The Pedler of Dust Sticks | Page 6

his success was very great. He grew rich.
It was not a great while before he was able to build a large factory in
the neighborhood of the city.
The little pedler of dust sticks was now one of the richest men in
Hamburg. He had four hundred men in his employ, had a large house in
town, and another in the country. He was thus able to indulge his love
for nature. After a hard day's work, he could come home and enjoy the
beautiful sunset, and look at the moon and stars in the evening, and
hear the nightingale sing, and join with his Agatha in the song of praise
to the Giver of all good things.
Henry did not, because he was rich, lead a lazy and selfish life. He still
worked with his own hands, and thus taught his workmen himself, and
made their work more easy and agreeable by his presence as well as by
his instructions. He was continually making improvements in his
business, inventing new things, and so keeping up his reputation. He
exported large quantities of the articles made in his factory. Every year
his business grew larger, and he gained still higher reputation.
Henry's fellow-citizens offered him some of the highest offices of
honor and profit which the city had to bestow; but he refused them. The
only ones he accepted were those that gave no pay. He was one of the
overseers of the poor, and was always one of the first to aid, in any way
he could, plans for the benefit of his suffering fellow- beings. He gave
money himself generously, but was very anxious not to have his
charities made public.
He was one of the directors of the first railroad from Hamburg.
He engaged all his workmen with reference to their character as well as

their capacity, and no one of them ever left him. He was their best
benefactor and friend.
So lived this excellent man, as happy as he was good and useful, for
sixteen years with his dear wife; they had seven living children; but, as
I before told you, she had very delicate health, and it was the will of
God that these two loving hearts should be separated in this world, as
we hope, to meet in heaven to part no more. After sixteen years of
perfect love and joy, he parted with his dear Agatha.
Henry bore his sorrow meekly and patiently. He did not speak, he could
not weep; but life was never again the same thing to him; he never
parted for a moment with the memory of his loving and dearly- beloved
wife. He was then only thirty-five years old, but he never married again;
and when urged to take another wife, he always replied, "I cannot
marry again." He felt that he was married forever to his dear Agatha.
I must relate to you some of the beautiful things Henry's daughter told
me about her mother. Agatha had such a refined and beautiful taste and
manner that though, from her parents' poverty, she had not had the
benefit of an education, yet it was a common saying of the many who
knew her, that she would have graced a court. She never said or did any
thing that was not delicate and beautiful. Her dress, even when they
were very poor, had never a hole nor a spot. She never allowed any
rude or vulgar thing to be said in her presence without expressing her
displeasure. She was one of nature's nobility. She lived and moved in
beauty as well as in goodness.
When she found she was dying, she asked her husband to leave the
room, and then asked a friend who was with her to pray silently, for she
would not distress her husband; and so she passed away without a
groan, calmly and sweetly, before he returned. An immense procession
of the people followed her to the grave, to express their admiration of
her character and their sorrow for her early death. There were in
Hamburg, at that time, two large churches, afterwards burned down at
the great fire, which had chimes of bells in their towers. These bells
played their solemn tones only when some person lamented by the
whole city died. These bells were rung at the funeral of Agatha.

Henry, ever after his separation from her, would go, at the anniversary
of her birth and death, and take all his children and grand-children with
him to her grave. They carried wreaths and bouquets of flowers, and
laid them there; and he would sit down with them and relate some
anecdote about their mother.
It is a custom with the people of Germany to strew flowers on the
graves of their friends. The