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YOL. I.
SANDERSVTLLE GEORGIA, APRIL 25, 1873.
NO. 43.
GlI. G. MEDIjOCK. JETHBO ABLINE. B. L. BODGEBS.
By Wedlock, Arliue Jfc Rodgers.
The Hebald is published in Sandersville,
Ga., every Friday morning. Subscription
price TWO DOLLARS per annum.
Advertisements inserted at the usual rates.
No charge for publishing marriages or
deaths.
POETRY.
II' We Knew.
If wo knew the woe and heartache
Waiting for us down the road,
If our lips could taste the wormwood,
If our back could feel the load,
Would we wait in such impatience
For our ships to come from sea?
If we knew the baby fingers
Pressed against the pane,
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow—
Never trouble us again,
Would the bright eyes of our darling
Catch the frown upon our brow,
Would the print of resy fingers
Vex us then as they do now?
Ah, these little ice-cold fingers,
How they point our memories back
To the hasty words and actions
Strewn along our backward track.
How these little hands remind us,
As in snowy grace they lie,
Not to scatter thorns; but roses,
For our reaping by and by.
Strange we never prize the music
Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown;
Strange that we should slight the violets
Till the lovely flowers are gone.
Strange that summer skies and sunshine
Never seem one-half so fair
As when winter’s snowy pinions
Shake their white down in the air.
Lips from which the seal of silence
None but God can roll away,
Never blossomed in such beauty
As adorns the mouth to-day;
And sweet words, that freight our memory
With their beautiful perfume,
Come to us in sweeter accents
Through the portals of the tomb.
Let us gather up the sunbeams
Lying all around our path,
Let us keep the wheat and roses,
Casting out the thorns and chaff,
Let us find out sweetest comfort
In the blessings of to-day,
With a patient hand romoving
All the briars from our way.
SELECT MISCELLAJfY.
THE MAGIC LANTERN.
BY W. B. E.
The scorching rays of an August
sun were fast driving many of the
denizens of the thriving little
city of Knoxville to seek more shady
groves, or some place of refuge from
the heated and pen^up atmosphere
of a dense and crowded city, until
it had become almost deserted.
Among those who were seeking
some quiet nook, where a few weeks
might be passed in quietude and
recreation, was a rather prepossess
ing young man, whom, for the present,
we will call Duval.
He had been confined, during the
entire summer, to the narrow bounds
of the counting-room, and, being in
dustrious and energetic, worked late
and early, until his health began to
give way, and he found that a shrot
respite from his labors and the
monotonous routine of business was
actually necessary in order to his re
cuperation. But where to go he
knew not. Being a native of a dis
tant State, and only domiciled in the
above city since the war, as a mat
ter of course his acquaintance did
not extend far beyond the corporate
limits ol the place of his adoption.
Here was a dilemma! go somewhere
he must and would; his failing health
demanded it. He could not go to
any of the public watering-places,
the resort for the votaries of Fashion.
He could not there obtain that which
he sought—rest and retirement. He
was too much a matter-of fact man
to enter into and enjoy the frivolous
gaieties that go to makeup the past
time of visitors at public watering-
places.
No; what Duval wanted was some
quiet, sequestered neighborhood,
where he would be free from the re
straints and conventionalities of fash
ionable society, and allowed to dress
and pass his time in whatever man
ner his fancy might suggest.
This was his idea of recreation;
but where or how to find suoh a
place was the question. After sever
al days of fruitless cogitation trying
in vain to think of some place
suitable to his fancy, and being
about to abandon the trip and re
sume his duties in the counting-room,
he fortunately or 'unfortunately—as
the reader may judge—remembered
an old and valued friend, then living
■with his family in a certain little vil
lage, upon the banks of the banks
of the quiet and romantic River
Clinch. Here was the goal of his
wishes—this was the very place to
wiiich he desired to go. Without a
moment’s hesitation or further cere
mony, he addressed a note to his old
freind, stating his wishes, and asking
whether it would be entirely agree-
ble to receive him.
His friend, Mr. Day, having served
with Duval in the army, and become
much attached to him, was only too
glad to receive him into his hospita
ble mansion, and so wrote Duval by
mail, urging him to come, and come
at once, promising to do everything
to make his visit a- pleasant and
agreeable one.
Our hero was no longer in doubt,
ills idea of a place of recreatian
and rustication could not have been
more fully realized had he roamed
the entire State over.
Situated upon the banks of the
beautiful and picturesque Clinch, fifty
miles faom any city or town of any
pretentions—its reputed delightful
element and invigorating atmosphere,
its magnificently grand secnery, its
hospitable inhabitants, &c., all served
to convince the pleasure-seeking in
valid that the objective point had
been attained, and that his most
sanguine expectations would be more
than realized.
The above being his reflections,
Duval did not long stand upon the
order of going, but went at once.
In due course of time our hero
found himself snugly ensconced in
the hospitable mansion of his coun
try friend, who, with his gude lady,
were doing their utmost to make their
visitor comfortable and contented.
Duval was delighted! Everything
to his fond imagination pictured was
more than realized. Pure and unal
loyed enjoyment was his portion. He
was improving rapidly in health, had
gained several pounds in weight, and
altogether was really pleased and
delighted with his visit, whilst Mr.
Day and his solicitous lady were
equally happy to see Mr. Duval so
well pleased with their efforts.
Two weeks were thus passed, and
all went as merry as a marriage bell,
when, alas! a change suddenly came
over the spirit of Duval’s dreams.
He is no longer the buoyant, hilari-
ious Duval. To the great distress
and annoyance of his friend, he had
suddenly grown abstracted, morose,
and melancholy, shunning society—
even that of his friend Day, scarcely
even exchanging the usual saluta
tions, and from a healthy appetite
he suddenly changed to none at all.
The poor wife—the mistress of
the culinaries—was in despair.
Why this sudden change from
gaiety to misanthropy the perplexed
host could not divine.
A strange feature in Duval’s eccen
tric hehavior, and which excited
Day’s curiosity not a little, was the
fact that every night he would go
out from the house, bearing an old
and peculiarly constructed lantern.
Where he went, or when he returned,
no one about the house knew, or how
or whence came the ill-shaped lantern
was equally a mystery. The fact of
his taking a lantern when the great
orb of night was shining out with
unusual brilliancy, and more than
sufficient to dim the pale and flicker
ing light emitted by the little, musty,
old lantern, was well calculated to
excite curiosity. He could not car
ry the lamp for the purpose of as
sisting in navigation. There was
evidently some mystery involved,
and the now highly excited host de
termined to ferret the matter out,
regardless of consequences.
Once or twice the distressed host
thought his friend was laboring un
der an aberration of mind, but ulti
mately failing to discover any posi
tive evidence, Was compelled to re
linquish the idea.
Day was in a quandary. The
thought of watching him—dog-ging
his steps, in the hope of
some clue to his mysterious behavior,
occurred to him.
Eaves-dropping, or to act the part of
a spy upon the actions of his old
friend, was unkind, ungentlemanly,
and repugnant to his feelings. But
then that lantern—his peace of mind
—his poor distracted wife—all con
spired to urge him on—he must, he
would see.
He icould unravel this mystery,
and thereby obtain peace of mind
for himself and wife, and probably
be enabled to assist his disconsolate
friend. Undoubtedly, he argued, the
ends to be attained justify the means,
and he would make the efforp Ac
cordingly, acting upon this determin
ation, he prepared himself, and was
only too anxious for the advent of
night.
It came at last, and with it came
our melancholy hero, lantern in hand,
and sallied forth on his accustomed
nocturnal ramble.
After allowing Duval time to get
sufficient distance, so as to be able
to keep his eye on him, and not be
observed, Day emerged from his hid
ing place, and started in pursuit.
With a thumping heart, staring eyes,
distended nostrils, and half-bent body
he proceeded to follow his friend, tak
ing care to hug the dark side of the
street. Following along for several
squares, he observed Duval halt in
front of one of the residences in the
northern portion of the town, and up
on closer inspection he ascertained
that it was the same where resided
the elegant and accomplished Miss
Kate . the well-known belle of
ticipated. As usual a woman was at
the bottom of the mischief, and he
knew it from the first.
She it wns who had caused him
love in divers eccentric ways, with
out again exciting the wonder of the
Days or causing them another mo
ment’s loss of rest, until business call-
and his so many sleepless nights, she i ed our hero back to Knoxsille.
it was who had made such a fool of
his friend.
Day was not in the habit of swear
ing, but upon this wonderful discov
ery, he could not refrain from giving
vent to his exasperated feelings, and
venting his spleen upon the innocent
and unoffending head of the the un
conscious instrument of all his trou
bles.
Miss Kate is still the reigning belle
of the quiet little village of the Clinch.
How long she will remain, or when
Duval will return to claim her as his
bride, we are at present unable to
say,
Family Government.
In spite of modem whims of equal-
, , ity, the government of a family must
Now, notwithstanding Day was so ; be absolute;mild,not tyrannical. The
very knowing, and so positive as to i laws of reason have declared the de-
the cause of Duval’s strange behav
ior, nothing is more certain than that
he never entertianed an idea that
Duval was so desperately in love ; it
was the last thought that entered his
head.
But on the contrary, in dogging
the footsteps of his friend, he momen
tarily expected to be led among hob
goblins or banditti, but a icoman—
neveb!
When it is known that Day was a
lawyer—en embryo—it is not to be
wondered that he shonld be so wise,
for as a class they are supposed to
know everything, and the erudite
Day had no idea of disgracing the
profession to which he aspired, and
of which he bid fair to become a dis
tinguished member.
As Duval entered the house, he
was observed by his quondam friend,
(who by this time had come up in full
view,) to be cordially received by the
blushing Miss Kate. Day could al
so see, from his concealed position,
the mysterious lantern, which to his
surprise and amazement was actually
caught hold of by the fair mademoi
selle, and much conversation was had
over it, all of which, strange to say,
was inexplicable to the astonished
spectator.
As he thus stood watching the hil
arious couple, he could but admire
the queenly Miss Kate, as her grace
ful form glided back and forth before
his enraptured vision, and he at once
ceased to wonder tMt Duval had
been so completely metamorphosed.
Now, Kate had a fine person
al appearance, and perfect symmet
ry and proportion in the outlines and
features of her face; a complexion as
pure as the new-fallen snow,fan eye
sparkling with every indication that
bespeaks worth in a woman, and a
charming, dulcet-like voice. In fact,
she was perfection personified—pos
sessing a fascinating loveliness which
was irresistible, and caused the stern
est hearts to become pliant subjects
of her will.
Duval was of an extremely suscep
tible nature, and, having accidental
ly met somewhere with Miss Kate,
did not prove an exception to the
rule, but fell desperately in love; and
feeling, (as is usual with anxious
lovers,) that his ardent attachment future time, rear its hydra head, not
pendence of the child on the parent.
The weakness of youth must be re
pressed by experience. Parental ten
derness is apt to- degenerate into
parental weakness. “If you please
child,” and “Will you, dear?” are
soon answered with “No; I won’t.”
The reins of the government should
be always gently drawn; not twitch
ed, like a curb bridle, at one time,
and dangled loose at another. Uni
formity in parents produces uniform
ity in children. To whip one minute,
and to caress, or let the culprit go
unpunished, for the same crime at
another, cannot fail to injure the
force of parental authority, Consid
er before you threaten; and then be
as good as your word. ‘Til whip
you if you don’t mind me,” says the
parent, in a passion. “I am not afraid
of it,” says the child. The parent
flies towards it in a paroxysm of rage;
the child prefers flight to broken
bones. “You may go now, but you
shall have your punishment with in
terest the next time you do so.” “I
don’t believe that,” thinks the child.
It is experience that gives the parent
the lie. “But,” say you, “whips and
rods were the scourges of the dark
ages; the present age is more enlight
ened: in it law is reason and authori
ty is mildness.” Beware of that rea
son which makes your child dogmati
cal, and that mildness which makes
him obstinate.
There is no such a thing as the rod
of reproof; and it is certain that in
numberless cases, arguments produce
a better effect than corporeal punish
ment. Let children be properly ad
monished, in case of disobedience: if
ineffectual, try the harsher method.
Never begin to correct till your an
ger has subsided; if you do, your
authority over the offender is at an
end. Let your commands be rea
sonable. Never deliver them in a
passion, as though they were already
disobeyed; nor with a timid, distrust
ful tone, as if you suspected your
own authority, Remember that scold
ing is directly the reverse of weighty
reasoning. It is the dying groans of
good government. Never let it be
heard under your roof, unless you
intend your house should be a nur
sery of faction, which may, at some
Anecdote fob Children.—The fol
lowing anecdote, we have no doubt,
will both instruct and amuse our
youthful readers:
One of the elders of the Metho
dist Episcopal Church has a son,
who inherited his father’s love for
whatever is comic, and this son re
turned from school a few months
since with a report of scholarship
below the average.
“Well,” said his father, “You’ve
fallen behind this month, have you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did that happen?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
The father knew, if the son did
not. He had observed a number of
dime novels scatterd about the house;
but had not thought it worth while
to say anything until a fitting op-
portuninty should offer itself. A
basket of apples stood upon the
floor.
And he said: “Empty out those
apples, and take the basket and bring
it to me half full of chips.”
Suspecting nothing, the son obyed.
“And now,” he continued, “put
those apples back into the basket.”
When half the apples were i
placed, the son said:
“Father, they roll off. I can’t
put in any more.”
i “Put ’em in, I tell you.”
“But father, I cant put them in.’
“Put them in! No, of course you
can’t put them in. Do you expect
to fill a basket half full of chips and
then fill it with apples? You said
you did not know why you fell be
hind at school; and I mil tell you.
Your mind.is like that basket. It
will not hold more than so much.
And here you’ve been, the past month,
filling it up with chip diet—dime
novels!”
The boy turned on his heel, whistl
ed, and said, “Whew! I see the
point.”
Not a dime novel has been seen in
the house from that day to this.
A Salutary Remark.—When I
was a young man, there lived in our
neighborhood a farmer who was us
ually reported to be a very liberal
man, and uncommonly upright in his
dealings. When he had any of the
produce of his farm to dispose of, he
made it an invariable rule to give
good measure—rather more than
wou!4A® required of him. One of
his frieras observing him frequently
doing so, questioned him as to why
he did it; he told him he gave too
much, and said it would be to his
disadvantage. Now, dear reader,
mark the answer of this excellent
man:
“God has permitted me but one
journey through the world, and when
I am gone I cannot return to rectify
mistakes.”
Think of this. There is but one
journey through life.
the village; and it at once occurred
to him that Duval had fallen a victim
to the irresistible cb arris of the in
comparable lady,—that he was hope
lessly in love. This, he concluded,
had been the whole cause of his low
spirits and eccentric behavior.
Day was wonder-stricken. The
reason of his friend’s extraordinary
actions was no longer a mystery.
Everything was now as “clear as the
noon-day sun.”.
It was, however, just as he had an-
was not fully returned or reciprocat
ed, was thus solicitous and unhappy.
The knowing Mr. Day, after feast
ing his eyes for some time upon the
graceful figure of the beautiful Miss
Kate, retraced his steps, eager to
convey the tidings of his discovery
to his better half, who had been pa
tiently awaiting the result of his ad
venture and investigations.
.The good wife, like her lord and
master, also guessed as much. She
knew it from the first. She, however
felt much relieved upon learning that
Duval’s unhappiness was not caused
by any remissness or want of atten
tion on her part. She therefore gave
herself no further uneasiness about
her visitor, believing that in time it
would be all right.
The cause of Duval’s melancholy
having been satisfactorily explained
Day’s curiosity was still excited to
learn something about the mysteri
ous lantern. His'better half being
equally exercised, her woman’s wits
soon suggested an expedient where
by the mysteiy could be unravelled.
She would make Miss Kate a friend
ly visit. And sure enough she did,
and learned frdm her the follow-
ing:-
Duval, upon the occasion of his
first visit to Miss Kate—it being a
little cloudy and dark—borrowed an
old lantern,—the only one about the
house at the time,—returning it in
the evening, but borrowing it again,
he returned it the next, and so con
tinued borrowing and returning dur
ing his sojourn in the village.
“But what did he want with a lan
tern when the moon was shining so
brightly?” inquired the knowing
Mrs. Day.
“Well, really, I don’t know,” repli
ed Miss Kate, blushingly.
Oh, I see; it was only an excuse
—a strategy whereby Mr. Duval was
enabled to pay you a visit every even
ing.”
Mrs. Day, now fully satisfied and
highly amused at the brilliant strate
gic movem ent of Duval, hurried home
to tell the good joke to her husband.
The whole mystery being now ful
ly explained away, the Days were
one more happy, since it was no fualt
of theirs that Duval was apparently
so miserable, and he was left to con
duct his suit and exhibit his fervent
only against you, but in opposition
to the parents and guardians of our
country.
Pat on Lawyers.
Emeralder—“You’re a lawyer,
beent you ? (Reporter does not know
what is coming, and thinks he’ll say
yes at a venture.)
Reporter—“Yes.
Emeralder—“Well, did you iver
hear of lawyers (pronounced like
bars) gettin’ to heaven ? Come now,
spake the truth and shame the divih’
Reporter—“Well, I don’t know as
I ever did. Did you ever hear of an
Irishman gettingthere ?”
Emeralder—‘‘Yes, I heard of one
once.
Reporter (briskly)—“How was
that?”
Emeralder—“Why, there was a
fellow once who lived in Ireland.
He was a noble kind-hearted a man
as ever you saw, and when he died
everybody had a good word to say
for him, the praist absolved him, and
he went straight to hivin, and—”
Reporter—“How do you know he
did?”
Emeralder angrily—“Aint Itellin’
yees ? I know by what happened af
ter he got there. When the people
that live in hivin found that an Irish
man was there it raised a fine rumpus,
and they determined to put him out.
Jim Rooanan, for that was his name,
wouldn’t go, he said, unless he was
{ rat out through the due course of
aw. So they went to work and
searched all over hivin to find a law
yer, but there wasn’t none there,
and Jim is there yet.”
A Beautifl Thought.—Mrs. He-
mans, shortly after her arrival in Ire
land, where she died, was extremely
unwell. When among the mountain
scenery of the finer county of Wick
low, during a storm, she was struck
by one effect in the hills. It was pro
duced by a rainbow diving down in
to a gloomy mountain pass, which it
seemed really to flood with its color
ed glory. “I could not help think
ing,” she remarked, “that it was like
our religion, piercing and carrying
brightness into the depths of sorrow
and of the tomb.” All the rest of.
the scene rround that one illuminat
ed spot was wrapt in the profound-
est darkness.
An editor whose brains were bal
anced by a bottle of Bourbon whis
ky lately, wrote up a melancholy
event in the following maimer ^Yes
terday morning at four o’clock, p. x.
a man with a heel on the hole of his
stocking, committed aisenic by swal
lowing a dose of suicide. The .in
quest of the verdict returned a junr
that the deceased came to the facts
in accordance with his death. He
leaves a child and six small wives to
lament the end of his untimely loss.
In death we are in the midst of life.
A person advertises in one of the
papers for a helpmate for life; he
wants one who shall be a companion
of his heart, his hand, and his home.
“How large is the home?” asked the
candidate for the situation, in anoth
er paper.
Although men are accused for not
knowing their own weakness, yet
perhaps as few know their own
strength. It is in men as in soils,
where sometimes there»is a vein of
gold which the owner knows not of.
“This is the rock of ages,” said a
father, after rooking two hours, and
the baby still awake.
I won’t say the more intellect the
less capacity for loving; for that
would do wrong to the understand
ing and reason; but, on the other
hand, that the brain often runs away
with the heart’s best blood, which
gives the world a few pages of wis
dom, or sentiment or poetry instead
of making one other heart happy,
I have no question—[O. W. Holmes.
Can’t think of anything good to
say of a person you don’t Eke? Non
sense. Take the case of a house or
a horse which von have to sell be
cause you don’t like it, and how much
may be truthfully said in its favor in
an advertisement!
You cannot prevent the wind from
rising and the tempest from raging
out of doors, but within you may se
cure unbroken calm and endless sun
shine.
“Mister, I say, I suppose you don’t
know of nobody who don’t want to
hire nobody to do nothing, don’tyou?’
The answer was. “Yes, I don’t.”
The Timely Word.
In a field where the grass grew
green, there lay a little boy on the
ground. He was. seven years old,
and his name was John Harold. The
folks called him Jack.
Near by stood an artist, who had
been sketching a picture. All at once
he caught sight of Jack lying on the
ground: and then the artist made a
drawing of Jack; but Jack did not
know it.
Then Jack started up, and began
to chase a dragon fly. Oat of one
field into the next, back again over
the stone wall, and then over a ditch,
and into the bushes, ran Jack; but
he did not catch the fly.
It had flown up on a large leaf of
an ash-tree. Jack did not give ui
the chase. Up the tree he climbed
caught the fly and jumped with it to
the ground.
The artist now stepped forward,
and said, “Do not hurt that fly, my
boy. Let it go, and I will give you
a penny.
A penny was worth more to Jack
than the fly: so he let it go.
“What is your name, my lad?” ask
ed the man.
“My name is Jack Harold,” said
the boy.
“Have you no one to mend your
clothes for you, and to teach you to
be clean and neat? Have you no
mother?”
“Mother and father are dead,”
said Jack; “and I have no one but
aunt to take care of me, and she has
too many cares of her own to think
much of me.”
“Then I would care for myself, if
I were you, Jack,” said the man. “I
watched you while you were running
after the dragon-fly, and I thought
it a pity that so bright and spry a
lad as you, should look as you do.
You are not idle all the time, Lhope?”
“I’ve nothing ever to do,” said
Jack: “I wish I had. Aunt will not
send me to school.”
“And so you cannot read or write?
Well, Jack, I was once a3 badly off
as you. I had lost my parents, and
I was a poor boy; but I was just as
anxious to get on, and do something
as you were just now to catch that
dragon-fly.”
“Well, Sir, what did you do, if you
had no one to help you?” asked Jack.
“Why, I helped myself. I got over
one difficulty after another, just as
you got over the stone walls, and
through the brambles: and you can
do as I did, if you will be as eager
to get your living as you were to
seize on that fly.”
Having said thus much, the artist
walked away; for he saw he had set
Jack to thinking. And Jack, I am
glad to say, did something besides
think. He began to act.
He went in search of work, and he
found it. He now earns enough to
pay for his board. He has a new
suit of clothes and a pair of good
shoes. The artist’s word was a time
ly one.
Perhaps I may and Perhaps I may
not.—The life of Dr. Raffles, of Lon
don has the following: A young la
dy, the daughter of the owner of the
house was addressed by a man who,
though agreeable to her, was dislike-
ed by her father. Of course, he would
not consent to their union, and she
determined to elope. The night was
fixed,the hour came and he placed the
ladder in the window, and in a few
minutes, she was in his arms. They
mounted a double horse, and were
soon at some distance from the house.
After a while, the lady broke silence
by saying. “Well, } era see what proof
I have given you of my affections: I
hope you will make me a good hus
band.” He was a surly fellow, and
gruffly answered, “Perhaps I may
and perhaps I may not.” She made
no reply’ but after a silence of some
minutes, she suddenly exclaimed, Oh,
what shall Ido? I have left my mon
ey behind me in my room.” Then
he said, “We must go back andfetch
it.” They were soon at the house,
the ladder was again raised, the la
dy remounted, while the ill-natured
lover waited below. But she delay
ed to come, and so he gently called.
“Are you coming? when she looked
out of the window and said “Perhaps
I may and perhaps I may not;” and
thenshut the window down, and left
himto return upon the double horse
alone.
Happiness.—Now let us tell you a
secret, worth knowing. This looking
forward to .enjoyment don’t pay.
From what we know of it we would
as soon chase butterflies for a living
or bottle up moonshine for cloudy
nights. The only ture way to be hap
py is to take the drops of happiness
as God gives them to us every day
of our lives. The boy must learn to
be happy while he is plodding over
his lessons: the apprentice while he
is learning his trade, the merchant
while he is making his fortune. H he
fails to learn this art, he will be sure
to miss his enjoyment when he gains
what he has sighed for.
Speak of people’s virtues, conceal
their infirmities; if you can say no
good, speak no ill of them.
Preaching and Practice.
There is an old story in the Gesta
Bomanorum, of a priest who was
found fault with by one of his par
ishioners because his life was in
painful discordance with Ins teach
ing. So one day he takes his critic
out to a stream, and, giving him to
drink of it, asks if he does not find
it sweet and pure water. The par
ishioner having answered that it was,
is taken to the source, and finds that
what had so refreshed him flowed
from between the jaws of a dead dog.
“Let this teach thee,” said the priest,
“that the very best doctrine may
take its rise in a very impure and
disgustful spring, and that excellent
morals may be taught by a man who
has no morals at all.” v
It is easy enough to see the fallacy
here. Had the man known before
hand from what a carrion fountain
head the stream issued, he could not
have drank of it without loathing.
Had the priest merely bidden him,
to look at the stream, and see how
beautiful it was, instead of tasting it,
it would have been quite another
matter. And this is precisely the
difference between what appeals to
our esthetic and to our moral sense
—between what is judged ef by the
taste and the conscience.
It is when a mere sentimental man
turns preacher of morals that we in
vestigate his character, and are justi
fied in so doing. He may express
as many and as delicate shades of
feeling as he likes—for this the sen
sibility of his organization perfectly
fits him—no other person could do
it sowell—but the moment he under
takes to establish his feeling as a
rule of conduct, we ask at once how
far are his own life and deed in ac
cordance with what he preaches.
For every man feels instinctively
that all the beautiful sentiments in
the world weigh less than a single
lovely action; and that while tender
ness of feeling and susceptibility to
generous emotions are accidents of
temperament, goodness is an achieve
ment of the will and a quality of the
life.
“Fine words,” says one homely
proverb, “butter no parsnips ;” and
if the question be how to render those
vegetables palatable, an ounce of
butter would be worth more than all
the orations of Cicero. Tiie only
conclusive evidence of a man’s sin
cerity is that he gives himself for a
principle. Words, money, all things
else, are comparatively easy to give
away; but when a man makes a gift
of his daily life, it is plain that the •
truth, whatever it may be, has taken
possession of him. From that sin-
cerify his words gain the force and
pertinency of deeds, and his money
is no longer the pale drudge ’twixt
man and man, but, by a beautiful
magic, what erewhile bore the image
and super " ” ~
now to 1
tion of God.
It is thus that there is a genius for
goodness, magnanimity, for self sac
rifice, as well as for creating, and
building, and beautifying, and it is
thus that the Infinite Beauty and
Goodness shapes to its own likeness
the soul which gives it body and in
dividuality.
She Wouldn’t Marry a Mechan
ic.—A young man began visiting a
young woman, and appeared to be
well pleased. One evening he called
when it was quite late, which led the
young girl to inquire where he had
been.
“I had to work to-night.”
“What! do*you work for a liv
ing?” she inquired, in astonishment.
“Certainly,” replied the young
man. “I am a mechanic.”
“I dislike the name of a mechan
ic,” and she turned up her pretty
nose.
. That was the last time the young
man visited the young woman. He
is now a wealthy man, and has one
of the best women in the country for
his wife.
The lady whe disliked the b«m
of mechanic is now the wife of a
miserable fool, a regular vagrant
about grog-shops, and the soft, ver
dant and miserable girl is obliged to
take in washing in order to support
herself and children.
You dislike the name of mechanic^
eh? You, whose brothers are but
well dressed loafers.
We pity any girl who has so little
brains who is so verdant, so soft,
as to think less of a young man for
being a mechanic—one of God’s no
blemen—the most dignified and hon
orable personage of Heaven’s crea
tures. Beware, young lady, how
you tieat young men who work for
a living, for you may one day be
menial to one of them yourself.
A darkey was sent to eut down a
very tough tree, but his axe flew
back for some time with but very ht»
tie effect. A storm occuring mean
time, and a crashing shaft of lights
ing shattered a huge oak to spinster*
near him.
“Bress de Lord!” exclaimed Sam
bo, “dat’s well done. ‘Pose you try
dis one next guess you get your match,
massa ”