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narrow； noisome room where； huddled like vermin in sewers； they welter；
and sicken； and sleep； where dirt…grimed children scream and fight and
sluttish； shrill…voiced women cuff； and curse； and nag； where the street
outside teems with roaring filth and the house around is a bedlam of riot
and stench。
Think what a sapless stick this fair flower of life must be to them；
devoid of mind and soul。 The horse in his stall scents the sweet hay and
munches the ripe corn contentedly。 The watch…dog in his kennel blinks at
the grateful sun； dreams of a glorious chase over the dewy fields； and
wakes with a yelp of gladness to greet a caressing hand。 But the clod…like
life of these human logs never knows one ray of light。 From the hour when
they crawl from their comfortless bed to the hour when they lounge back
into it again they never live one moment of real life。 Recreation；
amusement； companionship； they know not the meaning of。 Joy； sorrow；
laughter； tears； love； friendship； longing； despair； are idle words to them。
From the day when their baby eyes first look out upon their sordid world
to the day when； with an oath； they close them forever and their bones are
shoveled out of sight； they never warm to one touch of human sympathy；
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THE IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW。
never thrill to a single thought； never start to a single hope。 In the name of
the God of mercy； let them pour the maddening liquor down their throats
and feel for one brief moment that they live！
Ah！ we may talk sentiment as much as we like； but the stomach is the
real seat of happiness in this world。 The kitchen is the chief temple
wherein we worship； its roaring fire is our vestal flame； and the cook is
our great high…priest。 He is a mighty magician and a kindly one。 He
soothes away all sorrow and care。 He drives forth all enmity； gladdens all
love。 Our God is great and the cook is his prophet。 Let us eat； drink； and
be merry。
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THE IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW。
ON FURNISHED APARTMENTS。
〃Oh； you have some rooms to let。〃
〃Mother！〃
〃Well； what is it？〃
〃'Ere's a gentleman about the rooms。〃
〃Ask 'im in。 I'll be up in a minute。〃
〃Will yer step inside； sir？ Mother'll be up in a minute。〃
So you step inside and after a minute 〃mother〃 comes slowly up the
kitchen stairs； untying her apron as she comes and calling down
instructions to some one below about the potatoes。
〃Good…morning； sir；〃 says 〃mother；〃 with a washed…out smile。 〃Will
you step this way； please？〃
〃Oh； it's hardly worth while my coming up；〃 you say。 〃What sort of
rooms are they； and how much？〃
〃Well；〃 says the landlady； 〃if you'll step upstairs I'll show them to
you。〃
So with a protesting murmur； meant to imply that any waste of time
complained of hereafter must not be laid to your charge； you follow
〃mother〃 upstairs。
At the first landing you run up against a pail and a broom； whereupon
〃mother〃 expatiates upon the unreliability of servant…girls； and bawls over
the balusters for Sarah to come and take them away at once。 When you get
outside the rooms she pauses； with her hand upon the door； to explain to
you that they are rather untidy just at present； as the last lodger left only
yesterday； and she also adds that this is their cleaning…dayit always is。
With this understanding you enter； and both stand solemnly feasting your
eyes upon the scene before you。 The rooms cannot be said to appear
inviting。 Even 〃mother's〃 face betrays no admiration。 Untenanted
〃furnished apartments〃 viewed in the morning sunlight do not inspire
cheery sensations。 There is a lifeless air about them。 It is a very different
thing when you have settled down and are living in them。 With your old
familiar household gods to greet your gaze whenever you glance up； and
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THE IDLE THOUGHTS OF AN IDLE FELLOW。
all your little knick…knacks spread around youwith the photos of all the
girls that you have loved and lost ranged upon the mantel…piece； and half a
dozen disreputable…looking pipes scattered about in painfully prominent
positionswith one carpet slipper peeping from beneath the coal…box and
the other perched on the top of the pianowith the well…known pictures to
hide the dingy walls； and these dear old friends； your books； higgledy…
piggledy all over the placewith the bits of old blue china that your
mother prized； and the screen she worked in those far by…gone days； when
the sweet old face was laughing and young； and the white soft hair
tumbled in gold…brown curls from under the coal…scuttle bonnet
Ah； old screen； what a gorgeous personage you must have been in your
young days； when the tulips and roses and lilies （all growing from one
stem） were fresh in their glistening sheen！ Many a summer and winter
have come and gone since then； my friend； and you have played with the
dancing firelight until you have grown sad and gray。 Your brilliant colors
are fast fading now； and the envious moths have gnawed your silken
threads。 You are withering away like the dead hands that wove you。 Do
you ever think of those dead hands？ You seem so grave and thoughtful
sometimes that I almost think you do。 Come； you and I and the deep…
glowing embers； let us talk together。 Tell me in your silent language what
you remember of those young days； when you lay on my little mother's lap
and her girlish fingers played with your rainbow tresses。 Was there never a
lad near sometimesnever a lad who would seize one of those little hands
to smother it with kisses； and who would persist in holding it； thereby
sadly interfering with the progress of your making？ Was not your frail
existence often put in jeopardy by this same clumsy； headstrong lad； who
would toss you disrespectfully aside that henot satisfied with onemight
hold both hands and gaze up into the loved eyes？ I can see that lad now
through the haze of the flickering twilight。 He is an eager bright…eyed boy；
with pinching； dandy shoes and tight…fitting smalls； snowy shirt frill and