THE FORTUNES OF LITTLE GEORGIE.
A child, young, fair, and innocent, lay dying among the pillows of a
snowy couch in the upper room of a large and spacious house,—the only
child of wealthy parents, whose hearts seemed breaking under the
necessity of giving their loved one up to death,—for these parents had
no idea or knowledge of the spirit world, and the power of its
inhabitants to return to earth and to minister to their friends. All
that skill could do or love suggest had been tried for the recovery of
their one ewe lamb, but all in vain; slowly and surely the change was
stealing upon him, and in a little while his spirit had joined the angel
band.
Out in the chilly streets, not far from the stately mansion of which I
have written, another child, as young and fair and innocent as the
first, sat shivering with cold, and trembling with hunger. What was to
be his fate? who could tell? This was the offspring of poor, respectable
parents; the father had passed to the spirit world, the mother had
earned her bread by hard labor, until an attack of acute bronchial
trouble threatened her life, and she had been taken to the hospital for
treatment, where she still lingered, battling with disease; while her
little boy, uncared for and alone, sat in the street, or roamed about,
picking up a bit here and there as best he could, returning at night to
the humble room he had always called home, to throw himself upon his
lowly bed and weep himself to sleep.
You may ask, in doubt, “Can such things be? Are such things allowed in a
Christian land?” and we answer: “Yes; here in your boasted civilized
country, little children, the pride and flowers of humanity, are
permitted to struggle up through poverty, hunger, cold, and misery; and
then you wonder at the existence of crime, the spread of evil.”
SHADOWS ON EARTHLY PATHS.
The child of the wealthy parents passed to the higher life, leaving that
elegant home lonely and desolate, and those parents’ hearts sad and
sorrowful. The mother of the little street-waif also passed on to the
other world, leaving her beloved boy homeless and destitute; for the
authorities, finding that the woman was no more, sent to her former home
to ascertain the whereabouts of her friends. The neighbors could tell
the messenger nothing, only that there was a little boy of about eight
years; but they had seen nothing of him of late. Of the woman they knew
little; she had been a hard-working, decent body, who minded her own
business and did not talk much.
Concluding—without taking the trouble to investigate the matter—that the
child had been taken care of by some one who knew its mother, the city
authorities ordered the burial of her remains, stripped her former abode
of its humble possessions, and when in the coldness and darkness of
night the child crept home to his bed, he found the door locked, and
himself unable to gain admittance.
And thus it happened that he wandered off, until, faint and weary, he
sank down upon a door-stone, where he was found by a night-watchman and
taken to the nearest station. Having been warmed and fed, our little
waif told his story. He was then given a place to sleep, and in the
morning taken to a charitable institution for children, and left in
charge of its matron.
Just three weeks after these events, a wealthy farmer arriving from a
Western city visited the institution in search of a boy to accompany him
home and learn to do chores on the farm. Our friend Georgie was selected
to accompany him; and after giving the references required by the
institution concerning his character and ability to care for the child,
the stranger departed, taking the little one with him. But arriving at
his destination, it transpired that the man of wealth had not taken the
child into his own service, but had brought him from the East to deliver
into the hands of a neighbor of his, a hard, grasping, relentless man,
who proved to be a most terrible and heartless task-master to our little
boy, whose life now became one of drudgery and abject servitude.
Time passed; the health of the child began to suffer severely under the
severe treatment received. This only served to harden his master toward
him. It seemed that death must soon come to his release, when an event
happened which changed the entire life of the boy, and brought him under
conditions favorable for the growth of his hitherto stunted powers, as
well as for the unfoldment of happiness within him.
We are not unmindful of the work of the spirit; in this case, the work
of many spirits. The poor mother who had breathed her earthly life away
upon a hospital cot had joined her husband and found a sweet home in the
spirit world; but she had not forgotten her little, homeless boy on
earth, and it was now her purpose and her mission, aided by her
companion, to work early and late for that child’s welfare.
With sorrowful hearts did they watch over their loved one, with
anguished feelings did they behold the misery of his daily life, caused
and promoted by the severity of his cruel master; and it was with the
greatest anxiety that they sought to guard him from evil, and to guide
his spirit in the path of right.
A SPIRIT MOTHER LEADS HER CHILD.
At length, one calm summer evening, about eight months after the child
had been taken to the West, and placed in the power of his keeper, our
little boy was made happy by a sight of his dear mother. It had been a
day of unusual hardship—work too heavy for him to perform had been given
him to do, and when he broke down under it he had been met with blows
and curses. Smarting under the infliction, he had crept away to his
humble room, beneath the eaves of the old house, and, throwing himself
upon the lowly bed, had sobbed himself to sleep.
It was yet early evening, when our little boy suddenly awoke, to behold
the well-remembered face of his mother beaming upon him, and to hear her
well-known voice saying: “Come, my darling, you have remained here too
long, I cannot see you suffer under the power of your cruel master
another day; follow me, and God will take care of you.”
The child, bewildered and but half awake, not doubting but that his
mother had found him, and had come to take him away—for he had never
realized that she was dead—arose from his low couch and softly followed
the spirit form as it glided from the room and down the stairs, out into
the cool, sweet dusk of a summer evening.
In the glimmering twilight he stumbled on, still following that form
which he believed to be his mother’s, yet half-awed and somewhat
frightened that it did not speak, but only seemed to glide along as
though barely touching the ground over which it passed. By-and-bye, the
wandering child heard the noise and bustle of a large city, not yet
settled into the quietude of night, but he lost sight of the form which
had led him such a long distance, and realized that he was alone.
What a situation for a child of nine years to be in, alone in all the
world, homeless and friendless, a waif upon the wide sea of humanity.
But do you for a moment imagine that the good spirits had deserted this
little one? Ah, no! Hopeless, helpless, and alone, the child sank down
by the roadside; the night was warm, the stars gleamed above his head;
he was footsore, tired and lame, from his long and wearisome journey.
Soon he fell into a troubled slumber, his head rolled from side to side,
and he moaned in his sleep. In this condition he was found by a passing
traveller, a gentleman of business, who was journeying to his home in
the suburbs of the city, not far away. Not having the heart to leave the
child alone, and knowing of no habitation near at hand, this gentleman
determined to convey him to his own home; and as he was travelling by
carriage, this was easily accomplished.
Upon reaching his destination, the little boy was kindly received and
tenderly cared for by Mrs. Webster, the wife of the gentleman who had
found him, and her sister-in-law, Mrs. Harris, who, in company with her
husband, was visiting this region from their home in the East.
The terrible hardships which little Georgie had undergone for months,
together with the mental and physical strain of that one night’s
journey, left him stranded upon a bed of sickness, which lasted many
weeks, during which time he knew nothing of what was taking place around
him; but careful nursing and skillful treatment at length triumphed over
the dangerous fever, and the child once more awoke to life and
consciousness. We must now leave our little orphan in the care of the
kind friends who had found him, and return to the eastern city from
which he had been taken by the western farmer.
Our readers will remember that about the time little Georgie wandered
friendless and alone throughout the city’s streets while his mother lay
ill in the public hospital, a young child, fair and innocent, lay dying
in a sumptuously-furnished chamber of an up-town residence. Mr. and Mrs.
Harris were religious people; they attended a respectable and
fashionable church, listened to the teachings of their pastor, and
believed the bible to be unqualifiedly the word of God. But in the hour
of their bereavement they found no relief, no consolation in these
things; theirs was utter and profound sadness.
VISIONS OF THE NIGHT.
The lady’s health, never robust, began to fail; she became easily
wrought upon by her surroundings, and sensitive to the slightest
influence brought to bear upon her; the nervous system was pronounced
prostrated by her attending physician, who recommended a change of scene
and associations for her benefit. At times, while her mortal senses were
locked in slumber, Mrs. Harris would behold the face of her little boy,
and hear his well-known tones calling to her in words of love. So real
did these visions seem to the lady that she could hardly believe them to
be dreams, although—as she said to her husband while relating them to
him—her common-sense told her that they could be nothing else.
Weeks passed away, Mrs. Harris dreamed on, drawing comfort and peace
from the nightly visits of her spirit child. The visions became stronger
and clearer; other forms than that of her little boy were sometimes
seen, and other voices than his mingled in her ears. These voices spoke
to the lonely woman of the spirit world, its joys, its home life, and
its duties; so vivid did they appear to her that she would remember and
repeat them to her husband in her waking hours.
At length the lady began to declare her belief that God had permitted
her little one to return to her in her hours of sleep, to comfort her in
her sore affliction; and truly did she seem to grow calm and happy in
mind, even though her body became more delicate and fragile. Anxious for
his wife’s health, and fearful lest her mind was becoming unbalanced,
Mr. Harris consulted with his family physician concerning her strange
condition. The doctor examined the lady, and pronounced her of sound
mind; he declared the nervous system, however, to be shattered, and
recommended travel as a means of restoration to health.
About this time, Mrs. Harris received a letter from her sister and
husband living in the West, urging her and Mr. Harris to visit them in
their far-off home. After mature deliberation on the part of our
friends, it was decided to accept the cordial invitation extended by
their relatives, the Websters; and they accordingly prepared to leave
their home for the West, as soon as the spring should open and render
travelling comfortable and easy.
DREAMS THAT APPEARED STRANGE.
One morning—soon after the above decision was made—Mrs. Harris appeared
at the breakfast table in a pre-occupied state of mind, which her
husband noticed, and which elicited inquiry from him as to its cause.
“I will tell you,” said the lady. “You remember Mrs. Stevens, the
seamstress I used to employ to do my plain sewing? Well, the last time
she was here I noticed she labored very hard for breath, and fearing
that she had taken a violent cold, I paid her her due, and advised her
to go home and attend to herself. It was the time Freddie was so very
ill, and in my anxiety for him I forgot all about the poor woman; until
about six weeks ago I sent for her to come to me, when I learned for the
first time of her death at the hospital, which occurred last winter.
“I wondered what had become of her little boy, but supposed he had been
taken care of by friends. You remember what a liking our Freddie took to
the little fellow, and how he always begged to be allowed to show him
some toys and give him cake whenever his mother brought him with her.
“Well, for the last three nights I have seen Mrs. Stevens as plainly as
I ever saw her in my life, but with a look of distress on her face that
she never wore in my presence. Last night, our Freddie was with her, and
I heard him say: ‘Oh, mamma, her Georgie is in trouble, he is not
treated well, he is unhappy, and it makes her so too. I like Georgie,
and I want you to find him and make him happy, as I am happy in this
lovely world.’
“There,” continued the lady, “I have told you my dream. I promised
Freddie I would do what I could for the little Stevens boy; but I don’t
know where he is, I am sure. However, I am certain I have had a visit
from the dead, and I feel that I must keep my promise.”
This occurrence convinced Mr. Harris that his wife’s sanity depended
upon his taking her away from home immediately; and so quickly did he
push his preparations for departure that the end of another week found
them fairly started on their long journey.
We do not propose to enter into the details of the trip, nor of their
welcome to their sister’s home. The expectations of Mr. Harris seemed
about to be realized. The excitement of the journey, the change of scene
and of atmospheric influences, appeared to exert a beneficial effect
upon his wife. The extreme degree of lassitude, formerly so frequent
with her, departed; her step became firmer, her eye clearer, her voice
more cheerful. Her appetite also began to improve, her new life seemed
full of interest to her, and, best of all,—in her husband’s opinion,—no
more was heard from her of nightly vision and visiting spirit.
It was a beautiful morning in summer, when Mrs. Harris startled her
husband by exclaiming: “I had a visit from Mrs. Stevens again last
night, who said to me: ‘Remember your promise; my child is in trouble;
he will be brought to you ere twenty-four hours have gone over your
head; I trust you to take care of him.’ And when she passed from my
sight, our Freddie came, looking so beautiful that I almost cried aloud,
so anxious was I to hold him in my arms, and he said: ‘Dear mamma, I
come to you in this way, for I love you, and I want you to see how happy
I am in the spirit world. I love you and papa dearly, but I don’t want
to come back here to live. You will come to me by-and-bye; but I want
you to have a little boy here to love and care for, and we will bring
you Georgie Stevens. The cruel man beats and curses him; you and papa
must love him, and teach him of God and the angels; he will be their
gift to you.’”
The lady ceased speaking, and the husband stood looking upon her in
silence. The sweetness and solemnity in her tones impressed him deeply,
yet a terrible fear that his wife had become insane filled his soul with
speechless sorrow.
THE STRANGE DREAMS FULFILLED.
It was the evening of the same day that Mrs. Webster sat watching for
her husband’s return from the distant city. He was late, and anxious
fears for his safety disturbed the serenity of her mind. Mr. and Mrs.
Harris had retired, but not to rest; for the minds of both were
disturbed,—the one over her vision of the night before, the other over
the condition of his wife.
It was near the midnight hour when at length Mr. Webster arrived,
bearing a burden,—the form of an unconscious child found by him on the
roadside. The noise and bustle of the arrival aroused Mr. Harris, who
decided to investigate. Judge of his surprise to find his brother-in-law
burdened with a waif of apparently nine years of age,—one, too, whose
sunburned features seemed strangely familiar to him. Actuated by a
feeling of uneasiness, Mrs. Harris wrapped a light shawl around her, and
also descended to the lower part of the house to ascertain why her
brother had been detained so late.
No sooner had the eyes of the lady rested upon the face of the child—who
had been conveyed to a bed-room and placed upon the couch, where Mrs.
Webster was now attending to him—than she started forward, exclaiming:
“It is, it is Georgie Stevens!”
In a moment her husband was beside her, and as he, too, gazed upon the
form before him, the conviction fastened upon his mind that it was no
other than the little boy whom he had more than once seen in his own
house, and whom he knew to be the son of a poor yet worthy woman
employed in former times by his wife as a seamstress. A startled silence
fell upon all in that apartment, for each one present knew of the
“strange dreams” that had visited Mrs. Harris; and as the stillness
deepened, a peculiar light shone above the face of the fever-tossed
child, which formed into letters, and then words, until the sentence:
“God’s and the Angels’ Gift,” could be read, and having been read slowly
faded from sight.
When the fever abated, and little Georgie returned to consciousness, he
found himself cared for by loving friends, who had accepted their charge
reverently and gladly; and when he became able to relate the story of
his miserable life in the West, under the persecutions of his cruel
master, the confirmation of the spirits’ statements to Mrs. Harris was
received. In a little while the child was able to travel, and he was
taken by Mr. and Mrs. Harris to their eastern home; for these good
people had determined to adopt and educate him as their son.
Through these occurrences, Mr. Harris sought to investigate
Spiritualism, which he did to his satisfaction, receiving unbounded
evidence of its truth. His wife still continues to have “visions” and to
hold communion with the spirits, and her soul is happy and at rest.
Little Georgie, now a youth who bids fair to make a mark in the world,
has never seen his own mother since the night he followed her spirit
from the home of his tormentor; but he delights to receive tidings of
her watchful care over him from the lips of his beloved second mother,
Mrs. Harris, who often holds communion with her spirit in the silence of
the midnight hour.