Random Readings.

Rodney and Otamatea Times, Waitemata and Kaipara Gazette, 21 August 1912, Page 3

Random Readings.

H. M. STANLEY'S CHILDHOOD.

• -..■■■■ •" '■-■'. ."•■.' Most of you, I daresay, are familiar with that part of the life of Henry M. Stanley, explorer, whiclv deals with his many wanderings in the heart of the Dark Continent. But Ido not expect very many of you know much about the early life of the man whom Great Britain honoured by conferring knighthood upon him. How many, for instance, know that Henry M. Stanley's name was given to him by adop^ tion?—and that he was.once a charge in an almshouse—or rather a "workhouse" as he himself calls it in his interesting/biography? Few mien who have advanced to prominence, to positions of honour, are obligsd to look back upon so sad art early life as did Henry M. Stanley. His childhood was one of poverty. Poverty- made harder through the absence of.parental love. It is to be wondered at that the child lifted himself above his surroundings, developed into a great mind, when one reads every line of his own life story. Thought to be a burden on his grandfather, the little chap, of very tender years, was given over to the care of workhouse officials. His own mother visited him but once, and then there was no tender greeting between them. The little boy stood in awe of the mother he had never known. The mother only scowled at her oldest child, and spoke to him as though he were a stranger. She had visited the workhouse to leave with them another child —a little girl this time, and half-sister to Henry. Henry's own father had died when Henry was but a few weeks old. Something of the horrors of the boy's life in the workhouse in those days may be understood by the following description of his first flogging in the school. It is given in his own words: "My first flogging is well remember., cd. It was a Sunday evening, and Francis (the school-master at the workhouse) jvas reading aloud to us the forty^fifth chapter of Genesis, preliminary to dismissing us to the dormitory. There was much reference in the chapter to Joseph, who had been sold by his brothers as a slave. In order to test our attention he suddenly looked tip and demanded of me who it was that had interpreted the dream of the King. With a proud confidence, I promptly replied: 'Jophes, sir.' 'Who? 5 j demanded the master. 'Jophes, sir.' " 'You mean Joseph.' .. ." 'Yes, sir. Jophes.' Despite his repeated, stern shouts of 'Joseph,' I as often replied 'Jophes,' wondering more and more'at his rising wrath. I could not understand wherein lay the difference between the two names. "He grew tired a? last, and laying hold of a new birch rod, administered a shower of forceful blows with such telling effect that I was bruised and bloodied all over, and could not stand for some time." I

Day after day, he tells us, the poor little wretches would be flung- down upon the stone floor in writhing heaps, or stood, with blinking eyes and humped backs, to receive the shock of the ebony ruler, or were sent flying across the school from a ruffianly kick. Every hour of their lives they lived and breathed in fear of the cruel hand of the schoolmaster. One little pauper schoolfellow suddenly died, and from every indication his death' was due to inhuman beatings inflicted by that cruel master. Years later this same schoolmaster died in a madhouse. But there was no interested and loving parents to inquire into the manner of life of the victims of the workhouse.

It was a more cruel beating than had gone before which caused the young- child, Henry Stanley, to rebel ag-ainst such inhuman treatment, and to retaliate by kicking the master in the face, thus shattering- his eye-glass-es and causing- him to fall backwards against a hard bench. The blow he received occasioned a short unconsciousness. During the exciting minutes that followed such an unheard-of thing—a boy daring to "fight back" the master—little Henry, frightened half to death over what he had done, slipped from the workhouse, in company with a friend in misery, called Mose. The two small runaway paupers went off through the fields in search of they knew not what. But freedom—that beautiful thing we all love —was beckoning them as they fled through the fields and down the country roads. Their first night was spent in a disused lime kiln. Afterwards they had many hard knocks, too many to write in this small space. But what became of little Mose we know not. Stanley went his own way a few days after running away from the workhouse, and Mose, who had found, his own poor home, remained there for a time.

The first test of a truly great man is his humility.

Every man has in himself a contiDent of undiscovered character.

A broken promise is like a broken dish—you may repair it, but never ,trust it as when whole.

People talk about change as if it were a disgrace. It is only the dead who remain 1 the same. If people live they must change.—Chamberlain.

There is no finality in politics, and every generation in turn must solve its own problems, and carry forward to a successful issue its own reform.