The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 13, 1896, Page 17

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDAY, DECEMBER 13, 1896. Daughter of the Sunshine, sweetheart ?‘ the Sea, Playmate of the West-wind, God is good to-thee, Giving thee the love-right to this noble three, \\\ 5 \\\\\I ' E all T Chenmist, thou, or perfumes; wearer, thou, of flowers ; Dreamer but of love-dreams, builder, too, of bowers - Healer of all heart-aches, wondrous are thy powers. I Thine the wealth of gold-mines, thine the yield of grain. Vineyards on thy hill-side, orchards on thy plain Mine and mill and wine-press, multiply thy gain, Painter, thou, of sky-scenes; sculptor, Making forms in cloud-rifts—just at eve Gilder, too, of snow-peaks, where the dawn-lights climb. v {inger, thou, of brook-songs---music, Warbler, too, of bird-trills, mglodies Poet, thou, and bard-like, readest th Writ of men, who, god-like, braved Sharers, they, for all-time, of thy d - - == R T A T AT oW g (et & DS N % Player, thou, of wind-harps, hid in groves of pine; 17 oo, sublime, n tithe 3 [ RRRRRR AR , t0o, is thine j divine, (L RN AN R AR AA ou the lays, the wildest ways ; eathless bays. W 1, 4 o "TYHERE is a wonderful renewal of re- yi ous enthusiasmdown in the Latin er. Itissaid that the Sunday- re so crowded that one has to go eurly to get standing room, and some of the teachers are thinking of resigning on account of the number in their classes. | The children are singing songs and learn- ing to recite, and are taking part, heart and soul, and getting ready for the Christ- mas entertainment. This is a strange thing, and I looked up TIP ToP . SPOR A ,\consn SYSTEM A 2 OF ATHLETICS “ | They crowd in again in the springtime, | tent on work or gossiping idly or shrilly jMir’d\ at the young lady who was busily hanging | | decorations for the coming festivities. “Is it on account of the efforts of the Salva- | tion Army or—" . | | “Oh, no! it's on account of the Christ- mas tree,” she said. She laid down her bammer and sat on a rung of the ladder. *‘Last year when they came I was so en- thusiastic I nearly made myself sick work- ing with them. And they did well on the | night of the entertainment, and they had a good time with nuts and candies and presents. The next Sunday after Christ- mas I came back ready to work again, and found— A larger number? No, indeed, one little girl, and she was there because she had been sick the night of the enter- | tainment and she thought we might have saved her candy and presents for her.” | She ciimbed up and went to work again. “Oh, no; we don't get'discouraged. you know.” “In the springtime?” “Yes.” She lcoked down over her shoulder. “Tnat’s the time for the Sun- day-school picnics. Come and visit us,’” she called as I went out of the door. And here I am on Broadway, with its rows of saloons and odd-looking shops, its dark alleys leading to nowhere or to [darker ones, where no stray sunbeams ever shine. Children! They seemed to spring out of the earth. They darted in 1 and out of alleys and almost under one’s feet. They crowaed the steps of the sa- loons and doorways of the houses, tor- mented passers-by, hung on to passing wagons and my heart stood still lest they | should be trampled by the horses or crushed under the wheels. But before one has gone a block he will learn that to the child of the Latin quarter “fear’’ is an unknown word. A womean stood in the doorwayof a house. The sun was warm, but she had a shawl wrapped about her and in her eyes there was a look of misery as of some wild animal driven to bay. She was watching iwo little dark-eyed babes intent on their play. “Yours?” I asked. The dark face grew hard and she drew the shawl closerand shivered. She shook her head. “‘Four—all gone!” said she, and peinted to the ground be- neath our feet. Four, and all gone, and the mother-love eating her life away. 1 looked back. There were other women in- scolding the little ones. Buu that first figure stood where I had left her watching ana longing. Farther on alittle one with brown eyes and golden curls sat in the sunshine on the low steps of a grogshop. A woman came out when 1 began to speak, She had been drinking and she caught the child in her arms =nd looked at me. wHow pretty she is!” Lremarked. I Excursion in the Latin Quarter The woman, still young, still with the marks of some beauty about ber, smiled. “Does sne look most like you or her father?”’ She laughed heartil v at that. “It’s nobody’s child,” she said, “so 'm both father and mother.” And she went in again and closed the door. Pacific street seemed dingier and darker, and the alleys more gloomy. A few men skulked in and out of the latter, and a few women peered forth curiouslv. But the children were still numerous, basking out in the sun like so many little alligators. A crowd of girls were quarreling on the curbing. “Her stole one of my Sunday- school eards,” cried one, with hair that puts the sun to shame, turning her blue eyes to my face. The other looked up, her black eyes flashing. “I don’t steal,”” she snapped. “I've been to all the m ssions and you haven’t, and you did steal it.” The daughter of Italy jumped to her little feet, and, grasping tuhe other’s hair in her little brown hands, she gave two vicious pulls and then flea down the alley. The other child never moved a muscle, FOR THE but sat staring at the place where her en- emy had disappeared. “Didn’t she hurt you?” Gravely she shook her head. too mean to hurt,”’ she said. A little girl, whose frail form bent be- neath a heavy load of wood, came toiling up the bill. Half way up she paused and caucht her breath. “Isn’t that too heavy?”’ She raised her big eyes to mine, and then drew back and dropped her head, and ner sweet face flushed with bashiul- ness. Just then three boys came down the hill. Between them they had a dog, and the dispute over his possession waxed loud and furious. “He’s mme!” shouted one, ‘and I'tl have him, too!” The little girl haa starled on again. Suddenly the boys noticed her. “‘Say, fellers, there’s Em and the wood."’ And, then, suddenly freed, the dog went bounding down the hill forgotten, and the boys had snatched the load of wood and started up the hill onarun. The little girl followed as fast as possible. Half way up the next hliil they hurried, “‘Her’s CHAMPIONSHIP OF BARBARY COAST. and then they threw the wood up the steep steps of a tenement house and went their way. And Isaw the girl go up the steps and carry the wood into the house. Primitive gallantry? Yes; but real. In the shadow of Telegraph Hill sat a | busy crowd of lads. As I walked toward them one shouted, ‘‘Say! Any streets named®after you?’ Then he laughed. He had on an old blue cap, and it was set way back upon a head of golden curls that looked like a rebellious halo, His features were good and his face had once been clean. I should like to have seen him tkat once. “We're going to have a feed.” “You are?” “You bet! A chicken feast right here in these woods.” The rumble of the rock wagons, the steam whistles, the noise of the City and the sounds of adjacent machinery, as well as the absence of all trees, made me smile. The woods were God’s flist temples! I wondered what Mr. Bryant would have thought had he siood there. Still the boys looked so serious that I deter- mined to imagine myseif— DIAMONDS THAT GLEAM IN THE DUST and Misery in the Shadow of Telegraph Hillm[\r\ In the darkling woods Amid the cool and silence. “How do you have your feast?'’ ““Well, we build a bonfire and each fellow has his chicken and some bread and salt. Then we pull the feathers off the chicken and roast’em.’’ “Don’t you ¢ ean them " A look of surprise went round. ‘‘Course not—that’s too much work for nothing.” “We have clambakes, too!’ spoke up another boy. *“‘They’re great. You ought to come some time.” ‘‘Here comes Bob,” somebody shouted. *Do you know Sodawater Bob?’ asked the first speaker. “No? Well, he’s all right! He'sgot a job and earns lots of stuff. Then he treats, and we fellows all treat square.” “Sodawater Bob,” a small boy with a pleasant face and big cuffs seemed to be a great fayorite. He wouldn’t sit down. “Got to hurry back, fellows,” he said, ‘“‘earning money for Christmas.” “What are you going todo with it?"” asked I ‘‘Buy presents for my grand- mother and my little brother,” he an- swered. ‘‘Then I'm going to treat the fel- lows a little, too.”” He turned to go and I walked along with him. “They’re good fellows,” he said, ‘‘only they haven’t got jobs.” Do they want 10 work ?’’ “Most of them do. All the othgrs look up to you when you’re earning money.” ‘Then Bob walked off up the street. The sun was setting. The few fleecy clouds that hovered above Telegraph Hill were taking on a hint of the dying day. An old man stood in a doorway: “Been walking far?’ he asked. ‘Talk- ing to the children? Well there are plenty of them, and they’re not bad if they're kept out of mischief.” Ilooked up at the tall hill, in the shadow of which is all this wretcheduess and misery. At the top, standing clear against the sunset sky, now kindled’ with beauty, towered the large castle which crowns the hill. Below were strewn the hovels of the poor. But I saw that in tha side of the hill stops were cut, hewn out of the hard stone—steps that led almost to the summit. A woman was passing. In her hand she carried a pitcher. “Will you tell me who made those steps?’ I asked. She looked at them. “The good-for-nothing boys,’’ she said, and went her way. On Pacific street and Broadway the liguts were beginning to gleam. Men and women were passing on the streets and the children were hurrying to their homes. Butdid not they carry a little of the sunlight in which they had been play- ing into the dark alleys and the miserable homes? Then I thought of the steps that led up to the pure air, and even up to where the beauty of the sunset still lingered. And I prayed that the children who hewed those steps up the rocky height would hew their way likewise in time, and in spite of these early environments, up the hard heights of life, even to the summit. JEAN MoRRIS ® A COMING CHAMPION W o ’ JMITATING HIS ELDERS THE MARBLE EXPERT rs