THE FRESH AIR FIND.

Otago Witness, Issue 2785, 31 July 1907, Page 58

THE FRESH AIR FIND.

PITY THE POOR CHILDREN. Sir lan Hamilton calls attention, to an interesting fact in the course of a communication on the subject of the Fresh Air Fund. He states : "As a soldier I feel special sympathy with the idea of this fund, {or I am sure that the man who would stand up unflinchingly to modern shrapnel fire, retaining all "lub eagerness'' for the impending tussle with oullet and bayonet, must have breathed some fresh air in his childhood and must have seen something better worth dying for than a London slum." This jputs in a very clear and noteworthy light the claims of the Freeh" Air Fund upon the friends, of the Empire. Men and fresh air! Courage and sunshine I The value of this conjunction has seldom been brought out in such short, cleat, and unmistakable terms. Who, indeed, as Sir lan Hamilton asks, would think a London slum worth dying for? It is not even worth living in! It is to make all people realise the horrors of these gloomy-, foetid - rookeries "that the Fresh Air, Fund hae to plead so long, so earnestly, so hard. As 'to the state of the children in- those places we cannot do better than quote a> poem on the subject by the late Charles Mackay, LL.D., who was known during his lifetime as " the Poet of the People," and was the author of many beautiful songs and lyrics which are well known to the present generation. Miss Marie Corelii, his adopted daughter, has sent these lines to the Fresh Air Fund: — PITY THE CHILDREN. Pity the children of the poor Who've* never pluck'd the daisies, Who've never watch'd the skylark soar, Or heard it singing praises. Who've never trod the fresh green sward, Or rambled by the river; They need » holiday, ye rich — May heaven reward the giver I Pity the little pattering feet That swarm in foeted alleys. And grimy hands that might be sweet 'Mid cowslips of the valleys; Pale lips that might turn rosy red Where free, fresh bieezeß quiver; Provide them holidays, ye rich, And heaven reward the giver! Pity the little bright blue eyes That never saw the ocean. Or gazed with innocent surprise At wild waves in commotion. Send, send them forth one happy day To hill, or sea, or river; 'Tis much to them — but small to you— And God reward the giver! 'From hsalthful joy comes wholesome thought, And sense of Nature's _ beauty, And miid instruction, wisdom fraught, And Piety and Duty — All wither*d in the noisome slums. Deliver them — deliver — 'Twill cost you little, oh. ye rich! And God rewards the giver!