrel with a 
 woman." 
 
 u Well, I expect he is somewhat as I am, does 
 not want to see it all on one side of a question." 
 
 " Well, I don't care, my brother and I both felt 
 like stomping May, and I believe he would have 
 done it, if that impudent fellow had not come just 
 as he did." 
 
 At this she became so excited, and talked so 
 loud, that her husband came in to see what was 
 going on. I now thought I had better say no more 
 to her on the subject, so I said " Good morning, 
 Mr. F ." 
 
 " Good morning," said he, " we are having some 
 excitement this morning " winking at me as if to
 
 120 Suffering Millions. 
 
 say, he was not quite well pleased with the way 
 his wife was going on. 
 
 " Oh, your wife and I were just talking about 
 those Montrovilles. I suppose you know they are 
 again afflicted?" 
 
 " Yes. Poor little Lulu is such a nice little girl, 
 I am very sorry for her. It is a pity that her 
 mother is such a careless person." 
 
 " What do you think about them ? " said I. 
 
 u Well, I must confess, that I do not know what 
 to think. I never before saw such a difficult case. 
 It is very sad on account of the inability of Lulu's 
 mother to take care of her children." Then Mr- 
 
 F went on to say that he had known Jane 
 
 since she was a little girl and that she was always 
 just so trifling. No one could ever do anything 
 with her. 
 
 " Oh yes," said I, " I think I have heard that 
 you are a distant relative of Jane." 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. F , ' I am. Jane and I 
 
 were raised together. I lived in the same family 
 with her for years. Her father was one of the 
 nicest men I ever knew. He was a man who was 
 loved and respected by all who knew him." 
 
 14 It is very strange, then," said I, " that Jane is 
 the person she is, so incapable of taking care of 
 her children." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. F , "Jane, while yet very 
 
 young, was afflicted with a very peculiar disease, 
 which affected her mentally. Although at first it
 
 Suffering Millions. 121 
 
 was not noticed much, yet I think that it grows on 
 her. Her father spent hundreds of dollars on her, 
 but it was of no use, although since she has grown 
 to be a woman she enjoys good health. Yet she 
 possesses no faculty of making her home pleasant 
 or doing any kind of work well." 
 
 u It made it very bad for William, he married 
 her while he was yet very young and upon very 
 short acquaintance." 
 
 " Her mother told me that if she had had any 
 idea of their getting married she would have told 
 William all about Jane. But she said that never 
 such an idea entered her head. Jane knew that 
 her folks were opposed to her getting married, 
 she therefore was married unbeknown to them. 
 Of course we kept it quite secret about her inabil- 
 ity to learn to work. In this I now think we did 
 wrong. In some respects Jane was quick and 
 active, and while young looked very well, but as 
 the care of a family became hers to perform she 
 seemed to lose all ability to do anything as 
 it should be done. My first wife, who now lies 
 in her grave said that she never felt so sorry 
 for any one in her life as she did for Mr. Montro- 
 ville, William's father. Shortly after William 
 married Jane, Mr. Montroville knew that I was a 
 distant relative of hers, and after William had 
 brought his wife home to live with his folks, Mr. 
 Montroville at once noticed that she was no wife 
 for William. He therefore came to our house to
 
 122 Suffering Millions. 
 
 inquire about her. Of course my dear wife could 
 not lie and just told him the truth. It fairly over- 
 come Mr. Montroville who at once saw that his 
 boy was ruined, and we felt very sorry for him. 
 Mr. Montroville was a very intelligent man, who 
 loved his children very much. He was also a very 
 nice man and one who did not believe in people 
 being divorced after marriage. ' Now that they 
 are married,' said he, ' we will have to make the 
 best of it. It was for Mr. Montroville's sake I 
 have ever felt great interest in William and his 
 children." 
 
 u What a pity," said I, " that a young boy should 
 have made such a mistake and brought such sor- 
 row on his friends ; but he was young and no doubt 
 loved well, but not wisely, and as she belonged to 
 a nice family I suppose he thought he was doing 
 well." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. F , " I know some peo- 
 ple lay great stress upon the character of the fam- 
 ily that a person marries into, but I think wisdom 
 should dictate the choice, and not the family. 
 Some of the worst marriages I ever knew, were 
 those of people who belonged to good families. 
 Of course it is a good thing, if possible, to belong 
 to a good family, but the family is not all. Some 
 of the best and greatest persons who ever lived 
 were those belonging to ordinary families." 
 
 Said I, " this marriage has taught me that you 
 are right, that people in chosing a companion had
 
 Suffering Millions. 123 
 
 better look at the person, instead of trying to find 
 out whether their ancestors were born of noble 
 blood, or cradled in a manger." 
 
 " I know," said Mr. F , " there are some 
 
 low people who censure the Montrovilles, but I 
 guess I know as well as anyone that they are not 
 to blame. I was very much opposed to my wife's 
 conduct in abusing them yesterday." 
 
 At this a clear voice rang out from the kitchen : 
 " You had better mind your own business ; you 
 will stick up for those low-lived Montrovilles ; 
 that is all you know. You think that those chil- 
 dren, especially Lulu, are little angels, but I want 
 you to understand that you, or no one else, in my 
 house shall so applaud that trifling set." At this 
 Mrs. Rebecca came rushing in, and in the most 
 
 abusive language told Mr. F what she 
 
 thought of him. Her tongue, I thought, came the 
 nearest to perpetual motion of anything yet dis- 
 covered. 
 
 At this Mr. F replied, " If I were you and 
 
 made the profession of religion that you do, I 
 would not talk so about the Montrovilles. Did 
 they not when you were a stranger, take you in 
 and do all they could for you ? If it had not been 
 for them I never should have married you." 
 
 " Oh ! married me ! I did not marry you ! It 
 was your money I married. But now, thanks to 
 myself, I do not need their sympathy, or yours
 
 124 Suffering Millions. 
 
 either; one third of your money is enough to 
 make me independent." 
 
 " Oh yes! I have long since learned that it was 
 my money and not me you married," getting 
 excited and stamping his foot upon the floor, he 
 exclaimed. " Yes, because of my dear wife, my 
 first love, the wife of my bosom, who now lies in 
 the grave, I do love those Montrovilles. Yes, and 
 for her sake I love that hot-headed May, too, and 
 William's little orphan children." Then turning 
 to me he said, " My dear wife was much attached 
 to the Montrovilles, before her death. She and 
 May spent hours together. She loved May and 
 dear little Lulu, and if I did not know that they 
 had been kind to this woman that now so abuses 
 them, I might think differently." 
 
 I now saw that both were getting so excited that 
 I had better go, so I therefore bade them good bye 
 and departed." 
 
 As I was leaving this home of comfort, posses- 
 sing many of the luxuries of life, I could but think 
 how little thi.-; woman appreciated its comforts. 
 My mind wandered to the book of Ecclesiastes, to 
 the words of King Solomon, 5 chap., 10 v., " He 
 that loveth silver shall not be satisfied with silver; 
 nor he that loveth abundance with increase." 
 
 As I entered the dismal dwelling where the 
 suffering child lay, I could but notice the differ- 
 ence in the two homes. This one being so untidy, 
 everything dirty and uncomfortable. I said in my
 
 Suffering Millions. 125 
 
 heart, oh, earth ! thy ways are hard to understand, 
 but then I rejoice in that blessed promise, " That 
 the rough places should be made smooth." While 
 I was gone the gentleman and lady had taken 
 their departure, promising to return before long. 
 Now Jane, Lulu, and myself were alone, so I 
 thought I would try and get on the good side of 
 Jane, as I knew this was quite important for Lulu's 
 sake. 
 
 "Well, Jane," said I, "I think that Mrs. 
 
 F - was very much out of place yesterday in 
 
 talking as she did, and in trying to make hard feel- 
 ings between you and the Monlrovilles." 
 
 " Well," said Jane, " maybe she was, but then I 
 don't like to have May here trying to take care of 
 Lulu. I guess she thinks I don't know enough to 
 take care of my own children. I just want her to 
 stay away and mind her own business and I will 
 take care of myself." 
 
 " But," said I, u you know Lulu is very near to 
 May, for Lulu has always lived with May, and her 
 parents." 
 
 At this little Lulu said, "ma, why do you not 
 want Aunt May to stay with us ? She is so good to 
 me. I want aunt May right by me." 
 
 I now noticed how much better Lulu was, after 
 the good care she had received from the good 
 lady and her husband, who had so kindly taken 
 care of her all through the long hours of the night. 
 
 Lulu was a very thoughtful child. She very
 
 126 Suffering Millions. 
 
 well understood her mother's inability to take care 
 of her. She had always been taken care of by her 
 grandma, until her death, and since that time May 
 had looked after her with a mother's tender love. 
 I never saw a mother watch her child with more 
 tender care than did May watch Lulu. I have 
 often remarked that the love that should have 
 burned in her mother's breast, God for some 
 reason unknown, planted in the heart of May. 
 Although May and Lulu, as I have said before, 
 were just as different as they could be. May was 
 very quick tempered, nervous, and impatient, 
 while Lulu was mild, gentle, and lovable, a gem 
 of purity and innocence. I now said to Jane as 
 gently as I could, " oh ! well, you had better be 
 willing for May to help you take care of Lulu, as 
 Lulu wants her so badly." 
 
 At this Jane said, " no, I do not want the good- 
 for-nothing thing to come here again." 
 
 At this Lulu began to cry and said, " oh ! ma, I 
 do want Aunt May to take care of me, for if she 
 don't I will die." 
 
 I now quickly changed the conversation. I saw 
 it would not do for Lulu to hear any more, so I 
 laughingly said, " never mind, Lulu, we will take 
 good care of you ; and just as soon as you are able 
 I will take you to town and get you something 
 nice." This seemed to satisfy the child, and she 
 now dropped to sleep. 
 
 Just then I happened to look out of the window,
 
 Suffering Millions. 127 
 
 and who should I see but the gentleman and lady 
 again drive up. They got out of their sleigh and 
 came into the house. 
 
 " We were so interested about the little girl," 
 said the lady that we could not be content at 
 home, and have come back to see if we could not 
 render farther service." 
 
 " I have been thinking, said the gentleman, that 
 as my business calls for my constant attention 
 at home, as also does my wife's, that if all are 
 agreed, we will take the little child to our home 
 and do all in our power for her. Just then in came 
 the doctor, and as Lulu was still sleeping the gen- 
 tleman made his intentions known to him. The 
 doctor seemed very much pleased, as well as sur- 
 prised to meet so fine a gentleman and lady there. 
 
 "By all means." said the doctor, "to stay is 
 death, to go may be a chance for life. The little girl 
 seems to be a very fine child ; takes after her 
 father. I was well acquainted with him. He was 
 a noble fellow." 
 
 The doctor then awoke Lulu, and pronounced 
 her some better. He asked her if she would not 
 like to take a sleigh ride, and get away from her 
 unpleasant home. Lulu seemed delighted. They 
 then consulted Lulu's mother, and she seemed 
 glad to have her go. 
 
 " The gentleman, his wife, and the doctor held 
 a private conversation, which they seemed not to 
 want us to hear, after which the gentleman said,
 
 128 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " wife and 1 will go home and make necessary 
 arrangements, and return as soon as possible." 
 
 The gentleman's home was not many miles 
 away, and with his fine horses they soon made the 
 trip. They returned, bringing with them, nicely 
 arranged in their sleigh, a nice warm bed, with soft 
 woolen blankets, and everything to make the little 
 girl comfortable. And then as lovingly as a ten- 
 der mother she bore the little girl away to their 
 comfortable home. It st-emed almost like rescuing 
 the little girl from the jaws of death. She was so 
 well cared for that the ride appeared to do her 
 good. The gentleman had no children of his own, 
 although he had a father's heart. The lady was 
 one of those angelic, motherly women, who took 
 the little girl in her fond embrace and did all in 
 her power to restore her to health again. They 
 stood by the little child all night, watching almost 
 every change of breath, so anxious were they for 
 the morning to dawn to see if the ride had made 
 the child worse. But at the break of day, the little 
 girl awoke, looked around to see where she was, 
 and as the lady bent over her she recognized her 
 friend and began to smile. The lady now saw that 
 the child was much better. They now took new 
 courage to labor on.
 
 Suffering Millions- 129 
 
 CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 This noble gentleman, and lady, now opened 
 their hearts, as well as their home to May and 
 Lulu's mother. The lady remarked to me, " Lulu 
 is very sick. I fear she may never be any better, 
 and while at my house her friends are welcome to 
 see her as often as they wish." 
 
 Days passed by and still the little girl remained 
 very low, sometimes it was thought she could not 
 possibly live through the long hours of the night, 
 but still this kind lady and gentleman stood by 
 the little sufferer and watched her with a parent's 
 tender care. At one time, in the dead hour of the 
 night, it seemed that the little girl's breath was 
 growing shorter, the little frail form lay so help- 
 less. The lady stood by her as long as she could 
 and then left the room. 
 
 " I found my wife weeping bitterly," remarked 
 the gentleman. " I said to her, cheer up we will 
 not give the little girl up. She will live for some 
 good purpose yet, I hope." 
 
 As they returned to the bedside where the child 
 lay, hardly knowing whether the gem or just the 
 casket would remain, to their delight the breath 
 came faster, the flush of the rose tinted the pale 
 cheek of the child and hope still remained. How
 
 130 Suffering Millions. 
 
 animated they together labored on, and with the 
 the aid of the skillful physician, the child began 
 to recover. May now seemed very much de- 
 lighted, and said to me, "dear little Lulu will now 
 recover, but I fear if she goes back to her home 
 with the care she will there receive, she may 
 again be sick. Oh, dear! if she could only live 
 with this lady she would be so well taken care of." 
 
 Lulu made rapid progress toward recovery, and 
 just as May had feared, as soon as the child was 
 able to sit up, her mother began to urge her 
 to go home ; and of course, child like, Lulu 
 thought it would be nice to again be at home. 
 Jane would coax and tease the child when alone 
 until she would cry and tease the lady to take her 
 home. Of course the lady knew that no doubt by 
 carelessness the child would be exposed to all 
 kinds of weather and again be sick. Yet lady- 
 like she said it is her mother, and I do not wish to 
 dictate, yet I do fear for the child. When May 
 found out how things were going, she told Lulu 
 that she had better stay with the kind lady, " for," 
 said she. " if you go home you may take cold and 
 then you will be sick again and no doubt die." 
 
 As Lulu was a very thoughtful child she knew 
 what May had said was true, she therefore said no 
 more about going home until she had fully recov- 
 ered. The lady said to me, " I never saw such in- 
 fluence as May exerts over Lulu. After her 
 mother had coaxed her to come home I could
 
 Suffering Millions. 131 
 
 scarcely take care of the child. Of course," said 
 she, " Lulu is young and knows not what is best 
 for her, but she has good judgment; much more 
 than her mother." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " I do wish some good person 
 could take the child and raise her as she should be 
 raised, for she is a lovely girl." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said the lady, " Lulu is a very 
 fine little girl, but it would be very hard for any one 
 to get along with her mother. The child would be 
 a thousand times better off if she had no mother. 
 Then some one couid take the child and care for 
 her, but the way it is, it would be impossible to do 
 anything with her, as her mother uses no reason or 
 judgment." 
 
 Jane went home to stay, but as it was lonesome 
 there she thought it would be just as well for Lulu 
 at home as it was for her, so back she went to the 
 gentleman's house after Lulu. Finally, after noth- 
 ing else would do, they took Lulu home, no doubt 
 regretting that the little girl was not their own. 
 
 Much might be said in praise of this gentleman 
 and lady. Their work was a work well done. It 
 has been many years since that gentleman heard 
 the welcome summons: "Well done thou good 
 and faithful servant, enter thou into thy rest," and 
 as "the memory of the just is blessed," he still 
 lives to-day in my memory, and as " a good name 
 is rather to be chosen than great riches," what 
 name is above the name of one who will deny self
 
 132 Suffering Millions. 
 
 for the love they have for suffering humanity ? 
 The lady still lives, and still her work, noble in- 
 deed, is for the good of orphan children. 
 
 Jane now undertook to keep house, but wretched 
 work indeed did she make of it. Things were so 
 illy arranged and so untidy, that there was not one 
 ray of cheerfulness there. Sad is the home where 
 the mother has no faculty of making things cheer- 
 ful. This one thing does more toward wayward 
 and. wandering children than anything else. 
 Wealth is not necessaiily required to make home 
 pleasant. It is well to study the likes and dislikes 
 of children. Little things in a child's life are 
 those that are long remembered. The child is 
 quick to notice any defect in its parent or its 
 home. My heart has often been pained by care- 
 less, trifling parents, who have been the means of 
 bringing bright and intelligent children into the 
 world, and then act as if their mission was done, 
 and let them grow up just like weeds, without ex- 
 erting themselves for their welfare, and often com- 
 plaining, "Oh! my family is so large I can 
 scarcely provide bread for them to eat." " I have 
 no time or money with which to educate my chil- 
 dren." Who is to blame, I would ask, for the 
 large family ? The child or the parent ? Can a 
 child help being brought into the world by a low, 
 trifling parent? I answer, no, no more than the 
 child born to a king can help being the child of 
 royal blood. Yet ofttimes the innocent child that
 
 Suffering Millions. 133 
 
 is born to a low parent, not only suffers by having 
 to be raised in a dismal and sickly home, but is 
 pointed out by children that happen to be born to 
 parents of higher and nobler blood as the child of 
 Old So and So. Many are the hearts of poor little 
 children that have bled, on account of just such 
 treatment; that have felt the world's cold frown, 
 and well understood the cause. But it was be- 
 yond their power to help their condition. 
 
 I feel to reproach the parent who by low pas- 
 sions will bring helpless children into the world, 
 and then do nothing to make home pleasant for 
 them. A father who has no tender love for his off- 
 spring is not fit for a father. Parents who are not 
 capable of raising their children right, should not 
 have children. I think it is a mistake for persons 
 who are authorized to marry people to solemnize 
 a marriage where the applicants are not persons 
 capable of bringing up children as they should be 
 brought up. I am glad that the law now of the 
 United States compels parents to send their child- 
 ren a short time each year to school. Yet, sorry 
 that the law is not enforced as it should be. 
 
 It is always such low parson?, a^ I have tried to. 
 describe, should one of their children struggle 
 through all the discouragements as well as embar- 
 rassments, and make a success in life, who dwell 
 on the commandment, u Honor thy father and thy 
 mother," forgetting that the first duty is from the 
 parent to the child, instead of the child to the
 
 134 Suffering Millions. 
 
 parent. " Parents provoke not your children to 
 wrath, but bring them up in the fear and admoni- 
 tion of the Lord." 
 
 I knew a father once who ^ad a very intelligent 
 son. The son was ambitious, and bound to make 
 a success of life. He labored hard to accumulate 
 some property. The old man became so indignant 
 at his son because he would not spend all of his 
 money to uphold him in business, and procure 
 him drink that he applied to the county for assist- 
 ance in order to disgrace him. 
 
 As Lulu was getting old enough to look a little 
 after her own welfare, she did not, as had been 
 anticipated, have a relapse, but there was little 
 to make her cheerful and happy. Little Willie, 
 (the baby) of whom we have before spoken as a 
 bright little fellow, was just as cute as he could 
 be. He would try and amuse himself in every 
 imaginable way. He had a great idea of being a 
 doctor, and very often would do up paper in little 
 packages, similar to those done up by doctors for 
 their powders, and then feel of our pulses and 
 say, " you are sick, you had better take some med- 
 icine." Then he would give some of his little 
 powders to us. I have often thought had he been 
 well taken care of he might have made a very 
 smart man, but the little fellow was allowed to 
 run around in the cold, ofttimes barefooted; not 
 for the want of shoes, but because his mother was 
 too indolent to put them on, or had no idea of the
 
 Suffering Millions. 135 
 
 importance of keeping her children warm and 
 properly dressed in uncomfortable weather. It 
 was one cold day in March. Snow still remained 
 on the ground. The little fellow had been play- 
 ing in the snow barefooted, which of course he 
 could not endure, and he was too young to know 
 what was best for himself. I called, with a friend 
 to see how the children were getting along, and 
 Jane told us that Willie had a chill. I was not at 
 all surprised, as I knew how he had been exposed 
 to the weather. I said to the child, "Willie, you 
 are sick, are you not?" He made no reply. I 
 noticed he had some fever, and apparently was 
 quite sick. 
 
 " Well," said I to Jane, " we will go down to 
 Ward's and take di mer, ani after dinner we will 
 return to see how Willie is getting along." 
 
 The reason we went to Ward's for our dinner 
 was because Jane never tried to entertain any 
 one, and if she did at any time muster up enough 
 energy to get a meal of victuals, it was in such a 
 condition that a person of any intelligence could 
 not partake of it. As we were going to Wards', 
 who liyed just a short distance from Jane's, my 
 friend remarked to me, "it is just awful how those 
 little children have to be exposed to all kinds of 
 bad management. How strange it is that they are 
 such nice and intelligent children." 
 
 "Did you ever before see such a difficult case to 
 manage ? " said I.
 
 136 Suffering Millions. 
 
 "No, indeed I did not. No wonder William 
 died so young. He had the hardest time to enjoy 
 life of any one I ever knew. Jane is so indolent, 
 and as far as I can see, of no earthly account to 
 any one," 
 
 While at the table eating dinner we were 
 startled by piercing screams. On rushing to the 
 door we beheld Lulu, running as fast as she could 
 toward Ward's house, crying and calling for May 
 to the extent of her voice. Ward and May fairly 
 flew to Jane's house, knowing something must be 
 the matter, and truly enough there little Willie 
 lay in hard spasms. We did all we could for the 
 little sufferer. Ward mounted a horse, and went 
 at full speed for the doctor, but ere the doctor ar- 
 rived, death had come to the little child's relief. 
 
 On enquiring of Jane the cause of the sudden 
 
 change in Willie, she said that Rebecca F , 
 
 the woman May had so much trouble with, came 
 over and brought some medicine to give Willie. 
 
 " Did you give it to him," said I? " 
 
 " Yes," said Jane. 
 
 " How much did you give him ? '' 
 
 " Oh ! I gave him a spoonful." 
 
 " I fear you gave him too much." 
 
 " Well, I gave it to him, and whether too much 
 or too little, it was given, and there is no use in 
 crying over spilt milk." 
 
 " But I fear you gave him too much. Did not 
 Rebecca tell you how much to give? "
 
 Suffering Millions. 137 
 
 " I don't know whether she did or not," said 
 Jane. 
 
 On learning about the medicine we found out 
 that it was very powerful, and should only be 
 given to adults in drops: " I am very sorry that 
 Rebecca would handle medicine so carelessly," 
 said I. 
 
 " I suppose," said Jane, " you think me not capa- 
 ble of doctoring my own children. I want you to 
 understand that I will do for my children just as I 
 please, and it's nobody's business." 
 
 u Yes," said I, " but you must be careful how 
 you give medicine, you know it is not to be fooled 
 with." 
 
 "Well," said Jane, "it is nobody's business 
 what I give or what I do for my children. I shall 
 after this do just as I please. I was bossed around 
 by one man, and I do not intend that anybody 
 else shall say what I shall or shall not do. 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, who had arrived, " you 
 had better not give your children any more of that 
 medicine, or any other medicine unless you know 
 better how to handle it than you now do." 
 
 " I shall do just as I please about my children, 
 and people may say or think just what they 
 please," was the reply. 
 
 The doctor's quick wit, plainly saw that she 
 was both willful as well as ignorant; then turning 
 to me he said, " it is a pity for such women as she 
 to be mothers of children. I often see cases simi-
 
 138 Suffering Millions. 
 
 lar to this where people are raising children, who 
 are no more capable of suo.h an important duty 
 than are the wild Orang outang. Yet it is hard to 
 tell in such cases what it is best to do. Is not this 
 little girl, referring to Lulu, a lovely child?" 
 
 " We all did what we could to save her while at 
 
 Mr. M 's, but it now looks like a poor chance 
 
 for the child. When her grandparents were alive 
 she was well taken care of, but now things are 
 very different." 
 
 The doctor examined the body of little Willie, 
 but he knew it would do no good to state the 
 exact cause of his death, as the poor little fellow 
 was much better off than to live in that dismal 
 home, and also because the medicine had been 
 given through carelessness, instead of any inten- 
 tion on the part of its mother to harm the child. 
 Although a good many thought that it was the 
 medicine that killed the child, I never felt satis- 
 fied as to the true cause of its death. 
 
 After the funeral Jane made up her mind that 
 she would take Lulu and go to a town a few miles 
 away, and live with a sister of hers. She there- 
 fore made arrangements to go. The night before 
 she started she and Lulu stayed at Ward's. Of 
 course all felt bad to have Lulu go. May said to 
 me, u oh! how can I stand it to have dear little 
 Lulu go ? " 
 
 " Well May," said I, " as you have no home for 
 her it may be best for her to go."
 
 Suffering Millions. 339 
 
 " Oh yes." said May. But I could see that it 
 was almost killing her to have the dear little girl 
 go, but as she had no home to offer the child she 
 could do nothing but submit. 
 
 During the evening, Young La Marr came in to 
 spend the last night with May and Lulu. He 
 was very much attached to the child, and as 
 he always in time of trouble tried to befriend 
 May, he now knew this would be an awful trial to 
 May to see little Lulu go away. But May tried to 
 make the best of it. She said, u dear Lulu, you 
 will be a good little girl, for you have always been 
 one. It may be best for you to go." 
 
 " Oh! Aunt May," said Lulu, "you have always 
 been so good to me, how can I stand it without 
 seeing you?" 
 
 " Well, Lulu, it is not very far, so I can come 
 to see you sometimes." 
 
 " Oh ! do come Aunt May, it will be so lonesome 
 without you or Charlie. Oh, if grandma was alive, 
 then I could stay with you." 
 
 " Yes," said May, " but, dear Lulu, things are 
 quite different since mother died." 
 
 I could read in May's looks that she felt very 
 bad to have Lulu go, so I thought I would try and 
 persuade Jane to be very careful with Lulu. So I 
 said. " now Jane, you will be good to Lulu, as she 
 has been very sick, and if you are not very care- 
 ful with her she may get sick again." 
 
 " I shall do," said Jane, " as I please with my chil-
 
 140 Suffering Millions. 
 
 dren. I will give them just what I please, and 
 Rebecca will back me for she told me so. After 
 this I am going to show people that I shall do just 
 
 as I please. I want old W , she referred to the 
 
 gentleman who had taken care of Lulu through 
 her sickness, to understand that I did not thank 
 him for h.s services. I suppose people think me 
 not able to take care of myself." 
 
 I well understood her, so I said, " well Jane, I 
 am glad you feel so capable of doing well by your- 
 self. I do hop3 you will look well to Lulu's wel- 
 fare. You know she is a very frail child. What 
 do you intend to do at your sisters ?" 
 
 " I shall do as I please at my sisters. She al- 
 ways tried to boss me but she will now find out 
 that I am my own boss." 
 
 I saw there was no use in talking to her, so I 
 said, " Well do, for mercy sake, be careful of Lulu." 
 
 Then May said to me, "dear, oh dear! I cannot 
 endure it to have Lulu dragged around as she will 
 be. I know the dear little girl cannot stand it." 
 
 " Well May, you will have to endure it. You 
 see Jane is the child's mother, and as long as she 
 persists in keeping her she can do so; and another 
 thing, you have no home to take the child to. You 
 know that your brother has Charlie, aheady, also 
 children of his own, besides you make your home 
 with him, therefore you see that there is no other 
 way to do but for Lulu to go." 
 
 With tears streaming from her eyes May took
 
 Suffering Millions. 141 
 
 the little girl by the hand and said, " well, Lulu 
 dear, I guess yon had better go. I know it is very 
 hard for you, Lulu, yet no doubt it is for the best." 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt May, I want to stay with you and 
 Charlie." 
 
 We all went to see them take the cars. The 
 parting of Lulu and May was very effecting, but I 
 tried to cheer May up as we were returning. 
 
 " It is not very far to where Jane is going,'' said 
 I, "and you can go and see Lulu before long, can 
 you not?" 
 
 "No one can tell what she will do with Lulu," 
 replied May. " She may go as did little Willie, or 
 something worse may happen to the child. No 
 one knows the trouble our folks have had in trying 
 to raise those children." 
 
 "I know you all have had a very hard time, but 
 you know, ' the darkest hour is just before day.' " 
 
 "Oh, dear me! there is no day that can dawn 
 upon that woman's careless ways." 
 
 "It does seem as if your statement is almost 
 true, May, for I do believe there is not one person 
 on earth who can do anything with Jane." 
 
 The first we heard from Jane was that she had 
 sent Lulu to live with a brother of hers, who re- 
 sided in the far west, hundred of miles away. May 
 was not at home when the news came, I therefore 
 felt anxious to know how dear little Lulu stood it 
 to be taken hundreds of miles away from the home 
 of her childhood, to see no more the faces of the
 
 142 Suffering Millions. 
 
 friends she loved so much. I happened to meet a 
 person who was on the train on which Lulu went 
 away. 
 
 "How did the child seem to stand it to be taken 
 so far away ?" 
 
 " Oh," said the person, " it was just awful. When 
 we came near the station where the Montroville's 
 live, the poor little girl just cried, and cried, and 
 begged to stop and see Charlie and May once more. 
 I do believe every person on the train felt sorry 
 for the child." 
 
 " How did her mother stand it?" 
 
 "Well," said the person, "she is a strange 
 mother. She hardly shed one tear. She told the 
 little girl to never mind, that she would be better 
 off when she got at her uncle's house. She did not 
 seem to understand that it was very hard for a 
 little child to be sent hundreds of miles away, per- 
 haps never more to see her friends." 
 
 " Lulu's mother did not send her all that distance 
 alone, did she ?" 
 
 " No, she sent her with two women who were 
 going west. I did not like the appearance of the 
 women at all. They seemed perfectly brutal. 
 They told the child there was no use of crying, and 
 tried to make the little girl sit up, as the little girl 
 sat with her head in her lap, weeping as if her 
 heart would break." 
 
 " Oh ! may the God of heaven protect the dear 
 little girl! How many just such helpless little
 
 Suffering Millions. 
 
 orphan children there are, who have to be sent to 
 and fro, and feel the world's cold frown." 
 
 I afterward learned by another person, that 
 Lulu's uncle met her at the depot in the far away 
 western city to which she was sent. He was a 
 kind gentleman who had always tried to make 
 something out of his sister, but had long ago 
 learned that it was of no use. Therefore he wel- 
 comed her little orphan girl. His wife was a noble, 
 intelligent lady, who received Lulu with a warm 
 heart. Yet their ways were different from those 
 to which the child had been accustomed, and 
 though she tried to be happy, yet her little heart 
 was very sad. Night after night, for weeks and 
 even months, her little pillow was wet with tears. 
 Nevertheless the little girl was much better off 
 than with her mother. 
 
 We now leave Lulu in the west.
 
 144 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER XV, 
 
 When May learned that Lulu had been sent so 
 far away she shed many bitter tears, but said, " I 
 know my precious little Lulu will be better off, 
 although it is very hard to think of her hundreds 
 of miles away. I know her uncle is a gentleman, 
 and her aunt is a lady. They will be kind to her, 
 yet the poor little girl w^ill be very lonely without 
 Charlie, or dear little Willie." 
 
 "I am glad you look so wisely upon it, May. I 
 was afraid it would almost kill you." I thought I 
 would try and cheer her up so that she would be 
 more reconciled to it, so I said, u Lulu's uncle has 
 a little baby boy, that will be some comfort to 
 her." 
 
 " Yes," said May, " no doubt it will, but it is 
 hard for a little child to be so far away from 
 home." 
 
 I then thought I would try and make a good 
 impression on her mind. " Well, May," said I, " I 
 know you have seen much of life's sorrow, but 
 why do you not seek comfort from the fount that 
 all true comfort comes from, where you can drink 
 and thirst no more ? from the balm that can heal 
 all of earth's sorrows ? You oft have read that 
 precious promise, ' Come unto me all ye that labor,
 
 Suffering Millions. 145 
 
 and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.' " 
 But to this I could get no reply. Within herself 
 she was a study. She seemed to have no feeling 
 in regard to religion. I have very often thought 
 had May listened to the still small voice of her 
 Savior her pathway would have been much more 
 free from the thorny way she had to tread. Her 
 nature was so impulsive, her disposition so fiery, 
 that she had to be tried in the furnace to take 
 away the dross. 
 
 After the death of her friends she still continued 
 to teach school in the neighborhood where her 
 home was. But she was so lonely that she made 
 up her mind that she would change her employ- 
 ment and go from the place where she had known 
 so much of sorrow and disappointment. She 
 therefore went to a town some miles from her 
 home and began the business of dress-making. 
 Here she formed many pleasant acquaintances. 
 Life began to have new charms. Her heart longed 
 for friends. Possessing as she did so warm a nature, 
 she could not bear to be without warm friends. 
 She always sought if possible to board with a 
 widow lady that she might have some one to share 
 her loneliness. She was blessed in this direction, 
 as several times she boarded with noble, widow 
 ladies, who did all they could to make it pleasant 
 for her. I will mention here two of them, both of 
 whom were lovely Christian ladies. Their homes 
 were very pleasant to her. She loved to listen to 
 10
 
 146 Suffering Millions. 
 
 their kind Christian advice. She attended church 
 with them, and loved the society of Christians 
 best, as she early had been taught to respect 
 Christianity and had early learned to honor the 
 holy sanctuary. But her own heart was so cold 
 she was as one living in a world without a God. 
 She had no faith and said she could not believe. 
 She was so in the dark, she could not, or did not 
 try to exert any faith. But as strange as it may 
 seem, she would not for the world say anything 
 against religion. She loved its quiet, cultured way. 
 She loved the sound of the church bell. She 
 loved the songs they sang. She loved the Sabbath 
 school. But to feel the love of Christ in her soul 
 she did not. She knew her own heart was sad, 
 but she did not understand how to break her 
 stubborn will. 
 
 Not long after Lulu went away I met May at a 
 friend's house where she was visiting. She had 
 just received several letters, and among the rest 
 was one written in a strange hand. On opening 
 the letter we found it was from dear little Lulu. 
 The little girl was too young, or at least had not 
 yet learned to write, so she had printed as best she 
 could a letter to May, as follows : 
 
 DEAR AUNT MAY. I AM WELL I HOPE YOU ARE THE 
 SAME I SAW THE GREAT MISSIPPI RIVER AND MANY 
 OTHER NICE SIGHTS AS I CAME WEST. I WISH YOU COULD 
 BE WITH ME. MY UNCLE AND AUNT ARE GOOD TO ME 
 WELL I MUST CLOSE GOOD, BY LULU.
 
 Suffering Millions. 147 
 
 We all wept over this little letter. The dear 
 little girl was very careful not to say anything 
 that would make May feel worse about being so 
 far from home. She well knew that May could 
 hardly stand it to have her so far from home. 
 
 " Well," said May, " I am so glad that Lulu is 
 allowed to write to me, for although the poor little 
 child cannot write yet, those little printed letters 
 are worth more than gold to me." 
 
 "Lulu," said I, "is a bright little girl. She 
 makes sunshine wherever she is." 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said May, " if we who love her so 
 well could only have her. Why are things so 
 strangely arranged ?" 
 
 " Well, May, I cannot tell. Yet all things are 
 right for those who serve God." 
 
 " I cannot understand why we should have so 
 much sorrow. Death is hard to be reconciled to, 
 but there are things that are worse than death. I 
 have stood by the bedside and seen my mother, 
 father and brother die, but it was not half so hard 
 as it is to see William's dear little children taken 
 hundreds of miles away from home. I know dear 
 little Lulu cries herself almost to death. I expect 
 her uncle and aunt are good to her, but just think 
 of the dear little girl, seeing no more the scenes of 
 her childhood ; no more to join with her little 
 brother in play, or to look upon the familiar things 
 that she loved so much. Oh, why do we have to 
 give the darling child up ?"
 
 148 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " I cannot tell you, May, but just put your trust 
 in God, and all things will work together for 
 good." 
 
 " That might be well enough for good people to 
 do, but I am not good enough. It just makes me 
 mad to think Lulu has to be so far from home." 
 
 " You are not as bad as you think you are, May. 
 I know you are hot-headed, and very impulsive, 
 but you are no worse than lots of other people. 
 There was the Apostle Paul, a fiery young man 
 going down to Damascus, breathing out threaten- 
 ings and slaughter against the disciples of God. 
 His heart was hot within him ; it burned with 
 rancour and cruelty ; his breath was flame. The 
 volcano of his breast heaved and swelled, and 
 poured its streams of fire on every side. When 
 lo ! a light of overwhelming brightness burst upon 
 his astonished vision. Awe-stricken and amazed 
 he fell to the ground. While prostrate in the dust 
 he heard a voice saying unto him, ' Saul, Saul, why 
 persecutest thou me ?' In the midst of his amaze- 
 ment he cried out, ' Who art thou, Lord ?' The 
 answer was, ' I am Jesus whom thou persecutest.' 
 Looking up and beholding the glorious personage, 
 his heart yielded ; the adamant broke, and humbled 
 he cried out, 'Lord, what will thou have me to 
 do?'" 
 
 Now the great apostle saw for himself that he 
 was a poor sinner before God. As soon as it was 
 told him what to do he went to work. Now, May,
 
 Suffering Millions. 149 
 
 if you only will break that stubborn will of yours, 
 and as Paul of old, cry out, ' Lord, what wilt thou 
 have me to do I ' then your pathway will be more 
 bright." 
 
 "No doubt it would, but for some cause un- 
 known to me, I have no feeling in that direction." 
 
 " Strange, strange, indeed, it is May, for one who 
 so needs the blessed Savior's aid to treat the sub- 
 ject so indifferently." 
 
 " I know it is, my dear friend. I have sometimes 
 longed for that blessed joy that Christians tell of 
 to shine into my poor misunderstanding heart. 
 But in just one moment all is dark. I must be 
 worse than any one else who ever lived, for almost 
 every one, both saint and sinner, seems to grasp 
 the idea of a bright, beautiful world beyond, where 
 we can meet and clasp the hand of those we have 
 loved so well, and dwell in peace and happiness 
 forever. Oh, my heart hopes that it may be so. 
 Have I not ties that bind me to such a hope as 
 this ? But then all with me is dark. Some way, I 
 cannot understand. You may think me jesting, 
 but I am not. Oh ! how sorry I am that this is so." 
 
 " Well May, I will not give you up. I know in 
 some way all will be well." 
 
 " You may not believe me," said May, l ' but I 
 am honest. Oh, yes, I love the truth, the blessed 
 truth. My soul fairly thirsts for it." 
 
 " Yes, May, I do believe you. One thing I have
 
 150 Suffering Millions. 
 
 always noticed in you is truthfulness. But I am 
 puzzled to know why this should be so." 
 
 " My soul," said May, " longs for rest, for peace, 
 and happiness, but I cannot find them. Some- 
 times there is a wave of pleasantness that sweeps 
 across my troubled mind, and then again all is 
 dark." 
 
 " Pray, dear May, pray that God will bring you 
 into the light. The Savior invites, heaven says 
 come, friends beckon you, oh, why do you not see 
 the joyful light?" 
 
 "Forgive me, my dearest friend, but I cannot 
 see the light. Glad indeed would I be if I could 
 tell you that I could. What little I have, all I 
 could do, I would gladly give to have it so. You 
 say to pray, this I have done. I have wrestled like 
 Jacob of old, but unlike him, I did not prevail." 
 
 " Well, May, God only knows why this should be 
 so. Yet all his ways are right. Trust him, only 
 trust him. Even if thy soul is overwhelmed with 
 darkness; light will surely dawn." 
 
 " My heart goes out for my dear brother's chil- 
 dren. I long to fold the little darlings in my arms 
 and shield -them from all of earth's care. But here 
 I am as one petrified. What can I do? No home; 
 not even for myself, and with but little of this 
 earth's means. Oh ! it is hard to be poor. If I 
 had wealth at my command, then I could do 
 something; but here I am. I can suffer, and that 
 is all. When I think of the days that are passed,
 
 Suffering Millions. 151 
 
 childhood's happy days, when our family gathered 
 around the fireside and watched with anxious joy 
 to see Lulu take her first steps, I can see the 
 little curly-headed girl with those laughing, spark- 
 ling eyes, and then, oh, then, all is blank." 
 
 " I, too, Ma3 r , can remember those little baby 
 eyes of Lulu's which would follow you wherever 
 you moved. Sometimes her little lip would trem* 
 ble as if her heart was full of fear," 
 
 Letters came and went from Lulu to May. Al- 
 though separated with so many miles between 
 them, yet the love for each other burned in each 
 breast. 
 
 May now constantly met with changes as did 
 also Lulu. The change with both from the coun- 
 try's sweet balmy air to the proud ways of city 
 life, wrought changes in both. Lulu's uncle kindly 
 sent her to school, and her aunt spared no pains in 
 trying to educate her in the ways of city life, that 
 she might grow up to be an ornament in the home 
 where she dwelt. But although they were kind, 
 the child constantly sighed for her far away east- 
 ern home. Her aunt once said to me, " we loved 
 Lulu, and tried to make things pleasant for her, 
 but all we could do she would not call our house 
 home. I could not blame the child," said her aunt. 
 " I could only compare her feelings to the poor 
 Indian who was taken by the white people, and 
 although they were kind to him, yet his language 
 was:
 
 152 Suffering Millions - 
 
 "Take me back to rny home in the far distant west, 
 To the scenes of my childhood, I love far the best, 
 Where the tall cedars are, and the bright waters flow, 
 To the scenes of my childhood, white man let me go." 
 
 " Well," said I to her aunt, " I know you were 
 good and kind to Lulu, but the impressions that 
 are made on the mind of a child are as lasting as 
 is our mind. An eminent man once said, ' give 
 me the first eight years of a child's life to make 
 impressions on, and you may have all the rest.' 
 This plainly shows how important are the early 
 teachings of a child." 
 
 May God in his infinite mercy protect the child 
 of a vain or indolent parent. 1 know a son, a 
 bright and noble young man with an intellect un- 
 surpassed by any one whom I ever knew, who was 
 by a proud, vain, and ambitious mother, educated 
 as a violinist, which education was commenced 
 even before the boy was old enough to know good 
 from evil. She loves to see him flattered in the 
 giddy ballroom. She wants him to appear as an 
 accomplished musician, and although to-day he 
 stands as one of the finest violinists in the state, 
 yet it placed him in the way of temptation that he 
 was not able to resist. Now he sees his condition ; 
 he, so bright, so noble, so good, and knows full 
 well that he is on the downward road. When he 
 was fully awakened to his condition, he said "oh 
 mother, dear mother, you have made an idol of 
 me. I am going down to ruin. I cannot resist the
 
 Suffering Millions. 153 
 
 temptations I am thrown into. You longed to see 
 me accomplished, but I am ruined, I am ruined ! 
 Oh, mother, dear mother, pray for me ; your boy ; 
 your first born." With wringing hands and bleed- 
 ing heart, and tears that must forever flow, his 
 mother exclaimed : " Oh, my boy, my precious 
 darling boy ! I cannot give you up. I have 
 longed to see your name written with those of 
 noble men. My bright, my noble boy ! And has 
 it come to this ? Oh, yes, I am to blame. Before 
 your little prattling tongue could utter yes, I said 
 it must be so. Oh my boy, my darling, thou art 
 all the world to me." 
 
 Now who, I would ask, shall answer for his sin ? 
 the boy or the parent? I fear you will have to 
 answer " both." 
 
 No wonder dear little Lulu could not forget her 
 childhood's home. Although not as grand as her 
 uncle's fine residence, yet it was where she first 
 beheld the light of day; where she had joined in 
 the merry sports of childhood's happy hours; 
 where she had, together with her little brother, 
 gathered the wild flowers that bloomed near by, 
 Where she had wandered among the tall grasses 
 that grew in the meadow between her father's and 
 grandpa's house. There were many things in the 
 city that she loved, but her childhood home she 
 loved the best. She oft longed for the pure, sweet 
 air, and the fragrant odor of country life, and to 
 play with her brother and little mates.
 
 154 Suffering Millions. 
 
 Her uncle and aunt observed her earnest long- 
 ing to get back to her home and friends, and as 
 one year had rolled away, and still she seemed dis- 
 contented, they thought it best to send her home 
 again. At first it seemed to dazzel her imagina- 
 tion to think of again seeing her friends once 
 more. 
 
 " Well," said her uncle to his wife, " I think we 
 had better write to May, and learn what she thinks 
 about it. You know she is more capable of taking 
 care of the child than Jane is." And then he 
 added, " oh dear me ! what will ever become of 
 Jane ? She is more of a care than the children 
 are." 
 
 " Yes," said his wife, " May will do all she can 
 for Lulu. I do wish May was mxiried, then Lulu 
 would have a good home." 
 
 " Yes, but then her husband might not be willing 
 to have her," said he. 
 
 '' Don't fear about that. May would have that 
 in the bargain." 
 
 " Do you wish to return home Lulu and see your 
 Aunt May and Charlie ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, dear uncle and aunt, you have been 
 very kind to me, but I cannot help it. I long to 
 go home and see dear Aunt May, mamma, little 
 brother Charlie and all of the rest. It seems like 
 a dream, but I hope it may be so. Arrangements 
 were made and Lulu started at once back home. 
 Her uncle wrote May to meet her at the train.
 
 * 
 
 Suffering Millions. 155 
 
 May could scarcely wait until the day arrived for 
 Lulu to get home. At last the day came. Ward 
 and May were at the train, but no Lulu came. 
 The next day they again went to the station and 
 still no Lulu came. May now became excited, and 
 with lightning speed she sent a dispatch : " Lulu 
 is not here. Did she start ? If so something must 
 have happened." Her uncle received the dispatch, 
 and although much exited, yet dared not reply by 
 telegraph, as he had sent the child, and he knew 
 May would be almost frantic. He said to his wife, 
 " it is very strange, but surely nothing serious has 
 happened or we would have heard of it by this time . 
 Perhaps the train by some carelessness had to lay 
 over one or two days." 
 
 One evening shortly after this, as we were sit- 
 ting around the comfortable fireside at Ward's 
 house, there was a gentle rap at the door. Ward 
 joyfully exclaimed: "Oh! if here is not Lulu." 
 The darling little girl fairly danced into the house, 
 so glad was she to get back home. Charlie and 
 Ward's children clapped their hands and shouted : 
 u Oh, Lulu has got home! Lulu's got home!" All 
 was joy and excitement. May folded the little 
 girl in her arms and pressed her to her heart. We 
 now inquired of the child why she had been so 
 long in coming. She said there had been some 
 mistake in her taking the right train, which caused 
 her to have to lay over two days on her trip home. 
 I could plainly see by May's looks, although
 
 156 Suffering Millions. 
 
 greatly pleased at Lulu's return home, that some- 
 thing troubled her very much. 
 
 When May and I were alone, I said to her, 
 " you are very glad to see Lulu are you not ? " 
 
 "Of course I am," said May, but I am very 
 much bothered to know just where she is going to 
 have a home. You know Ward has all the family 
 that he should have." 
 
 " Yes, May, that is so. Lulu ought to have a 
 home, where she could be well educated. You 
 know she is a frail child and could not stand many 
 hardships." The thought then came to me, that if 
 May would get married, she could give Lulu a 
 home that would free her from the world's cold 
 frown. So I said, "May, why don't you get mar- 
 ried ? then you could give Lulu a home." 
 
 " La ! me ! Me get married ! Who would I 
 marry ? " 
 
 " Now May, there is young LaMarr. Why don't 
 you marry him ? " 
 
 "What are you talking about? He would not 
 have me. He is mad at me," said May. 
 
 "No wonder he is mad at you. You act in a 
 way to make him mad at you. Has he not stood 
 by you in the hour of trouble ? At the death of 
 your mother, father and brother, also at the part- 
 ing with little Lulu, who was so ready to sym- 
 pathize with you as he? And I have always 
 noticed if you wished to go any place he will 
 either take you himself or provide a way for you 
 to go. Is that not so?"
 
 Suffering Millions. 157 
 
 " He has been good," said May, " but then 
 
 " But what ? " said I. Ho is a good fellow, and 
 would be good to Lulu. You would be much 
 happier if you could have Lulu with you. May, 
 the trouble with you is your hot-headed disposi- 
 tion." 
 
 " You are always scolding me about my disposi- 
 tion. I have just the disposition God gave me, (if 
 there is a God, as you seem to think.") 
 
 " Well, May, I only talk to you for your own 
 good. Would you not like to have a home of your 
 own, so you could keep Lulu with you ? " 
 
 " I would like very much to have Lulu always 
 with me. She is the precious gem that binds me 
 to earth." 
 
 The next day after Lulu arrived home, Ward 
 and May took her to see her mother, and as I was 
 visiting Ward's folks, I thought I would go along. 
 
 Her mother seemed somewhat pleased at Lulu's 
 return, but said, " 1 have made arrangements with 
 friends of mine to take Lulu to keep as their own 
 child. They are coming here to-day to make 
 arrangements about taking her." 
 
 At this a sad look swept over Lulu's face, and 
 she could hardly speak. In a short time a buggy 
 drove up and an old gentleman and lady got out. 
 l Oh ! there they are," said Jane. " Now Lulu you 
 must act nice, for it will be a good place for you. 
 I hope you will please them." 
 
 When they came into the house, Jane said, " I
 
 158 Suffering Millions. 
 
 am glad you came to-day, as Lulu is here, and can 
 go right home with you." At this tears began to 
 stream from poor little Lulu's eyes. The thought 
 of again being sent from home was more than the 
 poor child could stand. 
 
 " How you act ! " said her mother. "You ought to 
 be ashamed of yourself. Don't you know it will 
 be better for you to go ? " 
 
 " I think," said the lady, " this child is rather 
 small. I want a girl that can do my kitchen 
 work, washing, ironing, and the like. I aint one 
 of 'em that believes all a young un is for is to be 
 sent to skool. I larnt to work and that is what I 
 want a young un for." 
 
 I now took notice of the old folks. They were 
 very queer looking people. They talked very 
 old-fashioned, and plainly showed that they had 
 never learned to do anything but hard work. No 
 wonder that poor Lulu did not want to go with 
 such looking people. 
 
 "Mow, Lulu," said her mother, " I want you to 
 go like a lady." 
 
 Poor Lulu could not speak. She looked at May 
 through her tears. 
 
 " I think," said May, " you ought to be willing 
 for Lulu to make a visit first. You know she has 
 been away from home a long time." 
 
 " I think," said her mother, " she had better go." 
 
 At this, the gentleman, at whose house we were, 
 spoke up and said : " I think it is a shame to send
 
 Suffering Millions. 159 
 
 the child away again so soon without having had 
 time to make a visit." 
 
 I was very glad he said this, because he was a 
 gentleman, and felt sorry for Lulu. 
 
 "Well," said the old lady, "I do not think the 
 child will suit me anyway. She is too small and 
 looks to me like one of the kind that is more fitted 
 for the pianar than the kitchen." 
 
 The old man said to his wife, " I like the looks 
 of the little girl. I would like to have her live 
 with us." 
 
 "Oh, yes, I expect you would like to have her 
 sitting around making a lady of herself. But I 
 want you to understand I want a girl for the 
 kitchen." 
 
 Lulu's mother seemed very much disappointed. 
 Poor Lulu came and stood near May, as if she was 
 afraid of being taken away again. After they 
 were gone Lulu said, "I am so glad they have 
 gone. I was afraid of them." I did not wonder 
 at her being afraid of them. I noticed a flash of 
 May's dark eyes as she pressed Lulu near her 
 heart, and I said to myself, May has some idea in 
 her head. 1 afterwards found out that idea. 
 
 We cut our visit rather short. I said, " is Jane 
 not a queer mother to be so anxious to send her 
 child away again so soon ? I have always looked 
 upon a mother's love as the purest type of love, 
 but I am learning that this is a strange world, or 
 at least that there are strange people in it. Poor
 
 160 Suffering Millions. 
 
 little Lulu seemed glad to get away. The child 
 fairly clung to May as if she was afraid some un- 
 seen hand would snatch her from her friends. I 
 felt sorry for the poor little girl for just then I 
 could see no prospect for a good home for her. 
 After we had returned to Ward's, we all discussed 
 the question of a home for the child. After we had 
 retired to bed May held Lulu in her arms while 
 hot tears streamed down her cheeks. " Lulu now 
 is nearer and dearer to me then ever before," 
 said May, ' since her own mother seems to care 
 nothing for the dear, precious child."
 
 Suffering Millions. 161 
 
 CHAPTER XVI, 
 
 The next time I met May she handed me a 
 paper, which upon reading I discovered to be a 
 marriage certificate. 
 
 " Why May, you surprise me ! So you married 
 at last. Oh, I am so glad! Now you can give 
 Lulu a home/' 
 
 " Yes," said May, '* I think Lulu and I have been 
 without a home long enough." 
 
 Just then a friend of mine came up and began 
 to talk with me, so May left us and passed up the 
 street. 
 
 " I am perfectly surprised," said I, " did you 
 know that May was married ?" 
 
 " Yes," said my friend, " I just heard of it. I 
 have always said that May would marry young 
 La Marr." 
 
 " I have laughed considerably at them," said I, 
 " they are both so queer. Half of the time they 
 would not speak to each other, and still in case of 
 trouble La Marr would do anything he possibly 
 could for May. You know May is one of those 
 impulsive girls that must have her own way." 
 
 " Yes," said my friend, " I know she is, yet May 
 has a good heart, after all." 
 
 "I always thought," said I, "that May enjoyed 
 ii
 
 162 Suffering Millions. 
 
 La Man's foreign accent, and liked his quick and 
 active way. You know, I suppose, that he is of 
 French descent, did you not ?" 
 
 " I think I did know of it,' 1 said my friend. 
 
 The next day after they were married La Marr 
 took May to his home. He had not wealth, yet he 
 had a comfortable home. One thing I will say for 
 May was, she did look well to the ways of her 
 household. The love of long ago now filled her 
 heart. May and her husband gladly welcomed 
 Lulu to their home. The little girl who had not 
 known the comfort of having a home with those 
 she loved most, now felt perfectly free to act and 
 do as she wished. Sad indeed it is to feel the 
 loneliness of having no true home. This is bad in 
 middle life but much worse in childhood. Lulu 
 played and romped with those she loved, and made 
 warm friends with kitties, pigs, chickens, and 
 everything that roamed about the place. 
 
 With May and her husband, as with Mildred and 
 her husband in J. G. Holland's " Mistress for the 
 Manse," there was a difference. A difference that 
 no doubt they both felt as long as life lasted. But 
 nevertheless, their home to me was one of the 
 loveliest homes I ever knew. At my first oppor- 
 tunity I called and found them very comfortably 
 situated. The house was one of those old-fashioned 
 one story frame houses, painted red on the outside, 
 trimmed in white. The inside was painted blue. 
 It was one of those dear old houses, substantially
 
 Suffering Millions. 163 
 
 built, and rather fine for its day, that will live in 
 my memory after they have all crumbled into de- 
 cay. I learned from some of the old settlers that 
 the house had been built over forty years, yet it 
 still retained quite a respectable appearance. I 
 found May busy at work and little Lulu at play. I 
 read in May's dark eyes the happiness that filled 
 her breast. The house was neat and tidy, -every- 
 thing appeared nice. It was the most pleasant 
 time in May. 
 
 " Well May," said I, " it seems good to see you 
 so pleasantly situated in a house of your own." 
 
 " Yes." said May, " I am very happy, because I 
 now can have Lulu with me. I have longed to 
 have the little girl, so I could see about her educa- 
 tion, and I am very anxious that Lulu should be 
 well educated." 
 
 " Yes," said I," and you live near a school house 
 I notice. You have a very pretty home, it is so 
 pleasantly situated on such a sightly elevation ; 
 just my ideal of a country home." 
 
 " We do not possess wealth," said May, " but 
 what is better still, we do enjoy health, and now I 
 can take care of dear little Lulu." 
 
 " Is your husband willing to keep Lulu ?" 
 
 u Oh, yes," said May, " he thinks as much of 
 Lulu as do I, and he is very kind to us both." 
 
 " Let us go out and look around the yard," said I. 
 
 As we passed out the door I noticed that it was 
 only about a hundred or a hundred and fifty rods
 
 164 Suffering Millions. 
 
 to Ward's residence, the home of May's girlhood. 
 Their houses stood facing each other. 
 
 " It makes it very nice," said I, " for you and 
 Ward to live so near each other, as you are the 
 only two of your father's family left." 
 
 " Yes, indeed it is. I can now run over there 
 as often as I please. It also makes it very nice 
 for Lulu, as she now can see her little brother 
 Charlie as often as she likes." 
 
 " Oh, yes," said I, " your brother Ward has Lulu's 
 little brother Charlie. That is rather strange ; just 
 one girl and one boy left in each of your father's 
 and William's families, you have the girl, he the 
 boy." 
 
 "Yes," said May, "William gave Ward little 
 Charlie just a short time before he died." 
 
 Then we walked up and down in the garden. 
 There were currant bushes, grape vines, fruit trees 
 in bloom, flowers adorned the walks, and sweet 
 odors permeated the air. The melody of the wild 
 songster came floating in silver tones on the per- 
 fumed breeze. It seemed a hallowed spot. 
 
 " Well May," said I, " how happy you should be 
 for all the blessings God has given you." 
 
 " I am happy, indeed, in my new home, for be it 
 ever so humble, there is no place like home." 
 
 Turning to Lulu I said, " Well, little girl, I. sup- 
 pose you like to live with your Aunt May ?" 
 
 Lulu had been playing and running up and 
 down the walks, her curls thrown back, her cheeks
 
 Suffering Millions. 165 
 
 aglow, and those large, expressive eyes, that I fail 
 to describe, sparkling with delight. " Yes, I guess 
 I do," came the answer, " I now am going to live 
 always with Aunt May. She says I can." 
 
 " Had you not rather go and live with me ?" 
 
 u Oh, I want to live with Aunt May." Then the 
 child went on to tell a lot about her pet dog, her 
 kittie, and a little black-eyed pig, which as she 
 expressed it, was just as fat as it could be. Then 
 nothing would do but I must go with her to see 
 the chickens, which she seemed to think were very 
 fine pets. The horses also were favorites with 
 Lulu, and in fact every animal on the place 
 seemed to know and love the little girl. 
 
 " Had you not rather live with your mother ?" 
 said I. 
 
 " Oh, poor mamma is so queer, and Aunt May and 
 grandma have always cared for me. Willie was 
 mamma's baby, and I was grandma's, but now I am 
 Aunt May's. Is that wrong?" 
 
 Shortly after May was married she commenced 
 sending Lulu to school. It always did me good to 
 see the little girl on her way to school. She was 
 so earnest, so active, so bent on learning. Some- 
 times she would stop and watch the little birds 
 flit among the trees and nothing hurt her more 
 than to have the boys injure the little birds. I 
 saw her one day with a poor little wounded bird. 
 She tried to put some water and crumbs into its 
 little mouth, but the little bird was too far gone to
 
 166 Suffering Millions. 
 
 either eat or drink. Then with tear-stained cheeks 
 she carefully gave it to a friend that he might 
 cease its pain. Lulu made rapid progress in her 
 studies. Her teachers loved her because she was 
 always obedient. There never was a more cheer- 
 ful, contented little girl than Lulu. She went to 
 school every day, and May was very careful not to 
 keep her out, for, said she, " it is of no use to keep 
 a child out of school one day and send it the next. 
 I want Lulu to have a good education, and if we 
 do not begin while she is young, there will be no 
 use. I also want her to have a musical education, 
 for I believe she has a fine talent in that direction, 
 and she is a good singer." 
 
 u Yes, I know she is. Are you going to teach 
 her to work ?" 
 
 " Of course I shall, when she is old enough, but 
 Lulu is smart and it will not take her forever to 
 learn to work." 
 
 " May, I believe you work too hard." 
 
 " Oh, I guess not. I would love to see things 
 glitter." 
 
 May, as she ever had been, was still nervous, 
 impatient and active, but she at any time would 
 gladly deny herself for Lulu. Nothing gave her 
 such joy as for Lulu to be successful in her studies. 
 Lulu now had attended school one or two terms 
 since May was married. The little girl began to for- 
 get the lonely days that she had spent so far from 
 home and friends. She now looked upon her Aunt 
 May's home as her true home. She now felt free 
 from the chilly thought of ever leaving May.
 
 Suffering Millions. 167 
 
 CHAPTER XVII, 
 
 To return to Jane. She remained the same 
 careless person she ever had been. No comfort to 
 herself or to any one else. She was not content 
 to stay with her sister, preferring rather to wander 
 around the country associating with the lower 
 classes of people. At last she became acquainted 
 with and married a low, dissipated man, one who 
 could truly sing, " No foot of land do I possess, I 
 am a wanderer in this wilderness." 
 
 " The ways of the froward are an abomination 
 in the sight of the Lord." She again took upon 
 herself the cares and duties of a housekeeper. A 
 position she was very illy prepared to fill, now, as 
 before, possessing no faculty for making her home 
 pleasant. They lived in a little shanty within one 
 or two miles of a town, near one of those low 
 grogeries where the very lowest class of men 
 drink, fight and gamble. 
 
 " Well," said Jane to her husband, "I am lone- 
 some here, and I want to go and get my girl to 
 stay with me." 
 
 " Have you a girl ? I never knew that before,'' 
 said he. 
 
 " Yes, I have a girl, and I ana going to have her, 
 too."
 
 168 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " Well, old woman you had better not be too 
 fast. I don't know as I want her here." 
 
 " I don't care whether you want her or not, I 
 am going to have her," said Jane, " and if you get 
 drunk it will scare her almost to death, for she 
 never saw any one drunk." 
 
 " Oh, so, so ! She, I suppose, is a young goddess 
 that I will have to fall down and worship ! We 
 will see about that. If I want to drink I shall 
 drink, for all of you or your girl either." 
 
 " Well, I am going to get her any way. I might 
 as well have her help as May. May is her aunt. 
 I can't bear her anyway. My folks all stick up 
 for May, but I will show them that I am the girl's 
 mother, and I am going to have her." 
 
 " Do as you please, old gal, and I will let you," 
 said he, " I will get old Davidson to take you and 
 go after her." Mr. Davidson was the man Jane's 
 husband was working for. 
 
 Now if Jane had used any judgment at all, she 
 would have been glad to have let Lulu stay where 
 she was. 
 
 " Well Davidson, I came over to see if you 
 would take tfce old woman after her girl ?" 
 
 " Do you mean your wife ?" said Mr. Davidson. 
 
 u Yes," said he. 
 
 " I did not know your wife had a girl," said Mr. 
 Davidson. 
 
 " Neither did I until this morning."
 
 Suffering Millions. 169 
 
 "Do you know whether the people who have 
 the child will be willing to give her up?" 
 
 " They will have to, my woman says. They are 
 not good to her." 
 
 " I am afraid we may have trouble about getting 
 the child, and as you are not situated to care for a 
 child, I think you had better let her be where she 
 is," said Mr. Davidson. 
 
 "Oh! if you are not willing to go, I will get 
 some one else." 
 
 " I am willing to go," said Mr. Davidson, " but I 
 am afraid it will not be as well for the child. But 
 I will go over and see your wife. I may persuade 
 her to let the child remain where she is until you 
 are better situated to take care of her." 
 
 " Oh. you can go over, but it will do no good, for 
 she is going to have her dead or alive, one of the 
 two." 
 
 " I guess she is not as ferocious as that, is she ? " 
 said Mr. Davidson. 
 
 " I came over," said Mr. Davidson, " to see you 
 about your little girl. Your husband says that 
 you have one that you wish to go after. Do you 
 not think the child better off where she is ? You 
 are not situated well to have her here." 
 
 " I am going to have her, any way. She lives 
 with her aunt, who is not good to the child. She 
 knocks and kicks her around," said Jane. 
 
 "Is her aunt your sister?"
 
 170 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " No, she is William's sister, he was my first 
 husband." 
 
 " Well, I suppose I will have to go, but I really 
 dread it," said Mr. Davidson. " How far is it 
 to where the child lives ?" 
 
 " It is near T ." 
 
 " It will be a long; drive, for that is over twenty 
 miles from here. Well, I will go and get ready, 
 and you had better wrap up pretty warm, as it is 
 very cold." 
 
 Mr. Davidson came directly with his horses and 
 sleigh, and they were soon on their way. " I am 
 very much afraid you are doing a bad thing for 
 your child," said Mr. Davidson. " You know your 
 husband drinks." 
 
 The sleighing was fine although it was very 
 cold. Mr. Davidson did not enjoy the trip, as he 
 was so afraid that it was not best for the child for 
 he well knew that Jane was not well situated to 
 take care of her. 
 
 " We will soon The there," said Jane, " I am well 
 acquainted with the roads." 
 
 "What will you do if her aunt refuses to give 
 the child up?" 
 
 " I am going to have her," said Jane, " at the 
 risk of my life. I did once strike that good-for- 
 nothing May, and came near breaking her arm. 
 She carried black and blue marks for weeks and 
 weeks." 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Davidson, " I hope you will have
 
 Suffering Millions. 171 
 
 no trouble to-day. Of course I know nothing of 
 either the child or her aunt." 
 
 " Well, I know both of them," said Jane, " and 
 I expect to have trouble, but I don't care if 1 do. 
 If I strike her this time I hope 1 can break her 
 arm, or head, one of the two." 
 
 " You had better be careful or you might get 
 yourself into trouble." 
 
 u I am not afraid of trouble," said Jane, " I 
 would like to kill her. Lulu is my child, I am her 
 mother and I am going to have her to day." 
 
 " Well, here we are," said Jane. 
 
 " Is this the place ?" said Mr. Davidson. 
 
 "Yes, this is where May lives." 
 
 " A pretty place," said Mr. Davidson. "You go 
 in ; I had rather not go." 
 
 "Oh, I guess you are afraid to go," said Jane, 
 " but I am not one of the afraid kind." 
 
 Jane tore into the house like an infuriated 
 tigress. 
 
 " I came," said she, " after Lulu." 
 
 It happened to be Lulu's birth-day, and May 
 had just made her a present of a gold locket and 
 several other little things. Lulu was that day 
 expecting to have a nice time. 
 
 " Oh, I do not want to go ! I do not want to go !" 
 cried Lulu. " Why did you come ? Oh ! ma, let 
 me stay with Aunt May." 
 
 " Xo, I want you to go. You are my child, and
 
 172 Suffering Millions. 
 
 I might as well have your work as for May to have 
 it." 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt May, let me stay with you. I can- 
 not go ! I cannot go !" 
 
 " Dear, darling Lulu, she is your mother. I can- 
 not keep you if she wants you to go." 
 
 " Who is the gentleman in the sleigh ? Is that 
 your husband ?" said May. 
 
 " No," said Jane, " that is old Davidson. He is 
 the man my husband works for." 
 
 " Well," said May, " I will go and have him put 
 up his horses and have some dinner. It is very 
 cold to-day." She then stepped to the door and 
 addressed Mr. Davidson : " Come in and get warm 
 and have some dinner." 
 
 "Oh, I guess we will not stop long," said he. 
 
 " Come s in and get warm ; you must .be very 
 cold," again said May. 
 
 Mr. Davidson hitched his team, and came into 
 the house. Being an intelligent man, he saw at 
 once that the child was very much better off with 
 her aunt. Things were neat and tidy, and a home- 
 like appearance seemed to prevail. Lulu did and 
 said everything she could to have her mother let 
 her stay, but nothing .would do but the child must 
 go. May packed dear Lulu's trunk, putting in the 
 little dresses and clothes she had so carefully 
 made, while tears dropped upon them almost like 
 rain. 
 
 At last things were ready. May went with
 
 Suffering Millions. 173 
 
 them to the sleigh. Poor little Lulu cried and 
 begged to stay, but nothing would do but she must 
 go. The child had known so little about her 
 mother for so long she was almost afraid of her. 
 As she had become very queer looking, and as she 
 lacked every quality that goes to make a noble 
 mother, I was not surprised at the poor little 
 child. 
 
 Said May to Mr. Davidson, " If the child gets 
 too homesick, I hope you will see that she can get 
 back home." 
 
 " I will do all I can for the child," said he. 
 
 As the sleigh drove away poor little Lulu said, 
 " Oh, why did you come after me ? I do not want 
 to go. I want to stay with Aunt May. I want to 
 go to school. Oh, dear, dear, what shall I do? 
 Take me back, please do !" Appealing through 
 her tears to Mr. Davidson. 
 
 " Poor little girl, do not cry," said Mr. Davidson, 
 " I will do all I can for you." 
 
 " Oh dear, dear, I do not want to go. I cannot 
 go!" 
 
 May watched the sleigh as they drove away, 
 and then returned to the house feeling, a* Cole- 
 ridge expresses it : 
 
 "Like one that on a lonesome road 
 Doth walk in fear and dread." 
 
 She could but feel that the change was one that 
 would involve the poor child in sorrow, misery, and 
 disgrace. The house seemed lonely indeed with-
 
 174 Suffering Millions. 
 
 out Lulu. There are times in life that we are sur- 
 rounded by sorrows that are worse than death. 
 When we lay our friends in the grave, especially 
 in childhood, we know it is the end of their suffer- 
 ing. Not so when we see a frail, helpless child 
 placed in a position that we know can but result 
 in suffering and sorrow. 
 
 " Where is Lulu ?" said May's husband when he 
 returned home. 
 
 " Oh, Jane came to day and took her away." 
 
 u For mercy sake ! And you let her go ?" said 
 he. 
 
 " Well, what could I do ? You know she is her 
 mother," said May. 
 
 "Ah ! there is the trouble. But what has she 
 ever done for the child ? Did Lulu want to go ?" 
 
 u No, the child cried and begged to stay, but 
 Jane insisted that she was her mother, and that 
 she must go." 
 
 "If Lulu stays there long she will go just as 
 little Willie went. She was his mother, also," said 
 May's husband. 
 
 " Well," said May, while tears streamed from 
 her eyes, " I am afraid if poor, darling Lulu stays 
 there long we will never see her again. She will 
 be exposed to all kind of bad influences. Jane 
 had as lieve send her to that low grog shop, and 
 no doubt she will be sent there after beer for her 
 dissipated husband." 
 
 " I would not have let the little girl go. It is a
 
 Suffering Millions. 175 
 
 shame that such a nice child as Lulu should be in 
 such company, mother or no mother. Jane has 
 always been a disgrace to every one who ever 
 had anything to do with her." 
 
 " Yes," said May, " her own deaf 'brother, good 
 and noble man that he is, could never do anything 
 with her." 
 
 " No, indeed," said LaMarr, becoming somewhat 
 excited, "nor an angel from heaven could do no 
 more with that woman than with a cannibal. I 
 cannot understand why such a woman was ever 
 created, unless it was to show to the world that 
 not every one who bears the sacred name of 
 mother is entitled to it. Mother! That name to 
 me so dear! Dear to me because the one who 
 bore that name for me would gladly have sacri- 
 ficed her own life for mine. Poor Lulu little 
 knows the true meaning of that word. This is 
 why the child is so dear to me." 
 
 " Poor little girl," said May. 
 
 "I never will take another child who has a 
 father or mother living," said LaMarr. 
 
 I now saw they were both so excited and disap- 
 pointed that I thought it time for me to say some- 
 thing, so I remarked to May's husband, u Oh, you 
 could not be so cruel as that could you ? If every 
 one would say, and stick to it, that they would not 
 take a child having a living father or mother, 
 what would become of the many thousands of 
 poor little and worse than orphan children like
 
 176 Suffering Millions.' 
 
 Lulu ? Lulu would no doubt long ago have been 
 in her grave, if no one but her mother had taken 
 care of her." 
 
 " Yes," cried May, "and the poor little child 
 would have been better off than she now will be 
 to be beaten and knocked around by Jane and her 
 drunken husband." 
 
 " Well," said I, " it is very bad for Lulu. I can- 
 not imagine what will happen to the child if she 
 remains long with her mother. I very much 
 fear she will go to ruin." 
 
 " Oh dear me," said May, " to think of Lulu 
 being raised in ignorance, and having no advan- 
 tage for school is more than 1 can stand. Better 
 would it have been for the child never to have 
 been born than to be raised as she now will be."
 
 Suffering Millions.' 177 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII, 
 
 At the home of Jane there was another scene. 
 A poor, miserable hut, her husband a rough look- 
 ing man, with dishevelled hair, and features that 
 made a person stand aghast, presenting to the eye 
 of a keen observer a person of the lowest and most 
 debased character. Poor little Lulu, half fright- 
 ened to death, feared to enter this dismal place. 
 To look upon such a place and call it home, was 
 more than the poor little child could stand. She 
 clung to Mr. Davidson. " My heart fairly bled," 
 said he to a friend, u for that nice little girl." 
 
 " Oh ! ma, let me go home with Mr. Davidson 
 I do not want to stay here." 
 
 " No, you must stay with me," said her mother. 
 
 " Let the child come over to our house as often 
 as she likes," said Mr. Davidson. I think my wife 
 can reconcile the child." 
 
 " I will go home with you if you will let me," 
 said Lulu. " Oh, please let me go, I am afraid to 
 stay here. I will work for you." 
 
 Mr. Davidson was overcome by the innocent 
 pleading of the poor little child. "If you will not 
 let her go now, you must let her come soon. You 
 should understand that the child is not accustomed 
 to things as they are here. She is homesick, and 
 
 12
 
 178 Suffering Millions. 
 
 
 
 that is one of the worst kinds of sickness," said 
 Mr. Davidson. 
 
 " She is no better to stay here than I am," said 
 Jane. 
 
 Mr. Davidson growing indignant replied, "Yes, 
 it is different. You came here because you wanted 
 to, and are satisfied. This poor child you have 
 taken from a good home. I think the cases quite 
 different. 
 
 " Well, she is my child, I am her mother, and I 
 am going to have her help me. I might as well 
 have her help as for May to have it." 
 
 "Aunt May does not make me work hard," said 
 Lulu. 
 
 " You had better shut up," said Jane. " You al- 
 ways stick up for that trifling May. If I had a 
 mother I would treat her as such ; children now a- 
 days have got above their parents. It is a ridic- 
 lous shame, is it not?" 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Davidson, " there is a great 
 difference between parents. This child, as you 
 say, has not been with you much of the time ; you 
 seem like a stranger to her ; no wonder the child 
 is afraid." 
 
 About this time some of the drunken rioters 
 were coming from the grog shop. 
 
 "Well, I must go home," said Mr. Davidson. 
 " Take good care of the little child." 
 
 Lulu looked after him with tears streaming down
 
 Suffering Millions. 179 
 
 her pale cheeks. " Oh ! ma, I am so lonely here, 
 can I not go to Mr. Davidson's." 
 
 "No, you must stay with me." 
 
 Jane's husband was a cross, burly man of whom 
 Lulu was afraid, arid his companions who fre- 
 quented the grog shop were of such a character 
 that the child thought that she surely had got 
 among heathens. 
 
 " I never felt so sorry in my life for a child as I 
 did for that little girl," said Mr. Davidson to his 
 wife when he got home. " If I had known how 
 the child was situated I would never have gone 
 after her. But Fred's wife (Fred was Jane's hus 
 band) said that the people who had her were not 
 good to her, so I thought I would go." 
 
 " Oh, that woman is not bright. I thought to 
 myself when you went, if her child had any home 
 at all she was better off than she could possibly be 
 with her," said his wife. 
 
 k ' The child had a good home and her aunt is an 
 intelligent woman who thinks everything of the 
 child. The little girl is one of the nicest' little 
 girls I ever saw. The poor little thing begged to 
 stay with her aunt, but nothing would satisfy her 
 mother but to bring her away. The poor child 
 cried almost all the way here. When we got to 
 their shanty, Fred came out. The child, half 
 frightened, clung to me, and no wonder, for Fred 
 always looks frightful enough to scare a man to
 
 180 Suffering Millions. 
 
 death, let alone a child. The child is a pratty, re 
 fined looking little girl." 
 
 " Poor little thing," replied Mrs. Davidson, " we 
 must see about her. She may get sick." 
 
 Poor, silly Jane had fallen so low that she also 
 began drinking almost as bad as her dissipated 
 husband. She found great pleasure in hanging 
 about the saloon joking with the half intoxicated 
 men, who were of the most debased character. 
 Shortly after Lulu's arrival her mother said, " come 
 Lulu, we will go over to Mr. Kruger's. This was 
 the man to whom the saloon belonged. Lulu, glad 
 to get away from the dismal place, readily went 
 with her mother. But as soon as they arrived at 
 the place the child saw something was wrong- 
 The red, bloated faces of the low fellows, their 
 rough, vile talk, and the sight of seeing her mother 
 also indulging in the low conversation and drink- 
 ing the poisonous stuff, half frightened the child to 
 death. 
 
 " Well," said one of the drunken men, " quite a 
 pretty little miss. Won't you give me a kiss, little 
 girl?"" 
 
 Lulu turned pale and began to cry. At this the 
 low fellow caught the child in his arms and said, 
 " I will soon make you feel better ; you must have 
 some wine." He took a small glass, filled it half 
 full of wine and tried to pour it down Lulu's 
 mouth. The poor little girl fought and screamed, 
 and giving the fellow a scratch in the face, she
 
 Buffering Millions. 181 
 
 grabbed his hand and bit it so he let her fall 
 on the floor. Poor little Lulu Jay unconscious at 
 his feet. At this her mother rushed up and said, 
 " you have killed my child." 
 
 Water was poured all over the child which soon 
 revived her. Jane now took the child home, still 
 almost unconscious. 
 
 The next morning Mr. Davidson's wife said to 
 her husband, "you must go over and see how that 
 little girl is getting along. I could hardly sleep 
 last night thinking about the poor little child." 
 
 u Neither could I, and I am guing over and see 
 that woman. I am going to have that child sent 
 back if I have to employ an officer to take her. I 
 feel like one condemned for bringing the child 
 from a good home. She is a sweet little girl and 
 when the poor little thing begged so to stay with 
 me, it touched my heart," said Mr. Davidson, 
 wiping away a tear. 
 
 " I don't blame you," said his wife. " Bring the 
 child over here if you can, but I expect you will 
 have trouble with her mother." 
 
 " I don't care if I do. She is not capable of tak- 
 ing care of the child, if she is it's mother, and I am 
 going to have something done. I am now thor- 
 oughly aroused. There is a law to protect helpless 
 little children and this one needs protection if ever 
 a child did." 
 
 " Good morning," said Mr. Davidson, as he 
 entered the dismal abode. Poor Lulu seemed
 
 182 Suffering Millions. 
 
 very much pleased to see him. The child looked 
 a shade paler than when he first saw her at her 
 aunt's. " How did the little girl get along during 
 the night ?" 
 
 " Oh," said her mother, " she cried a good deal. 
 She was so afraid of the men over at the saloon. 
 There was a fight and some of the drunken men 
 made so much noise that it nearly scared her to 
 death." 
 
 "Did Fred get drunk?" said Mr. Davidson. 
 
 " Oh, he got a little boosey, but you know I am 
 not afraid of him." 
 
 "No doubt you are not," said Mr. Davidson, 
 " but this little girl is. She has not been accus- 
 tomed to such scenes and it is not best for a child 
 to live in continual fear. I think after the child 
 has made you a good visit you had better let her 
 go back to her aunt's, so she can be sent to school. 
 I think it will be better for her, as her aunt thinks 
 so much of her, she will be good to her." 
 
 " I don't care if she does go," said Jane. " She 
 has acted PO since she has been here that I will be 
 glad when she is gone." 
 
 " Let her go over to our house. My wife would 
 like to see the child," said Mr. Davidson. 
 
 Lulu was overjoyed to get away from such a dis- 
 mal house. 
 
 " Well," little girl, I am glad to see you," said 
 Mrs. Davidson, " would you like to come and live 
 with me ?"
 
 Suffering Millions. 183 
 
 " I would like to go back and live with Aunt 
 May. I was grandma's girl as long as she lived, 
 and now I am Aunt May's." 
 
 " Well, little girl, if you want to go back to live 
 with your aunt, I am going to see that you go. I 
 will give you money to go back on the cars. You 
 can make your mother a good visit, then you can 
 go back." 
 
 " Oh," said Lulu, " I am so glad ! I am so glad ! 
 Now I can see Aunt May, and always live with 
 her. Aunt May wants to send me to school all of 
 the time. I wish I could go to-day." 
 
 "No, you make your mother a visit, then you 
 can go." 
 
 " Oh ! you are so good," said Lulu, " clapping her 
 hands, " I now can go home. I am so afraid to 
 stay over where ma stays. I am afraid of that 
 man, and those men that are drinking. I never 
 before saw such work." 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Davidson were very kind to the 
 little girl. They knew she could not stand it long 
 at such a place. 
 
 " I was bound to have that child sent back to her 
 aunts," said Mr. Davidson to me a few months 
 afterward, as I happened to meet him. " I felt so 
 sorry when I saw what a good home the poor child 
 had. Of course she could never have been raised 
 any way with her mother." 
 
 ''Well," said Jane to her husband, after Lulu 
 went over to Mr. Davidson's, "I will be glad to
 
 184 Suffering Millions. 
 
 have Lulu go back and live with May. Lulu has 
 always been a headstrong thing. I felt like giving 
 her a good whipping last night. The good-for- 
 nothing thing cried so I could hardly sleep, afraid 
 of those men at the saloon. Who ever heard of 
 such a thing? She just needed a good thrashing, 
 and she will get it, too, if she don't behave." 
 
 "I really don't know what you wanted to bring 
 her here for," said her husband. " I thought when 
 I saw you comin' you had brought trouble. She 
 look'd scar't to death, and when she was beginnin' 
 to cry I felt like givin' her a good dab in the 
 mouth." 
 
 "My folks, as well as William's have always 
 made a fool of Lulu. They seem to think her a 
 little angel. They have always tried to nose me 
 around, but I guess they have found out that I will 
 do as I please." 
 
 "Angel!" said he, "hern is more the nature of 
 an imp. I was just beginin' to make up my mind 
 to give her a good whippin'." 
 
 "Oh, you old fool, if you had touched her I 
 would have knocked your head off of your 
 shoulders." 
 
 " Well you jist better try that. I ken whip such 
 a thing as you" in a jiffy. I don't want your 
 youngun comin' here agin," said he, kicking over 
 a chair as he left. 
 
 About one week after Lulu went away, May was 
 out in her door yard. " Why," said she, looking
 
 Suffering Millions. 185 
 
 up the road, " if there doesn't come a little girl 
 who looks just like Lulu." Then she put her hand 
 above her eyes as if to take a better view. '"Yes," 
 said she, " that is Lulu," and then she rushed to 
 the gate to meet the child. 
 
 " Why, my darling Lulu, how did you get back ? " 
 
 " Oh, that kind gentleman who came with 
 mamma gave me money to come back on the cars. 
 I could not stay there, I was so afraid. Those 
 men over at the saloon drank and made so much 
 noise that I was half frightened to death. I could 
 not help crying so much of the time that ma said 
 she would be glad when I was gone. Oh, dear, 
 how glad I am to get home again. Mamma is 
 never going to take rue away again, because I cried 
 so much she got tired of me." 
 
 " I am very glad you have returned home, Lulu. 
 School will commence next Monday and now you 
 can go again. I was so afraid that you would have 
 no advantage for school there.- 
 
 " There was no school house there, nothing but 
 that saloon, and those wicked men. Oh, Aunt 
 May, that was an awful place. It haunts me yet." 
 
 " Why did you not stay at the depot and send 
 for us to meet you, Lulu ? You must be very tired 
 for you have walked over three miles." 
 
 " I was so glad when I got to town I could not 
 wait, and I knew the road home so well, too. I am 
 not tired one bit. I ran almost all the way.
 
 186 Suffering Millions. 
 
 Everything seemed so nice. Oh, I am so glad I 
 am home again." 
 
 " Take off your things, Lulu, and sit down. You 
 now are too excited to feel how tired you are. 
 Where is your trunk Lulu ? " 
 
 " It is at the depot. Here is the check, Aunt 
 May. Mr. Davidson said I must take good care of 
 it, for if I lost it I could not get my trunk." 
 
 It was hard for Lulu to sit still long. She had 
 to have a romp with her pet kitten and Fido. 
 Said she to them, " I guess you are glad I have got 
 home. It seems like a month since I saw yon, you 
 dear, old, fat puffy," said she to her kitty. 
 
 When May's husband came back she said to 
 him, ' ; we have a little stranger here." 
 
 "Who is it?" said he. At this Lulu came run- 
 ning out. 
 
 " Well, well, if Lulu isn't at home. You little 
 elf. I guess you are glad to get home." 
 
 " I guess I am glad. I am always going to stay 
 now. I did not like to stay down there one bit." 
 
 " Is it not strange," said May, " that Lulu likes 
 to stay with us so much ? " 
 
 "I do not think it is," said I. "Children are 
 like plants. Now you know there are plants to 
 which poor soil or rich soil seems to make no differ- 
 ence. Mullen or burdock do admirably, either on 
 gravelly hillsides or in rich garden soil, but take a 
 rose or a hyacinth and turn it out to shift for itself 
 by the roadside, and it soon dwindles and dies.
 
 Suffering Millions. 187 
 
 Just so it is with children. Some can stand any 
 treatment, while others dwindle and die unless 
 treated kindly. I can plainly see Lulu cannot 
 stand hard treatment. She is like the hyacinth 
 and would soon sicken and die in an uncongenial 
 home." 
 
 That evening after the work was all done we 
 gathered around the comfortable fire. I could see 
 that May and her husband were well pleased to 
 have the little girl back. Not so much for their 
 own benefit, because it is no small job to take a 
 child, send her to school and care for, but because 
 they knew it would have been a thing utterly im- 
 possible for her to have been well taken care of 
 by her mother. May took the little girl on her 
 lap. The poor child, over weary with her long 
 walk, and the anxiety she had passed through 
 while at her mother's, at once fell asleep in her 
 aunt's arms. Oh, how May nestled the little girl 
 to her breast and looked into the beautiful face of 
 the sleeping child, ller head was a wilderness of 
 curls of a golden auburn, which with the well de- 
 fined penciling of the eyebrows, the delicate pol- 
 ished skin, and the long silken veil of the lashes 
 that fell over the sleeping eyes made her look like 
 a jewel indeed, too pure for earth. As I watched 
 May's tender, motherly care, and saw the beam of 
 love that sparkled in her eye, I said, " Oh, love is 
 heaven, and heaven is love." "May," said I, " I 
 never saw such love as you have for Lulu."
 
 188 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " Well," replied May, while tears streamed 
 down her cheeks, ik the poor child has no one else 
 to love her but me." 
 
 "That is so, May. I do not know what would 
 become of the dear little girl if it were not for you. 
 Just think," said I, " of the poor little thing being 
 so unhappy with her mother. But it is not to be 
 wondered at in this case, because her mother 
 neither possesses the love nor the ability to take 
 care of her. Jane is an exception, different from 
 any woman I ever before knew, but 1 suppose 
 there are others just as trifling as she is." 
 
 May then undressed the little girl and tenderly 
 laid her in her bed. The child was so tired and 
 weary that she slept far into the next day before 
 she awoke. She seemed so refreshed and happy 
 at finding herself at home that she fairly danced 
 for joy. 
 
 After dinner May said to me, " I do wish I could 
 make Lulu some more school dresses. I do not 
 feel able to buy new ones, as my husband has not 
 the means just now. Don't you believe I could 
 make her some quite respectable ones out of some 
 of my old dresses ? She is so small that I believe 
 that I could take the best out of them and make 
 it over for her." 
 
 " I think you could," said I. 
 
 " Well, I am going to try at least," said May. 
 
 I could not help watching her as she went about 
 the task, not altogether an easy one. She cut and
 
 Suffering Millions. 189 
 
 planned the very best she could to get out the 
 dresses. She never once seemed to think of her- 
 self. She only seemed to think how she might be 
 able to make Lulu comfortable. Out of some old 
 dresses of hers, no longer fit for use, she made Lulu 
 some nice, neat school dresses. Everything May 
 did for Lulu seemed to please the little girl very 
 much. " Oh, aren't those dresses nice, that Aunt 
 May made me ? They are just as nice as new," 
 said Lulu when thev were done.
 
 190 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX, 
 
 As May was very fond of those older than her- 
 self, she spent many happy hours at her home 
 with an old Christian lady, who seemed to take 
 much pains to be with her a great deal of the time, 
 and to talk much on the subject of religion. As 
 she had great confidence in this lady, it made an 
 impression on her mind. She began to think, 
 " can I be mistaken ? Is it possible I am all in the 
 dark? Is there a glorious world beyond?" Oh, 
 how she longed for it to be so. Her heart and 
 soul sighed for something better than the cares 
 and sorrows of this world. The glorious light of 
 the gospel had begun to dawn in her heart. But 
 she being desirous of the vain things of life was 
 all wrapped up in the idea of securing wealth and 
 making a beautiful home. But the old lady would 
 not give her up. As a true Christian she talked 
 with her, and wrestled in earnest prayer that God 
 in his mercy would cause the light to dawn in her 
 mind, and that bhe might care less for the vain 
 things of the world, and more for heaven and 
 heavenly things. Still May did not yield, her heart 
 was so hard. She would say, " I have 1,0 faith." 
 Then the lady would tell her that if she would only
 
 Suffering Millions. 191 
 
 believe she would receive faith. But she thought 
 she could not believe. 
 
 " My dear friend," said the lady, " there have 
 been others who were just as much in the dark as 
 you are, yet the love of Jesus has dawned into 
 their hearts, and overwhelmed them with glory 
 and brightness." 
 
 " Yes," said May, " but it does seem to me that 
 I have done everything in my power, and yet I do 
 not feel the joy that Christians tell of. No doubt 
 I have sinned away the day of grace. My dispo- 
 sition is so fiery that it is almost beyond my power 
 to govern." 
 
 u Well," said the dear, good lady, " what hap- 
 pens to desolate souls, who thus forsaken cry out 
 to God, is a mystery which you can never fathom 
 until you have been exactly where they are. 'In 
 a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a 
 moment, but with everlasting kindness will I have 
 mercy .on thee, saith the Lord thy Redeemer.^ 
 ' O thou tossed with tempest, and not comforted, 
 behold, I will lay thy stones with fair colors, and 
 thy foundations with saphire.' You so long for 
 the fine, and vain things of this life, but are they 
 to be compared with these glorious promises?" 
 
 " No," said May, " they are not, yet it is hard for 
 me to understand." 
 
 " It is a most remarkable property of this old 
 Hebrew literature that it seems to be enchanted 
 with a divine and living power, which strikes the
 
 192 Suffering Millions. 
 
 nerve of individual consciousness, in every deso- 
 late and suffering soul. It has raised the burden 
 from thousands of crushed spirits. It has been as 
 the day spring to thousands of perplexed wander- 
 ers. Ah ! let us treasure these old words, for as of 
 old, Jehovah chose to dwell in a tabernacle in the 
 wilderness, and between the cherubim in the 
 temple, so now he dwells, and to the simple soul 
 that seek for him here, he will look forth as of old 
 from the pillar of cloud and of fire." 
 
 " Well, I will try and give this subject much 
 thought." 
 
 But after the dear old lady went home, May's 
 mind was soon consumed with the care of her 
 household. She hurried from one thing to another ; 
 she rubbed, and scrubbed, and dusted, in order, as 
 she expressed it, to have things glitter. She 
 fretted and worried because things were not just 
 as she would have them. That night she went to 
 bed all tired out with the care and anxiety of her 
 work. She was very nervous, and very ambitious 
 to make her home beautiful and attractive to those 
 whom she loved. She was as was Martha of old? 
 " compassed about with much serving." She had 
 not, like Mary, chosen that good part that should 
 never be taken away." She was restless and dis- 
 turbed in her dreams, and about the dawn of day 
 as she lay about half awake, she heard as audible 
 as one could speak, ''Therefore I say unto you, 
 take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or
 
 Suffering Millions. 193 
 
 what ye shall drink ; nor yet for your body, what 
 ye shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, 
 and the body than raiment?" " Behold the fowls 
 of the air; they sow not, neither do they reap, nor 
 gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feed- 
 eth them. Are ye not much better than they ? 
 And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider 
 the lillies of the field how they grow ; they toil 
 not, neither do they spin, and yet I say unto you 
 that even Solomon, in all his glory, was not 
 arrayed like one of these." She sprang up, "who 
 was that speaking to me ?" She now seemed to 
 catch the idea. It was the one " that spake as 
 never man spake." There seemed to come to her 
 mind a peaceful sensation, and she fell to rest in 
 another body than she had retired to bed in. 
 
 All through the forenoon she seemed to be in a 
 very thoughtful mood. In the afternoon her dear 
 old lady friend called again to see her. This dear 
 Christian lady felt a great interest in May's spirit- 
 ual welfare. 
 
 " Well," said she smilingly, for she well knew 
 that May did not like to have very much said to 
 her on the subject of religion, as she was very 
 irritable at times, "you promised me that you 
 would give the subject of religion much thought 
 yesterday as I was taking my departure." 
 
 " Well," said May, " I did. But after you went 
 away I had so much work to do that I did not get 
 time to think much about it." 
 13
 
 194 Suffering Millions. 
 
 The poor old lady's looks showed that she was 
 disappointed. 
 
 " But," said May, " there is one question I want 
 to ask you. This morning, just a little before day 
 light, were you praying for me ?" 
 
 " Oh May," said the dear old lady, '" I could not 
 give you up. Yes, this morning, long before the 
 break of day, I wrestled with God in pray for you. 
 Oh, May," said she, while tears trickled down her 
 furrowed cheeks, " I can not let your precious soul 
 be lost." 
 
 " Well," said May, " I thought you were, because 
 this morning as I lay half asleep I heard audibly, 
 is if some one was speaking to me, the words re- 
 corded in Matt, 6 Chap.; 25, 26, 28 verses." 
 
 " Oh! that is He ! that is He !" said the dear old 
 lady. Oh, now May, you will believe ! you will 
 believe ! you.can't help but believe now. ' The fear 
 of the Lord is the beginning of Wisdom.'" 
 
 "Oh!" said May, "is that so? Wisdom? wis- 
 dom ! Oh ! my soul longs for wisdom. I have 
 wrestled in my thoughts for wisdom and knowledge 
 so that I might be able to raise my dear little 
 niece Lulu in the right way. I have ever felt that 
 I was not fit in my own strength to perform such 
 a sacred obligation, but I could not understand 
 how to gain this wisdom. Will you pray for me, 
 that I may be a better, a purer woman, that 1 may 
 gain this wisdom that my soul so longs for?" 
 
 " Yes, I will pray for you ; I have prayed for
 
 Suffering Millions. 195 
 
 you for weeks and weeks ; But May this is not all. 
 If you would receive this wisdom you must pray 
 for yourself." 
 
 "But," said May, " I am such a great sinner. 
 God does not answer my prayers." 
 
 " Then," said the lady, u Fear thou not, for I am 
 with thee; be thou not dismayed, for I am thy 
 God. When thou passeth through the waters I 
 will be with thee, and through the rivers, they 
 shall not overflow thee. When thou walkest 
 through the fire, thou shalt not be burned, neither 
 shall the flame kindle upon thee; for I am the 
 Lord thy God, the Holy one of Israel, thy Savior.' 
 Do you not believe this ?" 
 
 "It is difficult for me to answer that question. 
 I think that the differences among human beings 
 in the natural power of faith are as great as any 
 other constitutional diversity, and that they begin 
 in childhood. Some are born believers, and some 
 are born skeptics. I was one of the latter. There 
 has ever been an eternal query, an habitual in- 
 terrogation-point to almost every proposition in 
 my mind, even from childhood ; a habit of looking 
 at everything from so many sides, that it was diffi- 
 cult to get a settled assent to anything." 
 
 " Well," said the dear old lady, u no doubt the 
 checkered scenes of life that you have had to pass 
 through have confirmed this skeptical tendency." 
 
 "I think they have," said May, "but now I am 
 willing to do all in my power to become better
 
 196 Suffering Millions. 
 
 and more able to well perform the duties which 
 are mine to perform." 
 
 "Well May, you have become very dear to me, 
 your warm impulsive nature, your fiery disposition, 
 has awakened in me a sense of fear for you. 
 The time has now come, 1 do' believe, in your life, 
 when you must give your heart to God or be eter- 
 nally lost. It is not long after a person wholly 
 gives himself up to God, and humbly cries out 
 ' save, Lord, or I perish,' ' here, Lord, I give myself 
 to thee, it is all that 1 can do,' and prays to God 
 for strength and wisdom to direct, before the 
 Comforter comes with healing in its wings." 
 
 " Well," said May to the dear old lady not long 
 after this conversation, " I now can truly say that 
 light has dawned into my heart. I now would not 
 exchange the joy I feel for all of the vain things 
 of this sinful world. Every morning as I awake, 
 my mind is filled with peace and joy ; it is a 
 foretaste of heaven." 
 
 " Thanks be to the Great God," said the dear ex- 
 perienced Christian lady. " But, May, you must 
 not feel discouraged if you do not always feel this 
 great joy, because there will sometimes dark 
 seasons arise. You know there is no night without 
 a day. Trust God, that is all."
 
 Suffering Millions. 197 
 
 CHAPTER XX, 
 
 "Well, May," said LaMarr, one day, "I have 
 been thinking some of building a new house. I 
 think we have lived in this old one long enough. 
 It is the oldest house in the whole country." 
 "Oh !" said Lulu, " Will not that be nice?" 
 " We do need a better house," said .May, " Yet 
 we must not be as one of old." 
 
 "Ah !" said LaMarr, " I suppose you mean he 
 who said, ' This will I do, I will pull down my 
 barns and build greater ; and there will I bestow 
 all my fruits and goods.' ' ; 
 
 " You know how it was with him, do you not?'' 
 
 " Yes, but he had become vain, and made a 
 
 boast, and said : ' Saul, thou hast much goods laid 
 
 up for many years, take thine ease, eat, drink and 
 
 be merry.' " 
 
 " But you know God said unto him, 'Thou fool, 
 this night shall thy soul be required of thee.' " 
 
 u But," said I, to May, " It also said, 'So is he 
 that layeth up treasures for himself, and is not 
 rich toward god.' It is all right to try and make 
 ourselves comfortable if possible." 
 
 "Well, to-morrow I will engage the masons to 
 lay the foundation, so that by the middle of 
 autumn the house can be finished."
 
 198 Suffering Millions. 
 
 It was a fine, warm summer day, the 14th of 
 August, that the masons began laying the stone 
 foundation. That day at the dinner table one of 
 the men said, " Lulu, have you heard that your 
 mother has left her husband?" 
 
 " Why ! no ! When did she do that ? I do not 
 blame her," said the child, '' for he was the most 
 frightful looking person I ever saw." 
 
 " Yes, but," said the man, " why did she marry 
 such a person ?" And hastily added, " I suppose 
 Jane has very many queer ideas." 
 
 " I wonder what will become of her now," said 
 May. 
 
 " Oh !" said the man, " she will soon run across 
 someone else to marry her." 
 
 " Well," said LaMarr, " I engaged the carpenters 
 this forenoon to build the house. They will be 
 here as soon as the foundation is done." 
 
 u It will seem nice to have a good new house to 
 live in," said Lulu. "This has been a dear old 
 house, but as other people have new houses it will 
 be nice for us also, will it not, Aunt May ?" 
 
 " It will be very nice," was the reply, " but we 
 must try and appreciate it as we should." 
 
 After dinner the men resumed their work. May 
 was busy with her duties, as there was much to do 
 in order to keep things baked up. 
 
 " Why was it Aunt May, that I never had a 
 mother like any one else?" remarked Lulu. "I 
 have only known sorrow from my mother."
 
 Suffering Millions. 199 
 
 " I cannot tell you my child, 
 
 ' But a soul untouched by sorrow, 
 
 Aims not at a higher state ; 
 Joy seeks no brighter morrow, 
 Only sad hearts learn to wait.' 
 
 Lulu, although you are deprived of a mother's 
 love and tender care, I will try and do as well for 
 you as I can." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, you have always done all you could 
 for me," said Lulu. 
 
 As the days had rolled into weeks since LaMarr 
 had been building his house, the time had now 
 come when they were to move into it. One even- 
 ing after Lulu had come home from school, May 
 said, " Well Lulu, we are moving into the new 
 house." 
 
 " Oh dear, how glad I am," said Lulu, as she 
 rushed around helping take things to the new 
 house. 
 
 "Well," said May, "I feel as Will Carlton 
 expresses it : 
 
 Here the old house will stand, but not as it stood before, 
 Winds will whistle through it, and rain will flood the floor, 
 And over the hearth, once blazing, the snow-drifts oft will 
 
 pile, 
 And the old thing will seem to be a mournin' all the while. 
 
 Fare you well, old house, you're naught that can feel or 
 
 see, 
 
 But you seem like a human being a dear old friend to me, 
 And we never will have a better home, if my opinion 
 
 stands, 
 Until we commence a-keeping house in the house not made 
 
 with hands."
 
 200 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI, 
 
 After wandering around the country for some 
 time there seemed to dawn upon Jane a streak of 
 good luck. A bachelor uncle, just before he died 
 willed her and her brother a large sum of money. 
 Her brother being many hundred miles away from 
 her and feeling very anxious for her welfare, as 
 soon as he learned of the will, sat down and wrote 
 a letter to his sister. " My dear sister," wrote he, 
 " Uncle has been kind enough to will you and I a 
 large sum of money, do now, for mercy sake, try 
 and take good care of yours. You know money is 
 hard to get. Lets now see if we cannot make 
 good use of it. I do hope you will stay single. 
 Please do not think of such a thing as marrying 
 again. You know there are low fellows who 
 would marry you just for your money, and then 
 no doubt leave you as soon as your money is gone. 
 Dear sister, there is your dear little daughter, 
 Lulu. I do wish you would spend part of your 
 money on her. You know she is a very loveable 
 girl. Why not buy her an organ or a piano ? You 
 know she has a fine talent for music, and her 
 Aunt May is doing all she can for her. Just now 
 she is not able to buy a musical instrument. No 
 doubt Lulu would make a fine music teacher if
 
 Suffering Millions. 201 
 
 she had the chance. You might also help to edu- 
 cate your little son Charley. You will have 
 enough money, which if taken good care of, will 
 be plenty for your own use, and also some to help 
 your children with." 
 
 " Well," said Jane as she slammed the letter 
 down, " I suppose brother thinks I have not 
 enough sense to take care of my money. I shall 
 do just as 1 please with it. It is strange what fools 
 my folks and William's also make of themselves 
 about Lulu. They seem to think her a perfect 
 little angel, while she is nothing but a common 
 child." 
 
 "Well," said the lady to whom she was talking, 
 "You know your folks are interested in your 
 children's welfare." 
 
 l Yes," said Jane, " they are more interested in 
 their welfare than they are in mine." 
 
 " Oh, well," said the lady, " you know the chil- 
 dren are young yet.'' 
 
 u I don't care if they are," said Jane. " I shall 
 do just as I like." 
 
 And sure enough she did. Just as soon as she 
 came into possession of the money she married a 
 very dissipated fellow, whom she met at a friend's 
 house, and who was almost an entire stranger to 
 her. All of her friends were very much mortified 
 at the way she did. Another thing she did which 
 made it very bad for May and Lulu. She bought 
 a small place about one mile from their home,
 
 202 Suffering Millions. 
 
 where they had to constantly come in contact 
 with her dissipated husband. The first time I met 
 Jane with her new found treasure was one time 
 when I was going to a friend's house. I saw her 
 coming, her red ribbons fluttering on the breeze, 
 with portmonie swinging in her hand, and very 
 triumphant indeed, did she seem. 
 
 " Well," said I, " this, I suppose, is your new 
 husband, Jane, is it not ?" 1 saw she did not intend 
 to introduce him to me, so I thought I would 
 make myself acquainted. 
 
 " Yes," said Jane. 
 
 As soon as he learned who I was he tauntingly 
 remarked, " Will you please tell Jane's folks to 
 send her daughter, whom I believe they call Lulu, 
 up so we can buy her a piano ?" As he said this I 
 saw an overbearing grin on his face. "I learn 
 they are very anxious," said he, " for Jane to use 
 her money for the good of her children." I at 
 once discovered that he was a very quarrelsome 
 person, I therefore left them and went to my 
 friend's house. 
 
 " Well," said my friend, " did you see Jane and 
 her husband ?" 
 
 " Yes, I saw them," said I. I then told her how 
 tauntingly they had talked about Jane's money. 
 
 "Well," said my friend, "Jane might better 
 have spent her money for her poor innocent chil- 
 dren than to have spent it on that low dissipated 
 fellow. Dear me, what will ever become of that
 
 Suffering Millions. 203 
 
 poor, trifling;, silly Jane ? Had she used her mon- 
 ey as she should, she would have had enough to 
 have helped to educate her children, an 1 plenty 
 to have taken good care of herself. But now it 
 will be squandered. The very day that she mar- 
 ried this fellow she bought him a twenty dollar 
 suit of clothes. It is really too bad, now poor 
 little Lulu, and all of Jane's folks must be dis- 
 graced by this low drunken fellow."
 
 204 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII, 
 
 One day, a few months after Jane's marriage, 
 May saw a man drive up to the gate in an excited 
 manner, spring from his vehicle, leaving his horse 
 unhitched, and come reeling towards the house. 
 May at once recognized the man to be Jane's new 
 husband. 
 
 " Well," said he, " I have run my horse thirty 
 miles to day in order to procure a lawyer to have 
 you and your brother, Ward Montroville, arrested 
 for cheating my wife's children out of their prop- 
 erty." 
 
 May being all alone, and knowing the man to be 
 a very quarrelsome person, and seeing that he was 
 very much under the influence of liquor, thought 
 it best to say but little. He, as all drunken men 
 do, knew that he had very wrongfully cheated his 
 wife's children by marrying her, and then squan- 
 dering money which should have been used for 
 their comfort. He knew that he had done wrong, 
 and, of course, supposed others to have done the 
 same. 
 
 " I think Lulu is a very lovely girl. 1 could just 
 take her in my arms and fold her to my heart," 
 said he, " she is so young and pure and sweet. 
 But then, I suppose it would not look very well
 
 Suffering Millions. 205 
 
 for me so to do, as I am only her mother's hus- 
 band." 
 
 At this remark May felt the blood mount to her 
 face. What, thought she, could I stand it to see 
 my beautiful little niece folded in the arms of such 
 a brutal character as he ? No, indeed, she had 
 rather see the pure, innocent girl laid in her grave. 
 
 "Well," said the dissipated fellow, "you and 
 your brother had better be careful how you use 
 the children's property, or you will get your 
 selves into trouble." 
 
 Now the property he spoke of was some that had 
 fallen to them from their Grandfather Montroville, 
 and nothing that he or Jane had ever worked to 
 earn. Nevertheless, I suppose, he and she were 
 anxious that in some way they might get hold of 
 it, to squander it also, as they had the other. 
 
 After abusing May as much as he was capable 
 of doing, he left. 
 
 When he got home Jane said, " Did you get a 
 lawyer?" 
 
 " Well," said he, " you just bet I tried." 
 
 " What did he say '?" 
 
 " Oh, the lawyer said I had better mind my own 
 business." 
 
 " Business ! " said Jane, " well, is it not your busi- 
 ness ? " 
 
 k The lawyer said neither you nor I were capable 
 of taking care of the children, and that we had 
 better let the Montrovilles alone, because the 
 property belonged to them anyway."
 
 206 Suffering Millions. 
 
 "That is just the way everybody makes fools of 
 themselves about those good- for nothing brats of 
 mine," said Jane. 
 
 " Well, old woman, you haint got sense enough 
 to take care of them. Lulu knows more in one 
 minute than you ever knew in your life; besides 
 she is sweet and young and pretty." 
 
 " Well," said Jane, "you are just as big a fool 
 as the rest. You are in love with Lulu." 
 
 " Well, she is nice, and I love her, too. If you 
 were half as nice I might think a little something 
 of you." 
 
 " Yes, that is all you think of me. It was my 
 money you married." 
 
 " Yes, it was, and just as soon as it is gone I am 
 going to sea. You know I am an old tar, don't 
 you ?" 
 
 " Tar or no tar I hope you will get drowned." 
 
 "Well," said he, "it ain't the first old fool I 
 married just in order to get a little spending 
 money to buy my rum. You might have known 
 better than to marry a stranger. I think just as 
 the lawyer thought about you. He said an old 
 woman like you ought not to have been so hot to 
 get married, and that the children's father was a 
 nice man, and I believe it, because they are nice 
 children, and one thing sure, I do know, they never 
 took that after you." 
 
 " You poor old black fool," if I was a man I 
 would whip you to within an inch of your life."
 
 Suffering Millions. 207 
 
 u You had better bake some more bread," said 
 he, u I tell you, you are a good cook." 
 
 " Well, I am as good a cook as you are a farm- 
 er." 
 
 " See here, old woman, if you expect me to 
 farm you will be mistaken. You know there is a 
 little of your money left, when that is gone I will 
 quit this place to plow the deep blue sea." 
 
 " Well," said Jane, " the sooner the better, then 
 I can marry some one else." 
 
 "Oh, yes; there is old Oummings, you can 
 marry him, he is running after you every time I'm 
 away from the house." 
 
 " Well," said Jane, u it is none of your business 
 who runs after me. He is just as good as you are." 
 
 u Well, old woman, it is a great blessing for your 
 daughter that you have not the raising of her." 
 
 " I don't care for you nor my daughter either." 
 I intend to have a good time, daughter or no 
 daughter." 
 
 "I have been around the world a good deal, and 
 have seen many mothers, but you beat the devil. 
 You care no more for your daughter than you 
 would were she a dog. One thing I do know, if I 
 am an old tar, she is a fine girl." 
 
 " You had better stop praising Lulu," said Jane, 
 U I won't stand it. Lulu is no better than I am. 
 May makes a big fool of Lulu, and sends her to 
 school all of the time. She is trying to make a 
 big lady of her, and wants to get her a piano. She
 
 208 Suffering Millions. 
 
 had better buy her a washboard and let her play 
 music on that." 
 
 " Well, old woman, if she could make as good 
 use of a washboard as you do it would pay. Your 
 washing looks like you had rinsed your clothes in 
 coffee." 
 
 " I don't intend to break my back rubbing your 
 clothes," said Jane. 
 
 " No, indeed, old woman, I know you don't. 
 You have washed me two shirts in six months." 
 
 " Hello? what is that noise I hear?" said a pas- 
 ser-by to a companion. " Oh, it's Jane and her 
 husband fighting. You see he is drunk, and then 
 Jane takes the pains to get up a quarrel with 
 him." u She had better let him alone when he is 
 drunk." "That would not be Jane. You see, she 
 delights to get up a fuss as soon as he comes home, 
 which always ends in a fight.
 
 Suffering Millions. 209 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII, 
 
 As I had been called away to spend some time 
 in a different country, I knew but little of the 
 changes of the neighborhood where the Montro- 
 ville's lived. When I returned I at once went to 
 visit May. Lulu had grown to be a fine girl. In 
 the evening May invited us into the parlor. 
 
 " Oh," said I, " did Lulu's mother ever get her a 
 musical instrument as her brother wished her to at 
 the time she fell heir to her money ? " 
 
 " No, indeed, she did not. But just as soon as I 
 felt able I bought her a piano. You know she has 
 a talent for music, and I believe we should im- 
 prove the gifts that God has given us." 
 
 "Well, Lulu," said I, "can't you play some for 
 me ? " She took her seat at the piano, and as her 
 skillful fingers swept the keys of the instrument, 
 playing several pieces of music, she began one of 
 the sainted Longfellow's pieces known as "The 
 Bridge," and as her pure, sweet voice floated 
 through the room, I could not help remarking that 
 it seemed almost impossible that this was the little 
 girl I knew before I went away. 
 
 "Lulu has been a very good girl," said her Aunt 
 May. " It has been my greatest desire to try and 
 do right by her." 
 14
 
 210 Suffering Millions. 
 
 "Well, May, you have had to raise her sur- 
 rounded by many difficulties." 
 
 " Yes, and these have made her still dearer to 
 me. It is ten times as hard to raise a child who 
 has other relatives living." 
 
 " Yes, I know it is." 
 
 " You know if you do too much for them some- 
 body will find fault. If you do too little, then 
 there will be fault found with you. " But," said 
 May, "I will do as near right as I possibly can. I 
 I am only human, no doubt I shall make many 
 mistakes, but I will trust the Allwise Hand to 
 direct me. 
 
 One cold stormy evening in the dead of winter, 
 as I happened to be going a short distance to a 
 friend's house, I was somewhat surprised to meet 
 May hurrying along, apparently in great agitation. 
 
 " Now where are you going?" said I. 
 
 " Have you not heard," said May, " that Jane's 
 husband is very sick and not expected to live ? " 
 
 " Now, May," said I, " you are not able to go 
 there ; you are nearly sick yourself? " 
 
 " Oh, I guess I can stand it." 
 
 " Well, you may stand it, and j r ou may not. 
 Why did your husband allow you to go? " 
 
 " I just heard he was sick. My husband was 
 away, and I knew something must be done for the 
 poor man." 
 
 " I think they have abused you enough, and that
 
 Suffering Millions. 211 
 
 you have long ago cleared your skirts of any duty 
 toward them. He is nothing to you." 
 
 u He is my dear Lulu's mother's husband." 
 
 " Why did you not send Lulu ? " 
 
 " I could not have done that for anything. You 
 know Lulu takes cold so easily, and her lungs are 
 weak. I never dare to let her expose herself one 
 bit." 
 
 " I know she is a frail girl, but May, you are not 
 well." 
 
 u Well, or not well," replied May, u I must go." 
 
 " If you really must go, I will go with you, as it 
 is getting dark." Therefore we hastened to the 
 dismal abode. As we entered the house the room 
 was dark and dismal. May stepped to the bedside 
 of the poor dying man. He was sitting care- 
 lessly propped up in his bed, unable to lie down on 
 account of shortness of breath. 
 
 ''I just heard," said May, "that you were sick, 
 and have come to see how you are." 
 
 " I am glad that you came," said the poor man, 
 extending his poor hand, already turning black 
 from putrification of excessive drink. 
 
 " I have brought you some fruits, thinking per- 
 haps you might be able to eat a little," said May. 
 
 " I cannot eat now," said the poor fellow. 
 
 We at once saw that the poor wretched man's 
 days were nearly numbered. May, after a little 
 hesitation, held up to the dying man the bible ; 
 and spoke of the consolation of its doctrine.
 
 212 Suffering Millions. 
 
 "Ah! yes," said the poor man, "my life has 
 been a hard one. I've ploughed the waves of 
 both ocean and sea, and hugged the shore and 
 embarked and prepared for storm. I have seen 
 the whitecaps roll mountains high. I have felt 
 ground swells and got through alright, but one 
 great thing 1 have neglected. Ah, yes, I have 
 hardly known of such a book all my life, and my 
 associates have been so rough. But once while 
 sick of a fever in a hospital away off the coast of 
 South America, did a noble Christian missionary 
 woman give me the blessed bible to read. I there 
 found out it was a good book, yes, the book of 
 books. But you see my early instruction, my 
 wicked associates, my dissipated habits, I could 
 not forget. Oh those missionary women, may 
 God bless their work; they are good and noble 
 women. Before I saw them I had lost confidenc e 
 in woman kind. You see the women that flocked 
 around the wharfs where we landed were women 
 of the lowest character. But, oh, those good no- 
 ble women. If I had only heeded their advice. 
 But now it is too late ; too late." As the poor 
 man's feeble voice died away, I took notice of the 
 dark and dismal surroundings. There sat Jane, 
 hair uncombed, dress untidy. The house was 
 dirty and very illy kept. It seemed as if demons 
 were in the room. 
 
 The next night the poor man died. There 
 seemed to be no other way, but that I should re-
 
 Suffering Millions. 
 
 main alone with Jane on the day the poor man 
 lay a corpse in the house. 
 
 " Well," said Jane, " I am glad he is dead. Now 
 perhaps I can have some comfort." 
 
 " Why, Jane," said I, " what are you talking 
 about ? " 
 
 " Well," said she, " I am talking about just what 
 I mean. I am glad he is dead." 
 
 " Well, Jane, will you marry the next man who 
 comes along?" 
 
 " I shall do as I like about that," said Jane.
 
 214 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV, 
 
 It had been some fifteen or sixteen years 
 since the school house I have before spoken of 
 was built, and that had ever since been used 
 as a house for the worship of God. Now that the 
 country had become more improved, and things 
 had become more modern, it was thought best to 
 build a church. There were a few faithful chris- 
 tians that had stood together through many dark 
 days of trial and persecution. But nevertheless, 
 they stood heart and hand together, and said we 
 must have a church where we can worship God 
 together, where none can molest or make afraid. 
 
 Therefore they appointed a time to meet, and 
 talk the matter over, and appoint trustees. Ward 
 Montroville who was among the leading members 
 of the church, now came forth, as he always did 
 in any good enterprise, and said, " Yes, we must 
 have a church. I will stand an equal amount with 
 any of our brethren." As Ward was the young-, 
 est of the society his remarks pleased the oldest 
 and one of the most wealthy of the members. " I 
 too," said he, " will stand an equal share." 
 
 " I will do the same," said another. "And I," 
 said another. At the meeting all of the necessary 
 arrangements were made for building the church.
 
 Suffering Millions, 215 
 
 " Well," said May's husband to her after the 
 meeting, where do you think they want to locate 
 the church ?" 
 
 " I suppose they have chosen our place, as it is 
 about the center of the neighborhood, and near 
 the school house." 
 
 "Yes," said he, "they would like to build it on 
 the corner east of our house, near the cross roads." 
 
 " That would be a very pretty place," said May, 
 " but I very much fear it would make trouble. 
 You know our neighbors who live just across the 
 road, one on one corner and the other on the other 
 corner, do not belong to a church. I very much 
 fear they will object." 
 
 " Yes," said LaMarr, " they do. As I was com- 
 ing home, I met Milton, and never once thought 
 but what he would be glad to have the church 
 there, and I told him about it. I saw he did not 
 like it. He said if we did, he would build a danc- 
 ing hall on the other corner." 
 
 " Just as I expected," said May. 
 
 " Well," said I, as I happened to be at May's 
 house, "you have a right to build the church 
 where you like." 
 
 "But," said May, "we would not like to cause 
 hard feelings about it. You know, in Job's time, 
 there was a day when the sons of God came to 
 present themselves before the Lord, and Satan 
 came also among them, Job chap. 1 v. 6. I sup- 
 pose now he has begun his work, you know he
 
 216 Suffering Millions. 
 
 always does just as soon as he thinks there is a 
 chance for some good to be accomplished." 
 
 And sure enough he went around from heart to 
 heart, and stirred up the people. Some said, that 
 is the right place for the church, others said, " No, 
 we will not have it there." One of the leading 
 members said, " If we cannot locate the church 
 near the corners, where it should be, I shall not 
 give one cent towards it." After Satan had done 
 all in his power to agitate the minds of the people, 
 causing much trouble and dissatisfaction, some- 
 one said, we will appoint a committee to whom 
 we will leave the matter of locating the place for 
 the church, then we must be willing to abide by 
 their decision. 
 
 Said one of the leading members of the com- 
 mittee, u I thought I would come early so we 
 could talk over the matter of the location of the 
 churoh. I am very much in favor of having it 
 near the cross-road, what do you think?" said he, 
 addressing May. 
 
 " Well," said she, u I, too, think that a pretty 
 place, but you know it would cause trouble. There 
 is a very pretty and sightly location west of the 
 house, why not have it there?" 
 
 u We can never bear the idea," said he, " of 
 having it in any place but the one first spoken of." 
 
 "Then," said May, "let us commit it to the 
 Lord. ' Commit thy ways unto the Lord, and He 
 will direct thy path.' "
 
 Suffering Millions. 217 
 
 " I will go up and look at this place you speak 
 of and see about it." In a short time he returned, 
 his face all aglow. Said he, "The moment 1 
 stepped on the ground something seemed to 
 impress me that it was the proper place for the 
 church." The committee were not long in decid- 
 ing the matter, and the church was there located. 
 Nevertheless there were a few persons who had 
 never intended to give one cent, said, " If you had 
 built the church at the corners we would have 
 given you one or two hundred dollars." And yet 
 to-day there stands a beautiful brick church on 
 this sightly location, while the poor man who said 
 he would build the dancing hall sleeps in the 
 silent grave. The Lord's ways are above our ways 
 and his thoughts are above our thoughts. 
 
 October has come and among the forests flame 
 out the scarlet branches of the maple, and the 
 beech groves are arrayed in gold, through which 
 the sunlight streams in subdued richness, swathing 
 in purple mists the rainbow brightness of the for- 
 ests, blending their colors into wondrous harmonies 
 of splendor. 
 
 " Well," said one of the trustees, " after so many 
 days of toil and anxiety the church is at last com- 
 pleted. When shall we have it dedicated ?" 
 
 Ward Montroville replied, " We are having such 
 fine autumn weather, I think the sooner the 
 better." 
 
 " Well, then," said he, " we will have it dedi- 
 cated on next Thursday, if that time suits."
 
 218 Suffering Millions. 
 
 " I think the time very appropriate," said Mr. 
 D . "We will have to make our arrange- 
 ments, but I think we can get ready by that time. 
 Brother T will preach the dedicatory ser- 
 mon." 
 
 Said another of the trustees, " May the blessing 
 of the Lord still continue with us." 
 
 In the morning on the day of the dedication of 
 the beautiful little church, Ward, May, and I went 
 into the edifice for the purpose of making some 
 necessary arrangements for beautifying it with 
 bouquets of flowers. It was one of those lovely 
 days about the middle of autumn, that seems to 
 fill the soul with awe and reverence. Ward had 
 arisen with the morning sun and went forth to 
 meditate. He had labored hard to accomplish the 
 great task of building this house for the worship 
 of God. Many times when discouragements would 
 arise, he felt, like Peter of old, to cry out, k 'Save, 
 Lord, or we perish," but this morning he came in 
 with his mind softened and glowing. The trance- 
 like calm of earth found a solemn answer within 
 him. His language was, " Bless the Lord, O my 
 soul. O, Lord, my God, thou art very great; thou 
 art clothed with honor and majesty ; who cover- 
 est thyself with light as with a garment; who 
 layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters ; 
 who maketh the clouds his chariots ; who walketh 
 upon the wings of the wind. The trees of the 
 Lord are full of sap; the cedars of Lebanon,
 
 Suffering Millions. 219 
 
 which he hath planted, where the birds make their 
 nests; as for the stork, the fir trees are her house. 
 O Lord, how manifold are thy works ! in wisdom 
 hast thou made them all." 
 
 " I have longed to see this day, the day on which 
 we dedicate this house to the Lord." 
 
 " Yes," said I, "and now it seems that all things 
 are ready. I am so glad it is such a beautiful 
 day." May was just arranging a bouquet of dahl- 
 ias, fall ro'ses and some other flowers, when in 
 walked Lulu. Her form seemed slight and frail ; 
 her cheeks were tinted with the rose ; her appear- 
 ance one might fancy was like unto a fairy or a 
 sylph. She glided up the aisle and took her seat 
 at the organ and unexpectedly to us her angelic, 
 childlike voice floated through the room. She 
 sang the grand old doxology : 
 
 Praise God from whom all blessings flow, 
 Praise him, all creatures here below ; 
 Praise him above, ye heavenly hosts, 
 Praise father, son, and holy ghost. 
 
 As the echo of her voice resounded in the room 
 and then died away, my soul caught the fire, a 
 new baptism of love inspired my heart. Ward 
 clasped his hands, and looked away to the fount 
 from which all blessings flow. He fairly shouted 
 glory ! The very walls seemed to shout the praises 
 of God. It was a grand, sublime moment. I now 
 look to that morning, although many years have 
 passed since then, as one of the bright spots in my
 
 220 Suffering Millions. 
 
 life. The Rev. T , LL. D., preached from 
 
 Hebrew 6 : 5. Subject, " The power of the world 
 to come," and gave a very able address. Lulu 
 Montroville presided at the organ. The singing 
 was subdued and pleasant. The brethren and sis- 
 ters were very attentive to each other. I felt glad 
 that they were so well situated. I consider their 
 house of worship a perfect little gem of beauty. 
 
 " Together let us sweetly live, 
 
 Together let us die ; 
 And each a starry crown receive, 
 And reign above the sky.
 
 Suffering Millions. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XXV, 
 
 May and her husband went to a western city to 
 visit LeMarr's folks. They had a delightful time. 
 It was somewhat of a manufacturing town and in it 
 there were large stone quarries. These interested 
 May as she had never before seen any. After 
 spending a number of days taking in many fine 
 sights, viewing the beautiful prairies, they re- 
 turned to Chicago. Here they visited the exposi- 
 tion, the fair, and many other things of note. 
 While in the city they had their photographs 
 taken. As May's husband was to remain in the 
 city some weeks, they bade each other good-bye, 
 May returning home to see how Lulu and the 
 affairs at home were getting along. Lulu had 
 taken the very best kind of care of things at home, 
 having the house neat and tidy. I thought as May 
 and Lulu were alone I would stay with them a part 
 of the time. One day May said to Lulu, " as to- 
 day is the fair in town, we will go. It may be that 
 our pictures have come. I hope they have, for I 
 want to see if they are good. We will get the 
 horse and buggy and start at once. 
 
 As soon as we arrived in town, May said, " come, 
 we will go to the postoffice." We all went in and 
 May received the pictures and a letter from her
 
 222 Suffering Millions. 
 
 husband. We were all delighted with the pictures, 
 especially Mr. LeMarr's, which was very fine. As 
 we were passing out of the door, a man stepped 
 up to May and asked : u Were you not Miss Mon- 
 troville?" "That was my maiden name," said 
 May. She then looked at the man and recognized 
 William Bryant, the one who had caused her so 
 much trouble when only a girl of seventeen. She 
 now looked with disdain upon him. A man who 
 would forsake the girl he truly loved to marry one 
 who was wealthy. The love she once bore for him 
 had now changed into hatred. " I hear you had 
 the misfortune to lose your wife," said May. 
 '' Yes," said Bryant. " You look to me," said he, 
 " as you did many years ago." 
 
 " Do I ?" said May. "You are so changed I would 
 not have recognized you if you had not spoken to 
 me." 
 
 " I have met J T OU before," said the man, " but as 
 you did not know me I did not make myself 
 known." 
 
 " How old you look and how changed you are," 
 said May. 
 
 " I have had much sorrow. My wife's health 
 has always been poor, she lingered with consump- 
 tion for months and months." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear that you have had so much 
 trouble." But I could see by the flash of May's 
 dark eyes that it was hard to keep her fiery souths 
 ern disposition down. She could not help looking
 
 Suffering Millions. 223 
 
 with contempt upon a man who had made gold his 
 idol. James, 5 chap., 3 v.: u Your gold and silver 
 is cankered ; and the rust of them shall be a wit- 
 ness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were 
 fire." 
 
 " 1 have a pleasant home and a kind husband," 
 said May." Just then May happened to think of 
 her husband's picture that she had just received. 
 " Oh yes ! " said she, " here is my husband's pic- 
 ture, you might like to see it." 
 
 I saw by the haggard look of the man that he 
 could hardly bear to look at it, as May's husband 
 was a better looking man now than he. I also 
 read in his looks that he saw now his mistake in 
 marrying a woman much older than himself, and 
 a woman he never loved, simply because she had 
 wealth. May had retained her looks, though never 
 very handsome when a girl. If anything she made 
 a better looking woman than a girl. William Bry- 
 ant presented indeed a sad, pitiful and unhappy 
 appearance, a wreck of humanity. May seemed 
 anxious to leave his presence, we therefore passed 
 down the street leaving him to his own sad reflec- 
 tions. 
 
 " Why ! Aunt May, how could you treat that 
 poor man so ? I felt sorry for him. I never saw 
 you treat any one so coldly before," said Lulu. 
 
 " Never mind, Lulu, perhaps I had a reason for 
 treating him as I did." As soon as I recognized 
 his name the memory of the past came back to
 
 224 Suffering Millions. 
 
 me. I well remembered when May was only a 
 young girl and this man had sought and won her 
 heart; and she, little dreaming of the sorrow and 
 pain he would cause her, had placed her entire 
 affections upon him. tie had sought her company 
 in halls of mirth and in quiet walks amid shady 
 groves. He had feasted upon her society, keeping 
 her from the company of others who no doubt 
 would have been true to her, and then because she 
 had not wealth, leaving her for another simply 
 because this other one had gold. " You have for- 
 gotten all the love you ever had for this man," 
 said I. 
 
 " Yes," replied May, " 1 only feel contempt for 
 him. I do not possess sufficient charity to respect 
 a person of so little principle. I well remember 
 when I took his picture, after I had heard that he 
 had married another, took a last farewell look and 
 cast it into the fire. With it I cast the love I felt 
 for him. I came near also casting my confidence 
 in humanity, and also came near losing my faith 
 in God. Oh ! I was so impulsive, I could hardly 
 recover from the shock it gave me. I said to my- 
 self I am too noble to keep a married man's pic- 
 ture in my possession, but you remember it nearly 
 took my life." 
 
 " Yes, I do, and when you were showing him 
 your husband's picture 1 could not help thinking 
 of it, and also I thought that after all, your path- 
 way had been less strewn with thorns than his.
 
 Suffering Millions. 225 
 
 'All things work together for good to them that 
 serve the Lord.' " 
 
 " That is so. I have often heard from him but I 
 always heard that he was surrounded by sorrow. 
 His wife's money did not do him much good after 
 all. No wonder he looks so old and haggard. How 
 time passes! It has been seventeen years since I 
 became acquainted with him. I was then just 
 seventeen. I now am thirty-four." 
 
 " Now May, don't you see God's plans are true ? 
 When you cast his picture into the fire, noble girl 
 that you were, too brave, too noble to keep in your 
 possession the picture of a man you then had no 
 right to idolize, although ic nearly took your life, 
 you were then so sad and lonely. But to-day, after 
 the flight of many, many years, you meet him 
 again. You now are happy, while he is sad ; you 
 have a pleasant home, surrounded by warm 
 friends, while his home is dismal and lonely. No 
 doubt if you had kept his memory in your heart, 
 and mourned over it, it would not have been as 
 well for you. You did the very best you could to 
 forget the past, although such things are not as 
 easily forgotten as one might think. But it is al- 
 ways best to look on the bright side'." 
 
 " Well," said May, "I can not complain. I am 
 now very glad that he preferred gold instead of me ; 
 have I not a right to be ?" 
 
 Lulu, after completing the district school, spent 
 some time at one of the leading colleges of the
 
 226 Suffering Millions. 
 
 State, and then began teaching school. The first 
 three or four terms of school she taught in her 
 own district where she had been accustomed to go 
 to school. " I think, May, you should be very glad 
 indeed of your success in helping Lulu to get an 
 education." 
 
 " Y~es, indeed I am. Lulu has improved her 
 time in the best possible way she could." 
 
 " I do believe you have done all in your power 
 to help Lulu." 
 
 " Well, yes, I have done what I could, but had 
 we been better able to afford it, I might have done 
 more. Sometimes the way seemed very dark, I 
 have so felt my inability to instruct her as I should. 
 You know humanity is weak, no doubt often I 
 have set wrong examples before her, yet it has 
 been my prayer to God that she might be a good 
 and pure woman."
 
 Suffering Millions. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI, 
 
 Lulu did remarkably well as instructor of the 
 young, being only as you might say a scholar her- 
 self, teaching the very scholars she had been 
 accustomed to study and play with. Yet her 
 noble and commanding way demanded their re- 
 spect. They all loved the brave girl. She did so 
 well, and the scholars made such advancement 
 that she soon gained a reputation of being one of 
 the finest instructors in the whole country where 
 she lived. The officers of the village high school, 
 seeing and hearing so much said of her, as one of 
 the best teachers as well as one of the most noble 
 and pure girls in the entire country, engaged her 
 services and placed her as an instructor in the 
 high school as preceptress. In the high school 
 there were fourteen departments. The teacher 
 in one of the departments under her was the 
 daughter of a merchant, the other of a clergyman ; 
 both were girls much older than she, who had 
 been raised with a father and mother's tender 
 love. I fairly trembled for Lulu to be placed in 
 such an important position, but the noble girl 
 stepped into the place with the grace of a queen. 
 The first day of the school the officers met, no 
 doubt anxious to see how this young girl would
 
 228 Suffering Millions. 
 
 face her situation. They did indeed feel proud, 
 noble men, as they were, to see how well and 
 nobly she performed her task. They looked into 
 her handsome, girlish face and saw within those 
 expressive eyes a gem of earth, pure, and sweet, 
 yet noble and commanding, and as Dickens ex- 
 presses it: "Her love was the law of the school." 
 She succeeded beyond all expectation, and so 
 gracefully, so bravely did her work that everyone 
 rejoiced. But as the evil one always has to do his 
 work, this was too much for him to stand, so as 
 cunningly as he beguiled Eve in the garden of 
 Eden, he now began his work. Lulu ? s success 
 .aroused the jealousy of the lower classes of the 
 community. There dwelt in the neighborhood a 
 family having two sons. Both of these young 
 men had tried to gain Lulu's affections. This of 
 course she could not allow, as neither were men- 
 tally her equal. They then contrived, as they 
 thought, a plan to bring her to ruin and disgrace. 
 They well knew that Lulu's mother was a poor, 
 weak and dissipated, fallen woman. They there- 
 fore went to her mother and said: "Why do you 
 not go and show those high toned village people 
 that they are holding a young lady in a position 
 who will see her mother suffer? You apply to the 
 overseer of the poor for help, and show those 
 people what kind of a daughter you have." 
 
 Now poor Jane, too ignorant to understand their 
 vile intention, went to the village, became intoxi-
 
 Suffering Millions. 229 
 
 cated, went up and down the streets into dry 
 goods stores, hotels, and other places of business, 
 and proclaimed: "My daughter Lulu, who is 
 teaching in your high school, will not take care of 
 me, and I am suffering." Lulu's mother was a 
 small and very inferior looking person, and with 
 her as with all persons that gradually sink into 
 dissipation, she presented a wild and vacant 
 stare, and was a person who by her looks would at 
 once gain the sympathy of those who did not know 
 her. She also went to the overseer of the poor and 
 said : ' I came to see if you will not help me, as I 
 am suffering. My daughter Lulu Montroville is 
 teaching in your high school, but she will not help 
 me." Now the gentleman did not understand the 
 position, and said, "I am astonished. Can this be 
 possible ? Is she such a girl as that, who would 
 let her mother suffer?" and with emphasis, 
 stamping his foot on the floor, " I will see about 
 this ; if she is such a young lady as this, I will see 
 about it. You say you are suffering and she will 
 not help you ? " 
 
 " No she won't," said her mother. " She dresses 
 and sticks everything on her own back, and that 
 is all she cares for me." 
 
 .Poor Jane did not understand that she was de- 
 stroying her own pure girl's name; a girl who was 
 as free from guile as ever a girl was in this world, 
 and one who could no more help being her child 
 than she could have helped being the child born
 
 230 Suffering Millions. 
 
 to a king. Nor had Jane in any way been a help 
 to her own sweet girl; only bringing her into this 
 world, and then possessing no faculty to take care 
 of her, but cast her out upon the mercy of a cold 
 and sinful world. 
 
 This news swept like wild fire over the town. 
 " Can it be possible our young teacher is letting 
 her mother suffer ? " Both the high and the low 
 were astonished. As Lulu would pass up and 
 down the street on her way to her school, and back 
 to her boarding place, she would be pointed out as 
 the girl who was letting her mother suffer. A low 
 fellow, standing with hands in his pockets, pipe in 
 his mouth, and hat on one side of his head, said as 
 Lulu was passing : " There she goes ; the gal that 
 is lettirtg her old marm that worked hard to raise 
 her, suffer. She ought to be ashamed of herself. I 
 know she has a purty face, and is plump and well 
 formed, but I never heard of such a disgrace be- 
 fore." 
 
 " You ! " said a gentleman standing near, " had 
 better be ashamed of yourself for allowing your 
 vile lips to take such a pure girl's name as this 
 young lady's is, upon them. What have you done 
 for your poor mother ? " 
 
 Lulu had not yet learned what her mother had 
 done, and, as it was the fir^t week of her school. 
 She was very busy in getting it in good running 
 order. A friend of hers, hearing about what her 
 mother had done, thought it best for Lulu to un-
 
 Suffering Millions. 231 
 
 derstand what she had to face. This friend there- 
 fore in the best manner she could, took Lulu alone 
 and said, "Lulu, I have something I want to tell 
 you. I know it is very hard for you to bear, but 
 nevertheless, you will have to bear the disgrace." 
 Then her friend went on and told her what her 
 mother had done. 
 
 "How did she take it?" I asked Lulu's friend. 
 
 " Oh ! the dear girl's pure, sweet face looked 
 like the face of an angel, and tears streamed over 
 her pure blanched cheeks. "What am I to do? " 
 said she. "Will I have to give up my school ? 
 How can I face my scholars? What will they 
 think of their teacher to let her mother suffer ? 
 Oh, dear, dear! What will I do? I have tried in 
 every way to do all possible for my mother. 
 What a sad thing it is. You know she is not to 
 blame, poor woman. My uncle, whom I lived with 
 in the west, said when she was young that she was 
 one of the brightest little girls he ever knew, but 
 it is dissipation that has made her so. Oh, dear 
 me ! I have never known a mother's love." 
 
 "I know you have not, dear girl, but never 
 mind, dear Lulu, in the sweet by and by you will 
 know why you have had to suffer this great afflic- 
 tion. Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot 
 heal." 
 
 " How, oh, how can I face the world's cold 
 frown ? " 
 
 I looked upon the poor girl's frail form, tremb-
 
 232 Suffering Millions. 
 
 ling with grief, but could not tell why a girl so 
 young, so pure, so gentle, should have such sor- 
 row. I said to myself, " Thy ways are hard to un- 
 derstand, but Thy paths are peace." 
 
 The lower classes seemed to take up the news 
 and hurl it to the breeze, but the better classes, 
 the people of mind and intelligence weighed the 
 matter and found out how the thing stood. Lulu 
 was upheld. The noble Christian people would 
 not see a young, frail, and helpless girl crushed by 
 willful slanderers. Hard enough said they it is for 
 this dear girl to bear the sorrow of having such a 
 mother, without having to stand such falsehoods 
 as evil and willful people circulate. " The words of 
 a tale-bearer are as wounds, and they go down into 
 the innermost parts of the body." u He that an- 
 swereth a matter before he heareth it, it is folly 
 and shame unto him." " Death and life are in the 
 power of the tongue, and they that love it shall 
 eat the fruit thereof." Although some seemed 
 to love to dwell upon the strain, " our young 
 teacher is letting her mother suffer," but the same 
 as ever, u resist the devil and he will flee from 
 you." 
 
 Lulu, brave and noble girl, met the trials thrown 
 around her pathway. Hearing of her trials, I 
 thought I would visit her at her school. I there- 
 fore called at the village and went to the school 
 house and found it a large brick edifice. I knocked 
 at the door, and Lulu met me in a graceful and
 
 Suffering Millions. 233 
 
 ladylike manner. She offered me a chair upon the 
 rostrum, but some way I preferred a seat back 
 among the scholars. I at once was well pleased 
 with the way she conducted her school. Every- 
 thing was in order. Wreaths of lovely flowers, 
 plucked with her own hands, adorned the room. 
 A motto, "God bless our school," surrounded by a 
 wreath of clustered grapes and thorns, bleeding- 
 harts, and pansies, painted with artistic taste, 
 were there to please the eye. She, as ever where 
 else, made sunshine there. I had not been in the 
 room long before there was another rap at the 
 door. Lulu stopped and opened the door. A fine 
 looking young man entered, whom I recognized as 
 the principal of the institution, having before met 
 him. He was a noble, intelligent young man. 
 He took his seat upon the rostrum, and as I sat 
 opposite him, I read his fine features. Lulu glided 
 around the room with seraphic grace, her musical 
 voice swept with cadence through the room. The 
 look of an angel was on her face, and the room 
 seemed to be a hallowed place. She heard one 
 class after another and the scholars seemed to un- 
 derstand well their lessons. The young man's eyes 
 followed Lulu about the room, and his noble face 
 lighted up with wild admiration. I then read in 
 his countenance, words his lips dare not utter. 
 Why should he utter those words ? He the son of 
 
 Hon , who at that time was running for 
 
 Governor of the state. He who had been cradled
 
 234 Suffering Millions. 
 
 in the lap of luxury, and a graduate of one of the 
 leading colleges of the state. She, the daughter 
 of sorrow, dissipation and misery ; she, whose face 
 had oft been wet with tears she could not repress ; 
 she, who had tried to raise a fallen mother from 
 the dust, and had spent her wages to take care of 
 that poor, dissipated mother, who had lost the 
 faculty of appreciating what was done for her. 
 " Oast thy bread upon the waters and thou shalt 
 find it after many days." " Though I walk through 
 the valley and shadow of death, I will fear no evil, 
 for Thou art with me ; Thy rod and Thy staff, they 
 shall comfort me." As the young man took his 
 leave, his remarks were words of commendation, 
 in regard to the school. "Well, Lulu," said I, 
 " you have a fine school, and it does me much 
 good to see how well you are getting along." 
 
 " Yes," said Lulu, " I have much to be thankful 
 for." 
 
 " 1 guess," said I to myself, " I will go and make 
 May a visit, for I expect it nearly killed her when 
 she heard what Jane had done." Upon arriving 
 there I said to May, u how are you getting along?" 
 
 " I am well ; but have you heard how Jane has 
 been doing ?" 
 
 At this she broke down weeping, so I really was 
 afraid her mind might be effected. 
 
 " Never mind, May," said I, " no doubt all will 
 come out right yet."
 
 Suffering Millions. 235 
 
 "But how can dear, darling Lulu stand it to 
 have this great disgrace thrown upon her? Just 
 think of that poor girl with that large school on 
 her hands, and now to face such disgrace !" 
 
 "Well," said I, "it may not hurt her as bad as 
 you think it will." 
 
 " Yes it will," said May. " We have tried to do 
 everything for Jane that we were able to do, but 
 the more we do for her, the more she expects us 
 to do. You know many of the people in the vil- 
 lage know nothing about her. We cannot blame 
 them for thinking very strangely about it. She 
 has plenty to do with, besides if she would go to 
 work and stop gadding the streets and talking 
 about her children she would do much better. I 
 have had so much trouble with her that I have 
 often wished I could die." 
 
 " You are discouraged," said I. 
 
 " Well, have I not had enough trouble to dis- 
 courage any one? I have worked hard to raise 
 Lulu, often denying myself of clothing in order to 
 provide for her, and now just in the most impor- 
 tant time of her life to think her own mother 
 would try to do everything she can against the 
 lovely girl." 
 
 " Well it is a shame. Of course she does it just 
 for spite. She is not very responsible, yet she 
 does know enough to have all of the old tramps 
 she can get running after her. Yes, May, it is too 
 bad. Your folks have had the worst time with
 
 236 Suffering Millions. 
 
 that woman of any people I ever knew. If you 
 don't reap your reward in heaven, then I can't 
 understand it, for surely you never can on earth." 
 
 " I often think I never would take a child that 
 has one living relative again, but what would be- 
 come of all of the poor little orphan children that 
 have low relatives if everybody would do in that 
 way ? I had to take darling Lulu or the dear girl 
 would have been in her grave, as little Willie is." 
 
 " Well." said I, " no doubt she would, but we 
 must try and love those who despitefully use us." 
 
 " I do not care what Jane says about me, but to 
 try and disgrace her own lovely daughter, now, as 
 she has just been placed in such a responsible 
 position, is more than I am able to stand. The 
 other day, as I was passing down the street in 
 T , (this was the place where Lulu was teach- 
 ing school), Mr. B , the overseer of the poor, 
 
 stopped me and inquired if it could be possible 
 that Miss Montroville's mother was suffering ? I 
 became so much excited I did not know what to 
 say. I knew Jane had plenty and we had told her 
 if she needed anything to come to us and we would 
 get it for her." 
 
 "Oh, well," said I, "it is just one of her tricks. 
 You and her kind brother might gfve her every 
 cent you both have, and she would be the same 
 careless person she now is ; there is no use of 
 caring anything about it, but I realize because of 
 your high-strung organization and sensitive nerves
 
 Suffering Millions. 237 
 
 it is almost impossible for you to stand it, and on 
 account of your great love for Lulu who is dearer 
 to you, I do believe, than your own life." 
 
 " Yes, she is. I have done just as much for her 
 as I could had she been my own child ; besides I 
 have been blamed sometimes because I loved her 
 too much, and other times because I loved her too 
 little. I have been found fault with thousands of 
 times by Jane and her husband. I have been 
 talked about by others because I did not do more 
 for all of them; but all this I can stand. But oh, 
 to think of that lovely girl having to bear all of 
 the gossip that evil persons may cast upon her." 
 
 " It is bad enough," said I, u for a girl to have 
 such a mother, but May, you must try and be 
 quiet. It is bad enough, I know, but you can't 
 stand it to worry about it as you do. Try and 
 look to the One that doeth all things well."
 
 238 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII, 
 
 I happened to be at one of the societies in the 
 town where Lulu Montroville was teaching. The 
 society was of a benevolent nature, and for the 
 promotion of good. Not long after we were gath- 
 ered, and had begun our mission of doing good, a 
 Mrs. Hall said, "Oh! have you heard the news ?" 
 
 "News! what news?' 1 came from a number of 
 women. 
 
 "Why, have you not heard it? It's all over 
 town about our teacher letting her mother suffer 
 for food and clothing." 
 
 " Yes, I should think we had heard it," said Mrs. 
 Swarts, " and I gist think ef I was in that teacher's 
 place I'd take off some of that finery. Did you 
 see her dress the one that she had on last week ? 
 It was a nice black one. I s'pose, but I dunno, ef 
 I railly had a girl that would treat me as she does 
 her mother, I, wal, I railly dunno what I would 
 do." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Church, " you have been a 
 different mother to your daughter than Miss Mon- 
 troville's mother has been to her." 
 
 "1 don't care ef I have. She is her mother, and 
 a mother is a mother," said Mrs. Swarts.
 
 Suffering Millions. 239 
 
 " Yes, but you know circumstances make a dif- 
 ference, some times." 
 
 " I don't care for circumstances. I gist think it 
 is a shame and a disgrace to our town, to allow 
 sich a thing. I am gist goin' to see the school 
 board. We pay the biggest tax of anybody, and 
 I'll give 'em fits about it." 
 
 "In some way I feel very sorry," said Mrs. 
 Church, "for this young lady. She is such an 
 innocent, and lady-like appearing girl." 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Swarts, " you're always feelin' 
 sorry for some one. That is one of your weak 
 points." 
 
 "Well,'' said Mrs. Church, "our teacher is very 
 young, much the youngest of any of the teachers 
 in the school." 
 
 " Yes, and that shows what sense the school 
 board had to put such a young thing in that 
 important place," chimed in Mrs. Swarts. 
 
 " She is getting along very nicely with her 
 school, is she not?" 
 
 " Oh, 1 guess she is," replied Mrs. Swarts, " but 
 just to think of her lettin' her mother suffer. I 
 met her as I was comin' but I did not speak to her. 
 I am above speakin' to sich a girl." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Clinton, as she raised her 
 gold-bowed spectacles to wipe away a tear that 
 glistened in her eye, " ladies, 1 see you're unac- 
 quainted with the embarrassments that your young 
 teacher has to encounter. I have known her from
 
 240 Suffering Millions. 
 
 her babyhood. I know her to be a pure, noble, 
 lovable young lady. Although she has one awful 
 trial to bear. Her mother is a person of very 
 peculiar character. Not what you might call fool- 
 ish or crazy. If this were the case then her 
 friends could do something with her, but she is 
 one of those half-witted, silly women, who has no 
 love for her home or children, that no one can do 
 anything with." 
 
 At this, chimed in Mrs. Jones, a woman who was 
 somewhat envious of Lulu, and a woman who very 
 much desired to have the young professor admire 
 her daughter, whom she knew to be his equal in 
 family relation, " It is very strange, indeed, if this 
 girl will neglect her own mother. I think a per- 
 son who would do such a thing as that is not fit to 
 be recognized. What do you think ?" 
 
 u Well," said Mrs. Clinton, " if such were the 
 case then I should think just as you do, but I 
 know it to be false. This dear, sweet young lady, 
 when only a little, helpless and worse than orphan 
 child, at the death of her father, whom I knew to 
 be a nice, intellectual, young man, was cast out 
 upon a cold world. Her mother neither possessed 
 the love nor the ability to take care of her 
 children, caring more to squander what money she 
 had upon any low tramp that happened to come 
 along." 
 
 "Oh, well," said Mrs. Jones, " she is her mother 
 just the same."
 
 Suffering Millions. 241 
 
 "This I will admit is true," said Mrs. Clinton, 
 " but the dear girl never knew a mother's tender 
 love. If I were no more of a mother to my own 
 dear girl than she has been to hers, I would spurn 
 the very idea of being called by that saintly name. 
 The tears have often streamed down this poor 
 girl's pale cheek as she became acquainted with 
 the manner in which her mother was conducting 
 herself. Now, why, I pray, should this young lady 
 be crushed for something she cannot help ?" 
 
 Fortunately there happened to be a writer of 
 world-wide celebrity present, who was a tem- 
 porary visitor at the place, and considered a great 
 genius, who in answer to Mrs. Clinton's question 
 said: ''Ladies, as I for a number of years have 
 had a good opportunity of seeing much of the 
 world, I have given the subject of the duty of 
 parents to their children much thought. I suppose 
 in your rural towns, where you know but little of 
 sin and vice, the name mother is the sweetest and 
 purest name of earth. I, too, think that name 
 should be honored and adored next to that of the 
 blessed Savior, yet this question has two sides to 
 it. Go with me, if you please, to England, France 
 or China, or many more of the country's of the 
 old world, go into their large cities, or even not 
 so far away; go, if you will, to the metropolis of 
 our own beloved United States, and there I will 
 show you women who bear this saintly title, 
 mother, reeling intoxicated, while little children 
 16
 
 242 Suffering Millions. 
 
 cling to them crying for bread. Or go, if you 
 please, to the hovels of hell, where the Mother of 
 Harlots and the abominations of the earth dwell. 
 There you will see that this holy name of mother 
 is sometimes not just what it should be. And ye 
 parents provoke not your children to wrath ; but 
 bring them up in the fear, nurture and admonition 
 of the Lord." 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Jones, becoming somewhat 
 excited, U I think you're treading on forbidden 
 ground." 
 
 " Well," said this distinguished guest, " I can 
 not help it if I am. I make no statement but what 
 I can prove." 
 
 " You know," said Mrs. Jones, " the bible says : 
 ' Honor thy father and thy mother, that thy days 
 may be long upon the earth." 
 
 " I know so much has been said upon the duty 
 of children to parents that the other side of the 
 matter the duty of parents to children has been 
 little noticed; but now, when all social questions 
 are receiving attention, this must soon attract 
 more discussion. I," said the distinguished guest, 
 " should like to hear the lady who said she had 
 been acquainted with your teacher, give a little 
 history of the young lady's mother." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Clinton, ''as I said before, I 
 have known her from her babyhood, and had it 
 cot been for her grandma, while she was living, 
 and since that time for her aunt, I am quite sure
 
 Suffering Millions. 243 
 
 the dear girl would have long ago been in her 
 grave. She has ever been a frail child. Her aunt 
 has done everything she could to educate and pre- 
 pare her for society and to make her a blessing to 
 the world. She is one of the most lovable girls I 
 ever knew. Her mother is just the reverse." 
 
 "It is imperative," said the author, "that chil- 
 dren be from infancy taught obedience and respect 
 to parents, but unless the life of that parent proves 
 a daily demonstration of truths taught, what good 
 the teaching? If a parent, while continually set- 
 ting forth the duty of parental respect, yet daily 
 performs acts of low and mean degree, how can 
 that child, by any possible stretch of will or im- 
 agination, feel the respect for that parent, de- 
 manded of him? and who feels wounded if he 
 finds himself not the recipient thereof? It is like 
 pretending that snow is black, when you know 
 it is white." 
 
 ' The union between Lulu's mother and father, 
 was a sad one," continued Mrs. Clinton. "It was 
 one of those imperfect ties that pass under the 
 name." 
 
 " Ah ! there it is, how many wretched abodes 
 there are because of such imperfect ties. But I do 
 truly thank God that there are marriages so 
 blessed, the choice so perfect, that the home is a 
 foretaste of eternity." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Mrs. Clinton, " there are, yet 
 I have often thought it a very merciful thing that
 
 244 Suffering Millions. 
 
 the marriages of earth, have no historic effect upon 
 the ties of heaven." 
 
 " Well," said the writer, " I firmly take the 
 ground, and am not afraid of successful contradic- 
 tion, that a parent owes it to a child that he or she 
 shall bring no disgrace upon that child. And his 
 duty in this respect is much more imperative than 
 is that of his child toward him because the parent 
 is the author of the child's life. It is their bounden 
 duty to see to it that their child's life be made just 
 as bright and desirable as possible ; that not only 
 food and shelter and raiment be supplied, that an 
 education and a fair start in life be guaranteed 
 (and every parent owes this to his child, else he 
 should never have been a parent) ; but also, that 
 there shall never creep into that young heart a 
 doubt of the parent's worth, or a lack of confidence, 
 or a shame for the source of his existence." 
 
 " I do firmly believe," said Mrs. Clinton, " that 
 your young teacher's mother, on account of her 
 knowing herself to be the mother of so pure a girl 
 as Lulu is, and possessing not one spark of true 
 motherly affection, does all in her power to dis- 
 grace her daughter. I have seen so many of her 
 disgraceful tricks. I stood by and saw the wretch- 
 edness which surrounded William, Lulu's father, 
 on every side, and said to myself that if it were 
 possible to utter the impulse of my soul, I would 
 cry throughout the breadth of earth a warning to 
 the haste, or the presumption of an unwise mar-
 
 Suffering Millions. 245 
 
 riage. I happened to be at his house during his 
 last sickness. Oh, if you could have seen the 
 wretchedness that surrounded him. It fairly 
 makes my heart bleed yet." 
 
 " I, too," said Mrs. Brown, " have known much of 
 Miss Montroville's mother. I have often seen her 
 meet her daughter in company and turn her head 
 just as far away as she could, so her daughter 
 could get no chance to speak to her, as she well 
 knew Lulu was too much of a lady to meet her 
 mother and be unwilling to speak to her, and 
 would afterwards remark to people, ' do you not 
 think a daughter should respect her mother ? but 
 Lulu is above speaking to me. She is so big feel- 
 ing and stuck up.' This statement, although 
 .strange, is nevertheless true." 
 
 "I, too," said Rev. Crawford, " think the subject 
 of training children of vital importance, and that 
 the responsibility of parents, of mothers especially, 
 is almost entirely ignored. You know," said he, u it 
 nearly ruins a young person's name to say that he 
 or she is disrespectful to their mother, because you 
 know Our Maker has conferred upon woman the 
 highest honor ever bestowed upon mortal, and as- 
 signed to her the holiest mission that belongs to 
 earth. Yet there is a great difference in mothers. 
 I do feel so very sorry for your young teacher, be- 
 cause I, too, know her to be a most worthy young 
 lady, and I very much fear low and malicious 
 people, on account of a weak and silly mother, will
 
 246 Suffering Millions. 
 
 try all they can to mar this pure and innocent 
 girl's name. You know, it is the mother's office to 
 watch over the unfolding intellect, and give bent 
 to the mind ; her hand moulds, and gives bent to 
 the character, and she may shape it as she will. 
 To her belongs the incomparable task of fitting 
 immortal souls for their work here, and their eter- 
 nal destiny hereafter. Yet there are mothers who 
 do not perform their God given work. A parent 
 who really deserves the respect of his children 
 will always receive it, even though darkened by the 
 child's evil deeds; for nature is strong, and filial 
 love is nature. But a parent whose whole life is a 
 round of evil deeds can not expect the respect of 
 his children." 
 
 U I do believe," said Mrs. Clinton, "that the- 
 world to day is worse and poorer in great and good 
 men, for the want of more such mothers as were 
 those of John Quincy Adams and John and Charles 
 Wesley, and although terrible denunciation has al- 
 ways attended the ungrateful child, yet I would 
 like to hear a little more said of the wrong acts 
 and faulty teachings of an unworthy parent. I be- 
 lieve that God will not excuse the former, and will 
 visit his wrath far heavier on the parent." 
 
 " Well my son," said Hon. A , as he placed 
 
 his spectacles above his forehead, " I think it high 
 time you were thinking about choosing a wife.
 
 Suffering Millions. 247 
 
 You now are old enough to have a home of your 
 own." 
 
 " Well,' 1 said the young man, whom we will 
 introduce as the principal of the village high 
 school,"! hardly know about it. I suppose the 
 most folks marry long before they are of my age. 
 But pshaw ! whom would I marry ? 
 
 " Well, my son, I have taken much pains with 
 your education, and it is my wish that you should 
 marry well. You know there is much in blood. 
 I prefer you should look well to whom your wife's 
 ancestors were." 
 
 " Well," said the young man, while a blush 
 over-spread his face, "I don't know as it makes 
 any difference whether my wife's grandfather, or 
 great grandfather was a judge of a supreme court 
 or a fiddler." 
 
 " Look here, my son," as a grave shadow passed 
 over his face, " you know* better than that. There 
 is every thing in blood. You know your mother 
 belonged to an old and aristocratic family. She, 
 as you know, has made a good wife and mother. 
 Now my son, I hope you will not bring disgrace 
 on our family." 
 
 " Well, father, I know you have been very kind 
 indeed ; now who would you have me marry ?" 
 
 " Well my son, there is Hannah S , my 
 
 dear old friend's daughter, and you know he is 
 worth his thousands." 
 
 "Oh father," said the young man, "you are not
 
 248 Suffering Millions. 
 
 so cruel as that, are you ? Why, she is as homely 
 as a hedge-hog, and I do not like her. I can surely 
 never think of that." 
 
 "My son," said the old man, stamping his foot 
 with emphasis on the floor, " you know not what 
 you are talking about. You well know her ances- 
 tors were of the first families of Boston. My 
 heart is set on this marriage. She admires you 
 and you must marry her or not ? cent of my 
 money shall you ever have. You know I have 
 spent many hundred dollars on your education." 
 
 " Well father, she is not educated, and you are 
 aware that she cares nothing about improvement 
 and culture." 
 
 " My son, it makes no difference about a woman 
 being educated, only so she can cook, iron, wash, 
 and mend your clothes; you surely know she 
 belongs to an old and wealthy family." 
 
 " What do I care about' her family. I think for 
 a marriage to prove a happy one minds should 
 blend together. How, I would ask, could a cul- 
 tured person be happy, married to a very ignorant 
 person ?" 
 
 " My son, has not blood anything to do with it ? 
 If your wife's ancestors are of an old and wealthy 
 family I shall be happy ; if not, I shall go to my 
 grave in sorrow. Now, my son, look well before 
 you leap. The first great, important step to con- 
 sider is good blood, and the next is money." 
 
 "Why father, how you talk! How perfectly
 
 Suffering Millions, 249 
 
 cruel !" At this the young man sprang to his feet 
 and began walking the floor as if in terrible 
 agony. 
 
 " My son," said the old man, " what on earth is 
 the matter with you ? You act as if you were 
 going crazy. I fear you have placed your affec- 
 tions on some poor girl of common birth. Oh, my 
 son, you whom 1 have idolized, to come to such a 
 fate as this! Rather would I see you laid in your 
 grave." 
 
 " Father, do not talk so. Is there any harm in 
 loving a pure, noble, intelligent girl, one who has 
 striven hard to make her life a success ?" 
 
 " My son, you must not address me thus. I said, 
 and now I say it again, you shall not bring dis- 
 grace upon our family. You shall look at the 
 ancestors of your wife. Now do not be foolish. 
 You know Hannah belongs to an old and respect- 
 able family." 
 
 At this remark of the old gentleman the young 
 man left the house looking sad and discouraged, 
 
 11 What a fool," muttered the old man, " a boy 
 can make of himself. Just let him talk to me 
 again of a pure, cultured girl !" 
 
 Dear Lulu, although loved by all who were not 
 envious of her, yet at the close of her school, 
 shrunk from the idea of again facing the gaze of 
 the gossiping town. "I cannot again," said she, 
 " think of teaching this school. You know there
 
 250 Suffering Millions. 
 
 are many who know nothing of the sorrow that 
 has always been my lot, on account of the peculi- 
 arities of my mother. Strange, strange indeed, to 
 those who have known a mother's tender care and 
 protection to see my mother going up and down 
 the streets reeling and intoxicated, talking about 
 me. Oh, for a mother's love, a love for some 
 cause withheld from me." 
 
 " God alone this secret can unfold, Lulu. In- 
 deed it has ever been a mystery to me, why you, 
 so young, so pure, so gentle, should know such 
 sorrow. But no doubt the change you are about 
 to make will be for your own good." 
 
 " Oh, said May, as she wrung her hands with 
 grief, how can I give my precious Lulu up ? And 
 yet I know," said she, " if Lulu goes, as she in- 
 tends, to her uncle's, it will be better for her. He 
 has ever been kind to her. I know he will protect 
 her from the vile gossip that has been so unjustly 
 circulated about her in regard to her mother. I 
 would not, I could not give her up, did I not think 
 it for her own good. Her uncle has wealth, while 
 I have not. He is a good, noble gentleman, and 
 will gladly shield her good name from slanderous 
 tongues. She will be the niece of an influential 
 merchant. You know the child protected with 
 wealth and influence has many advantages over 
 one that is not." 
 
 " Yes," said I, " they are, yet you remember the 
 Lord answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said,
 
 Suffering Millions. 251 
 
 'Wilt thou also disannul my judgment? Deck 
 thyself now with majesty and excellency, and ar- 
 ray thyself with glory. Look on every one that is 
 proud, and bring him low; and tread down the 
 wicked in their place, then will I confess unto 
 thee that thine own right hand can save.' And 
 you remember that the Lord blessed the latter end 
 of Job's life more than the beginning.'' 
 
 ' Yes, indeed, I too think it best for Lulu to go 
 to her uncle, because I know she can do nothing 
 with her mother, and the name of a girl is easily 
 marred." 
 
 Lulu felt relieved when her things were ready, 
 and she stood waiting in the little railway station 
 for the train that was to carry her away. Oh, my 
 heart bled for her as I held her hand in mine, 
 and looked into those large and expressive eyes, 
 wet with tears. Oh, how I breathed a prayer that 
 the God of the orphan would protect her, and al- 
 though sad as I was at the parting, yet I deemed 
 the step she was going to take one that would free 
 her from the many trials she daily had to encounter. 
 Although a lovely girl of some twenty summers, 
 yet Lulu knew much of sorrow. As I took her 
 hand I could scarcely restrain the impulse to lay 
 my head upon her shoulder and have a hearty cry ; 
 and although a sweet smile wreathed her rosy lips, 
 and her eyes beamed so lovingly upon me, yet I 
 noticed the tears trembling upon those dear droop- 
 ing lashes. Other friends bid Lulu farewell, but
 
 252 Suffering Millions. 
 
 the dear girl showed no outburst of grief; mild, 
 pure, gentle, as she ever had been, yet she said, "do 
 not think my love for you all will ever change in 
 the least, even if I should stay for many years." 
 I well knew that her words were true, because I 
 knew she was too noble a girl to lei either wealth 
 or position make any difference in her affections 
 toward those she loved. Oh, how the tears flowed 
 down May's face after Lulu had bid her adieu. 
 
 " Well," said I, " May you had better return 
 home and I will see Lulu on the train. I saw that 
 May was so overcome with grief that it would be 
 much better for her not to see Lulu get on the 
 train." 
 
 " Well," said Lulu, " You must write to me." 
 
 "Yes, indeed, dear girl, I will, for I am anxious 
 to know how you get along." 
 
 As the train came hurrying in that would bear 
 dear Lulu to the far away western city where she 
 was going, a father and his son were also awaiting 
 its arrival. 
 
 " So you are going away, are you Miss Montro- 
 ville ? " said the father. 
 
 "Yes," said Lulu, I am going to my uncle's with 
 whom I lived a short time when a little girl." 
 
 " I understand he is your mother's brother." 
 
 "Yes," said Lulu. 
 
 As the old gentleman was also going a number 
 of miles westward he turned to bid his son good 
 by, and was greatly surprised to find him so over-
 
 Suffering Millions. 253 
 
 come he could hardly speak. The young man 
 cast a hurried look at Lulu without a parting word. 
 Ah ! Why could he not take her hand in his and 
 say a last farewell ? Ah ! the trouble was the 
 distance between them was too great. He, the 
 son of influence and luxury ; she, the daughter of 
 sorrow, ignorance, and misery. She, whose cheeks 
 had often been wet with tears she could not sup- 
 press ; she, who had known much of bitter sorrow 
 and affliction. 
 
 "Well," remarked the old gentleman somewhat 
 nervously to a Iriend he happened to meet on the 
 train, u that young Miss Montroville, who taught 
 in the same school of which my son was the prin- 
 cipal, is a rather charming girl, is she not?" 
 
 "Yes," said his friend, "one of the finest girls I 
 ever saw. But the poor girl has many things to 
 contend with that are very hard to bear." 
 
 "Well," said the old gentleman," what fools 
 some young folks can make of themselves. Talk 
 to me about culture and improvement. What 
 does it all amount to unless a person belongs to a 
 good family ? Sir, there is much in blood." 
 
 "Well, sir," said his friend, "I believe a child 
 that works its way up in the world with every 
 difficulty to surmount is just as deserving as one 
 that is surrounded with every blessing of life. 
 Look at the illy arranged families in our country. 
 Look at the hundreds of thousands of helpless 
 little children that have no advantages at all."
 
 254 Suffering Millions. 
 
 Shortly after Lulu went away, there began to be 
 a change in the actions of the young professor. 
 He began to sink into a melancholy state of mind. 
 The doctors said he had nervous prostration. His 
 father was summoned back from the west, very 
 much worried about his son's health. The best 
 medical skill could do nothing, and he gradually 
 sunk into a deranged slate of mind, and before 
 many months filled a premature grave. His father 
 was crushed at the death of his son, and life to 
 him became only a burden. "Why," said he, 
 " was my noble boy taken from me ? He was my 
 only hope and joy." The gray locks and stooped 
 form of the old man told too true that his heart 
 was broken, and that before many months he 
 would follow his son.
 
 Suffering Millions. 255 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIIL 
 
 Not long after Lulu went away, I happened to 
 be visiting in the west ; and, as I had a friend who 
 lived in the same city where her uncle resided, I 
 thought I would visit there. I thought to myself 
 I will not let Lulu know I am so near her. Shortly 
 after my arrival my friend and I were walking 
 along one of the fine drive ways, when presently 
 there passed us an elegant carriage with prancing 
 horses, driven by a coachman. It was one of the 
 finest surreys I ever saw. Turning to me my 
 friend said, u there goes the beautiful and accom- 
 plished niece of Mr. W , one of our enter- 
 prising merchants. I understand she is an orphan, 
 and has come to reside with her uncle." As I 
 glanced at the carriage .my heart gave a bound, 
 for who should I see but my dear young friend 
 Lulu. As I had made up my mind not to let Lulu 
 know of my arrival, I said, " indeed, a very fine 
 carriage." Then my friend went on to say, " she 
 must be a very fine young lady to be the niece of 
 so worthy a gentleman as he." 
 
 ' ; No doubt," said I. But at the same time I 
 could not help thinking, is the dear girl any better 
 than she was when looked upon as the daughter of 
 a poor dissipated mother? I said to myself, no
 
 256 Suffering Millions. 
 
 doubt, to the eyes of the world she is, but not to 
 God. 
 
 "Yes," said my friend, " blood will tell." 
 " No doubt it will," said I, " in some cases, but 
 as I have given the subject much thought I have 
 made up my mind that it surely does not in every 
 case." I noticed my friend looked very much as- 
 tonished to think I did not agree with him on the 
 subject, so I said no more, and we changed our 
 conversation. On the following Sunday I attended 
 one of the large and fashionable churches with my 
 friend. We had not been seated long before in 
 walked Lulu, escorted by a fine looking gentleman, 
 whom I afterward learned was a relative of her's, 
 and the chorister of the church. He proudly led 
 her up the choir. I noticed that she passed up the 
 aisle with the same unaffected ease that she did in 
 the little church near her childhood's home. I 
 noticed that all eyes were bent on the lovely girl, 
 partly, no doubt, on account of her being a 
 stranger and partly on account of her unaffected 
 ease and beauty. I was almost overcome with 
 rapture as 1 caught the sound of her fine alto 
 voice as it floated through those magnificent halls. 
 I was glad that my friend's pew was situated 
 where I was unnoticed by Lulu, though I could 
 plainly see her. The dear girl was richly clad. 
 Those same large, expressive eyes, instead of being 
 wet with tears were sparkling with beauty, and 
 there was a mild and happy expression on her
 
 Suffering Millions. 257 
 
 face. After the service closed, and we were on 
 our way home, my friend said to me, '' what a 
 very fine singer that strange young lady is who 
 sang to day in the choir. She is, I understand, a 
 near relative of the chorister. I knew he referred 
 to Lulu, so feeling anxious to learn who the gentle- 
 man was that accompanied Lulu, I said, " who was 
 the gentleman with the strange young lady whom 
 you refer to ? " 
 
 " Oh," said my friend, " that was Prof. W , 
 
 one of the finest singers in the city. We are in- 
 vited to attend a large party given in honor of this 
 young lady next week." 
 
 I could not help feeling very glad of the invita- 
 tion as I very much desired to watch the difference 
 in the attention paid to one who was looked upon 
 as a relative of influential people, or one who was 
 thought to belong to people not so worthy. In- 
 deed, the difference was very surprising. At the 
 party dear Lulu was admitted to be the belle of 
 the evening. All did homage to her, and she was 
 looked upon as a very accomplished and worthy 
 young lady, which indeed she was. But neverthe- 
 less was she really any better than when her face 
 was wet with tears, when the frown of a whole 
 community was upon her for something she could 
 no more help or change than she could the laws of 
 gravitation ? Oh, if we could go into the wretched 
 houses and see the sorrow there, I do believe it 
 would give us a missionary spirit, and a determ-
 
 Suffering Millions. 
 
 ination to go out into Ihe world and labor there. 
 As ray stay in the city necessarily had to be 
 short, I left Lulu there surrounded with wealth 
 and friends, the same pure, innocent girl she had 
 ever been. In Ward Montroville's home, beauti- 
 ful sons and daughters have grown up. His oldest 
 daughter is attending one of the leading colleges 
 of the state. Charlie has grown almost to man- 
 hood, a bright and noble boy. As no little ones 
 have ever come to gladden the heart and home of 
 May and her husband, there then was a vacant 
 chair that Lulu alone could fill, who was indeed 
 the music and the sunshine of their home. " Sing, 
 O heavens, and be joyful, O earth, for the Lord 
 hath comforted his people, and will have mercy 
 upon his afflicted." " Can a woman forget her 
 sucking child? Yea, they may forget, yet I will 
 not forget thee, saith the Holy One of Israel." 
 
 While attending one of the most successful uni- 
 versities of the United States, Lulu became ac- 
 quainted with a young man whom we will call 
 Wilmot Haverland, a young man of fine mental 
 ability, who was taking a course in Law. He was 
 of commanding appearance, over six feet tall, very 
 handsomely built, with high, noble forehead, and 
 keen blue eyes, which bespoke more than ordinary 
 intellect. He soon became perfectly enchanted 
 with the pure, noble girl. Naturally too intelli-
 
 Suffering Millions. 259 
 
 gent to criticise Lulu's ancestry, he did every- 
 thing to ennoble the girl whom he hoped to secure 
 as his wife. Their friendship rapidly developed, 
 and before many months passed he proudly led 
 Lulu to the altar, bedecked in handsome array. 
 He looked into the pure, sweet face of her whom 
 he honored above all others as his bride, and in a 
 few moments the clergyman pronounced them 
 man and wife. He soon found out that he had 
 made a wise choice. Lulu, in her own home as 
 elsewhere, was a constant beam of sunshine. Mr. 
 Haverland soon became one of the most successful 
 lawyers in his state, and his young wife was all he 
 asked for, as she knew well how to oversee her 
 household. In due time other joys came to their 
 home, the voice of a baby boy, first delighted the 
 hearts of the young parents, and before many 
 years passed a little daughter with its mother's 
 beautiful eyes, and her sunny disposition, came to 
 add more happiness 4:o their home. And now, just 
 before we let the curtains fall over their home we 
 will just take one other peep. A well arranged 
 household with all of the modern improvements ; 
 a large, spacious lawn with flowers of the most 
 rare and gorgeous hue ; horses, and carriages with 
 colored servants and waiters of the most trained 
 and obedient kind, and sitting on the bench of the 
 Supreme Court, Judge Haverland, the once prom- 
 ising young lawyer, is now the admiration of his 
 native land.
 
 260 Suffering Millions. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX, 
 
 In a quiet country graveyard, where the gentle 
 zephyrs play among the leaves, sweetly sleeps the 
 body of William Montroville, with his father and 
 mother by his side. Here every year do comrades, 
 those brave and gallant men, that faced the can- 
 non's deadly mouth, who have united heart and 
 hand to once a year strew flowers over the graves 
 of their comrades, who stood the hardships of a 
 long and bloody war, meet, and with loving hands 
 place flowers and the beautiful stars and stripes 
 over William's grave, little knowing the whole of 
 his history. Although obscure and unknown, yet 
 may he sweetly sleep with God's blessing upon 
 him ; and although his young and useful life was 
 blighted here, in this world of sin and sorrow, yet 
 he sleeps with our nation's beautiful emblem wav- 
 ing over his grave. That same flag which he 
 loved so much, and which he saw used as a bed 
 quilt in the old southern planter's house, while 
 acting as a spy away down in the sunny south, the 
 sight of which made his warm blood boil : 
 
 Strew flowers o'er me, comrades brave, 
 
 While you are marching near. 
 It would be more pleasant in the grave, 
 
 If I could know you placed them here.
 
 Suffering Millions. 261 
 
 Place those dear flags, one at rny head, 
 
 Another at my feet, 
 That they may wave tho' I am dead ; 
 
 To me they were complete. 
 
 Oh, may you see those colors float, 
 
 Their beauty is so rare, 
 On land on spire, 'mid sea on boat, 
 
 And through the azure air. 
 
 You well remember comrades dear, 
 
 Upon that awful day, 
 The distant battle wail sound clear, 
 
 We thought our lives we'd pay. 
 
 Upon a fort a flag there waved, 
 
 Our colonel saw it there, 
 'Mid death he rushed our flag to save, 
 
 While lightning filled the air. 
 
 He tore it from its lofty stand, 
 
 And placed our colors there. 
 He bravely waved it in his hand, 
 
 Then threw it to the air. 
 
 Upon that dreaded battlefield, 
 
 Where blood ran fast and deep, 
 You bravely said you would not yield, 
 
 Tho' the last sleep you'd sleep. 
 
 Oh, may those stars wave over your grave, 
 
 AVhen you are sleeping low, 
 We fought and bled, them for to save, 
 
 We could not let them go.
 
 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 At one of our summer resorts a young man of 
 quiet and amiable disposition spent much time 
 with a young woman, who was the daughter of 
 very indulgent parents, who had indulged their 
 child in having her own way about almost every- 
 thing. The young man was drawn into her com- 
 pany, or at least was always devising plans to be 
 with the young lady, whom we will call Mildred 
 Hawthorne. He no doubt felt at times that the 
 hasty, impulsive girl, was not the one fitted to 
 make for him a happy home, but led on by that 
 strange inclination or infatuation that often unites 
 in the holy bond of wedlock those so illy mated, 
 who could never agree just exactly on one 
 subject, or see things in just the same light. 
 Strange that there should be any possible chance 
 for people to make such a mistake, to marry and 
 drag out a miserable life. 
 
 After a somewhat disagreeable courtship, Mark 
 Allen married the wayward Mildred Hawthorne, 
 and took her to his quiet country home. Now 
 Mark was one of those good, quiet persons, that 
 little of this world's goods will satisfy; but Mil-
 
 264 A Wife's and Husbands Mistake. 
 
 dred was proud and ambitious and very hard to 
 suit. 
 
 "Well, Mildred," said Mark shortly after they 
 had begun housekeeping, " I am going this after- 
 noon down to Willton," this was a small town a 
 few miles distant, " would you not like to accom- 
 pany me?" 
 
 Mildred was just finishing her ironing, and felt 
 somewhat proud of her success in her first attempt 
 in doing up a nice lot of fine linen shirts for her 
 husband. "Yes," she said, "I would like very 
 much to go. We can take tea with your sister 
 Nellia. But Mark, you must change your shirt," 
 giving a glance at the nice, pure, white shirts 
 which she had taken so much pains to do up. 
 
 " No, I am in a hurry ; this shirt is good enough, 
 beside?, what is the use? I am a married man 
 and my market is made." 
 
 " Then I shall not go, for you look like a fright." 
 
 " Well then, you will have to stay at home," 
 said he, as he jumped into his buggy and drove off. 
 " I am not going to be bothered with all of her 
 silly whims," thought Mark, as he half regretfully 
 hastened on his way. 
 
 " He never once noticed how hard I have 
 worked," thought, Mildred, as she laid her head on 
 her ironing table and began to cry; "but I just 
 would not go with him with that old dirty shirt on, 
 I just wanted him to plainly understand that." 
 Mildred sat pouting for some time, then got up
 
 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 265 
 
 saying, "I guess he will understand I am not going 
 with him when he has on a dirty shirt." 
 
 Mark drove as quickly as possible to the village, 
 never stopping to take tea with his sister, and after 
 forgetting half he had intended to purchase, started 
 home half sorry that he had not taken time to 
 change his shirt so his wife would have accom- 
 panied him. He well knew she had worked hard, 
 and of course the change would have done her 
 good, besides, they could have taken tea and spent 
 the time pleasantly with his sister ; " but," thought 
 he, " we now are married, and such foolishness 
 will not do. I look well enough." 
 
 Poor Mildred, as the shades of night began to 
 gather, was feeling quite lonely. " Oh, dear !" said 
 she, " what shall I do? He may not come home 
 to night. I have offended him, and I may have to 
 stay alone. Oh, dear, what shall I do? She hur- 
 ried around, did up the chores, and then after get- 
 ting a nice dainty supper, setting the table with 
 snowy cloth, arranging the silver and China dishes 
 with more than usual neatness, sat down to await 
 her husband's arrival; but there was an unusual 
 throbbing of her heart and a keen aching pain 
 piercing her breast, as she awaited his return. 
 
 Mark, too, was quite nervous, and thought the 
 road never before so long. " Oh, dear, if anything 
 should happen her; but then it will not do to in- 
 dulge her pride, or give up in small things. Mar- 
 ried folks must use judgment. l Pride always goes 
 before a fall.' "
 
 266 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 
 
 Mildred had almost given up his return. She 
 now began to walk the floor while tears flowed 
 down her cheeks. At last the sound of a buggy 
 driven at rapid speed, but quite a distance off, 
 caught her ear. How gladly those sounds fell on 
 her ear. Her first impulse was to rush to her hus- 
 band and throw her arms around him and express 
 her happiness in words of tender love and ask his 
 forgiveness. But no, that would not be womanly ; 
 it would be too humiliating, so she simply said, 
 " What on earth kept you so long?" 
 
 u I guess I can stay just as long as I wish when 
 I go to town," said Mark. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The next morning, both Mildred and her hus- 
 band were much more attentive to the desires of 
 each other. Mildred indeed possessed a very ten- 
 der love for her husband, yet on account of her 
 headstrong disposition enjoyed having her own 
 way. Mark, no doubt, also possessed a tender re- 
 gard for the wishes of his wife, whom he knew also 
 wished her own way; but his was a stubborn will, 
 and when he once said a thing he meant it ; if he 
 said he was going to do a thing he did it, and it 
 made no difference what his wife wished or cared. 
 At one time Mildred wished to attend a gathering 
 of young people. Now parties, sociables and pic- 
 nics, were places Mark did not enjoy. Mildred
 
 A Wife's and Husband's -Mistake. 267 
 
 was all excitement over the anticipated gathering, 
 thinking of course Mark would go. 
 
 " Oh, Mark, there is going to be a party at Mr. 
 Hawthorn's, will you not go ?" 
 
 "No," said Mark, " I never enjoy parties, and I 
 am not going." 
 
 " Oh, please do go," said Mildred, " I do so wish 
 to go. All of the young folks will be there." 
 
 " Well, it makes no difference to me, I am not 
 going, I do not enjoy parties. You can go without 
 me." 
 
 "Well, stay if you wish, I am not going to stay 
 at home like some old woman." So off went Mil- 
 dred, saying to herself, " dear me, I do wish Mark 
 would go, I would so enjoy having him with me. 
 I know I will not have half as good a time, besides 
 I am so ashamed to be seen without my husband 
 so soon after marriage. I expect I should have 
 stayed with him, but I do not intend to always 
 stay at home, and just as one begins they will have 
 to do." 
 
 : Mark spent the evening at home all alone, feel- 
 ing somewhat provoked at his wife. I do not in- 
 tend to be running around to every fool party; 
 they are no places for me, besides, I intend to have 
 my own way, thought Mark. After whittling, and 
 whistling a somewhat lonesome tune, Mark retired 
 to bed and was soon fast asleep. Mildred missed 
 her husband very much v but was determined not 
 to let those present see that she was embarrassed 
 because he was not with her.
 
 268 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 
 
 " Well, Mildred," said Nettie Gleason, " where 
 is Mark?" 
 
 " At home, of course." 
 
 "Oh, such a droll fellow, he never enjoyed 
 young people's company; but Mildred, if I were 
 you I would just let him stay at home. I would 
 not begin to indulge him in having his own way." 
 
 At this, Mrs. Hawthorn, the lady of the house 
 and a person of broad observation, joined the con- 
 versation. "Well, girls," said she, "I am much 
 older than either of you, and have had a sad ex- 
 perience in my life. I would like to say just one 
 word here. There is great danger in this having 
 one's own way. I wouid advise this young lady 
 to try and overlook the peculiarities of her hus- 
 band, and try and humor him all she can. I tell 
 you there is danger in having our own way." 
 
 At this remark of Mrs. Hawthorn a crimson 
 flush passed over Mildred's cheek. The party had 
 lost its charms for her, and she hastily put on her 
 wraps and excusing herself hurried home. Her 
 husband was sleeping soundly, so Mildred quietly 
 crept in bed feeling half ashamed for leaving him 
 alone. She very much desired her husband's for- 
 giveness, yet was too proud to let him know of her 
 anxiety. How glad she would have been if he had 
 asked her if she was not sorry. But this Mark 
 would never do, so there began to be a little cold- 
 ness springing up between them. Mark's business 
 was of such a character that he was often called
 
 A Wife's and Husbands Mistake. 269 
 
 y 
 
 to a distant city. He being a fine business man, 
 made rapid bargains, and success in financial mat- 
 ters was fast giving him a good reputation as a 
 shrewd speculator. Of course women like Mildred 
 felt very proud of her husband's success, and at 
 first did everything to encourage him on towards 
 making money. She was very anxious to have a 
 better home than the one Mark had first taken her 
 to. Mark was well satisfied with the plain home, 
 but his wife's proud, ambitious disposition had 
 awakened a desire in him to get money so he could 
 supply her every desire. He began at first to buy 
 while away in the city fine presents to please his 
 wife. As soon as he possibly could he built him 
 a nice, new house. This was just what Mildred 
 desired. She now, more anxious than ever before, 
 began to worry, first for one nice new piece of 
 furniture, and then another. Almost every time 
 Mark came from the city he brought home some 
 nice, new piece of furniture. But poor, silly Mil- 
 dred had now become so proud and foolish that 
 nothing was half nice enough for her. 
 
 " Why. Mark," she would say, " did you get this, 
 it is not just what I wanted, Mrs. Dean has one 
 much nicer." 
 
 " Well, I thought this would suit you." 
 
 " But it does not," said Mildred. 
 
 The next time Mark went to the city Mildred 
 said, "now Mark, I want you to get me a new sec- 
 retary. Now, this time I want you to do your best
 
 270 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 
 
 in the selection, for you are so liable to make mis- 
 takes.'' 
 
 " I will do the best I can," said Mark, and so he 
 did. 
 
 " I do hope this time I can please her. It does 
 seem to me that nothing will suit her. Mark had 
 now become quite nervous, being continually 
 drummed to death, first about one thing then an- 
 other, and his patience was nearly gone, but he 
 thought once again he would try to suit his wife. 
 
 He bought one of the best secretaries he could 
 find, thinking "surely this will suit her." But 
 just as soon as poor, foolish Mildred saw it, she 
 exclaimed, "For mercy sake! Why, Mark, did 
 you get this? It is not what I wanted at all. 
 Dear me, I always did hate a fool, and surely that 
 is just what you are." 
 
 At this Mark left the house exclaiming, " Well, 
 after this you must do your own selecting." 
 
 " Why Mildred," said Tinna Geld, a young lady 
 who was visiting at Mildred's, and for whom 
 Mildred would have done almost anything, " I am 
 sorry you spoke so to Mark. I saw it hurt him 
 very much, besides I do not see how you could not 
 be pleased. This is surely 0113 of the nicest and 
 best secretaries I ever saw." 
 
 " Oh, I know it is, and I am sorry too, but you 
 know it is just my way of speaking," said Mildred. 
 
 " Yes, but it will not always do to be so abrupt." 
 
 Mark again soon went to the city. He now
 
 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 271 
 
 began to lose the love for his home he no doubt 
 would have felt had his wife treated him more 
 tenderly, and had she tried harder to have been 
 pleased with the things he bought for her. While 
 away in the city he boarded at a fashionable hotel. 
 There were ladies whom he associated with ; one, 
 a handsome young widow, who was perfectly infat- 
 uated with the " shrewd young speculator," as she 
 called Mark. She possessed a forward disposition, 
 and did everything to make a good impression 
 upon Mark. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Allen," said she, "you must be very 
 lonely away from home. Why not come into the 
 parlor and spend your evenings with us ?" At 
 this request Mark smoothed his dark mustache, 
 giving it an extra curl. As thoughts of Mildred 
 at home came into his mind, a dark blush over- 
 spread his handsome face. " But," thought he, 
 " she does not care for me, what harm can there 
 be in my spending the evening with other ladies? 
 I have a mind of my own and I know it is my 
 own business." So Mark passed the evening with 
 the handsome Mrs. Dewey. " Oh," said she, " Mr. 
 Allen, how perfectly delighted I am to have you 
 help me drive dull care away." 
 
 " I am so lonely away from home and my busi- 
 ness is so I have to spend my time mostly away 
 among strangers." 
 
 " It is seldom I meet a person so perfectly enter- 
 taining as you are Mr. Allen."
 
 272 A 'Wife's and Husbands Mistake. 
 
 Mark looked into her dark eyes, little dreaming 
 of the danger there was in so doing. When the 
 night was far spent and Mark was about to take 
 his departure, why was it that he so tenderly 
 pressed the hand so lovingly placed in his ? 
 
 " You will surely call again, Mr. Allen," said 
 she. 
 
 " Indeed I should be pleased to do so, but I have 
 business that calls me home to-morrow." 
 
 "Oh please wait just one more day; please, I 
 am so lonely," said the dashing widow. 
 
 Again taking her hand which she now extended 
 in a very affectionate way, Mark answered, "If it 
 is possible I may stay just one day longer." 
 
 As Mark went to his room he could not help 
 thinking of his wife at home whom he knew 
 would be greatly displeased if she knew of his 
 spending his evenings with another lady. " But," 
 thought he, "she will never know it, and what 
 harm can there be in passing the time as pleas- 
 antly as possible? But I guess I had better go 
 home to morrow. I know Mildred will be very 
 anxious about me, but she is so disagreeable I can 
 hardly stand it with her. Still she is my wife, she 
 works hard and keeps everything nice and tidy. 
 But her everlasting tongue I just despise. If she 
 could only be pleasant and cheerful like Mrs. 
 Dewey. But she naturally has such an unpleas- 
 ant disposition, I expect she cannot help." The 
 next morning Mark arose, feeling a desire to go
 
 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 273 
 
 home. He knew very well it was the place for 
 him, but thoughts of the handsome young widow 
 were constantly before him. Oh, how perfectly 
 charming is her company, if Mildred was only 
 half so agreeable he felt that he should be glad to 
 go home. As the hours passed quickly by he said 
 to himself, " I never cared so much about staying 
 away from home before, but Mildred is so unpleas- 
 ant that I dread to go home, and I can stay just as 
 well as not. What harm can there be when I can 
 pass the evening so pleasantly here? So he staid 
 and again spent the evening in the parlor with 
 Mrs. Dewey. How quickly the hours passed away ! 
 Mrs. Dewey was one of those dashing women 
 who flatters with her tongue, and drags men down 
 to the gates of hell. She knew from the first that 
 Mark greatly admired her. She also knew that 
 he was just the one to draw on by her cunning 
 devices. He had plenty of money and was away 
 from home and lonely. She being a fine musician 
 stepped to the piano, and as her skillful fingers 
 swept the keys of the instrument, and her child- 
 like voice floated through the room on the mid- 
 night air, from the impulse of the moment or a 
 spell he could not overcome, Mark sprang to her 
 side and caught her frail form in his arms and 
 kissed her ruby lips over and over again, pressed 
 her to his heart, and then recovering for a moment 
 he thought, " My God ! what have I done ?" But 
 it was too late. The spell he could not break, and 
 iS
 
 274 A Wife's and Husband?* Mistake. 
 
 he held 1he willing, beguiling, treacherous woman 
 to his heart. u My blessed Savior," breathed he, 
 " what have I done ? But it is too late ; my heart 
 belongs to this handsome woman." 
 
 We will leave them alone with their guilt. 
 
 This very night Mark i'ell as deep in sin as it is 
 possible for a married man to fall in pressing a 
 strange woman to his breast. 
 
 At Mark Allen's home there was a different 
 scene. Mildred walked the floor and wrung her 
 hands with grief for there seemed to come to her 
 some awful forebodings of evil. " Why, oh why, 
 does Mark not come ?" Tears streamed down her 
 blanched cheeks. Oh, that her unborn babe that 
 knew so little of its mother's grief, was born, to 
 bring new charms to the home of this unhappy 
 wife and husband. But before the little one ever 
 opened its eyes to behold the light of this beauti- 
 ful world, the young mother was so overcome with 
 grief and anxiety and her nervous system became 
 so exhausted and weak, that while Mark was 
 absent on one of his long visits to the city, enjoy- 
 ing the society of the strange woman, she gave 
 premature birth to her little one. Kind hands of 
 loving friends dressed the little one for its long 
 resting place. Poor Mildred pressed the little 
 form of her dead baby to her breast and said, " Oh, 
 if Mark would only come !" But he now had fal- 
 len so low that he did not care anything at all for 
 his home, often staying weeks, and sometimes
 
 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 275 
 
 months, always making an excuse that it was 
 business detained him. Upon this occasion it was 
 impossible to find him, so the little one was quietly 
 laid to rest in the cemetery near Mildred's home. 
 Mildred's life was almost despaired of for some 
 time. When Mark returned home he felt very 
 much displeased with his wife. He said she had 
 no business to worry about him ; she might have 
 known he was able to lake care of himself, and he 
 hardly went into the room to see her. Mildred 
 was so weak and exhausted she could scarcely 
 raise her head, but so glad to see her husband that 
 when he came near her she begged him to come 
 to her. She took his hand in hers and drew him 
 to her and kissed him over and over again. Mark 
 looked at his once beautiful wife, but now her 
 beauty was faded and gone. He stooped down 
 and kissed her pale lips, but all love for his faded 
 wife was gone. He thought only of the beautiful, 
 charming young widow who had won his heart. 
 So he soon made an excuse that his business was 
 such he must go to the city again. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Mildred slowly recovered so as to be able to sit 
 up for a little while at a time, but there was a 
 loneliness hovering around her she could not shake 
 off. Her husband now hardly ever came home to 
 stay more than one or two days at a time, and
 
 276 A 'Wife's and Husbands Mistake. 
 
 when he did he was so cross and absent-minded 
 that he was no company for her at all. Poor Mil- 
 dred knew that his love for her was gone, and she 
 tried in every way possible to win him back, but 
 it was impossible for her to do so. She was so 
 weak and discouraged that life was a burden. 
 Gladly would she have given her life for the love 
 of her companion. She spent hours and hours at 
 home alone. Her mental suffering was so great, 
 and her nervous system so racked, that in an hour 
 of despondency she tried to take her own life. 
 Every little thing annoyed her husband. Their 
 beautiful and well ordered home had no attrac- 
 tion for him. He had fallen so low that he would 
 tell his friends that their home for him was a pan- 
 demonium. The servants annoyed him and had no 
 patience with any one or anything. At every little 
 annoyance he would curse and swear so that Mil- 
 dred was constantly in fear that something would 
 displease him. He now scarcely ever spoke a kind 
 word to his wife, and appeared to fairly hate the 
 very sight of her. One day some little thing hap- 
 pened to annoy him, and he rushed to the house, 
 hardly dressed himself, and started away. Mil- 
 dred, very much frightened, and hardly daring to 
 speak, followed him to the door and said, " Mark, 
 where are you going?" 
 
 " It makes no difference to you, where I am 
 going. You go into the house and min.d your own 
 business. You always wanted to run things, and
 
 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 277 
 
 now you can have the privilege." Mildred sank 
 half fainting to the floor. She felt that the climax 
 had been reached. She felt a foreboding of some 
 awful calamity she could not tell what. Alone, 
 faint and sick, she wept until tears failed to come. 
 With a ghastly look and racked brain, she 
 arose from the floor, wrung her hands, and a look 
 of despair overspread her face. Then she gradually 
 sank into a long nervous sick-spell. The name of 
 her husband was constantly on her lips as she 
 rolled in wild delirium on her bed. 
 
 At the depot Mark took the first train west, 
 telling some of his friends that he was going to 
 leave home never to return. 
 
 "Why," said a friend, a man who had known 
 Mildred from her babyhood, " you must surely go 
 back home and tell your wife what you are going 
 to do. It will kill her to leave her so." 
 
 " No, I am not going back. My home is a hell 
 for me, and I hope I will never see it again." So 
 the fast express soon bore him many miles from 
 his home. 
 
 Mildred's friends and neighbors, as soon as they 
 had heard what Mark had done, and that he was 
 gone, came to her assistance. They very kindly 
 and gently sympathized with her. They tried to 
 make her believe that her husband would soon 
 return. They did every thing to restore her to 
 life again. 
 
 Oh, how Mildred prayed to die. Life without
 
 278 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 
 
 her husband was a misery. But as it is not always 
 possible for one to die when they most want to, 
 Mildred slowly recovered ; her frail nature could 
 stand more than one would think. But she merely 
 lived because she could not die; her home had 
 forever lost its charms to her. She constantly 
 thought, u is Mark living, or is he dead? " 
 
 As soon as Mark was far enough from home so 
 that he supposed no one would know what he was 
 doing, he sat down and wrote a letter to the dash- 
 ing Mrs. Dewey, as follows: "I cannot live with- 
 out you. Come to me, and we will go to a distant 
 city and pass the remainder of our lives together." 
 Mrs. Dewey was very much pleased. She thought, 
 " this is a good chance for me. Mr. Allen has lots 
 of money, and I can spend my life in ease." She 
 hastily arranged her wardrobe, dressed in gorgeous 
 array, and set sail for her distant lover. 
 
 Mark, after securing large, spacious rooms. to re- 
 ceive his unlawful paramour, anxiously awaited 
 her arrival. The artful, treacherous woman well 
 knew how to beguile him. As long as Mark's 
 money lasted they were apparently happy. He 
 did everthing for this deceitful woman that money 
 could do. Dressed her in the most gorgeous cloth- 
 ing, and hired servants of the most obedient kind, 
 so that her fair jeweled hands should keep their 
 snowy whiteness. But as it is impossible for those 
 who doeth evil to prosper : Romans, 13-4 : But if 
 thou do that which is evil, be afraid ; for he bear-
 
 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 279 
 
 ethjiot the sword in vain ; for he is the minister of 
 God, a revenger to execute wrath upon him that 
 doeth evil.'' Mark soon found that his money was 
 fast going to the four winds. He of course had 
 access to the home which Mildred and he had 
 worked so hard to make beautiful, but having a 
 little spark of the feelings left which he once 
 possessed, he could not bear to think of mortgaging 
 the home where he had left Mildred. Neither 
 could he dare to tell the dashing Mrs. Dewey that 
 his money was nearly gone. Then he began to 
 run in debt here and there, at every place possible 
 where he could get money. At last the crisis 
 came. Nobody would let him have one more cent. 
 What to do he did not know. At last things got 
 into such shape that he had to make known to the 
 treacherous woman that they would have to dis- 
 pense with their servants. At this announcement 
 the gay woman said, " c you need not think I will 
 stay with you if your money is gone. There are 
 too many men just like you, whose wealth I am 
 perfectly free to enjoy if I but say the word, so 
 either mortgage youf home, and get money, or 
 else say good-by to me forever." This guilty 
 woman had got such control over Mark that he 
 would spend the last cent he had in the world to 
 satisfy her extravagant desires. So he mortgaged 
 his beautiful home where Mildred was, and again 
 for many mouths he gratified every desire of the 
 vain woman.
 
 280 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 
 
 Poor Mildred, when notified that their home, 
 their once beautiful and happy home, would soon 
 pass into the hands of others, rallied to the emer- 
 gency. Having some money left her by her father, 
 she said, " I cannot give up the dear old home." 
 Suffering the most awful mental pain, almost to 
 distraction, she worked and toiled, taking care of 
 the horses, cattle, hogs, assisted only by a young 
 boy and girl. Oh, she would say, " I must save 
 the home, for may be Mark will sometime come 
 back to me." Tears would stream down her faded 
 cheeks, and long into the wee small hours of the 
 night would she walk the floor, and watch the 
 clock, and think, "oh, if he would only come home 
 to me, I would forgive him for all. Will he never 
 come?" 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 As soon as Mark's money was gone, the heart- 
 less wicked Mrs. Dewey began to accept the atten 
 tion of other wealthy men. This almost distracted 
 Mark. In his sober moments he would say, "Oh, 
 if I had not been so stubborn, and had humored 
 the peculiar disposition of my own dear wife, I 
 now might be happy; but I have forsaken my 
 wife, my unborn child, home and honor, all are 
 gone, and now, when my money is all spent, she 
 turns from me; this Mildred would never have 
 done. Why, oh why, did I not see before it was 
 too late ?" " But," stamping his foot down, " I will
 
 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 281 
 
 yet have my revenge on this woman who has 
 wrought my ruin." 
 
 Mark had now fallen so low that he began to 
 frequent different houses of ill fame, and although 
 almost loathing the inmates, yet dissipation had 
 brought him so low that all self-respect was gone. 
 One night as he was wandering through one of the 
 streets in Chicago, and was passing one of the 
 gilded dens of infamy which rob men of all self- 
 respect and blast all their hopes of eternity, he 
 saw the wicked Mrs. Dewey clasped in the arms of 
 a red, bloated-faced man, whom he knew to be a 
 millionaire. This so enraged the half-crazy Mark 
 that he rushed into the house, caught the wicked 
 woman by the hair, and was dragging her out of the 
 room, when, quick as thought, the burly, red-faced 
 man drew a revolver and fired, accidentally pierc- 
 ing the wicked woman through the heart, and in- 
 flicting a mortal wound in Mark's breast. For a few 
 moments everything was excitement. The burly, 
 cowardly, red faced man, as soon as he saw what he 
 had done, fled. In a few moments the police were 
 summoned and poor Mark was taken to a hospital 
 near by, the blood pouring from his breast. His 
 past life unrolled like a scroll before his gaze. His 
 quiet, beautiful country home; his faithful, al- 
 though peculiar wife ; the one he had sworn to 
 honor and love above all others, came up before 
 his dying gaze. The skillful surgeon knew the 
 wound was of such a nature that Mark must die. 
 '9
 
 282 A Wife's and Husband's Mistake. 
 
 " Tell me true," said Mark, " must I die ?" 
 
 " You are mortally wounded," said the surgeon. 
 "Have you no friends you would like to see?" 
 
 "Yes," said Mark, as the blood ran from the 
 wound, " send for my wife" whom I have for- 
 saken. I know she will come; send for her." 
 
 As quickly as the message could be written it 
 was sent over the wire, " Come to Chicago, to No. 
 street, for I am dying. Mark." 
 
 Poor Mildred did not stop to arrange any costly 
 wardrobe, but with faded face and plain attire,went 
 as fast as the fast express could carry her to the 
 bedside of her dying husband. 
 
 Poor Mark, as soon as she arrived, held up his 
 hands, saying : u forgive me, I am dying." 
 
 As Mildred folded her dying husband in her 
 arms, she wet his face with tears. .She held him 
 long in her arms and prayed that God would tor- 
 give them both. Kneeling by his bed she poured 
 out her soul in prayer, and as tears streamed down 
 her poor, pale cheek-;, Mark said: " Hark! the an- 
 gels are calling me ! Oh my Savior is so precious 
 to me ! I hear his gentle voice ! I am forgiven !" 
 and thus he died. 
 
 As soon as arrangements could be made, Mildred 
 with the remains of her husband, started to their 
 own country home. Friends were notified. But 
 true to her womanly instincts, Mildred knew it 
 would do no good, that the true cause of her hus- 
 band's murder should be known, so she only said
 
 A Wife's and Husbands Mistake. 283 
 
 that he was shot by some unknown man, who fled 
 as soon as he had committed the crime. 
 
 Mildred had the casket that contained the re- 
 mains of her once beloved husband taken to their 
 own spacious house, and surrounded by weeping 
 friends the last sad rite was said ; then Mark was 
 quietly laid to rest in the cemetery near his home. 
 
 The wicked Mrs. Dewey, who had forsaken her 
 own purity and virtue and wasted her youth and 
 beauty; who had broken up homes that might 
 have been happy, and lived in wickedness with 
 men whom she cared nothing for, only to get their 
 money, was taken, as soon as a rough box was pro- 
 cured, and without one friend to shed a tear, was 
 buried in the potter's field. 
 
 Mildred, although her heart was broken, and her 
 confidence in humanity gone, yet the God who 
 had sustained her during every earthly sorrow was 
 still her God, and she found his words true, "I will 
 be a father to the fatherless, and the widow's 
 Qod?
 
 A 000115179