Newspaper Page Text
VOL. I.
SANDERSVTLLE, GEORGIA, MAY 2, 1873,
NO. 44.
M- Gr MEDT.OCK. JETHRO ARLINE. R. L- RODGERS.
By Ariiiie A Rodgers.
The HkraiJ) is published m Sandersvilie,
1,.. every Friday morning. Subscription
I .rice TWO DOLLARS per annum.
' Advertisements inserted at the usual rates.
No charge for publishing marriages or
deaths.
POETRY.
At Six in the Morning. •
BX ROSE WILDE.
( ,y song-bird ripples its rhythm to me,
IA breeze from the river steals over the still j
I panic Nature sends cards for her matinee ;
I \i v pulses return an affectionate thrill.
I To the balcony turning, with heart at rest, !
f t r evel in beautiful sound, anu sight.
' mV spirit is clothed, like a scriptural guest, .
In'a decorous garment of pure delight.
The blue birds flash in and out of the green; ;
The leaves of the apple-tree rustle and dance;-
They are holding court in the branches,! ween ,
While holding;my soul in' a musical trance. ,
In the eastern gate the archers of Sol
stand poising their bows in the glittering lines
Took! look how the golden-tipped arrows fall
Midst the lofty hills'bold sentinel pmes. .
I turn to the eloquent west—Ah! where ;
i re the emerald slopes that the sunset kissed,
Do <rc-nii e’er vanish with hills in mid-air.
What phantoms are those that loom thro the
mist?
Tidiopte, Fa., Aug, 28, 1S60. j
""^SELECT MISCELLANY.
"the MITE’S PRESCRIPTION. V
“Bedlam let loose! Pandemonium
in rebellion! Clraos turned inside
out! "What is the reason a man
can t be allowed to sleep peaceably
in the morning, without this ever
lasting racket raised about his -ears ?
Children crying—doors slamming.—
I will know the reason of ail this
uproar.”
Mr. Luke Darcy shut the door oi
liis bedroom with considerable em
phasis, and went straight to the
breakfast parlor.
All was bright and quiet and pleas
ant there, the coal snapping and
sparkling in the grate, the china and
silver neatly arranged on the spot
less damask cloth, and the green
parrot drowsily winking his yellow
eyes in the sunny glow of the east
ern window. Bedlam plainly wasn t
located just there, and Mr. Darcy
went stormily up stairs to the nur
sery.
Ah! the field of battle was reach
ed at last. Mrs. Darcy sat in her
little low chair before the fire, try
ing to quiet the energetic screams of
an° eight-months-old scion in the
house of Darcy, while, another, a
rosy boy of five years, lay on his
back on the floor, lacking and cry
ing in an ungovernable fit of child
ish passion.
“Mrs. Dar—cy!” enunciated Luke
with slow and ominous precision,
“mav I inquire what this means ?
Are you aware that it is fifteen min
utes past nine o’clock ? Do you ,
know that breakfast is ready?’’ ,
“I know Luke—I know,’ said the :
poor, perplexed Mrs. Darcy, striving j,
vainly to lift the rebellious urchin •,
up by one arm. £t Come, Ereddy, j
you’re going to be good now, mam- j
rna is sure, and get up and be wash- j
ed.” . j
“No—o !” roared Master Freddy, 1
performing a brisk tattoo on the |
carpet with his heels, and clawing j
the air furiously. j
Like an avenging vulture Mr. Dar- >
cv pounced down upon Ills son and j
heir, carried him promptly to the j
closet, and turned the door upon j
his heels.
“Now, sir, yon can cry it out at
your leisure. Evelyn is waiting for
the baby. "We’ll go down to break
fast.”
“But Luke,” hesitated Mrs. Dar-
cv, “you won’t leave Freddy there?”
“Won’t I? I’d like to know why
not. It’s temper, and nothing else,
that is at the bottom of all these
demonstrations and I’ll know the
reason why. It ought to have been
checked long ago, but you are ridi
culously indulgent. There’s noth
ing I have so little tolerance for as
a bad temper—that ought to be
promptly and severely dealt with.”
“But if he’ll say he is sorry, Luke?”
Mr. Darcy rapped sharply at the
panels of the door.
“Are you sorry for your naughti
ness, young man ?”
A fresh outburst of screams and
a renewal of the tattoo was all the
answer.
“I'm sure lie is sorry. Luke,”
pleaded the all-extenuating moth
er ; but Mr. Darcy shook his head.
“Entire submission is the only
thing 1 will listen to, he said sn.-.rp-
lv. “I tell you, Evelyn, 1 am de
termined to uproot his temper..
Evelyn, with a dewy moisture
shadowing her eyelashes, and a dull
aclie at her heart, 'followed her liege
lord down to the breakfast table,
with little appetite for the coffee and
toast and eggs as might be.
A tall, blue-eyed young lady, with
a profusion of bright chestnut liair,
and cheeks like rosy velvet, was al
ready at the table when they de
scended, by name Clara Pruyne, by
lineage, Mrs. Darcy’s sister. She
opened her two eyes rather wide as
the two entered.
“Good gracious, Evy, what’s the
matter ?”
“Nothing,” answered Luke, tart
ly. ■ “Mrs. Darcy you appear to
forget that I have eaten no break
fast.”
‘Something is the matter, though,’
said Clara, shrewdly. “Wliat is it,
Evelyn ? Has Luke had one of his
tantrums ?”
Luke sat down his coffee cup with
a sharp click.
“You use very peculiar expres
sions, Miss Pruyne.”
“Very true ones,” said Clara, sau
cily.
Evelyn smiled in spite of herself.
“It’s only Freddy. He feels a lit
tle cross, and-—-
“A little cross!” interrupted the
indignant husband. “I tell you, it’s
quite time that that temper was
cured. Oh, that parrot! Mary, take
that bird into the kitchen, or I shall
be tempted to wring its neck. Strange
that a man can’t have a little peace
once in a while. What does ail all
these eggs, Evelyn ? I thought that
I asked you to see that they were
fit for Christians to eat.”
Luke pushed his chair back with
a vengeance, and took his stand with
his back to the fire, both hands un
der his coattails.
“Please sir,” said the servant, de
preciatingly advancing, “the gas bill
—the man says would you settle it
while—”
Mr. Darcy gave his egg, shell and
all, a vindictive throw upon the grate.
Evelyn’s brown eyes sparkled dan
gerously as she observed the manoeu-
ver, but she made no remarks.
“And the plates are cold as a
stone, when I’ve implored again and
again that they might be warmed.
Well, I shall eat no breakfast this
morning.”
“Whom will you punish?” demand
ed Miss Clara. “Evelyn give me an
other cup of coffee. It is perfectly
delightful.”
“No!’ roared Luke, contemptuous
ly, “tell the man to go about his
business; I have no small bills this
morning, and I won’t be so persecut
ed.”
Evelyn retreated precipitately;
Clara raised her long eyelashes.
“Do you know, Luke,” she said de
murely, “I think you would feel bet
ter if you would do just as Freddy
( l oes —be flat on the floor and kick
your heels against the carpet. It's
an excellent escape when the.choler
gets the better of you.” _
Luke gave bis mischievous sister-
in-law a glance that ought certainly
to have annihilated her, and walked
out of the room, closing the door be
hind him with a bang that would bear
but one interpretation. Then Clara
came around to her sister’s side, and
buried her pink face in Evelyn’s
neck.
“Don’t scold me, Evy, please—I
know I have been naughty to tease
Luke so.”
“You have said nothing but the
truth,” said Evelyn, quietly, with
her coral lips compressed, and a
scarlet spot appeared on either cheek.
“Clara, I sometimes wonder how I
can endure the daily cross of my hus
band’s temper.”
“Temper!” said Clara, with a toss
of her chestnut brown hair. “And
the poor dear fellow hasn’t the least
idea how disagreeable he makes him
self.”
“Only this morning,” said Evelyn,
“he punished Freddy with unrelent
ing severity, for a fit of ill-humor
which he himself has duplicated with
in the last half hour. I am not a mor
alist, but it strikes me that the fault
is rather more to be censured in a
full-grown, reasoning man than in a
child.”
“Evelyn,” said Clara, gravely, “do
you suppose he is beyond the power
of cure?”
“I hope not; but what can I do?
Shut him up, as he shut little Fred
dy?”
Evelyn’s merry, irresistable laugh
was checked by the arch, peculiar
expression in Clara’s blue eyes.
“The remedy needs to be some
thing short and sharp,” said Clara,
“and the dark-closet system certain
ly combines both requisites. Tears
and hysterics were played out long
ago in matrimonial skirmishes, you
know, Eve.”
“Nonsense!” laughed Mrs. Darcy,
rising from the breakfast table in
obedience to her huband’s perem-
tory summons from above stairs,
while Clara shrugged her shoulders
and went to look for her work-basket.
Luke was s anding in front of his
bureau drawer, flinging shirts, cra-
vais and stockings, recklessly on the
bedroom floor.
“I’d like to know where my silk
handkerchiefs are, Mrs. Darcy,” he
fumed. “Such a state as my bureau
is in! it’s enough to drive a man
crazy.”
“It’s enough to drive a woman
crazy, I think!” said Evelyn, hope
lessly, stooping to pick up a few
scattered articles.
“You were at the bureau last,
Evelyn. It is your own fault!”
snarled Luke, giving Mrs. Darcy’s
poodle a kick that sent it howling to
its mistress. “Anything but- a -wo
man’s reiterating, recriminating
tounge. Mrs. Darcy, I won’t stand
it any longer.”
“Neither will I!” said Evelyn, res
olutely advancing, as her husband
plunged into the closet for his busi
ness coat, and. promptly shutting
and locking the door. “I think I’ve
endured it quite long enough—and
here’s an end to it.”
“Mrs. Darcy! open the door!”
said Luke, scarcely able to credit
the evidences of his own senses.
“I shall do no such thing,” said
Mrs. Darcy, composedly beginning
to arrange shirts, stocking and flan
nel wrappers in their appropriate
receptacles.
“Mrs. D—arcy!” roared Luke,
at a fever heat of impotent rage,
“what on earth do-you mean ?”
“I mean to keep you in that clos
et, Mr. Darcy, until you make up
your mind to come out in a more
amiable frame of mind. If the sys
tem succeeds with Freddy, it cer
tainly ought to with you; and I am
sure your temper is proving much
more intolerable than his.”
There was a dead silence of full
sixty seconds in the closet, and then
a sudden burst of local wrath.
“Mrs. Darcy, open the door this
instant, madam!”
But Evelyn went on humming a
saucy little bpera air and arranging
clothes.
“Do you hear me ?”
“Yes, I hear you.”
“Will you obey me?”
“Not until you have promised me
solemnly to put some sort of control
on that temper of yours; not until
you promise hereafter to treat your
wife as a lad}' should be treated, not
as a menial.”
“I won’t.”
“No? Then in that case I hope you
don’t find the air at all oppressive
there, as I think it probable you will
remain some time.”
Another sixty seconds of dead si-
lience, then a sudden raid of heels
and hands against the relentless
wooden panels.
“Let me out, I say, Mrs. Darcy!
Madam, how dare you perpetrate
this monster us piece of audacity?”
“My deal’ Luke, how strongly you
do remind me of Freddy! You see
there’s nothing I have so little toler
ance for as a bad temper. It ought
to have been checked long ago, only
you know I am so ridiculously indul
gent.”
Mr. Darcy winced a little at the
sound of his own words.
Tap, tap, tap, came softly on the
door. Mrs. Darcy composedly open
ed it, and saw her husband’s office
boy.
“Please, mam, there’s some gentle
men at the office in a great hurry to
see Mi-. Darcy. It’s about the Ap
plegate will case.”
Mrs. Darcy hesitated a moment;
there was a triumphant rustle in the
closet, and her determination was
taken.
“Tell the gentlemen that your mas
ter has a very bad headache, and
won’t be down town this morning.”
Luke gnashed his teeth audibly,
and as the closing of the door admon
ished him that he might do so with
safety, said:
“Mrs. Darcy, do you propose to
interfere with the transaction of bus
iness that is vitally important, ma’
am, vitally important?”
Mrs. Darcy nonchalantly took up
the little opera air where she had
left it, letting the soft Italian words
ripple musically off her tongue.
“Evelyn, dear!”
“What is it, Luke,” she said, mild
ly.
“Please let me out. My dear, this
may be a funny joke to you, but—”
“I assure you, Luke, it’s nothing
of the sort; its the soberest of seri
ous affairs to me. It is a question
whether my future life shall he hap
py or miserable.”
Where was a third interval of silance
“Evelyn,” said Luke presently, in
a subdued voice, “will you open the
door?”
“On one condition only.”
“Ah! ah!” thought the little lieu
tenant-general, “he’s beginning to en
tertain terms of capitulation, is he?
On condition,’’(She added aloud,
“that you will break yourself of the
habit of speaking sharply to me, and
on all occasions to keep your tem
per.” j
“My temper, indeed!” sputtered
Luke. .
“Just yourjtemper,” said his wife
! serenely. “Will you promise?”
Mrs. Darcy quietly took up a pair
of liose that required mending, and
prepared to leave the apartment. As
the door creaked on the hinges, how
ever, a voice came shrilly through
the opposite keyhole.
“Mrs. Darcy, Evelyn!”
“Yes.” ]
“You aroinot going down stabs to
leave me iflf this place?”
“I am.”
“Well—look here, Ipromioe.”
“All antli everything I require?”
“Yes, all and everything you re
quire—coafound it all!
Wisely leaf to the muttered sequel,
Mrs. Daiby opened the door, and
Luke staged suddenly out, looking
right over the top of her shining
brown hair.
Suddenly a little detaining hand
was laid on his coat sleeve.
“Luke, dear.”
“Well”
“Won’t you give me a kiss?”
And Mrs. Darcy burst out crying
on her husband’s shoulders.
“Well!” ejaculated the puzzled
Luke, “If women ain’t the greatest
enigmas going. A kiss? Yes, half
a dozen of ’em if you want, ypu
hard hearted little turnkey. Don’t
cry, pet, I am not angry with you,
though I suppose I ought to be.”
“And may I let Freddy out?”
“Yes—on the same terms that his
papa was released. Evelyn, was I
very intolerable ?”
“If you hadn’t been, Luke, I never
should have vfentured on such a vio
lent remedy.”
“Did I make you very unhappy?”
“Very.”
And "the gush of warm sparkling
tears supplied a dictionary lull of
words.
Luke Darcy buttoned up his over
coat, put on his hat, shouldered his
umbrella, and went to the Applegate
will case, niusing as he went upon
the new state of affairs that had pre
sented itself for consideration.
“By Jove!” he ejaculated, “that
little wife of mine is a bold woman—
aye, and a plucky one!”
And then he burst out laughing on
the steps.
It is more than probable that he
left his stock of evil temper behind
him in the law buildings that day,
for Evelyn and Clara never saw any
more of it, and Freddy is daily get
ting the better of the peppery ele
ment in his youthful disposition.
Men, after all, are but children of
a larger growth; and so Mrs. Evelyn
Darcy had reasoned.
The Candle in the Gunpowder.
I have read a thrilling story of
a merchant who was one evening cele
brating the marriage of his daughter.
While the guests were enjoying them
selves above, he chanced to go to the
basement hall below, w-here he met
a servant carrying a lighted candle
without a candlestick. She passed
on to til© cellar forwoojl, and return-
ed quickly without the candle. The
merchant suddenly remembered that,
during the day. several barrels of
gunpowder had been placed in the
cellar, one of which had been opened.
Inquiring what she had done with
the candle, to his amazement and
horror her reply was, “that not be
ing able to carry it with the wood,
she had set it in a small barrel of
‘black sand,’ in the" cellar.”
He flew to the spot. A long, red
snuff was just ready to fall from the
wick into the mass of powder, when
with great presence of mind, placing
one hand on each side of the can
dle, and making his hands meet at
the top, over the wick, he safely re
moved it from the barrel. At first
he smiled at his previous terror, but
the reaction was so great that it was
weeks before he overcame the shock
which his nerves had sustained in
that terrible moment.
There are candles iu many a bar
rel of gunpowder to-day. Many
homes have already been blown to
min by them. There is a candle in
the cellar of the wine bibber. It
bums brighter with the added fuel
of every cup he drains, and before
he is aware, all his hopes for this
world and the next will be blown up
with ruin more terrible than any de
struction which gunpowder can bring.
There is a candle in the cellar of
the liquor dealer, burning slowly,
but surely. He who is dealing death to
others will yet be startled by a sud
den blasting of his own peace, when
the wrath of God, restrained no
longer, shall fall upon him in a mo
ment. “Every way of a man is right
in his own eyes, but the Lord pon-
dereth the hearts.” “He that by
usury and unjust gain increaseth his
substance shall gather it for him
that will pity the poor.” “If thou
forbear to deliver them that are
drawn unto death, and those that are
ready to de slain: if thou sayest
‘behold, we know it not!’ He that
pondereth the heart consider it? And
He that keepeth thy soul, doth, He
not know it ?” And shall not He “ren
der unto every man according to his
works ?” The man who is willfully
destroying himself may be deluded,
and see no danger; the who is de
stroying others may say, “I do not
see it,” but the eyes of Him who
ponders both their ways, sees not
the evil but the “sudden destruction”
which is befere them, if they do
not speedily repent and reform. See
tb it, that no righteous anger burn
against you. See to it, that no burn
ing candle is endangering you in
your cellar.—National Tcmperanpe
Advocate.
The foundation of domestic hap
piness is faith in the virtue of woman;
the foundation of political happiness
is confidence in the integrity of man;
the foundation of all happiness, tem
poral and eternal, is reliance on the
goodness of Providence.
ImpTtfWthe nfoments as they fly
Farmer’s Sons.
It is something to boast of to be
the son of an American Farmer. It
is a capital in itself to start in life
with; which, if rightly valued and
rightly used leads, on to usefulness,
if not to fame and fortune. The boy
who can say, My father is a farmer,
claims to be, though he may not at
the moment realize it, the son of one
who is most honorably occupied
—'who is daily contributing to others’
comfort whilst advancing his own—
who stands on the very centre of the
arch on which the social fabric with
its varied interests rests. Agricul
ture is the keystone, as it were, to all
industrial structures. Where it suc
ceeds, all other pursuits prosper. If
it fails or flags, the mine is dormant,
the forge-fires grow dim, the ring
of the anvil is faint, the whistle
of the engine is only heard at in
tervals, and the ship rots at the dock,
even the Press itself—the organ of
intelligence—drags its weary way.
On the other hand, with the Great
Interest prosperous, all else partici
pates and sympathizes; and the busy
hum of trade, commerce, and manu
facture resounds throughout the land.
Such, boys, are the results which
grow out of the occupation in which
your farmer fathers are engaged. Is
it not to be honored and respected?
That it shall be so, and that they,
and you, in turn, may not be spoken*
of merely as “hewers of wood,” you
must improve the present hours.
Whilst learning to plough, and sow,
and reap, it is gecessary for you to im
prove your minds,that you avail your
selves of every opportunity of study.
When at school, profit to the full ex
tent by the opportunitypresented,and
cherish the precious hours. Always be
tween the intervals of school-study
or daily-labor, have some good book
at hand—one at a time only—and
pick it up at every leisure moment.
Once form a habit of reading and
your greatest pleasure through life
will proceed therefrom. Boys! Wash
ington, Webster, Clay were farmers’
sons, toiling just as you may now do,
but, whilst doing so, laying the foun
dation for future usefulness. All boys
cannot turn out Clays or Websters,
or is it desirable they should, but
they can each one and all,enlarge their
minds, extend their knowledge, im
prove their tastes, and thus qualify
themselves for the polifienl and so
cial position to which, as educated
and refinded men, in addition to be
ing farmers, they are entitled to claim.
Especially study Nature. Make !
yourselves acquainted with the trees j
and shrubs, the plants and grasses, f
and the weeds (so-called) which grew j
on your fathers’ farms. Learn their
names, both common and botanical,
and inform yourselv.es of their qual
ities and properties. In this matter,
as in all others, be systematic. Buy
yourself an ordinarily ruled copy
book, and enter the names, in alpha
betical order—Oaks under their head,
Maples under theirs, and so on. If
you find difficulty in determining
them, as certainly you will at first,
and till you understand the classes,
and orders and natural groups, apply
for aid to the physician or clergyman
of your parish or locality; they should
know,—and if they don’t, it is likely
soon will, after such an application.
Meanwhile store up some portion of
your earnings or spendingmoney,and
buy the introduction to Scientific
Botany,” by Dr. Gray, Professor of
Natural History in Harvard Univers
ity. That done, a wider field of in
quiry will open, and open wider to
the end of fife—a never-ceasing fund
of intellectural enjoyment.
It is an old man who writes these
lines, one who has not lived without
opportunity for observation. He tells
you, boys, that next to the pleasure
which must of necessity proceed from
the practice of virture, the greatest
will be found in the habit of reading
and reflection. Let us pursue it, anc
one-half the vexations and ills which
beset our path through life will fade
a way, disappear, and be speedily for
gotten.
Have you enemies ? Go straight
on, an*d mind them not. If they
block up your path, walk around
them, and do your duty regardless
of their spite. A man who has nO
enemies is seldom good for anything;
he is made of that kind of material
which is so easily worked that every
one has a hand in it. A sterling char
acter—one who thinks for himself,
and speaks what he thinks^—is al
ways sure to have enemies. They are
necessary to him as fresh air; they
keep him alive and active. A cele
brated character; who was surround
ed by enemies, used to remark—
“They are sparks which, if you do
not blow, will go out of themselves.”
Let this be your feeling while en-
.deavoring to live down tffe scandal
of those who are bftter against you.
If you stop to dispute,, you do but
as they desire, and open the way
for more abuse. Let the poor fel
lows talk; there will be a recreation
if you perform but your duty, and
hundreds who were once alienated
from you, will flock to you, and ac-
le’ ‘ ,v ''
Temptation.
There is a legend of one of the an
cient kings of England, that, return
ing from the Crusades, he was taken
captive by his enemines, and confin
ed in a German fortress. Languish
ing there in the darkness of his soli
tary cell, he was lost to his people
ana dead to the world, and fast per
ishing from memory of mankind. But
there was a minstrel of his court by
the name of Blondel, who sought to
find him. He wandered in disguise
through Europe, and played and
sung under the windows of every
prison, the airs which he and his
master had sung together in the days
of old. At the last trial, after the
first strain had died away, the second
strain awoke from within the fortress
and rolled responsive from the pri
son cells. The lost monarch was
found
Precisely such is the office which
temptation performs for us. It reveals
us. We mean by temptation, such
surroundings as make us conscious
of wTong desires, and draw us vehe
mently towards forbidden objects.
Any one seeking in good faith to know
himself, may find all the shadings of
his inmost being refleeted back up
on him, from the objects that lie along
his path. For temptation puts noth
ing new into us. It only brings out
before the sun something which ex
isted there already. We are enticed
by the lusts that are within, and it is
the lust which gives to the object
without all its meretricious and se
ducing charms. The corruption with
in corresponds to the great object
without, and they call and answer to
each other. If there were no lurking
evil in oar nature, there could be no
temptations. They are the Blondels,
whose songs and harpings are of the
same air and dialect of some corrup
tion within; and so they respond to
each other, strain for strain.
Simplicity in Beauty.—The late
Fitz Greene Halleck said: “A letter
fell into my hands which a Scoth ser
vant girl had written to her lover. Its
style charmed me. It was fairly in
imitable. I wondered how in her cir
cumstances in life, she could have ac
quired so elegant a style. I showed
the letter to some of my literary
friends in the city of New York, and
they unanimously agreed that it was
<x rif Koaijj mid eleg>uu>A T
then determined to solve the myste
ry, and I went to the house where
she was employed, and asked her
how it was, that in her humble cir
cumstances in life, she had acquired
a style so beautiful, that the most
cultivated minds could not but ad
mire it. ‘Sir,’ said she, I came to
this country four years ago. Then I
could not read or write. But since
then I have learned to read and write
but I have not yet learned to spell;
so always when I sit down to write a
letter I select those words which are
so short and simple that I am sure
to know how to spell them.” There
was the whole secret. The reply of
that simple minded Scotch girl con
densed a world of rhetoric into a
nut-shell. Simplicity is beauty.
knowledge their error.
Remember the Golden Rule.
Rev. De Witt Talbnadge has a way
of putting things that is often spark
ling and forcible. “Let us all go to
preaching,” he. says. “Peter was
never a sophomore, nor John a fresh
man. Harlan Page never heard
that a tangent to the parabola bi
sects the angle formed at the point
of contact by a perpendicular to the
directrix and a line drawn to the
focus. If George Muller should at
tempt chemical experiments in a
philosopher’s laboratory, he would
soon blow himself up. And hun
dreds of men, grandly useful, were
never struck on Commencement
stage by a boquet, flung from the
ladies’ gallery. Quick! Let us find
our work. You preach a sermon—
you give a tract—you hand a flow
er—you sing a song—you give a
cratch to a lame man—you teach
the Sabbath class their. A, B, C—
you knit a pair of socks for a found
ling—you pick a splinter from a
child’s finger. Do something! Do
it now! We will be dead soon!”
Phenomena of the Brain.—One
of the most inconceivable things in
the nature of the brain is that the
organ of sensation should in itself
be insensible. To cut the brain
gives no pain, yet in the brain alone
resides the power of feeling pain in
any other part of the body. If the
nerve which leads from it to the in
jured part should be divided, it be
comes instantly unconscious of suf
fering. It is only by communica
tion with the brain that any kind of
sensation is produced, yet the organ
itself is insensible. But there is a
circumstance more wonderful still.
The brain itself may be removed;
may be cut away down the corpus
calsaum without destroying life. The
animal lives and performs all its
functions y^hich ajf necessary to
ample vitality, but no longer has a
mind; it can not think or feel; it re
quires that the food should be push
ed into the stomach; once there it
is digested and the animal will thrive
and grow fat.
One Thing at a Time.—A great
many things may be well done, pro
vided that only one thing at a time
is attempted. Many active, ener
getic people suffer their lives to
waste, simply because they are with
out method of any kind. True,
they are busy, and fussy, and figety,
and full to bursting with all manner
of plans and projects; but while ag
onizing with the pains of parturi
tion, they seldom bring any matter
of importance to birth. They should
recollect that good deeds are pro
duced in litters, but are laid down
on a solid basis after the order steps
ascending toward the summit of a
pyramid. As a rule, the first thing
to be done is that of immediate,
S resent duty. It should be done to-
ay, and not be postponed until to
morrow. It should be doue now,
and not when one feels more like
trying it. The body is lazy. The
mind is often sluggish but to will is
to do. The will has imperial force
in men of will, who gamely resolve
to rule themselves, and so far as they
can, call the circumstances around
them. Few things worthy of being
done can be accomplished without
hard work. Shiftless people are
cowardly. They shrink from con
tests with dificulty or hardships.
They ran for refuge to the quick
sands of idle hope.
Full of wishes, they imagine that
somehow hick will fill their hands
with benefits. And so they dream
and wonder how others get along,
and why they do not. Life oozes
out nothing but stagnation and de
cay for such cowardly spirits that
dare not compete for the prizes of
intelligent industry.
Hard work grows easy and be-*
comes a pleasure to all who have
felt the stimulus of its medical
charms. One task well done makes
the next lighter. The ancient Syra
cusan, who began by carrying the
•calf, found himself able to carry the
grown up bullock with ease. “One
thing at a time and courage,” these
make life pleasant and fraitfnl.
An Absurd Custom.—If I could
persuade all young men never to
treat each other, nor be treated, I
think one half of the danger from
our strong drink would be gone. If
I cannot get you to sign the total
abstinence pWge, binding*until you
are twenty-five, I wouia De glaa tu
have ydu promise three things : First,
never to drink on the sly, alon ;
second, never drink socially, treated
or being treated; third, when you
drink, do it openly, and in the pres
ence of some man or woman whom
you respect. w Now, boys, if you wish
to be generous and treat each other,
why not select some other shop be
sides the liquor shop ? Suppose as
you go by the post-office, you say,
“Come, boys, come in and take some
stamps.” These", stamps will do
your friends real good, and will cost
you no more than drinks all around.
Or go by the tailor’s .store and say:
“Boys come in and have a box of
collars.” Walk up to the counter,
free and generous, and say: “What
style will you have ?” Why not treat
to collars as well as to treat to drinks?
Or go by a confectioner’s and pro
pose to treat to chocolate drops all
around? or say, I’ll stand a jack
knife all aronnd ?” How does it hap
pen that we have fallen into a habit,
almost compulsatoiy, of social drink
ing ? You drink many a time when
asked to, when really you do not
want to. When a man has treated
you, you feel mean and indebted,
and keep a sort of account current
in your mind, and him. And so in
the use of just that agent, which at
the very best is a dangerous one, you
join hand in hand to help each other
to rain instead of hand to hand to
help each other to temperance.—T.
K. Beecher.
In the development of every moral
principle, there is, soon or later, a
crisis reached which, if safely passed,
ensues the greatest possible amount
of good of which the cause admits;
otherwise, the greatest possible
amount of evil. The weight of a
feather may turn the scale.
God loves to have ns pray with
earnestness. The best proof of earn
estness is simplicity. Better in God’s
sight are the broken, but heartfelt
utterances of a child, than the‘high-
flown utterances of some who think
themselves wonderful in prayer.
A kind old father-in-law wanted to
know why the Feejeans were called
cannibals, to which Bamum re
plied : Because they live off other
people. Then, replied he unhappily,
my four sons-in-law must be canni
bals—they live off me.
What, use are forms? exclaimed a
petulant legislator to Dr. Franklin;
you connot deny that they are often
mere empty things! Well, my friend,
and so are barrets, but nevertheless
they have theiruses, quietly replied
the doctor.
It is the mark of the soundest 1
dom not to pry into
when
V C;,.
