Adopted Out Of Charity

"We' ve tfikenher in out of oharity," Mr Bannerman used to say; and it was quite trne that he liad taken the girl in, but from what kind of chaiity let people judge. Martha Ilarris was a small tradesraan's danghter who had gone wrong, and going wrong had led her to prison. She had been caught wandering suspiciously near the parapet of VVaterloo bridge one night and a magietvatehad committed her to prison for a week, not as i punishment, but tliat she niight be remonstrated with by the chaplain on the sinfulness of wisnirig fco get lid of hfe which had beconie iiburden toher. The case was reported in the Qewspapers, and in the course of the weuk Mr. Bannerman wrote from a semi-detached villa in the outskirts of London to sny that he would gladly take the outcast to his home and do his hunible best to crente in her a new spuit. Prison cbaplains have often to deal with cirls who are weary of life, and they always find itdüficult to provide for Buch cases; so thechaplain Lhounht well of Mr. Bannerman's Lomniunication, and went to Martha's cell to inform her that a Christian faniily had offered to take her in. "You eee Providence hadnotdeserted yon, Ilarris," he remarked, with the proper soltminity of a priest addressing a sinner. "Will you promise me that, if I recomniend you to these kind people, you will endeavor to behave yourself?" "Yes, sir, replied Martha, meekly. with downcast eyes. "By your own confession you have been very wifked," continued the reverend gentleman. "You must feel like a brand plucked from the burning. I hope that really is what you feel?" "Yes, sir." "And that you repen t? It will be verv grievous to me if I hear byandby fiom these kind Christian people that you have disappointed their expectations." Martha Hairis made no answer.but quietly cried. She feit not only very wicked, but abandoned; and in her foi-lorn condition it did really seem a niercy tliat anybody should take her by t lie hand and induct her into a Christian home. A couple of days afterward-i, having received a few parting words in season from the chaplain, she appeared once more betore the Magistrate, whoadministered another lecture to her and handed her over to a red-faced gentleman with black whiski'rs, who was the Christian owninc tbe home wheieshe was to be taken in. Mi'. Bannerman was complimented on his Christianity from the bench, and pocketed the complimenta as so much wages due on account of his faithful service towards his Maker. He said he looked for his reward in heaven; but it was evident that he considered himself entitled to an anticipa! ory bonus m the shape of conimendation here on earth. So liaving made his bow to the Magistrate, he heckoned to Martha to follow him, and took her otï with him to tbe suburbs in an omnibus. Martha Ilarris was a well-looking pi rl of some education and refinement, who might easily have obtained a situación as . shop assistant or barmaid or even as nursery governess had she gone the right way to work, but having made a slip at the outset of her life she had been stunned by her tall and saw all thincs in acontused way. She was aa much ashamed of herself as any gaol chaplain would have desired, and though the week she had spent in her prison cell, had calmed hor spirit so that she no longer had any puipose of making away with herself, vet she saw in life no ioyous prospect whatever. but only a long course of expiation to be comnienced and jarried through with what strength heaven niiaht send her. These consience-stricken sentiments Mr. Bannerman by no means sought to represa. Nor did his wite. They were verycareful to let Martha know that for sins like hers there can never be any formveness here below; but that by dint of hard labor and unvarying humility she iniírht so far reinstate herself in the ood opinión of her employers that at some future time they might consider what could be done for her. Meanwhile they offered her food and shelter, b.it no wages. "Money is the root of allevil," observed Mr. Bannerman, "and you must try to feel that you areworking for heavenly wages." Martha did try. She had hoped for a kind word in coming nmong these Christmn people, but she could not expect, it; and the views which theyexpressed asto her sinful state only contirmed her in the opinión that the woild at large - which was imbued, no doubt, with less Christian charity tlian these Bannermans - would view it more harshly Btill. So she hun her head lower tlian ever and went about herwork.wonderins; whether all the fatigues she endured and all the tears she Shed in .secret would ever make of her a better girl than she was. She becarne the maidofall-work in the Bannermans' houee. She helped Mrs. B. to cook, look after the ehildren.did all the housework, meiided clothes, Bcrnbbed floors and doorstep and washed linen She was up at halfpast live in the morning and could seldoni crawl to her bed before midnieht. Miirtha had a kind of coadjutor in a pooi', lame boy called Phil, who had also been adopted out of charity after he had been sentenced by a county justico to a month's iinprisomnent for steulin a turnip out of a Beid and oating it, when faint with Inniger. Like Martha, Phil was oveiwhelmed with a sen Re of his own vileness and hnd become weak-mindöd trom thinkinc that never, so long ds he lived in this woild, would that affair about the turnip be forgotten, and t bat it would be, troinped up againat hitn even when he crtme up for linal judgment after death. Jt was Phil's business to black shooB, carry coal, clean knives and do odd jobs, of which enough were l'ouud Co keop him hobbling on his lame leu all day. For this Phil had also been to!d to expect heavenly iragra - provided, of course, he did everytlnng witb a cheerful heartj but in: eot shelter and food, nnd was frequent ly exhorted to thank heaven for bot h on his hended knees. The Jood for which the two sinful servante haU to thank heaven was di.-ipi;nsed to tlk'in as follows: Every moi'hing, after bivakfast, when the faniily had enjoyed thuir three brews i of tea from the. teapot, a little tepid water was poured over the coldleaves by Mts. Banncinian, and this, with a íew odda and ends of stale bread out . I the basket formed a morning meal for Martha and Phil. At dinner time Mrs. B. out them each a slice of neot with a potato, or, f there was no nieat left in the family dish, they had to do with potatoes only. Al i toa time they again liad ome lukenrarni water--t.lití rinsings of the tea1 pot- and sonie stale bread. Butter, i:nlk and sngar ere denieü thom. Mr. Batmermati used to say that they were not put into the world to pnniper their corruptible bodies, and Mra. i!. rook cave that they should not do bo by lockmg up all scraps with her öwn keys. fhe was also vifiilant inguardingthe kitchen while any food was being cooked there. If she could not remain in the kitchen herself slie set one of her tliildren there to espy if eithpr of the servants picked and stole stray morseis. As to clothes, when Mr. Bannerman had taken all the possible wear out of a pair of pantaloons, that garment was altered by a tailor to ht one of the Bannerman boys, and after the boy had done with it it was handed over to Martha, who had to adapt it to Phil's requirements. Similarly Martha herself occasionally got an old gown whicb had been woin out by Mrs. B. and her eldest daughter. Her clothes were soshabby that she would not have dared to go out in them; but Mrs. Bannerman did not want her to o out, nor to enter into evil Communications, as she put it, with other servants and with tradesmen's boys. It was Mrs. B. herself who took the loaves from the baker and the meat Irom the butcher and who gave orders to the crocer's young man. Martha wns oever seen. Sometimes on Bundays she used to see the cleanly-dressed servants of neighbors Eoin? to church and she supposed, in hér sliame, that they must all be eood girls who had never aone astray like herself. She was afraid to beconie acquainted with any of them, for she would have to explain how she came to be toiHn: in a Christian homi without waees, and wliat would they say then? Assuredly they WGtxMspnrxi her as a wretchedUiing, not fit to keep cornpany with such as thev. It never occurred to Martha that the Bannermans were domg her any wrong, or to fancy thiit the weak languor wlnch used to steal over her day after day came from oveiwork and want of proper food. She had racking headnches which made her almost blind for whole hours; her limbs were often so stifï and heavy that she could scarcely drag herself over the íloor; sometimos crockery feil out of her hands because all nerve-power seemed to have left her fingers, and then she would be abused with siich shrill violence by lier mistress, who accused her of breaking thioga on purpose, that she would tremble hke a leaf and find no words to justify herself. Bat, tnuch as she suffered, Martha endured less hom her ówn miserable plight tlian froni the decline which she saw was eatiii" avvay the life of her only friend and companion, Phil. This poor lame boy. whtf was so thin that his limbs appeared to be all bone, was setting to be more and more unequal to his work. Sometimes Martha hoard him pause find groan on the staircase as he tried in vain to carry up a scuttle that was too heavy for hiin. She gave him what help she conld, butif Mr. or Mrs. Bannerman caujht her assisting the boy, Phil was made to pny the penalty under the form of cult's on the ears. His master and mistress were never tired of saying that he was an ill-conditioned vagabond, who robbed them of the bread he ate. They promised him hellfire as his inevitable portion, and poor Phil went Stumbling about the house doing the best he could and bewailing his own wickedness that made him 80 slothful, tor Mr. Bannerman had assnred him that it wns all sloth that made him unable to lift the coal scuttle. "Consider the ant, thou sluggard!" said this Christian to him many times. One day Phil's sloth mastered him and he could not rise from the mattress in the pantry on which he slept. He had been too weak and listless to eat on the previous day and, coming down early on the cold winter moming, Martha found him hot with fever and biting his counterpane as he sat up looking wildly about him. Shetold him to liestill for a while, and presently, at breaktast time, informed her master that Phil was too illto get up. 'TH make himaet up, the little hypocrite!" answered Mr. Bannnerman, and down stairs he went, catching up a stick as hemarched through the hall. Martha heard the sound of blows and a few faint moans. but Phil could not. rise. Stealing, tearful and trembling into the pantry when Mr. Bannernmn had retired aftér inilictinghischastisement, she saw Phil lying on the Hoor, where he had dropped in trying to dress. "I can't help it if they burn me, Martha!" he sobbed, feebly. "I did my best." "They won't burn you, dear - nobody will," said Martha.sobbing, too. and taking him in her ar nis. "Do you feel very bad dear? Teil me where it hurts you." "I did my - best," faltered the poor boy, and soon afterwards he lay quite still, with his head on MarthVa shoulder and his eyes fixed and shining. There was an inqueet after that and Martha heard the Bannerinans talking at the table about how t he Coroner had complimented them. She read a report of the inquest, too, in the newspaper and saw how her masker had deposed to háving adopted a boy who had the prison taint upon him, and how he had endeavored to make a good Christian of the lad. "But I am sorry te say the deceased was an idle boy," continued Mr. B., "and gavemy wife andmemuchtrouble. I am afraid he used to drink on the s!y and I should not wonder if his death arose from his having undermined his coustitution by these stealthy, evil habita." It seemed somehow to Martha, as she read these lines, that the world around her was all black. There was no justice in it and, consequently, there could be no hope. The coroner had complimented Mr. Bannerrmm, but for poor Phil, who had "dono his best," as he had testifièd in his last pasp, not a kindly word had been Baid. Only scorn for Phil from the coroner and jury - scorn and mjustice; for Martha knew that hehad done his best. In her own last breath - aye, and before God afterwards- she would swear that he had done all he could to be a good servant. Then, as she shuddered alone in the night - for all the family had gone to bed when she read the newspaper - Martha reflected that it might be her own fate to die in this house as Phil had died and that once again Mr. Bannerman would be eompÜmented at her expense. Death she did not fear; she feit it coming and had no wish to live; but death in this house had doublé terrors. "Oh, anywhere but here - any where?" she faltered, starting up, with tottering footsteps; and not long afterwards Mr. B. etarted on his piliow at hearing the street door stam. The black river told no tales; it took the heart-broken girl into its deep, cold bed, and swept her away beyond reach of her master and of further eartiily reproach. When Ma rtha's body was found a fortnight later far down the river amone the shipping, there was no indication in the clothes it wore to show that this was the girl who had been adopted into a Christian household. Mr. Bannerman always talked of the runaway as having "relapsed into crime." A daughter of Gen. Buckner, the fainous confedérate, is about to adopt the stage as a profession.