Around the World with Josiah Allen's Wife by Marietta Holley (ereader with dictionary .TXT) 📕

kneel down on soft hassocks and pray: “Thy kingdom come,” and “Give us this day our daily bread,” and “give us what we give others.” These poor folks can’t go nigh ’em, for the usher won’t let ’em, but they meet ’em through the week, or hear of ’em, and know that they do all in their power to keep his kingdom of Love and Justice away from the world. They herd in their dark, filthy, death-cursed 72 tenements, not fit for beasts, owned by the deacon of that church, and all the week run the gauntlet of those drink hells, open to catch all their hard-earned pennies, owned by the warden and vestrymen and upheld by the clergymen and them high in authority, and extolled as the Poor Man’s Club. Wimmen who see their husbands enticed to spend all their money there and leave them and their children starving and naked; mothers who see their young boys in whom they tried to save a spark of their childish innocence ground over in these mills of the devil into brutal ruffians who strike down the care-worn form of the one that bore them in agony, and bent over their cradle with a mother’s love and hope. As they see all this, and know that this is the true meaning of the prayers put up in them elegant churches, don’t they need steeples to tell that they’re built to show Christ’s love and justice to the world? Yes, indeed; they need steeples and high ones, too.

But this city of Robert Strong’s didn’t need steeples, as I say. It wuz Christianity built in bricks and mortar, practical religion lived right before ’em from day to day, comfortable houses for workmen, which they could hope to earn and call their own. Pleasant homes where happy love could dwell in content, because no danger stood round, hid in saloons to ruin husband, son and father; comfortable houses where health and happiness could dwell. Good wages, stiddy work, and a share in all the profits made there; good hard work whilst they did work, ensurin’ success and prosperity; but short hours, ensurin’ sunthin’ beyond wages.

A big house, called a Pleasure House, stood in the centre of the broad, handsome streets, a sort of a centrepiece from which streams of happiness and health flowed through the hull city, some as them little rills of pure snow water flowed through the streets of Salt Lake and Denver. Where all sorts of innocent recreation could be found to suit all minds and ages. A big library full of books. A museum full of the riches of science and art. A big music hall where lovers 73 of music could find pleasure at any time, and where weekly concerts was given, most of the performers being of the musically inclined amongst the young people in the City of Justice. A pretty little theatre where they could act out little plays and dramas of a helpful, inspirin’ sort. A big gymnasium full of the best appliances and latest helps to physical culture. A large bathing tank where the white marble steps led down to cool, sweet waters flowing through the crystal pool, free to all who wanted to use it. A free telephone linking the hull place together. I roamed along through the beautiful streets and looked on the happy, cheerful-faced workmen, who thronged them now, for their short day’s work wuz ended and they wuz goin’ home. My heart swelled almost to bustin’ and I sez almost unbeknown to myself, to Robert Strong who wuz walkin’ by my side: “We read about the New Jerusalem comin’ down to earth, and if I didn’t know, Robert Strong, that you had founded this city yourself, I should think that this wuz it.”

He laughed his boyish laugh, but I see the deep meanin’ in his clear, gray eyes and knew what he felt, though his words wuz light.

“Oh no,” sez he, “we read that those gates are pearl; these are just common wood, turned out by my workmen.”

Sez I, “The pearl of love and good will to man, the precious stun of practical religion and justice shines on these gates and every buildin’ here, and I bless the Lord that I have ever lived to see what I have to-day.” And I took out my snowy linen handkerchief and shed some tears on it, I was so affected.

Robert Strong wuz touched to his heart, I see he wuz, but kep’ up, his nater bein’ such. Miss Meechim and Dorothy wuz walkin’ a little ahead, Tommy between ’em. And anon we come to the house Robert lived in; not a bit better than the others on that street, but a nice comfortable structure of gray stun and brick, good enough for anybody, with wide sunshiny windows, fresh air, sunshine, plenty of books, 74 musical instruments and furniture good enough, but nothing for show.

Here his motherly-looking housekeeper spread a nice lunch for us. His overseer dined with us, a good-looking chap, devoted to Robert Strong, as I could see, and ready to carry out his idees to the full. Miss Meechim couldn’t find anything, it seemed to me, to pick flaws in, but she did say to me out to one side, “Just think how Robert lives in a house no better than his workmen, and he might live in a palace.”

Sez I, warmly, “Robert Strong’s body may stay in this comfortable brick house, good enough for anybody, but the real Robert Strong dwells in a royal palace, his soul inhabits the temple of the Lord, paved with the gold and pearl of justice and love, and its ruff reaches clear up into heaven from where he gits the air his soul breathes in.”

“Do you think so? I never thought of it in that light; I have thought his ideas was erroneous and so my clergyman thinks. Rev. Dr. Weakdew said to me there were a great many texts that he had preached from all his life, that if these ideas of Robert’s was carried out universally, would be destroyed and rendered meaningless. Texts it had always been such a comfort to him to preach from, he said, admonishing the poor of their duty to the rich, and comforting the poor and hungry and naked with assurances that though hungry here they may partake of the bread of life above, if they are humble and patient and endure to the end, and though shivering and naked here, they may be clothed in garments of light above.”

And I sez, “Bein’ that we are all in this world at present, I believe the Lord would ruther we should cover the naked limbs and feed the starvin’ bodies here, and now, and leave the futur to Him.”

But Miss Meechim shook her head sadly. “It sounds well,” sez she, “but there is something wrong in any belief that overthrows Scripture and makes the poor wealthy.”

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“Well,” sez I, “if it wuz our naked backs that the snow fell on, and the hail pelted, and our stomachs that wuz achin’ and faint for food, we should sing a different tune.”

“I trust that I should sing a Gospel tune in any event,” sez she.

“Well,” sez I, “we needn’t quarrel about that, for we couldn’t feel much like singin’ in them cases. But if we did sing I think a good hymn would be: