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About The Henry County weekly. (McDonough, GA.) 18??-1934 | View Entire Issue (Nov. 20, 1908)
Henry County Weekly. J. A. FOUCHE, Publisher. R. L. JOHNSON, Editor. Entered at the postoffice at McDon ough as second class mall matter. Advertising Rates: SI.OO per inch per month. Reduction on standing contracts by special agreement. ■ ■ » ■ -♦ If prosperity is coming with a rush, propounds the Atlanta Constitution, the people will still keep the middle of the road and give it a chance to run ’em down. The New Haven Register demands to know has utter midsummer mad ness seized the controllers of Amer ica’s beef supply? Who cares, in weather like this, whether meat is 20 or 50 cents a pound? The w'hole round year could not have furnished a more inappropriate time for announcing an other raise in price. To raise the price now simply makes more t>eople stop buying it, that’s all. And the result is the good health of the people, and will eventually be the bad health of the beef trust. A difference of taste in jokes, as Holmes has said, is a strain on the affections. The practical joke is a strain on the nerves and muscles be sides. Its object is to cause pain, if possible pain only in moderation, but in any case pain, insists the New York Mail. It finds its subject matter for mirth in the confusion, grief, or unmerited suffering of another. Every community, however small, has per sons who have been maimed, or whose nerves have been permanently shat tered, by some practical Joker. Hie malice always approaches the line of criminality and often crosses it. In deed there are laws, if people would only incoke them, which would send half the practical jokers to jail, and mulct the other half for damages suf ficient to take all the laugh out of them. Accepting the motor car as one of man’s most valuable mechanical con tributions to the progress of civiliza tion, there still remains the motorist to deal with, asserts the New York Sun. It must be evident from the events and disclosures of the summer that the right way to deal with him is still to be discovered. The public has no quarrel with the automobile. Rabßl persons there undoubtedly are whose madness takes the form of violent pre judice against this very modern de vice, but the usefulness of the automo bile is too generally recognized for their particular variety of rabies ever to become epidemic. The public as a whole has, however, a very serious ob jection to the way in which the motor car is very generally used. It is com ing to see that it has a problem on its hands which will have to be solved effectively before long. The chief gardener of the city of Paris has been spending a two months’ vacation in the United States, studying American methods in devel oping city parks and gardens. He found much to praise, but had nothing but condemnation for the American city back yard. In New York, parti cularly, he found the back yards in credibly ugly and neglected—no grass, no trees, no vines, no flowers. The criticism would hold good of almost any American city, but the matter is one which young landscape architects Are beginning seriously to consider. One such man in Boston is making a special study of the problem of con verting a few sauare yards of brick pavement into a little secluded bow er of greenery, where the family can have a restful hour or a pleasant meal, in surroundings far more attrac tive than the average roof-garden af fords. A New Yorker has recently told, in print, of the curiosity he felt at the wording of an advertisement of some apartments to rent. One of the at tractions mentioned was the outlook on real trees and back yards which were gardens. Later conversation with the agent disclosed the fact that the modest attempt at beauty which the windows commanded was a real as set. It raised the rentable value of the property. GETTING THE HABIT OF Lit,. .A? THANKSGIVING. THERE is a beautiful legend of a golden organ in an ancient monastery. Once the monas tery was besieged by robbers who desired to carry off its treasures. The monks took the organ to a river which flowed close by and sank it in the deep water in order to keep it from the hands of the robbers. And the legend is that, though buried thus In the river, the organ still continued to give forth sweet and enchanting music, which was heard by those who came near. Every Christian life should be like this golden organ. Nothing should ever silence its music. Even when the floods of sorrow flow over it it should still continue to rejoice and sing. One of the secrets of such a life is found in the cultivation of the habit of thankfulness. Nothing less than this will do. Most people have brief hours in which their hearts are tilled with grateful feelings, and when all the world seems beautiful to them. But these sunny times soon pass, and then for days they give themselves over to discontent and complaining. Anybody can sing when walking amid the flowers and in sunny ways; the test of life comes when the garden path becomes a bit of a desert road. We are uot fully ready for living un til we have strength enough to carry us through the hardest places and the deepest glooms. Thanksgiving Day is not intended to gather' into itself a whole year’s thanks. By being full of gratitude for the one day, we cannot make up for three hundred and sixty-four days of ingratitude. Every day should be a thanksgiving day. Of course, there is a difference in the days. Some of them are dark, while others are bright. On certain days things seem to go wrong with us and our affairs get tangled; on other days life flows along like a song. We want to learn to live so that these changes in our circum stances and experiences shall not af fect us in our inner life. That is what Saint Paul meant when he said that he had learned in whatsoever state he was therein to be content. It was no easier for him to have to suf fer and endure want and privation than it is for us. There was no lux ury to him in being cast into a dun geon and having his feet made fast in the stocks. But he had learned not to fret when his condition was un pleasant. Wherever we find him he is singing, never despairing. The habit of thanksgiving had been so wrought into his life that nothing could ever break it. Just how to learn this habit of thanksgiving is the question. One thing is to learn to trust. The cause of all complaining and discontent is want of trust in God. If we believe in God as our Father, that He loves us and will care for us, and put at once into His hands all matters that would disturb or fret us, God Him self will keep us in perfect peace. Worry is death to the thanksgiving 6pirit, while nothing so drives worry from the heart as a thanksgiving song. Another thing that helps in form ing this habit of thanksgiving is to make sure of seeing the good and beautiful things in life. This is a lovely world. It could not be other wise, for it is our Father’s woild. He made it beautiful because it was to be the home of His children. Yet some see nothing of the loveliness which lies about them continually everywhere. They are like men tour ing through a country with glorious scenery, in a stage coach, keeping the T he Yumpkin i3y John Gbeemlcaf Wiuttieu* A II! — on Thanksgiving Day, rvhen from East and from West, From North and Jrom South come the pilgrim and guest, When the gray-haired New Englander sees round his board The old broken links r\f affection restored, When the care-wearied man seeks his ‘ .mother once more, And the worn matron smiles inhere the girl smiled before, ' What moistens the lip and what brightens the eye? What calls back the past, like the rich Pumpkin pie Y > curtains fastened down all the time and seeing nothing. It is said that Mr. Russin’s guests at Brantwood were often awakened early in the morning by a knocking at their door and the call, "Are you looking out?” When, in response to this summons, they would open their window blinds, their eyes would be charmed by the view that they saw. It is not every one who sleeps at night in such a place as Brantwood, and can have a Coniston morning to greet his vision when he awakes and opens his windows. But there is glory enough in the morning anywhere to start our hearts singing at the dawn of the day, if only we would look out. It would be well if all of us could be awakened every morning with the call, “Are you looking out?” There is always —l'rom Good Literature. —From Collier’s. something worth seeing if we would draw our curtains and look out This is true not only of nature, but of all the experiences of life. We allow ourselves to be too much im pressed by somber views. We let the troubles and the unpleasant things bulk too largely in our vision. We live too much indoors, with our own frets and cares. If every morning we would fling open our windows and look out on the wide reaches of God's love and goodness we could not help singing. Some one writes: “Many a day would be brighter if begun with some thought in the heart that might open the door to a nobler vision of life, and would net some of our less cheerful moods be dis pelled by a wider outlook?” Our lives are all too apt to run in grooves, and often they are very nar row grooves, indeed. Yet all about us are scenes of beauty, not in na ture alone, but in the lives of our fellow men. Often in the most un expected places, in some nook or cranny of a nature that seemed only forbidding, we shall find some blos som of rarest fragrance. In those quiet hours of meditation, when our hearts reach up to the great heart of God, we may stand upon the moun tain tops with Him and catch glimpses of that land which too often seems afar off. “Are you looking out?” — Rev. J. R. Miller, D. D., in Advocate and Guardian. A Thanksgiving Dinner Table Trick This is a curious little experiment which will interest everybody at the dinner table, for it calls for nothing except what you are likely to find on the table. Cut an orange into halves and from one-half remove the pulp, leaving the peel entire in the form of a hollow hemisphere or cup. With a penknife or a toothpick bore two holes in the bottom of this cup and put it into a tumbler, forcing it down about half way. The tumbler should be a little smaller than the orange used so that you will have to squeeze the peel-cup a little in order to get it in. Then it will press firmly against the glass and stay where you put it instead of dropping to the bottom. Put the cup in right side up, that is, with the yellow peel below, and pour red wine into it. The wine will run through the holes and you must keep on pouring until the level of the wine in the glass just touches the bottom of the cup. Now fill the rest of the glass above the orange cup with wat er and await results. Soon you will see a thin red jet of wine rising like a fountain through the water from one of the holes. At the same time, though you cannot see it so well, a colorless stream of water flows downward through the other hole. The two liquids do not mix much. |» || but merel.v exenange places, so that in a few minutes the lower part of the glass, below the cup, will contain the water and the upper part will be filled with wine. This is as it should be, because water is heavier than wine and natur ally goes to the bottom. The curious . thing is that the wine and water do not mix, but each selects one hole for itself. It is like the trick with the candle burning in a lamp chimney with a partition at the top, so that cold fresh air goes down on one side while the hot air and smoke escape on the other. Oil may be substituted for the wine or you may fill the bottom of the glass with water and then pour in milk or some thin-colored syrup. A Thanksgiving Conversation. Turkey—“ Well, there’s this conso lation about it the most distin guished men on earth went to the block.” Possum (gloomily)—“Yes, but they were not broiled and roasted af terward for the benefit of block heads.” —New Orleans Picayune. Tn the British South African colony in Natal residents in cities and towns have fresh butter and eggs delivered every morning by mail.
