"There's a very important if in the case."
"What?"
"If the six hundred thousand persons would donate a blanket each. But they won't. And what is the single blanket that I would give? A drop in the ocean ! Nothing more. If a hundred or a thousand other men would agree to give a blanket a piece, I would cheerfully make one of the number. But a single blanket is of no account."
"Suppose you start a subscription for a hundred India-rubber blankets—enough for a single company?"
"Oh dear, no! I never was worth a cent at begging. Any thing but hunting up subscriptions. I'd rather saw wood or split fence rails."
"Then give some poor soldier, who is about going to fight for your peace and security, a single waterproof blanket to keep him dry and warm. Do your duty, and leave the rest to Him in whose hands are the consciences of all men I have answered your question."
But Mr. Van Dyke neither held his tongue nor furnished a blanket. Still he kept going about in a miserable, half-hearted, complaining way; now heaping censure on public men and public measures, and now prophesying the worst of evils.
"What can I do?" The usual termination of one of his wretched harangues dropped from his lips in a company of ladies. And he added, as was his wont: "I am too old to bear arms. I am not rich. I have no sons to offer my country."
"The poorest, the weakest, the humblest can do something," was confidently answered by one of the ladies.
"And I hold that each individual who enjoys the blessings of this good Government is religiously bound to do all in his power for its preservation. The rich according to their wealth, and the poor according to their poverty. The strong in their strength, and the weak in their weakness. Every one can do something. It may require the united efforts of ten to do as much as a single individual of larger ability. But if each does his best, the good accomplished will be great. The way, Mr. Van Dyke, is not so difficult as the will. Given the will, and the way will be plain enough. Want of will I find to be the great impediment."
Mr. Van Dyke answered, somewhat fretfully, that talking was easier than doing, and the lady understood the remark as meant for her. So she said, gravely, yet without feeling.
"But not half so pleasant. It is in doing that delight comes. Our talking disturbs us—it is only when we begin to do that we find tranquillity and satisfaction. Let me, in partial answer of your question, What can I do? relate what I saw only an hour since. You know Hannah Clay?"
"Yes."
"A poor weak invalid. For six years she has not known what it was to be free from pain during her waking hours; and for nearly the whole of that time she has not been able to leave her bed. Well, Mr. Van Dyke, I found her, propped up in bed, knitting woolen slippers for sick soldiers. She had four pairs finished, and was at work on the fifth. I shall not soon forget how her wan face lighted as she showed me her work, and spoke, with moistening eyes, of the sick in camps and hospitals, far away from home and the tender care of sisters, wives, and mothers. 'It is so little that I can do,' she said, in her feeble voice. 'Three or four hours a day is all I am able to work. Oh, I pray often for more strength, so that I could do more.' I looked at the sick girl—so pale, so thin, so weak—and felt a thrill of admiration. I did not ask her; but I am sure she did not feel the tooth of pain in all the hours her fingers plied the needles. Mr. Van Dyke, if Hannah Clay can serve her country in this trying hour, shall we stand in weak hesitation, asking, fretfully, 'What can I do?' It's a shame, Sir, to talk in this fashion. Don't utter the sentence again; don't find fault; don't prophesy evil; don't go about in this weak, miserable, complaining way. It isn't manly, nor brave, nor patriotic. What shall you do? Take a lesson from Hannah Clay. Learn to knit slippers or stockings if you have no skill for any other work. But do something! A sick and dying woman rebukes your inactivity."
"Good-day, ladies," said Mr. Van Dyke, with a shamefacedness that he could not hide, and he bowed himself out. He was known in that circle, and half a dozen hearts thanked the plain-speaking lady for her rebuke.
On the next day Mr. Van Dyke went down town and bought an India-rubber blanket, which he gave to the son of a poor neighbor who was on the eve of marching with his regiment. We fear that the cheerful heart did not bless him as the giver; but not the less warmth and protection has the poor boy received in cold and storm, on dreary nights' camping or marching, amidst the mountains and valleys of Western Virginia. Reader, if you can help in nothing else, give at least one rubber blanket to a soldier. It may save health or life, and thus keep him, as a brave defender, in the field fronting the enemy. And a word more—if you are tempted to complain and find fault, because every thing does not come out just as you desire, remember that such things hinder by encouraging the disloyal, and—hold your tongue!
SHIPWRECK.
BY R. S.CHILTON.
Packed erewhile by the maddened waves
As the storm-wind drove them toward the land:
A boat on the shore and nothing more
To tell of the dead who sank to their graves,
To the sound of the wild sea's roar.
