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the masonic jouhnal
From the 'Slieiby (N. U.; A.inini."
DEAD,
BT SUE J. JESSi.Mr.-u IMtViSOX.
! ••Dead r sob.s the lonely orphan, as
: she kneels ;ii the first hour of .sorrow, by
I the ehill .stiroiided form of hei’ best and j
1 triie.st friend. Softly the toil worn hand
What a Non Mason Says.
Bead! we excluiiu n6
• ; 1 y
iieeiinp^
iiy
\j-.leriv'
uco so
i O-llrH’
t/i; u[>
er up Ihe withered pelai-s oi .so..,,
summer flower, that we n.u e ,o
cherished through the aii loo
months of Olid and biooni. 'Jii
and with caressing touch, 've
lift the faded leaves, tu.ii 'were
sweet and brighi—now .s.i '.(all a
less. A'louraliilly, io giiigly we
on them, ‘perhap." with a te.ir, perhaps
■with a sigh,' for wiien drst this dower
burst into 'bloom, did not aiiother pair oi
eyes look ujjon it witii u.sidi-i not an j
other hand .savo oars touch it—a hand |
dear to us 'f Aye, ano: her foi m bent wuh j
ours above it—another aaii'i iMgered
tenderly OL it; and a'lotuer pair oi eyes
admired its delicate tintiugs—loyal eyes,
that have looked ’ii"',rsa thon.aiul 1 lines
’.vith infinite love and temleniess. ,-\nd
now, we look upon tms little laded llow-
oret, we ask ourselves—Wtiere, oh !
where is that other one, who admired thy
beauty with us'f Sadly, tenderly, regret
fully, we lay the withered petals amde, as
a still, small voi.,e mournfully whispers—
“Dead !”
oDead !” sighs the- rustling leave.s, as
they go whirling past, borne on the chill
Wing of the Autumn, winds. Cast liom
the topmo.st bough of the mightiest tree,
by the- fierce breath of advancing Win -
ter, slowly they quiver earthward—dry
and brown, to be trodden ‘neath the foot
of man and beast—to be tossed from place
to place by every angry wind that blows.
Yes, slowly, trembling, they rustle down
ward, and as the .sad sound falls upon
our ears, we are reminded, oil ! so vivid
ly, of the m-aiiy hopes—bright, beaulilul
hopes that died in the ' long ago, Hopes
which have faded as those leaves have
laded—perished as those leaves have per
ished, and fallen away from our eager
grasp, just as those Autumn leaves are
falling, brown, withered, blasted. Dead !
“Dead!’' we exclaim, as we tenderly
lift the lifeless bird which the merry
sportsiuaii has cast at our feet. Softly
we stroke the pretty, bright [dumage, e.x-
amine its stiffened limbs, gaze into its cold,
glassy eyes, with a feeling of pity for the
nretty feathered creature which lies in
our hand so cold and still. But one short
hour ago it was soaring proudly, grandly,
through its native air, caroll.ng its sweet
est songs, rejoicing in its freedom, and
now—'tis Dead !
“Dead c’ wails th'e grief-stricken moth
er, as she bends in unspeakable anguish
over the still form of the pale little sleep
er, who fora few brief months has heen
cradled in her arms—aye, like a rosebud,
.it has been nestled upon her bosom, cheer-
.ng her when weary with its innocent
smile, stroki.ng her wan cheek, with its
.ioft little hand, and making her heavy
heart bound with joy, for rn her innocent
-,vay, baby seemed to sympathize with
''mother” when no one else did.
“It was but yesterday,” cries the uu-
tiappy rnotboi, “when thy baby prattle
lilled the house with light and joy, but
now thy sweet eyes are closed—the sig-
i.et of paleness is stamped upon thy brow,
and thou, my babe, my first-born art
dead !” Ko, mother, thy little one is not
.lead, she only sleepeth. The innocent
soul has been transplanted ■ to a fairer
purer clime, for the Saviour hath need of
thy beautiful bud, and He hath sent his
angels, who have .called it from the pa
rent stem, and borne it up to the Hills
Yverlastiv.g, that it might be planted in
the garden of celestial bloom. Lookup
mother, and rejoice, for it is one more
■jfiord to draw thee up to the Land of
Lieht!
are folded over the pulsele.ss breast, an
tne eyes whicli were wont to beam with
I'jv.j .and tendei'uess are closed--sye. lor-
ever dosed ! The pale, cold Ups are
iliiiui), and the emsigii ot death encircles
tile brow ; and all who come to gaze upon
her 'vvliisper—“dead ! But all are
wt'ong, fur she lived the tile, ol a Christian,
and her fi'M.e e.xistence has just begun.
True, tlie casKet is bat a lamp of clay,
but that wnich it contained, uas only
quitted its mortal habitation, to live and
bloom ihroiigliont s.iccessive ages, in a
lamiufsiijie. nal beauty. She i.s wof dead!
Oh, maiden ! now in the first flush of
thv '.vomaiiliood, remember this hour
wUidi must come to all, and so live, that
when l,.e grim Messenger comes, they
wlio look upon thee may not exclaim
dead 1
On youth ! just entering the dawn of a
prr'ud, voiing manhood, look well to thy
wavs—-looli well to the paths thy feet are
treading, and waste not the golden mo
ments'Wiiich the Lverlasting bather has
given you for improvement. Yes, up
and be doing, “ere the night cometli,”
remembering that the earth must pass
away. Y'es, from the flowers of summer,
to the leaves of the forest, from the leaves
of the fore,St, to the birds of the air, from
the birds of the air to the innocent babe,
from tht innocent babe, to the care-worn
mother, must all alike bow to the chill
breath, and the pale sickle of Azrael.
Nothing Mean About Him.
A Western paper tells the following :
A man went into a confectionery store a
few days ago, ai an excited manner, and
rushing up to the proprietor said :
“Du you make wedding cakes ?
“Y'es, sir.'’
“Well, I’m goir.’ ter git married ter-
day. I'm goin' ter dew things right up to
the handle. I don't intend to git mar
ried but once, and yew bet I'll make
things howl.”
Tiie proprietor smiled blandly, and
commenced lifting out ten and twenty-
dollar wedding cakes, gorgeous in beau
tiful frosting and artificial flowers.
Among the rest was a small plain cake,
■‘How much is that asked the excited
purchaser.
“Four bits."’
“That’s the one for me ; here's your
money, old pard ; wrap her up. There’s
nothin’ mean about me ; I wouldn't care
if it was six bits.”
The proprietor gazed after thv' pur
chaser as he went out, about five minutes,
the picture of amazement, and then he
sat down and fanned himself for half an
ho r, and then got up and consumed
half an hour more in stowing away the i
piles of fancy cakes and talking to him
self softly, but his bland smile had passed
away for the time being.
At the reception of the Eiobmond
flom.nandery. at Rocky Point, Rhode Is
d. Senator Anthony thus spoke about
laa
Freemasonry ;
I came here as a spectator and an au
ditor, wiih no thought that I .should be
expected or permitted to interrupt your
procee.hngs by any utterance.-, of mine.
But Isuppo.se that I must regard the in
T.i(nation from the head of the table as a
command ; and, although I have not been
initiated into your mysteries, I have a fear
of your discipline. And clearly I am in
What could one man, fa-
gratei’ul and unfilial of sons if I failed to
recognize its virtues ; for my father wa«
a Mason and the Master of a lodge, and
my uncle was a Grand Master of Masons
and if your privileges were hereditary,
I should be within your brotheihood.—
Tidinys.
Naked Truth.
According to an old fable, truth dressed
in robes of purity and innocence, met
falsehood nea-r a beautiful lake. False
hood induced truth to go into the lake
alone to bathe, and when truth had swam
out a considerable distanoo from the shore
falsehood hurried back, dressed in the
garments of truth, and fled. Truth hast
ened to the shore, but falsehood was no
where to be found. Naked truth has ev
er since been pursuing falsehood, but has
not yet overtaken the thief, who still
wears the “garb of truth,” and is con
stantly deceiving all who ate willing to
rely upon external appearances.
your power,
miliar with no weapon but the goose-
quill, and without ven that at hand, ac-
cornpilisli against the five, yes, twenty
score belted Knights who are ranged un
der your banner, and ready to obey your
commands? And don’t I know irom
those most authentic and veritable sources
of information, the anti-Masonic new’.spa-
(lers, (the Governor and I know that all
the newspapers tell the truth,) the terri
ble penalty of Masonic disobedience?
And if such punishment be inflicted upon
vour own brethren, who have the right
of trial and claim of mercy, how will it
fall on a defenceless ouleider? Plainly,
it is a case of speech or a gridiron. Bol
ter that I weary you with the former
than broil upon the hatter.
But, although I am not a member of
vour ancient and honorable Order, which
traces its origin through the annals of an
thentic hi,story into the regions of dim
and misty tradition, I am not so careless
cf what has passed in the world bat I can
recall the services which it has rendered
to civilization, to (reedorn, to law, to the
elevation of man and the wor,ship ot God.
Beginning at the remote period when
intercourse was infrequent and oommuii-
ioatiou dilTioult, when science was occult
and little cultivated, when the arts were
in their rud.i and feeble infancy, when
rank and privilege asserted an insolenl
ascendancy over merit and intellect and
culture, too often over right and justice,
your Order established a general brother
hood, not recognizing outward station,
nor limited by politic,tl or geographical
lines. Gathering strength as it went on,
it has extended through the centuries,
and spread over the world, not stopping
for race or language or form of govern
ment. It flourishes alike on the glaciers
of Switzerland, and beneath the palms of
Oriental despotism ; in free and enlight
ened America and England, and in super
stitious aii'i bigoted Spain and Portugal.
Wherever it has gone, if I read history
aright, it has carried the principles of fra-
terniiy and the practice of charity ; it has
mitigated the horrors of foreign wars,
and ameliorated the cruelties of civil
strife. Its lodges have been erected be
tween the camps of hostile armies, and
men who were to meet on the morrow in
the struggle of life and death, have ex
changed knightly courtesies ami have
softened their personal asperities beneath
its mystic symbols. It has experienced
the vicissitudes that are inseparable from
human institutions ; it has tasted the
sweets of power, and has eaten the bitter
broad of exile. To-day, princes and no
bles have been proud to wear the insignia
of its oflSces; tomorrow its confessor.s
have been burned at the stake. Under
these varying fortunes, it has preserved
its principles and its magnanimity. It
has borne prosperity with moderation and
adversity with fortitude. It has loomed
loftier through the mists of error, and
gleamed brighter in the fires of persecu
tion.
Americans will not distrust the patriot
ism of an Institution of which Washington
was the chief. I should, be the most un-
Thcre is a story told of Jacquiii Miller,
poet, tliat when he " as at Banuim’s Hotel
New York city, a few weeks ago, be -wreteto
a friend in New Jersey and ended the letter.
“ Come and see me whenever you can, I
Banium’s.” The friend, who does not append
to have been familiar with llic names of Ilk
eity hotels, answered : “I .am sorry yoiilia"
commenced to exliibit yourself. H’ you tai
stuck to literature you would have made j on'
mark and I’ortune. Whereabouts is tliesho"
now ?”
A philosopher observes: Trying ^to
liouscboUl without love is like running a
road train witliout grease, and many a u “
box'’is inevitable.
P
Masonic power, like its genius, lives in
the atmosphere of a charitable intelli-
gence. It cannot breathe anywhere else
for it is a chill of the higher humanities
and drill ks only of pure crystal streams,
Its temples, lit up by the lights of intelli.
gence, humanity and charity, have kin
dled a sanctified glory over the world
and given to the benevolent bf .-11 classes
examples, which they cannot ignore witli-
out destroying their own prestige and
inflicting upon themselves the pitiful con
tempt of the ntelligent, the sympathetic
and the noble. !So mote it be.— Masemir
Advocate.
In response to inquiry of a newspaper
reporter, recently as to his opinion of
what is the true secret of success in mak
ing money, Vanderbilt said : Save what
you have and live within your income.
Avoid all speculation. No matter what
I was making I always made it a rule to
save something ; and this coar.-ie, if per-
sisted in, is sure to succeed. The monev
will pile up in time.
Thoughts for Saturday Night-
The offender never pardons
Money is a i)ottoinle.s.s sea, in whieli lioiior,
conscience and truth may lie drowned.
Take eaic tube an economist in iirosiVTitv;
tliere is no fc. r of your being one in adversi
ty-
Faitli evermore overlooks the difficulties ot
the w iiy, and benelslier eyes only to the cw-
taiiity of the end.
To do nothing is not always to lose tiiiie;lo
do negligently is sure to lose lime; it is iii-
tigue without iirolit.
Goil takes some tilings from us lest we should
spoil them, and we have more of them in
mi.ssing them thaii we should have in keeping
them.
Happiness is having what one likes; con
tentment is liking wliat one has; but con
tentment is only the pale ghost of liaiiiiiiics;.
A rel gion which is but an mlelectiaJ con
viction of the truth and dees not call into e.x-
creise the eii.otioiis .f the heart, can have bat
little ell’ect upon the lil'e.
We shcukl learn never to interpret duty by
success. TTie oijposition which assails us in
tlie course of obedience is no evidence that ivo
are, mistaken.
Tlicreis only one stimulant tliat never fail
and yet never intoxicates—duty. Duty puts
a blue sky over every man—up in his lie.art.
maybe—into wliich tlie skylark—liappiucss-
uhvay,s goes singing.
An honest rejiutation is within the reach of
all men; they obtain it by social virtues ami
iiy doing their duty. Tliis kind of reputiition,
it is true, is neither brilliant nor stiirtiiiig, but
it is often tlie most useful for happiness.
The man who lii es right, and is right, biu
more power in liD silence than another has by
his words. Cliaractev is like bells'.vhich riiif
out sweet souuds, and wliicli, wiieii touched
accidentally even, ro.souiid with music.
Most of the failures in life arise from i.gno-
ranee of how and when to leave off. 'VVlicu
you read the life of almost any great mau-
with the exception of Augustus Caisiir, yd'
see how much greater a man ho would hare
bteii if lie had k.iown how and when toleart
oir.