The Message and Deaconess Advocate, v.11 no.10, October 1895

              Authorized to Represent the General Deaconess Work in the Methodist Episcopal Church.
Vol. XI. OAK PARK, CHICAGO, ILL., OCTOBER, 1895. No, 10.
The Measure.
“ Measure thy life hy loss instead of gain;
Not hy the wine drank hut hy the wine poured forth;
For love’s strength standeth in love’s sacrifice, And whoso suffereth most hath most to give.”
FIELD NOTES.
[We wish to correct an impression which seems to prevail that our “Field Notes” are gathered from Chicago alone. They are given, not to ad­vertise any particular field, hut as examples of the work being done in all cities where our homes are established. Last month’s issue contained notes from at least three different cities. Natu­rally the majority are from Chicago, because, liv­ing here, the editors know more of this work; but we are always glad to use notes from other fields, and have repeatedly urged our workers to send in reports and interesting incidents of their own work. It is thought not best to locate these inci­dents, The deaconesses themselves do not desire it. The relation between the deaconess and those whom she serves, is often that of a confidential friend, and details that make the case public prop­erty seem a violation of the privacy that is the sacred right even of the poorest. That this feel­ing is real is shown in the following extract from a late personal letter received by the editor: “ You ask me to send you incidents of my work, I might do so, for I have many interesting#cases, but quite a number in our city take the Deacon­ess Advocate, and I know my people would not like them made public. I will, however, tell you of one or two, but please do not mention names or places.”] __________
She Saw Herself.
“Would you like a bouquet?” said a deaconess visitor as she passed through the long wards of the county hospital with her basket of flowers.
The woman spoken to took the little gift with a trembling hand, then suddenly burst into tears crying, “Oh, it breaks my heart! it breaks my heart!”
“ Are you so fond of flowers?” asked the deaconess, supposing some association connected with the flowers had touched her.
“ Oh, yes. I love flowers—but it isn’t that,” she sobbed, clinging convulsively to the woman’s dress. Her story came at last, broken by sobs.
“It isn’t the flowers,” she said, “it’s the kindness.” I never did so much for anybody else in my life, and to think of such kindness being shown me by a stran­ger! Oh, I have had such dreadful things
to think of, lying here. What a selfish, heartless woman I have been!
“I had a good home once, but I didn’t appreciate it. I didn’t care for anything but to wear fine clothes, and to have a good time all for myself. I had two chil­dren, but they died. God knew I wasn’t fit to bring them up. My husband was good and kind at first, but I made him un- happy with my ways, and we separated. Then I got sick and had nowhere to go but to the county hospital. It serves me right. I don’t deserve so much kindness as I’ve had here. I never saw myself be­fore as I have these past few days, since I’ve just had to be still and think. Why, I might have been like you, going about doing good to others, but I never thought of such a thing. I never thought of any­thing but myself. But things look so dif­ferent to me now; if I ever get well I know I’ll be a different woman. It seems as if I’d been born again.”
The poor woman’s repentance was so deep and honest, that there was little for the deaconess to do but to comfort and encourage her with promises from the Word; then kneeling by the bedside she committed her to the loving Father’s care. As she left her, the sick woman grasped her hand and said, “Oh, I feel so much better. I wanted to tell some­body all about it, and your kind words have helped me to be a better woman.”
An Underground Paradise.
“Deaconess! Oh, Deaconess!”
The deaconess turned half amused, and a trifle ashamed at being called so un­ceremoniously. A man was standing on a flight of steps leading down to a base­ment, only his head and shoulders visible.
“ Come here, won’t you? I’ve got some­thing to show you.”
She turned and followed the man down the stairs. There he threw open the door into a plain, but cozy little sitting-room, whose most conspicuous article of furni­ture was a baby carriage, containing a lit­tle, pink, squirming mite of humanity, just waking from a nap.
“ There! Did you ever see anything to beat that?” said the proud father, while
the mother looked up with a smile of wel­come.
The deaconess bent and kissed the little stranger, but the father took him up awkwardly as one would take a young bird from its nest, and holding him in his two, big brawny hands, said admiringly, “ See how he notices. Ain’t he smart for a month-old baby?”
He was duly praised and wondered at, and at last the father, laying him down regretfully on the pillow, turned away ex­claiming with a rueful look,
“There’s no use talking, wife, I can’t work with that youngster around.”
It was a little thing—only a gleam of sunshine in the midst of dreary sights and sounds; but it brought a smile to the lips of the deaconess for many a day when­ever she thought of the pretty home pic­ture. ________
She had a Ticket.
A deaconess was just beginning her work in a town where church and chari­table work was carried on chiefly by means of entertainments.
She called upon a lady and introduced herself by saying, “I’m from Madison- street church, and I called—”
“ Oh,” interrupted the lady, with a look of consternation, “I’ve just bought a ticket.”
Finding the deaconess had no tickets to sell, she invited her in with the greatest cordiality, and a pleasant and profitable call ensued.
He Washed.
“It’s no use o’ me tryin’ to be any­body.”
It did look so, certainly; a heavy, slouching figure, and a dull, apathetic face, and yet it might be a dullness com­ing from lack of heart and hope, rather than from lack of wit. But he was not only dull but dirty, very dirty. He was a coalheaver, and the dirt and grime of his profession seemed to be ground into his skin. His coarse brown shirt was wide open at the throat, his face unshaven, his hair long and untidy. His whole per­son was a living embodiment of the words ho had used so often to the deaconess as