SINCE the year 1886 three little books on "Our
Children" have been published and read. Apart from the records of work
already done, hints were given of many desirable improvements contemplated
in the way of improved accommodation, excellent farm buildings, etc., etc.
All these things having been successfully accomplished I am in a position
to extend the work. The mill and workshop are in full work daily, giving
constant employment to an increasing number of boys. The orchards continue
to thrive, and are most productive. The garden of small fruits spoken of
in our last issue has done well. The marked success which has attended the
introduction of "Our Children" into the hearts and homes of the people of
the Maritime Provinces has enabled me to provide for nearly the whole of
my original flock, and now I would gladly offer an invitation to
friendless and destitute children to enter my open doors.
This means introducing "Our Children" to fresh people in new places, and
thus I am led to comply with the request often made to me to give a
connected history of the work since its beginning up to the present time,
with as many details of my life with and for "Our Children" as may be
desirable, without wearing out the patience of my readers.
As the proceeds of the sale of this book will be
given to the work, will you, my reader, try to promote this object?
EMMA M. STIRLING.
The Cry of the Children.
BUT the young, young children, O my brothers,
They are weeping bitterly
They are weeping in the playtime of the others,
In the country of the free.
* * * *
And well may the children weep before you,
They are weary ere they run,
They have never seen the sunshine nor the glory
Which is brighter than the sun.
They know the grief of man without its wisdom;
They sink in manís despair, without its calm;
Are slaves without the liberty of Christendom,
Are martyrs, by the pang without the balm,
Are worn as if with age. Yet unretrievingly
The harvest of its memories cannot reapó
Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly.
Let them weep! Let them weep
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
Our Children in Old Scotland
Our Children in Nova Scotia