Newspaper Page Text
spectacles. King Balthasar Is low, a
little bent, with a long mustache and a
goatee still longer. King Gaspar is
smooth-shaven, neat, faultlessly at
tired; but his nose bends down a lit
tle over his mouth and on his lips
there is a smile inscrutable, disquiet
ing, somewhat discouraging.
The three Kings journey during the
night over a long road; the stars shine
serene, brilliant in the black vault;
below, on the earth, perhaps in the
remote distance, is heard a stray cry,
or there is seen the uncertain splen
dor of a far-off light. This light in
dicates a city. Now they are travers
ing its streets, now they are stopping
before the houses; now they are put
ting their hands in their chests; now
they are leaving on the balconies the
much-desired gifts. Formerly—per
haps you have heard this told —these
kings were very rich and they gave
presents to all the children in all the
homes of all the cities. But Time has
taken long flights; circumstances have
changed much for these kings, and the
three excellent monarchs, by dint of
lavishing theii* gifts, have come to
see their fortune greatly diminished.
I mean that Gaspar, Balthasar and
Melchior see themselves every yeai
in the painful necessity of leaving
their precious souvenirs only to such
children as Chance designates to
them.
The three kings have stopped at the
gates of another city# Melchior, of
the white beard and blue eyes—do not
believe the one who paints him with
a black skin —has in front of him a
large chest, which he has opened in
order to inspect what remains in it.
Balthasar, he of the goatee and mus
tache —laugh at those who represent
him in any other way —has his chest
also, and of the contents has made the
inventory. Gaspar, my little friends,
has no chest, no baggage, no camel,
nor horse, nor donkey on which to
carry what he has to give to the chil
dren; but he has a nose a little
hooked and lips that express irony,
gentle, vague, restless.
Tne three Kings have already made
their inspection and are preparing to
enter into the city. As they are grow
ing poor, they do not fill the, baskets
that are on all the balconies, but, ac
cording to convenience or caprice, they
leave their favors and presents in
some —which are few —and pass by
others —which are many. In order
that there may be more children fa
vored, the three Kings have agreed
that not all three will give presents
to the children chosen, but that each
one will make a donation to a different
child. And thus, from time to time,
Melchior stops before a house and
opens his chest, then leaves in the
window his gift. What this King of
the white beard presents Is called In
telligence.
Alter a long time, Balthasar stops
before another house and puts his
hand into his treasury; then he puts
his gift in the window. What this
King of the mustache and goatee
gives has for its name Goodness.
And only this historical King Gas
par, this King of the sharp-pointed
nose and the close-pressed lips, alone
this King passes, and passes, and
passes before the balconies and stops
only before one, or two, or three in
each city. And what is it that King
Gaspar does then? What is it which
this King presents? Why is he so
sordid, so miserly, so parsimonious
about his presents? All the treasure
of this King is in a diminutive box of
silver which he carries in one of the
pockets of his vest —don’t forget that
kings use vests now. When Gaspar
stops before a balcony, then, once in
a long while, he takes hold of his
little box, opens it with care, and puts
his gift on the balcony. It seems to
be nothing he has put there, at any
rate an insignificant thing. It is like
the smoke which is dissipated by the
slightest breeze; but —the child fa
vored with such a present will revel
in it during his whole life, and neither
happiness nor joy will ever depart
from his heart.
The King Gaspar has already de
posited his present. His green eyes
—I have not told you before that they
are green—shine brilliantly. His nose
seems to lower somewhat more over
his mouth, and over his lips there
flits his inscrutable smile. Come near,
my little friends, I wish to tell you
what King Gaspar carries in the little
silver box. Upon the lid, in tiny let
ters, is engraved: Illusions.
(Translated from the Spanish by
M. Pettus Thomas.)
HELPING ON THE MILLENNIUM.
“This world would have to change
greatly before it could be the abode
of really happy people,” is a sentence
in an article about the millennium
which I have just read. I don’t know
that any great change in the world it
self would be needed. It is a beauti
ful, good world, and even its occa
sional bad moods —its stormy and dry
or over-wet seasons —might be pro
vided against by man’s ingenuity.
There would need to be a more equal
distribution of means to live upon,
and a knowledge of how to live well
and hygienically—how to control our
passions—and how to carry out the
golden rule of doing to others just as
we would have them do to us. If only
the people of the world were at peace
among themselves, if brotherly love
were the law with all so that the
strong and well-to-do would esteem it
a duty and privilege to help the less
fortunate, and if the knowledge of
right living were distributed among
all, and acted upon by every one, then
this world would be a good enough
heaven, and the millennium would be
with us. Os course this change would
need to come gradually, but many
believe it has already begun, and cer
tainly the great mass of people are
wiser, better, kinder and more con
siderate of others than they were
even fifty years ago. There are many,
many more helpful institutions, —in-
dustrial opportunities for reforming
youthful wrong-doers, farms for con
victs, homes for orphans and for the
old and disabled, and education for
all. Every community may begin to
have a little millennium of its own.
Some one has said that if in any town
or neighborhood each individual were
to say every morning, “Today no one
in the world shall have even one
second darkened by any act of mine,”
and live it, that town or neighborhood
would be transformed and glorified.
Though, after all, this would mean
only negative goodness—the avoidance
of evil, not positive high-keyed living
at our best. Yet the burden of life
would be lifted, and in an atmosphere
warm with the glow of love and
brotherhood we could almost hear the
faint rustle of the angels’ wings—the
angels ushering in the millennium.
South Carolina. Cecil Haywood.
*
THIS WILL INTEREST MANY.
F. W. Parkhurst, the Boston publish
er, says that if any one afflicted with
rheumatism in any form, neuralgia
or kidney trouble, will send their ad
dress to him at 704-35 Carney Bldg.,
Boston, Mass., he will direct them to
a perfect cure. He has nothing to
sell or give; only tells you how he
was cured after years of search for
relief. Hundreds have tested it with
success. •
The Golden Age for April 1, 1909.
SELECTING THE PLEASANT
THINGS OF LIFE.
One of the secrets of happiness is
found in the habitual emphasis of
pleasant things and the persistant
casting aside of all malign elements.
For men make their own world. We
have read of a horticulturist who
could not walk through a flower gar
den and see a rosebush covered with
blossoms without searching until he
found at least one blighted leaf. There
are men who cannot look upon a great
picture without scrutinizing every
incn of the canvas for some light or
shade to criticise, and afterward they
recall only the blemish. But there
never was a tree so beautiful that it
did not have one broken bough.
There never was a book so wise but
cuat it had one untruth or falsehood.
Even Helen’s brow held one little
blemish, and the scientists think
there is a spot on the sun.
vVhat if a father should send his
child into a garden where every
flower bloomed, to bring back roses
and lilies and violets? And what ii
the boy overlooked all the sweet
blossoms and peered •round the roots
until he found some weeds, wild
The next time you go shopping
will you stop at a store where
Edison goods are sold and
hear an Edison Phonograph?
If you do you will be enter-
tained —better entertained than you / \ \
have any idea of. / \\ \X
Better entertained than you / ''xxU
have been at many theatres or con-
cert halls for the reason that here |
you may choose your entertain-
ment rather than accept what has L__ r
been arranged. X y
If you like opera selections, a
star whose name is familiar to you
will sing. If you prefer band or orchestra music, you can choose not
only the band or orchestra from a number of celebrated aggregations, but
also the music you wish to hear played.
If you like the popular music of the day —the song hits from the
latest musical comedies —the singers who made those hits arc there to do
their best for you. Or, if you are in the mood for a good story the
country’s cleverest comedians will liven up the program with their fun.
Perhaps you like best the songs of an older day that have become en
deared to you through long association, or you like to listen now and then
to your favorite sacred selections. You can also hear those well rendered on
the Edison Phonograph.
When you hear
EDISON
PHONOGRAPH
you will be impressed with a number of things.
First, that the Edison Phonograph is a wonderful entertainer; the most
wonderful of the age.
Second, that what you have heard is not an imitation of something
better but a reproduction of all that is best in music and songs; the actual
voices of famous singers and the actual notes of celebrated bands and
orchestras.
Third, that you can, for a small amount of money, transfer this all-star
company to your home and witness performance after performance, each
one differing from the others and all of the highest order.
Life should not be all work; neither should rest time
become monotonous. / S \
Wouldn’t your family also welcome the Edison I /-A/jF j
Phonograph with its new songs, good stories and bright \ I
music ? -q
The Edison dealer will be pleased to demonstrate »
and explain the Edison Phonograph. Cl
NATIONAL PHONOGRAPH CO., 149 Lakeside Ave., Orange, N. J.
grass and a toadstool? There are men
who go forth in the morning and give
all that is best in life and thought to
their competitors in business. Re
turning home at night, they do not
bring some incident that represents
wit or heroism or justice or gener
osity; they return jaded, fretful,
querulous, critical. They remember
only the disagreeable things.
Passing a pasture but yesterday,
one saw the horse with mane and tail
a solid mass of cockleburrs, collected
in passing through the meadow, and,
grasping the forelock, the farmer’s
boy’s hand must have been pierced
with a thousand blood pricks, strange
example of men, who go through the
days to return home at night laden
with mental burrs and moral thistles.
They have used memory as a kind of
bag in which they have collected
sticks, toads, bugs and spiders, that
stand for human frailty and sin. What
a misrepresentation of God’s world!
What skill in selecting malign ele
ments! Surely an enemy hath
wrought this injury and lent this black
color to the universe. This is God’s
world and man is saved by hope.—Dr.
Hillis.
11
