 | Eli Perkins (at large) |  |
THE GOOD MAN.
Do not think because I write
about the follies and foibles of
Saratoga that good and true
men do not sometimes go there.
The good man will be good
everywhere. He will be just
till he has no bread, just till
he has no drink, just
chained to the stake, till
he sees the faggots piled
about him and curling
flames gnawing at his
quivering flesh — clinging
to the throne of God.
In the mazes of the dance you
will see brave men with hearts to
love and pray; Christian mothers
with faces all aglow with the smiles
of Heaven; children with beautiful
angel faces, and babes in arms,
sweet blossoms born from the
bosom of Divinity.
Last summer you might have seen enacted
daily, at one of the most fashionable
hotels in Saratoga, one of the sweetest
incidents in the Christian life. As the
of the great dining-room, and the endless clatter of
tongues and cutlery seemed to drown every holy
thought, a silver-haired old man entered quietly at the
head of his Christian family and took his seat at the
head of the table.
Instantly the laughing faces of a tableful of diners
assumed a reverential look. Their knives and forks
rested silently on the table while this silver-frosted
Christian, with clasped hands, modestly murmured a
prayer of thanks—a sweet benediction to God. The
scene lasted but a moment; but all day long the hallowed
prayer of this good man seemed to float through
the air, guiding, protecting and consecrating the thoughtless
army of wayward souls.
It was a long time before I could find out who this
grand old Christian was; but one night it came to us
all at once.
That night a lovely Christian mother arose early
from the hop-room, with her two little girls, to return
to her room.
“Why do you go so early, Mrs. Clarke? The hop
in not half over,” remarked a lady friend.
“You will laugh at me if I tell you. Now, really,
won't you, my dear?”
“No, not unless you make me,” replied her friend.
“Well, then,” said this Christian mother, as she
leaned forward with a child's hand in each of hers.
“You know I room next to that dear, good old white-haired
man, and every night at ten he does pray so
beautifully that I like to go with the children and sit
we are near his voice nothing can happen to the children.”
With tears in her eyes, her friend said, “Let me go
with you;” and right there, in the middle of the lanciers,
these two big-hearted Christian women went out
with their children to go and kneel down by the door
in the next room to listen to the family prayer of good
old Richard Suydam
| Eli Perkins (at large) | |