It was the day for the committee to make their stated visit of
examination at the Asylum. Timmins had swept the school-room floor very
carefully, scoured off the black-board, dusted the benches, and placed a
bunch of flowers on Mrs. Markham's desk, just as that lady entered on
her tour of inspection.
"How on earth came that green trash on my desk?" asked the offended
matron.
"I did it, ma'am, to make it look kind o' cheerful like;" said Timmins,
a little abashed at exhibiting such a weakness in such an august
presence. "It looks so dry and hard here, and children, poor things, is
fond of flowers," and Timmins sighed as she thought of poor Tibbie.
"Are you in your dotage, Timmins, to bring such a frivolous thing as a
bouquet into a school-room? who ever heard of such a folly?" and Mrs.
Markham sent it spinning through the nearest window.
Timmins sighed again, and rubbed off one of the benches with a corner of
her apron; then, looking up as if a bright thought had struck her, she
said:
"They say, ma'am, that this world is nothing but a school for us, and
yet God has strewn flowers all over it. He must have done it for
something."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Mrs. Markham, in extreme disgust; "go, bring in the
chairs for the committee, and then ring the bell for the children."
Clang--clang--clang went the bell, and in wound the mournful procession;
all habited alike, all with the same listless air, flabby-looking limbs,
and leaden complexions.
"Seems to me you look uncommonly stupid," remarked the matron, by way of
encouragement to the children; "see if you can't throw a little
animation into your faces."
The poor little victims stared open their eyes, and made an ineffectual
attempt at a smile, more painful to witness than their former
listlessness.
"Stand up straighter, can't you?"
The little crooked spines made a feeble and ineffectual attempt to
remedy the irreparable injury Mrs. Markham had inflicted upon them.
"Now, let every toe touch that crack on the floor.
"Now, cross your arms behind, every one of you.
"There--don't you stir a hair till the committee come in; it is now
eleven; they will be here at quarter before twelve; now mind what I tell
you about throwing a little animation into your faces;" and Mrs.
Markham having laid the ferule in sight, seated herself in an easy
position in a very comfortable chair, put a checkerberry lozenge in her
mouth, and prepared herself to punish the first child whose overstrained
limbs relaxed from weariness.
Every one knows how much more easily one can walk a mile than stand
perfectly still, in the same position, for fifteen minutes; and no one
who has ever seen the martyrdom which restless childhood is compelled to
undergo, in this respect (even in our best schools), sometimes in the
scorching vicinity of a red-hot stove, sometimes in a shivering draught,
for an hour or more, while the teacher, comfortably seated, leisurely
experiments upon their intellects, can help wishing that he might have
it in his power to subject thoughtless teachers, and as thoughtlessly
criminal parents, to the same daily and intolerable torture; can help
wishing that, having placed _them_ in such positions, he could have
liberty to punish them for the non-committal of tasks which their aching
heads and limbs have rendered impossible.
Let every parent satisfy himself or herself, by _personal inspection_,
with regard to these things; not on farce exhibition days, but by
unexpected calls, at such times as he or she may see fit; and let any
teacher who would debar a parent from such an inalienable right, be
deposed from his station.
Many a grave now filled with moldering dust would have been tenantless,
had parents, not trusting to show-circulars, satisfied themselves on
these points, instead of merely paying the term-bills when due.
"Rose!"
The little drooping head righted itself; the child had fallen asleep; a
thump on the head with the ever-ready ferule brought on a head-ache,
which rendered a repetition of the offense improbable.
"Quarter before twelve."
Markham slides her little gold watch back under her basque. The
committee have arrived. Now she smiles all over. Her hypocritical voice
is pitched to the company key. She glides round the benches, and calls
to "Rose, dear," and "Mabel, dear," and "Anna, dear," patting them on
their shrinking shoulders with her serpent touch.
Now one of the committee makes a prayer, and thanks God that these dear
children, rescued from sinks of pollution and crime, and from depraved
parents, have here found a Christian home, under the guardianship of a
mother in Israel; he prays that God will reward her abundantly for her
self-sacrificing devotion to them, and that the children may feel
unfeignedly grateful for all their blessings.
The committee then seat themselves, and Markham asks a list of
questions, cut and dried beforehand, to which parrot tongues respond.
The children then wail out a hymn, composed by a friend of Mrs.
Markham's in which they are made to express to that lady their
affectionate gratitude, as well as to the philanthropic and
discriminating committee present, who blow their noses sympathetically,
and wipe their spectacles. The children are then dismissed to their
bread and molasses, and so the farce ends.
(Pity, that the munificent bequests of great and good men to such
institutions as these, should, for want of a little investigation,
sometimes be so sadly misappropriated.)
The next day the readers of _The Morning Budget_ are informed, with a
pretty show of statistics, of the flourishing condition of that humane
institution the CHARITY ORPHAN ASYLUM, and of the spiritual and temporal
well-to-do-a-tiveness of its inmates, under the judicious supervision of
its energetic, self-denying, and Christian matron, Mrs. Clara Markham;
who forthwith orders a dozen copies of _The Morning Budget_, which she
distributes among her friends, reserving one for a fixture on her parlor
table, to edify chance visitors.
Meanwhile little Tibbie sleeps peacefully in her pine coffin in the
Potters Field, and Rose sits up in her little cot, while all around her
sleep, and stretches out her imploring arms to the peaceful stars that
shimmer through the window.
On the evening of examination-day, Mr. Balch, as usual, takes his leave
with the rest of the committee, but after seeing them safely round the
corner, returns as usual, to tea with Markham in the cosy little
parlor; and Markham smiles on him as only an unappropriated elderly
female knows how; and Mr. Balch, what with the smile and the Hyson,
considers Webster and Worcester united too meager to express his
feelings, and falls back upon Markham's hand, upon which he makes an
unmistakable record of his bachelor emotions.