Newspapers / Masonic Journal (Greensboro, N.C.) / Sept. 12, 1876, edition 1 / Page 2
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r 1.: -..i: c :fj ■"’ '„ A ?■:-■■ ' . i -. - > - ■ ' J.JU ;. :f ill . ■ • . I,;;,. •. ;.^^T-i| ^3-, ■>■! L'-- - 1'- ^ • ■ '■ r ■ , V*':- - THE MASONIC JOUHNAJ. WRECKED. Tossed aloft on minlity billows, borne along in cruel glee, Speeds a good ship to destruction, o’er the temijcst-riven sea. Iloary-crested, white with splendor, mounting high with frenzied dasli, Round tlje coast the waves are gleaming', lit up by tlie'lightning's flash On towards the roaring breaker.s, through the surf and througii the foam, Speeds the good ship to destruction, speeds the good ship to her home. In amongst the cruel breakers, wrestled for with sinewy strength— Then a few poor spai-s and timbers, tossed up on the shore at length; Tossed upon the shore to linger, crushed and useless many a day. Till another mighty tempest, pitying, bears the wreck awuiy. So full often have I noticed men by nature bold and brave. Tossed aloft ’mid Soi-row’s tempest, buffeted by wind and wave; Drifted in among the breakers, lifted higli with angry roar; Bruised and crushed the spirit broken, cast a wreck upon tlie shore. There to lie in shame and anguish, raising not the head again. Till in mercy comes Death’s billow, hiding them and all their pain. before you, a perfect stranger to Something About Secrets. WJI. ROUNCEVILLE. “I do not see the necessity of your be ing so secret in the business of your lodge unless you do something you are ashamed of and that will not bear investigation.” These words were spoken by the wife of a dear friend with whom I l-ad been visiting for a few days, and were deliver ed with such vim and force that I at once knew they wmro fro>n her heart, and the expression of a settled conviction, and not the chance overflowing of the feelings for the moment. It tvas, evidently, not only a common, but a favorite topic with her. Hence, when pointedly addressed directly l? me, it assumed the position of a challenge, which I was expected to ac cept; and the principle attacked, I was called 'Upon to defend. “Do you hold that to be true in all the relations of life ?” I asked. “Certainly,” was the reply. “Why, pray, should we keep from others our acts which are not reprehensible?” “Whether there is a good and suffi cient reason for so doing need not now be argued, s noe we all act against your theory.” “Excuse me, sir; plea.se not include me in your category.” “I am afraid I sh-al! have to include you, my dear madam. Your first act, ■when I arrived here, was in direct con travention of your theory.” “Why, what was that?” “Pardon me if I speak plainly, and of your own concerns. You met your hus band, after an absence of a week, and he gave you a number of kisses at the gate. Doubtless you recollect what yo'U said on that occasion.” “No, I recollect nothing about it.” “Perhaps you will allow me to repeat it ?” “Some nonsense, I suppose.” “Nonsense, yes, if your theory about secrets is true ; otherwise, it may be reck oned to be sensible.” “Well, what was it? let us have it.” “It was, ‘Will, you ought to wait until you get in the house, and not kiss me so much where all the world can see.’ ” “I recollect something about it now. I d.d feel a little chagrined that he should do so me.” “And there was nothing wrong or rep rehensible in the act; he had the right to give, and you to receive, a hundred of his loving kisses.” “Yes, I suppose so ; but it would have been in bad taste.” “That may be conceded, and on that ground your gentle rebuke of the exhibi tion of your husband’s love and fondness for you, you come directly in oppos tion to your theory that we need keep secret only that which is reprehensible.” “It would seem so ; bur this is a single instance. One swallow does not make a summer.” " “Unfortunately for your argument, and fortunately for mine, you furnish another instance, almost in your next act.” “Pray tell me what it could have been for I have not the most remote idea.” “Your husband and myself had been traveling since early morning without food, and, on our arrival, he proposed that we should have a lunch forthwith, and not wait for the regular dinner.’’ “Well, what has that to do with it ? ’ “Much. You put your lunch on a side table in front of a window, and dropped the curtain. When your husband ob jected to this arrangement, because it made the room gloomy, do you remember your answer f” “I have not the least idea of what I said.” “Shall I refresh your memory, mad ■ am “If you please.” “You sa d you were ashamed that your table was so poorly supplied, and that | you would be deeply mortified if any one passing along the walk should see it.” “And so I should. It is not often that Qur table is spread with such meagre fare.” “But there was nothing wrong or rep-- reheusible in the furnishing of that ta ble. According to my recollection, it was a good, wholesome and substantial lunch, to which any hungry man would be glad to sit down.” “Well, if there was nothing wrong about the collation, there was nothing reprehensible in lowering the curtain to prevent people from seeing the scanty fare.” “Not. in the least; but pardon me for saying that your admission militates very strongly against your theory that we should keep secret only what is re)ire- liensible.” “'What next? I suppose, during the few days you have been with us, I must have furnished you with other arguments against myself.” “Doubtless. But perhaps it would be more pleasant to drop the subject where it is.” No, I insist that you shall continue the argument. We have two swallows already ; perhaps w-e shall have enough | for a summer presently.” t ‘•Weil, if you care to continue the sub ject, you must excuse me if I tell you that you have gone contrary to your the ory, in repeated instances, but that you have been indoctrinating your children int(' the idea that to keep a secret not reprehensible in itself, may be very commendable ” “You astonish me! How or when have I taught them any such thing ?” “A day or two since you had the un pleasant task of correcting your little Willie for some misdemeanor.’’ “I did ; but what has that to do with keeping secrets ?” There was nothing secret in that transaction, as I can-see.” Permit to explain. You punished the little lellow in a.n adequate manner. His brothers and sisters knew of the pun ishment, and you apprehended that, thoughtlessly, they might tell his play mates he bad been corrected. You did ■not wish this revelation to be made, thus adding greatly to the punishment already inflicted, so you charged the other mem bers of your family not to reveal the fact of Willie's correction to his school and filaymates.” “I do not believe it was wrong for me to instruct my children not to publish W'illie’s disgrace.” “Neither do I. Oft the contrary, I hold that you would have been direlict in duty toward an erring child, had you not done so. The child would almost certainly have felt severely the disgrace, and, in the same degree, lost his self res pect had his y'outlifui friends been cogni zant of his misfortune ” ‘■He surely would have done so,” “But do you not see that, in this, you give instructions to your children square ly' opposed to your theory that secrecy is proof of wrong—that only where our ac tions are reprehensible do we keep them secret ?” “I see it plainly now, but never viewed the subject in this light before. 'What other instance in this line have vou to quote f” “With your leave, I will mention but one, and that is one in which vou not on ly counseled your husband to keep a certain thing secret, but actually advised him to deceive those with vi-hom he was doing business.” “What in the world is coming now ? Of what crime have I been guilty ?” “Not exactly a crime—only an attempt at deception-—that is all.” “Well, let us have it. I shall think presently that my whole life has been an inconsistency and a fraud.” “By no means madam. Only there is a little inconsistency running through every character, and you are human enough to partake of it. You remember the cold night when your husband had business which cal ed him to town, and you were so assidious in preparing him lunch table before an open window and still violate no law of right, but it would be more seemly to have it more secluded- you might have added exposure to the' punishment before inflicted on yourchild but was better it was kept secret You were justifiable in putting the warm coat on your husband to keep him com fortable, even if it was covered bv a bet ter one, as long as it was not designed to mislead. Every one has secrets which he is justified in oonoealin;. . A secret is not even primafacie evidence of fraud ” And so ended the conversation - nadian Craftsman. -Ca- A Man 125 Years Old Who Fev er Voted. He is now in his 125th year, and he has never voted. Etienne Gauldinot was born in 1752, in a Canadian hamlet be tween the St. Charles and Montmorenci- rivers, below Quebec. The great battle between the French and Eiighsh was fought near his fathers cabin, and ah though he was but six years old he remem bers it perfectly. Indeed the urchin saw Wolfe after he was killed, and Montcalm after he '>--as wounded. In 1772 he mar ried a lass, and made a clearing on the west side of Lake champlain. The com mandment of Fort Ticonderoga employed him as a scout. In Mav, 1775, havinr . " O come in from a scouting expedition down the lake he was captured by Ethan Allen. He sent his wife, mother and children to Canada, -where they remained until the close of the Eevolutionary war. In 1793 he trapped for furs in the vicinity of Ni agara river and served three years during the war of 1813, l.eiug wounded twice in the battle of Lundy’s Lane, and being complimented by Gen. Scott for his bra very. He does not appear to have taken a hand in the Patriot war, the Mexican campaign, the civil war, or any of the Fe nian raids, He is now living with his great granddaughter, near the mouth of Bullskin creek, in Franklin county, Ohio. He talks but little hobbles about the j house with a cane, smokes a clay, pipe, is for the journey ?' “I remember it well, but how are you j —Olenntmt going to apj)ly that to the subject? I : fO.) Sun. don’t see 1” I Macauley’s Memory,—Mr. G. 0, Trevelyan records, in his “Life and Let- that at eight years of age Macauley got hold of Scott's “Lay of the Last Minstrel" during a vis it somewhere with his father, and that from that one reading he was familiar enough with it to repieat canto after can to to his mother when he returned home. “I think I shall be able to make it visi- ; ble. That night vour husbaiid, by your L - t i-r ] • 11 1, ’ -i ters of Lord Macaulev, device, wore an old, threadbare coat, un- i der his overcoat, did he not ?’ ‘■Yes, it was much warmer than his better ones, which were thinner." “"Very well. That was what you said at the time. But -vhat also did you sav?" “I do not clearly recollect.” “But I do. Shall I tell you ?” “Certainly ; let us have it all.” “You said : ‘Keep your overcoat but toned, and no one need know but you have on a good coat.’’’ “Yes, I recollect now that I told him so.” “So you not only advised your husband to conceal the fact that he wore an old coat, but you asked him to so ho as to make those with whom he came in con tact, believe contrary to the fact, that he wore a good one.” “I believe I shall have to acknowledge the truth of your statement. Perhaps such feats of memory as the following are even more remarkable : At one period of his life he was known to say that, if by some miracle of Vandal ism all copies of '-Paradise Lost” and the “Pilgrim's Progress” weie destroyed from the face of the earth, he would under take to reproduce them both from recol lection whenever a revival of learning came. In 1813, while waiting in a Gam- , bride coffee room for a post chaise which w-as to take him to his school, he picked j up a newspa^ier containing two such j specimens of provincial poetical talent as in those days might be read in the corner One piece was an Exile,” the other was a parody on the Welsh ballad 1, , . , there I of any weekly journal was really no harm in the deception.” Headed “Reflections of iNot in wearing the old coat, but in the attempt to deceive. In that laid the blame, if any existed, and harm was done, that we may honestly and secret things which are neither wrong nor ' iTco..., i j r i • i a f ' sncikm J - ^ years, at the end of which time he repeat- ensible; and further, that things Yu ti n ■ j- • g-^ ed them both without missing, or, as far “Ay hyd y nos,” referring to an anecdote pro ably no , of ^ hostler whose nose had been bitten But the instance shows i off by a filly. He read them once, and rightly keep , oever gave them a/ thought for forty repreh are not necessarily reprehensible because they are concealed. Your husband has the right to give you a hundred kisses in as he knew, changing a word. Men are never so ridiculous from the p 'c, but it would be better to give ! qualities which really belong to them as them lu private. You could place your ‘ from those they pretend to have. 4^
Masonic Journal (Greensboro, N.C.)
Standardized title groups preceding, succeeding, and alternate titles together.
Sept. 12, 1876, edition 1
2
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