"Easy Beading" Page.
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EMPTIES.
This week we will see how
we can succeed in filling this page
with "empties." The subject ap
pears pretty dry on the surface.
Maybe we'll find meat, maybe
we'll find bones. Read along and
/ou will discover that the subject
;$ too vast to be touched in the
pacJ allotted here. Don't look
for us to develop the ideas, for it
will be all we can do to give you
a few points and leave you to
clothe them with the garments of
thought.
'Tis said that empty things make
most noise. An empty milk can
rolling down the steps of the cap
itol at Harrisburg makes more
clatter than the whole house in
jssion, but it is a question wheth
er the can is more empty than the
performances of the august body
within.
Here is a long train of empties
west bound, "clickety click" go
the ponderous wheels as they go
over the rail joints. To the vaga
bond huddled in the corner of a
box car the sound assumes a song,
Celling a story of boundless wheat
fields and numberless herds on
the distant plains. Of the mighty
load brought east and of the mul
titude?? that will be fed by the
miracle of steam and steel. Going
back empty, but have performed
a good work.
Listen to the farmer's wagon
clattering along the highway in
the evening a i ter the lamps are
lighted. What do you hear?
"Chuck! chuck!" as the hubs
bump the boxings. Yes, that's it,
"chuck" the lumberman's name
for food. Coming back from the
city market, empty but a worthy
task has been accomplished. We
regret to add that the farmer is
not so empty as his wagon.
See what's here. A big wagon
piled high with barrels and kegs.
Mercy on us! what a load. "Aw
rats! Dat aintno load, thems emp
tys." says a street urchin. I see.
Empties, sure enough. But what
has been left in the wake of this
mountain of cooperage moving
back to the brewery for a fresh
supply ? Hearts have been cheer
ed, pulses quickened, brains have
been fired to anger, blood has
flowed, vile and blasphemous lan
guage has clamored around the
foaming spigots of those old oaken
iron bound barrels. No, that load
of empties has no song of triumph
to sing on its way home.
'Tis Sunday, let's goto church.
We enter the sacred portals and
sit down at the rear. What's this?
Services have commenced and as
sure as'you live there are not a
dozen people present. Great bil
lows of pews in all directions, but
empty. Three or tour hundred
could be comfortably seated and
only a dozen find their way here.
The sermon, too is grand, inspir
ing, full of truth and full of ear
nestness. But O! what a discour
agement to this or any other min
ister to preach to empty pews.
In the evening we try another
church. Here the situation is re
versed. The pews are full but the
pulpit is empty. There is a man
there and he is talking, but his
sermon is like the flotsam 011 the
deep sea of Divine love. Bubbling
with the froth and foam of levity,
his attempts to warp truth to the
pier of eternal things by senseless
parables is really pitiful. Empty
words, empty results.
Here comes another empty with
an empty tomato can hanging to
his belt by a string. Did you ev
er meet the gentleman? It so, did
you ever attempt to fill him up ?
Takes a lot, don't it?
On a raw March night go down
to the side track on Manhattan
Island where society switches off
its empties. There's a string ot
them for you—it's the hi
The string of empties mov
ly along propelled by the eng.
of hunger, the only objective ix
ward for the shivering, shuffling,
humiliating march, a bkc > ea(.
My God! what a sight in an age
of advanced civilization and in a
land where storehouses are burst
ing with food fuel and clothing, and
in a city where? thousand church
es erected to glorify the Man who
had not where to lay His head,
and even they will not open their
doors to give shelter to these poor
wretches.
There are empty seats in the
family circle, empty cradles from
which baby has gone forever,
empty baby shoes in the bottom
drawer of the bureau with one
side worn by creeping about the
floor, empty arms in the still
hours of the night when the wak
ing mother gropes in a moment of
forgetfulness for the chubby arms
and cherub face that lies festering
in its tiny casket.
There will he many an empty
stocking on Christmas morning,
not so many as last year, for times
are better and Glaus is not
so hard up, but there will be some,
and it is heart breaking to think
of. To picture a child with its
faith strong in the integrity of old
Santa, rise up on Ghristmas morn
ing, goto its stocking an ' .A it
empty. Gould y stanu u.at? li
you could your crust is thicker
than ours. Some people think it
a foolish piece of sentiment. It is
very real to the children however.
Empty heads, empty hearts,
empty souls that rattle around in
side their possessors like a buck
shot in a dried bladder. Empty
promises of political parties, emp
ty bottles hid under the hay in
the stable. Empties ad infinitum.
And finally, friends, when the
empty hearse rattles back from
the graveyard leaving our body
in its long sleep, may it be said of
us that our living in the world has
been worth while. No matter
how great our possessions while
living, death robs us of our last
dime, and we go into the presence
of our Maker with empty hands.