Newspapers / Masonic Journal (Greensboro, N.C.) / June 2, 1876, edition 1 / Page 2
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i' ‘ 11 ‘ 1,1 ' Crj:; -■■ -i> ' ji'll ,‘5^ . -^1?. !’ ' f ]" ^ j|;| |/ p -.t‘ il*'- :,;V f!-- 4l|v' n-tf, , ' d -M 1; - j® ,' -{- jls ” iti T H K MASONIC! J 0 U M N A J. LOST. ' Once on a time slie came to me, As some small star in heaven might tlee- 'I'o be a mortal’s soul delight, A love bj' clay a dream by night, 'J’he sweetest thing on land or sea, My little darling crept to me. A trembling, tender, fairy thing, ’Too g rave to smile, too sad to sing, .Aware of earth with grieved surprise, An alien from lifer native skies, A baby angel strange to see, -My little darling' came to me. Sill love and loving taught her smiles, -And life and living baby wiles— Tlie way to Cling, to coax, to ki-^s, ‘To till my soul with deepest bliss,- iViy heart of hearts, my life, wa.s she, .’This little love who came to me. I know not bow to tell the grace That dwelt ujion her wistfdl face— The tinted skin the lip’s pOorbloont, .Tlife clearest eyes that knew not gloom, The hair as sbft as motll wings be, My little darling sliovt fed to me. Alas ! I know tli.at all is gone, Tliat here I sit and gi'ieve alone, That every llilr and gl'aCious thing 1 loved and lost is but a sting; Anotlier thorn thy memory. My little d.arling, brings to me But kindly night doth pity pain i In all my dreams she comes agaitt ) Her precious head is on my breast; Jl.v ha|)py arms caress her rest j I hear lief Woi-ds of tender glee; My little darling kisses me. ..Ah .(sH'feet is night—too sweet too brief— I\'liei1 day recalls oiir biltefest grief. The itU-tlgry heart, the longitlg dire, 'That burns tlic soul witli vain desire. The ancient cry of wild distress, 'riie Racliel-monrningi coinfortle.ss. -.0 God ! once more that face to see ! .My little darling, come to me ! —Bose Terry Cooke, in Harpa ’s Magazine. Saved by Emotion. The frequenters of the Parisian Opera Were lately attracted by the rare beauty of a young lady, whose presence was re- ■marked at every representation. Her eyes Were superb, her form exquis ite, her complexion flvaled the lilly, and ’her tresses, dark as night, fell on her shoulders in large waving mas.?es. This ■beautiful girl was always accompanied by a diminutive, strange looking man, with a complexion the color of saffron, and who resembled a resuscitated mummy, so closely-did his skin adhere to his sharp bones. How old was he ? No one could tell ; he might be thirty five or be might be ninety. It was soon known that they ^were East Indians—that they came from k-^alcutta, and were father and daughter. The father carried about on his person the signs of his opulence; five or six ■enormous diamon.ls glittering on his skel- ' -eton fingers and on the embroidered bos om of his shirt. The extravagant splen- dor of his ornaments contrasted strangely with the simplicity of his daughter’s cos- itume. A dress of white muslin, confined at the waist with a green ribbon, was all she wore nothing more, not r,he smallest ^article of jewelry—no necklace, bracelet hor ear rings. The most rtfinefd coquetry (oould hot have struck out a better style. The poor man was a nabob, ini- Tuensel-y rich, and dying with Asiatic ■spleen, He was gradually sinking away with languor, and his Indian doctors had ■sent him to Europe with the hope of sav-^ 'ing his life. But his chance was a poor •one; for Europe is dull, and her civiliza tion monotonous to a man sated with the splendors and eccentricities of India, In truth, nothing astonished him, nothing moved him, at Paris. An astonishment would have refreshed him, an emotion might have saved him—he would have At In- paid for an astonishment a hundred thousand crowns ; for an emotion half of his lortue, After Paris the nabob and his daughter were going to London, first, the yOung and beautiful East dian had manifested a desire not to re main long in Paris, but to depart imme diately for London. But soon this eager ness to depart waxed faint, and finally disappeared altogether. “This is a charming city,*’ said she, “and I am told that London is far from possessing so many and so great attrac tions,” What she did not mention among the attractions of Paris was a certain young gentleman who had found the road to her heart; for the young girl was not as in sensible as the father ; a kind lock, a ten der speech, had sufficed to awaken emo tion in her bosom. Nevertheless, the nabob, more and more ennuied, resolved to try change of eouDtry, and i,saUed his orders to prepare for their departure for Loudon. The day before the departure, a young man presented himself to the opulent East Indian, and said, without further preamble : “I come to ask the hand of your dangli ter r The nabob scarcely raised his eyebrows, but fixing on the suitor a dull and in ani mate look, he asked : “What is your fortune ?” “I have none,” replied the young man. “Well, that is not of much importance,” said the nabob; ray daughter has thous ands. What is your position—your rank in li'e ?” “I am nothing yet, but hope to distin guish myself hereafter.” “ What is your name, your title con tinued the impas.sible nabob. “I have no aristocratic title,” he said, giving his name—a common-place one. “So,” said the Indian, “you have nei ther rank, fortune, nor title ; and you demand the hand of my daughter'?” “Yes, sir, I do,” was the prompt reply. The nabob had no idea of such unpar alleled impudence, and for the first time in an immemorial period, he felt aston-- ished—=but not excited. After enjoying his astonishment for a few moments, he said to the young man, with all his hab itual sangfroid: “Sir, if we were in India, I should probably have you thrown out of the window, or placed in a lunatic asylum ; at Paris I have only the right to turn you out of doors, and I request you to go out.’’ “I comprehend. My tates you.” “No, sir ; it annoys me.” The young man left the room, but scarcely had he passed the door-sill when a white hand c.asped his and a sweet voice said : “Well done ! yon have repeated the lesson exactly. Now you must w-ritd the letter I am about to dictate.” The astonishment had a happy effect- on the nabob’s health, and that day he was much better than usual. The next day, at breakfast time, his daughter not having appeared, he gave orders to the servants to go and call her. At the same moment a letter was handed to him, which he opened with indolent fingers! and cast upon it a look which, at first ab sent, became riveted as soon as he read the first words of the missive. It was very laconic, and ran thus : “Monsieur—I love your daughter, and she loves me. You would not give her to me—I have carried her off.” These lines were signed with the com mon-place name which had been pro nounced so humbly the day before' The domestic who had been directed to inform A Long Speech. The longest speech on record is heliev- his daughter that the nabob Was aw’ait- ing her. returned with the information that mademoiselle was not in her apart ment, that she had left that morning in have been made Oy N. DpCosoios a carriage, as if for a journey, for she bad i ir> He Legislature of British Columbia' taken her trunks and bandboxes The j "'h®” ® rneastire w-as [lending whose pa!?' nabob remained for an instant motion-;-sage rvould take from many settlers the'- less; then, all at once, he uttered a sort of ■ lands. DeCosmos was in a hopeless m’ terrible roar, and springing from his easy ! nority. The job had been held hack ti'I chair, with one kick of h's foot he over- j the close of the eve of the session ■ unles- lurned the breakfast table. The domes- ' legislation was taken before tics rushing in at the noise, he legislation was laaen oetore rmon of threw ! certain day the act of confiscation presence irn- himself upon them, beating and striking them right and left; then, left alone, he smashed all the furniture in the apart ment, and never stopped until, exhausted with rage and fatigue, he lell senseless upon the carpet of the devastated room. Wlien he came to himself a healthy re action had taken place in his system ; the orisi.s had produced an instantaneous and immense result. It was the emotion— emotion so long prayed for, whicn had Come at last to save him ! A messenger had now arrived from bia daughter, to open negotiations for a re conciliation. “Let her cottle—let her come!” ex claimed the nabob, "and I’ll marry her to the man she loves.” The couple were not far off, and soon made their aupearance. “Monsieur,’’ said the nabob, address ing the young man, “you . have neither fortune, rank, nor title ; but yesterday you caused me astonishment, and to-day you have produced an emotion—in other words, you have .saved my life and that is a favor w'hich well deserves one in re turn. Thanks to you, my heart is so kin dled within me, that I, who was until now indifferent to every earthly thing, expe rience delight at the thought of procur ing my daughter’s happiness, by giving to her the husband of her choice. Thanks, my dear son! and it is I who am still your debtor.” If this story has an air of romance, it is notour fault; it is none the less tine, as a whole, and in all its details. fail. The limitation 1 Would Our Books. Most men may be judged by the books they read, and there is no one so peculiar in his mental constitution that he may not, by searching, find just the author to sympathise with him ; to go with him in those trains of thought and of feeling that predominate in his mind. Not only have we authors for our prevailing moods but for every varying phase ef sentiment and thought and aspiration we may, if we know where to seek it, find an inter preter. The fact that a»i author is the fashion is no reason why one should keep his company if it is lound uncongenial. There are a great many people who think Dickens tedious and have little relish for Thatberay, yet who are by no means des titute of literary culture. To some Kus kin IS severe and harsh in his style, while others delight in every syllable he utters. But the fact that we do not enjoy an au thor is no reason why we should never read his works, any more than the fact that we do not fancy certain individuals should pirevent us from avail ng ourselves of the knowledge, useful to ns, that they may possess. As the bee finds honey in every opening flower, far, and near, so should we gather from near and far what ever may be of use to us. day before the ex[)iration o: DeCosmos got the floor about i ten A. M., and commenced a speech against the bill. Its friends cared Kuie ’for they suppo.sed that by ore or tivo' o’clock he would be through, and the l,j|| would be put On its passage. One o’clock came and DeOosmos was speaking still— hadn't more than entered on his subject Two o’clock—he was ,=aying in the second place. Three o’clock—he produced a fearful bundle of evidence and insisted on reading it. The majority began to have a g.Uspision of the truth—be w«s going to speak till the next noon and kill the bill. For awhile they made merrv ovei it; but as it came on to dusk, they began to get alarmed. They tried inter’. ruptions, but soon abandoned them, be cause each one afforded him a chance to digress and gain time. They tried to shout him Jown but that gave him a breathing apace, and finally they settled down to rvatoh the combat between strength of will and Weakness of body. They gave him no mercy. No adjournment for dinner ; no chance to do more than wet his lips with water ; no wandering from his subject; no setting down. Twilight darkened ; the gas was lit, members slipped out to dinner in re lays, and returned to sleep in squads, but DeCosmos went on. The speaker, to whom be was addressing himself, was alternately dozing, snoring, and trying to look wide awake. Day dawned, the majority slipped out in squads, to wash and to get breakfast, and the speaker still held on. It can’t bo sard it was a very logical, eloquent, or sustained speech. There were digressions in it, repetitions al.so. But still the speaker kept on ; and at last noon came to a baf fled majority, livid with rage and impo tence, and a single man, who was trium phant, though his voice had sank to a husky whisper, his eyes were almost shfll, and were bleared and bloodshot, his legs tottered under him, and bis baked lips were cracked and smeared with blood, DeCosmos had spoken twenty six hours, and saved the settlers their lands. Prof. Upham has well said : “The man who never failed is a myth. Such a one never lived, and is never likely to. All success is a series of efforts in which, when closely viewed, are seen more or less failures. The mount,->,in is aptrto overshadow the hill, but the hill is a re ality nevertheless. If you fail now and then—don’t be discouraged,” Making Character. Many people seem to forget that character grows ; that it is not something to be put on, ready made, here a little and there a little; it grows with the strength, until, good or bad, it becomes almoat a coat of mail. Look at a model man of business- prompt, reliable, conscientious, cool, and cautious, yet clearheaded and energetic. When do you suppose he develoj>ed all these admirable qualities ? When he was a boy. Let me see the way in which a boy of ten years gets up in the morning, works, plays, studies, and I can tell you what kind of a man he will make. The boy that is late at the breakfast-table, late at school, who never does anything at the right time, stands a poor chance to be a prompt man. The boy who half washes his face, half does his sums, half learns his lessons, will never make a thorough man. The boy who neglects his duties be they ever^ so small, and then excuses himself by s.aying “0, I forgot! I didn’t think !” will nev' er be a reliable man. We hope none our little readers are of this class. of
Masonic Journal (Greensboro, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
June 2, 1876, edition 1
2
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