2 
EED-TIliE AND HARVEST. 
Restored. 
BY MRS. LUCY DEWY CLAY. 
“Please, sir, will you give me a penny if 
I’ll sing you a song ?” 
The gentleman paused in his quick walk 
as the childish voice met his ear, and look¬ 
ed at the little figure before him. A little 
girl, not more than eight years of age, with 
curling masses of bright, glossy hair, under¬ 
neath a wide-rimmed straw hat, little bare 
feet which the short, coarse dress did not 
hide, little brown hands tightly clasped 
together, and great blue eyes that were 
raised to his face with such a timid, wistful 
expression. 
Walter Dunlap, although travelled and 
experienced in the phases of life in a large 
city, stood and wondered. Here was no 
dirty-faced, tangled-haired, tawny, tattered 
specimen of humanity, that bespoke the 
common street musician. He smiled kind¬ 
ly upon her and said. “Well, yes, my lit¬ 
tle miss, I will hear you sing.*’ There was 
a glad light for an instant in the dark blue 
eyes, a little tremor of the small mouth, 
and she began the familiar yet touching 
song “Father’s a drunkard and mother is 
dead.” Her listener stood motionless Nev¬ 
er before had he heard such melody, such 
pathos, such liquid sweetness in the voice 
of a child. 
At the close of the first verse, he said 
abruptly, “child, child ! who taught you 
to sing like that.” 
“No one taught me, sir, I listen to little 
Bettine, and learn my songs from her, but 
she has music to go with hers, I have none.” 
“But why do you sing on the streets and 
at this hour too; don’t you know it is grow¬ 
ing dark, and you ought to be at home.” 
“Ah, good sir, and tears sprang quickly 
to the lovely eyes, I sang your tune, I have 
no home, and I sing for pennies to buy 
bread, and a place to sleep in the lodging 
house.” 
“See here, my little one, I lecture in a 
larire hall to-night, and want you to sing 
forme. Can you doit?” “Oh, yes sir, I 
can sing anywhere, but,”—and she looked 
sadly at her coarse dress and bare feet. 
“Ah,” said the kind gentleman, at once 
comprehending the natural pride of the 
poor little waif, “we will see to that, but 
first for a good supper, come,” and taking 
her by the hand they walked rapidly up 
the street. 
Washington Hall was filled to overflow¬ 
ing. There was much excitement on the 
great question of temperance, and all were 
anxious to hear the talented lecturer, whose 
fame had spread through many of the great 
cities of the w^est. Nor was their coming 
in vain. Voice and manner of the fine look¬ 
ing speaker were impressive, his arguments 
were strong and conclusive, his appeals 
earnest and eloquent. After holding, with 
intense interest and admiration the large 
audience for many minutes, he paused, and 
with a visible effort to control some strong 
emotion within him, he said, while his rich 
voice assumed a softer and deeper tone, 
“With the relation of an incident in real 
file I will close. A young man of education, 
wealth and refinement, with every incen¬ 
tive to the achievement of a noble manhood, 
forgets the example, instructions and prayers 
of pious parents, chooses evil companions 
for his society, and is rapidly pursuing the 
road which ends in infamy and crime. His 
father after repeated, but vain remonstrance 
bids him go his way, his mother soon died 
of a broken heait, but a lovely wife clings 
to him, and with pleading eyes and eloquent 
lips, entreats him to shun the wine cup 
and the tempters who are seeking his ruin. 
He cannot bear her earnest, loving appeals, 
and in a moment of frenzy he curses the 
wife he madly worships, and flings her 
from him, and rushes wildly forth to drown 
love, conscience, memory, all, in the mad¬ 
dening bowl. On awaking from his drunk¬ 
en stupor, he resolves to abandon his evil 
associates, forsake his precious wife and 
infant child, and go he cares not whither, 
only away from the sin crowded city, 
away into the beautiful country he loved so 
well when a boy. There he can reform, 
and soon be able to return to his loved ones 
an upright, honorable man. Until then 
they are better without him for he leaves 
them not without means. But oh, how 
binding the slavery of the soul when once 
given over to the power of the tempter. It 
took years of toil to subdue the demon with¬ 
in him, but at last through the blessing of 
