Poverty with all its worry can not engulf her, for she has that faith that there will be a way provided and she determines, and the mountain is seen moving in the distance. No time to partake of many pleasures is her lot; she must study her every day cares, rear her children, school, clothe, and provide for them. Many times a tear stands where joy should be. It is beyond all understanding why her cross should be so heavy when every atom of her strength has been used to make the world better, but no matter how heavy the load is, how painful the head might ache, or how discouraging the teacher, the present every day conditions must be met and the sooner begun the sooner ended. Every minute is occupied or the accumulation of wasted time makes the burden heavier.

The hands work and the mind works. Neither can rest and accomplish the needs, and while the hands iron and bake and wash, the mind is occupied on what the hungry mouths demand, and how an old coat or vest or an under garment can be made into an article of service.

These are the kind of women worth while; these are the kind that more than do their part in sustaining a great government. Her lot is not a pleasant one, but she hands down to posterity a better and more substantial foundation for better government than any class of women in our nation; her life is an open book where the entries are made on each day’s pages. On page after page you can see where the tears have fallen, where the struggle has been so keen and bitter that hope had almost fled; but turn the page and you will find renewed hope. The ever-listening ear has heard the words bathed in grief and the answer came, “Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted.” How a few dollars from some good-hearted philanthropist would ease the way for this poor little struggling woman. Why is it when she has reached the point in life where she should expect the most the least is at hand? She has passed the thirty-eighth mile post, with the odds strongly against her. The system is torn down more rapidly than it can be built up. Everything seems to combat against her and endeavor to overwhelm her, but sorrows, discouragements, trials, hardships and heartaches with their utmost collective strength have not been sufficient to thwart or encompass her. Every one has been defeated, the cost has been gigantic, it has stooped her shoulders, chiseled deep creases in her brow and cast snow among her locks, robbed her of comforts due her and strewn old age where youth should be. The sad face still smiles and with an unconceivable determination she meets every foe in the great battle field of life and crushes them.

She does it from close application of that wonderful story of love that is found in the fifth chapter of the Gospel of St. Matthew from the third to the twelfth verses inclusive. The greatest solace to aching hearts the world has ever known. The struggle would have never been met and conquered if she had depended on her own strength, she needed a higher source to guide her and in every struggle the lowly man of Galilee stood beside her and when the cross became so heavy that she stumbled and was ready to fall, his loving arm was ready to shield and sustain her.

With all her pains and trials there came into her life one night the greatest sorrow of all, and although the load she had carried far overtaxed her strength she had to bear another and heavier one. Her little sweetheart boy of nearly two years old came toddling in one day with the cruel marks of a fatal sickness on his sweet little face, and after three days and nights of long vigil the tired mother laid down to rest, and as she slept on a pillow bathed with tears the pure little innocent soul was gathered into the arms of angels and carried away. Years have passed, but the pain lingers and when the thoughts go back to the silent form in the little white casket the tender heart of this pure woman is so engulfed in sorrow that it seems it is entirely beyond all human endurance and patience. It is then this still, small voice she has known so long, again speaks and says: “Come unto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.”

How her dear heart did ache when the death angel trod And took back her boy to his maker and God; No sorrow nor pain nor heart aches nor tears Are ever more known where he takes these small dears. There is something so sad in the valley of death, When the heart stops its beat and there’s no longer breath! That angels must come to ease up the pain, And open the soul to let the tears drain. How long are the years and how many it takes Before there is peace from the burning heart aches! The home is so lonely so silent and still There is something gone out that nothing can fill. His little things stand where he left them one day, The little toy dog all ready for play, The big choo choo train and the horse he called Bill, All wait for the hand that is silent and still.

GRATITUDE.

Few people care to listen to your sorrows, trials and burdens if you are not succeeding. If you succeed, everybody is grabbing for the stock no matter how well filled with water it is. They point with pride at the successful man as he saunters by; he can do a great many things that are shady, but on account of his success and prominence they are hushed up and never rise above a whisper; he’s dined and wined; gets cut prices on everything he consumes; rebates from the railroads and special privileges in the churches. But take the poor fellow that each day’s debts eats up his pay roll and we never hear of his fine qualities until we read his obituary.