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Tacts and Tancies for the Tireside
WHICH ARE YOU?
We recently saw one of our citi
zens going home with a small basket
of fruit. A few evenings later we
passed him again and he had a small
package of candy. On both occasions
we were walking with the same gen
tleman who remarked to us that the
man with the candy was a good fel
low, but blew in all he made so fool
ishly. We merely smiled in reply,
but could not help, in our own mind,
as we walked along, drawing a con
trast between the two men. One was
smoking a cigar that cost as much as
the candy. Burning into ashes and
blowing out into the air the money
the other spent for knick-knacks that
brought a smile of happiness to the
cheek he once thought so rosy, and
gladdened eyes that still sparkled
like a thousand diamonds with their
tell-tale love for him; carrying home,
one by one, the sweetest memories of
life; building evening after evening an
image in a little heart of “Home,
Sweet Home” that no time, even
into eternity, would destroy. Nourish
ing and kindling a new love that
would in old age look back to those
happy home comings and bless his
memory as the dearest papa that ever
lived.
But what of our friend, the critic?
Yes, what of him? Which of the
two had you rather have been? Which
of the two are you?
WORK ON.
(Richmond Journal.)
When a man is born into this world
his work is born with him. There is
much work to be done and a need for
all the workers. Each must do the
work his hands find to do or stand
aside for another. The work must be
done. If you are a worker the only
thing to be done is to —
Work on.
Your work, be very sure —whatever
it is—is important. Because all work
is important. No useful labor is lost.
No life is in vain. There is no star
without a purpose and there is no life
without a purpose. Your life and
your work are necessary—they count
for something. They are parcels of
the great life and of the great work.
Work on.
It is not always easy to see the pur
pose of one’s life work. It is difficult
to know the outcome. But it is also
difficult to know the beginning. But
there was a beginning and there is an
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outcome. What matters it if both
first and last are unseen? Life is
here. And work. And both are parts
of the whole.
Work on.
The weaver who sits all day long at
the shuttle cannot see all the beauty
of the fabric, but every flight of the
bright steel helps on the outcome. Do
not stop your little machine. It is in
timately belted up with millions of
other machines, big and little. Make
your dole of the output. Do not spoil
the smallest part of the weaving.
Work on.
Somewhere out of sight and sense
is the big dynamo that sets all the
shafts to running. You are connect
ed up with one of the whirling line
shafts. All you need to do is to see
that your pulleys run true. Keep your
little machine going right. The head
engineer will look after the rest.
Work on.
Work for the joy of working. Work
because life and health and salvation
depend upon youi working. You are
built that way. What would become
of you were there no work to do?
Work on! Whatever your work —
whether it be of highest art or wheth
er it be the heaving of clay out of
the ditch —•
Work on.
When the timekeeper shall call out
“Time!” it is soon enough to quit.
Not before,
A JAPANESE VIEW OF AMERICAN
WOMEN.
(New York American.)
Have American women too much
power?
Captain Tanaka, official interpreter
for General Kuroki and former right
hand man of Marshal Oyama, says
they have.
This is the difference between the
Oriental and Occidental viewpoint. In
Asia women have nothing to say out
side the home and little inside.
Japan has taken on many Western
ideas. It yet remains for her to ac
cept the notion of the freedom and
power of women.
A civilization that lacks this is only
half a civilization.
Woman’s influence is prominent in
America, and very much that is high
est and best in our national life is
due to that fact. Many of the great
est chapters in the Revolution and
Civil war relate to women.
WATSON’S WEEKLY JEFFERSONIAN.
In peace where can be found a finer
character than Frances Willard?
To every present-day movement of
uplift and betterment, great-souled ;
unselfish women are giving their lives.
The crowning glory of American
civilization is the public school sys
tem. There the feminine influence
is dominant.
Women are the spiritualizing force
of our day. The respect for mother
or wife makes the character of good
men.
Finally, the greater liberty of wo
men and reverence for them mark the
superiority of the civilization of the
West over that of the East.
IDLENESS.
(Cordele Rambler.)
Is the woman who wastes her life
in society, playing bridge, dancing
and other frivolous amusements any
better than a young man who leads
an empty life of idleness? We sub
mit that we cannot see any material
difference, and know no reason why
self-respect shouldn’t require a wo
man to be useful as well as man. A
woman has fully as important work
as a man to perform and if she wants
to preserve her self-respect she must
get busy at something useful. For
tunately for our race there are only a
few of the worthless, frivolous kind
to whom we refer. Amusements are
all well enough at times, but to
make a life work of frolic is degrading
to womankind.
THE LAST LEAF.
I saw him once before,
As he pass’d by the door;
And again
The pavement-stones resound
As he totters o’er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan;
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
“They are gone.”
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has press’d
In their bloom;
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said —
Poor old lady! she is
Long ago—■
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff;
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
J know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here,
But the old three-corner’d hat,
And the breeches —and all that,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
—Oliver Wendell Holmes.
THE CHILD MUSICIAN.
He had played for his lordship’s levee,
He had played for her ladyship’s
whim,
Till the poor little head was heavy,
And the poor little brain would
swim.
And the face grew peaked and eerie,
And the large eyes strange and
bright,
And they said —too late —“He is weary!
He shall rest for at least tonight!”
But at dawn, when the birds were
waking.
As they watched in the silent room,
With the sound of a strained cord
breaking,
A something snapped in the gloom.
’Twas a string of his violincello
And they heard him stir in his bed:
“Make room for a tired little fellow,
King God!” was the last that he
said.
—Austin Dobson.
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