Newspapers / The Wilson Mirror (Wilson, … / Dec. 21, 1892, edition 1 / Page 1
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T4 "Our lim wJ 6, tte People's Right Maintain Unawed by Power, and Unbribed by Gain." WILSON NORTH CAROLINA. WEDNESDAY. DEC. 21 1892. VOL. NO. 37 11. MERRY MORSELS. i. lN0 RADIANT REFLECTIOZS v HENRY BLOUNT. 0 1 punctuated with Pungent Points and Spiced with Sweetest Sentiment There is no bitterness like self reproach. yes a brandy cock tail is a tale of mis ery. jptician lens goods before selling The o them. Work is God's ordinance ad truly as prayer. Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep. There is nothing like a bolt for. breaking a dead-lock. Applicants for loans generally adopt a borrow-stone. J A man is properly bread w len he is properly raised. The mouse in his hole is s fe beyond purr-adventure. & Pride requires very costly food its keeper's happiness. The meanest ana most disagreeable un cle is a carb-uncle. Speaking of a woman's hair, i : is hard to tell which is switch. Many a man has made a goose of him self by a single quill. It is better to hold back a truth than to speak it ungraciously. It is a very lame river which cannot take up its bed and run. The best part of beauty is that which a picture cannot express. When you catch a fish! in a net Eddie says it always nettles its feelings. A march is said to be the most scle stirring music ever yet compos ed. Just touch a man's boil and see how quick he can boil over with f age. In the lap of luxury one forgets the lapse of time and the laps of conscience. A hew and cry generally follow the small boy's acquisition of a pc cket knife. Study books to know how t lings ought tobe; study men to know how things are. There is no tyrant li ke custom, and no freedom where its edicts are hot resisted. A rock salt bed has been foil nd in Michi- gan, but most men prefer a r air mattress for real comfort. Duty cannot be neglected w thout harm to those who practice as well as to those who suffer the neglect. . A true marriage is the golden payed '"cnue to the beautiful and brilliantly lit LCl"Ple ot Perfect happiness. The worthiest men arp injured by danders; as we usually find tr at to be the ;iruu which the birds hav e been pick- lng at. The work an unknown gdod man has ::; 18 a vein of ater flowing 7en unr ground, secretl j making the o-uuu green. recept is instrnrtinr. ihot L j- uction ensraHon the rock' tri.. he corrodin2 brus'h oifthe cen- The slightest refusal from darund whom we have jthose we love entwined the "cart vn ---....,. -- goesth garland of adoristic worship, chms arnHUgh thG heart like 1 dagger of ice, andeir Umb5and free2:s as il ges taste of life's bitterest woes. door of our . . IQr the out-fWi I -ww v. VSkSl 6 out-flowingof Ao1le impulses elat tZ 5 emOUOns Hme tchl the doors of F moment throws open ther.! VCn and th4ugh the por- Prest h,, SOme of N sweeten and "-a?UlgS. JnCehasitschar r:ca virtue. Th m,. J well as its re Ullss-th 1,u 1S its che tand::,rtUiink8S-t fortitude in its chppr- to une adds CllTu moonbea' the other's resting upon peautv of the Old Year Reflections. The year is approaching its end. In few more days it will be a thing of the past. Before another Issue of the Mirror it will slip from the ramparts of time and pass out into the ocean of the eternal by-gone. And sitting here to-night in our quiet room, and brooding o'er the still comforting em bers of what was once a glowing and blaz ing fire, quaint figures begin to creep across the coals, and as they thus so slyly come and go they bring up scenes that never will be more. They dig open the grave of the past, and joys come forth too sweet to last. Memory draws around the dear commun ion table. We are again with thos who made life bright and beautiful. We feel the clasp of their vanished hand. We hear again the music of loveful tones. We feel once more the rapture of the fond embrace. We see that look of endearment in which all the thrilling ectacies of Paradise were presented and seeing and feeling all this we float far away from the shores of the Present, and lie basking in gladdest sun light of sweetest delights, as we go floating on those bright waters of joy that once broke in such musical ripples upon the beautiful ocean of the Past. We float in precious rapture by loveliest isles of hap piest fruition, from which are wafted again to our enraptured senses the delicious odors of those rare flowers of hoprs and dreams that once did bud and blossom and bloom, and which had given us all their God given wealth of perfume and of beau ty. Yes, we have been most sweetly dreaming to-night dreaming of scenes that once were sweet and bright , dream ing of those on that bright shore, where loved ones meet and part no more. But we did not intend this strain when we be gan. We intended to make a few reflec tions upon the year that is now so rapidly nearing its close, and to point out some of its scenes and events that now rise up to our view like those little isles of beauty that sleep on the bosom of the ocean as they lie hugged in the loving embrace of rippling billows. The year has "been an eventful one. It has had its storms and its calm; its clouds and its sunshine; its sorrows and its joys. To some the flowers of hope bloomed most beautifully, and sweetened life with the richest perfume of a glorious fruition. To others the fate ful frosts of a chilling disappointment fell in cruel blight, and tenderest petals died amid the shadows of one dark night. Yes, some have roamed amid those tropical flowers of luxuriant success, vvhere every breeze was permeated with odors of thrift, and where the warm gulf-waves of pros perity sent out their rippling waters to sparkle in richest brilliancy as they broke in sweetest murmurings of happiness and delight upon hearts that never felt the gloom of rayless night. Others have been exiled to the Siberian wastes of iciest dis appointment, and there amid the wintriest desolation of the blackest December of de spair, they are forced to gaze in shivering anguish upon the snow-wrapped skeletons of hopes that perished and dreams that died. Some hearts have been made dark and drear and gloomy by the shadow of death; others have been made bright and beautiful and sweet and melodious by the innocent smile and that precious prattle of baby-tongue, which is such music for mother's ear. Some hearts have been di vorced by the decree of death, and have been forced to wear the agony-threaded crepe of bitterest mourning as they stand upon the bleak shores of that cold Norway of desolation , and hear, in the sobbing and the wailing their own sad hearts are mak ing, echoes of the moaning waves that break upon the ize-covered rocks of that frozen coast that sleeps in frozen beds of snow. Others, with all their strings of affection gloriously attuned, and with every note of endearment striking and meeting and mingling in harmonious rythm, are now pouring forth those dulcet tides of rapture which flow over and bury all of those reefs of cares and troubles beneath waves of joy and happiness as bright and . as radiant and as beautiful as those Heaven- i sent waves of bliss that bieak in everlast ing ripples of enchantment upon the blessed shores of immortalitv. And so it; will be seen that the millen nium has not yet come. Death and sorrow and suffering and bereavement, like dark clouds upon the sky, still obscure now and then the sunlight of joy and happiness, and tell us that there is nothing perfectly peaceful and perfectly beautiful on this side of the grave, and that to be forever at rest we too, like the old year, roust die and pass away, and find its balm in endless day. I The Glory Of The Winter. We conceive of Summer as a beautiful time of the year. It is. From the time of the first fragrant breath of Spring, and of the first flock of birds, clear down to the days of November, when the trees ate stripped of their foliage, there is not an hour in which the earth is not robed in beauty. We often hear people say, "Oh, the dreary day s of November!" The days of November are never dreary, though men often are. There are things in Nov ember that make us sad, there are sugges tions in November that lead us to serious thoughts, but November is not dreary. It makes us sad, but there is a sadness that is wholesome, and even pleasurable. There are some sorrows that are not painful but that give piquancy and flavor to life; and such are the sorrows that November brings. That month, which sees the year disrobed, is not a dreary month. We like to see the trees with their clothes taken off We like to see the anatomy of a tree. We liketo see the preparation which God makes for winter. How everything is snugged and packed! How all nature gets ready for the cold season! rlow the leaves heap themselves up on the r6ts to protect them from frost! How all things that are ten der are taken out of the way, and only things that are tough are left to stand the buffetings of winter! November is only sad to us, and it is a sweet sadness that it brings to our mind. After that comes December, the month of beginning ice, the month in which streams are shrouded, the month of shows begun And then come January arid February, the months of beauty. Is there anything on earth so beautiful as the beautiful as the fallen snow? Yes, trees that are turned to crys tal as just as beautiful. The rain that you heard pattering in the night froze as it fell, and every tree is sheathed and cased with ice. The glory of the sun is beaming through the branches of a million glittering rays strike your eve; and With every move ment of the wind and every change of your position the -glory is wonderfully magnified. What are chandeliers, what is cut glass, what are the gew-gaw trinkets that human art can make compared with this workmanship of God? And God makes it for nothing. No door-keeper stands to tax you for looking upon God's glory In the world. There is no stinginess in the heavens. The seasons are not nig gardly. The earth is beautifully carpeted It is robed in white. All the trees are magnificently appareled. No leaves or blossoms ever gave them such beauly as that in which they are arrayed. And on beholding them in the morning one seems translated to the heavenly land, and imag ines that he stands on the sea of glass in that crystaline sphere. The illusion would be complete, if the contact did not bring one back at the organization of the snow. If vou will take the trouble to examine it, it is enough to fill the soul with wonder and pleasure. The movements of it, too, and the shapes which it assumes as.it drifts, are well worthy of notice. We think there are no such lines and curves in the world as those which are formed by the wind in the snow, which overlap and flow into each other in every conceivable man ner, and which are often to be seen on the surface and along the overhanging edges of drifts They are careless and graceful beyond all comparison, and are unsurpassed in beautv. Not Here. Perfect content abides not here. We all wish for that we do not have. The mon arch, on his sleepless couch of opulent sur roundings and luxurious adornings, envies and longs for the peaceful slumber of that hardy sailor as he soundly sleeps in his pillolwess hammock, rocked in the cradle of the deep, and soothed by the lulling mur mur of the plashing waves beating against the ship; while the sailor in turn, jjling- ing to his shivering ladder of ice covered rope and trying to reef the frozen sails, as they swav to and from, shivering and rembling under the furious lashings of roaring tempests, longs for the ease and the comfort asd the luxury of that same crowned king who, far removed from those howling billows that are breaking and sweeping accross that groaning vessel, ongs for the sleep that will come to this same sailor when the storm is over and his work is done. Like The Faded Leaf. i A few weeks ago the trees were robed in luxuriant foliage, but now they stand nude and bare, and their stripped and naked limbs quiver and tremble before every passing zephyr. And in their ap pearance we read the lesson ot earth, for all things earthly are subject to decay, and sooner or later must fade, wither, droop, perish and pass forever away. The glit tering dew drops, which sparkle with such diamond-like brilliancy in their fragrant coronal at morning, die under the kisses of sunbeams, and pass away like a snow flae upon the bosom of a river. The beautiful rainbow, child of the light and the shadow, born in the wedlock of the sunbeams and the raindrops, and nursed on the echoes of the retreating storm, yields to the inevitable fiat of the inexora ble law of decay, and in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, all of ., its variegated colorings its beauty, its splendor and its loveliness are drowned r in the flood light of the effulgent sun, and not one trace is left to tell where its iridescent glo ries glistened. The beauties of the ood land, the fragrance of the blooming flow ers, the murmur of its rippling cascades, and the tunefulness of its God-taught minstrelsy, whose gladful notes thread the air with a melody as sweet as echoes from Heaven yea all these are snbject to the same inexorable law, and like the dew drops and the rainbow, they too yield to the touch of decay, and pass away. Yes even the stars, which blossom out into such rich bloom of brilliancy upon mid night skies, and enrich a world with their sparkling wealth, yield to the same stern, immutable, irrevocable decree, and in the quivering flashing of some dazzling meteor we behold the brilliant funeral train of some dead star on its fire paved pathway to everlasting burial. But there is one thing which cannot die. There is a life Jesus given which lives in the eternity of its own u.ndecaying and undying vigor and freshness and glorified beauty, and it has a joy and a peace and a rapture about it that eternity itself cannot fathom or measure or bound. Yes, there is a life which will live until the last ripple in the river of time is lost in the ocean of eternity ; and then, when this earth shall be a corpse, shrouded in fire, coffined in smoke and buried in the bottomless abyss of destruction, and when trembling stars, like weeping mourners, shall drop their silver tears in the awful chasm J that hides away a dead sister world, then this life will rise and expand and increase and de velop and grow in beauty and richness and splendor and effulgence until it be comes part and parcel of those brilliant and illimitable waves of glory that break in shimmering spray upon the glittering shore of immortality. All About Adam. Adam missed a great many vexations of spirit that are common to men of this day. Adam never had to try and maintain a $5,000 appearance on a $700 income. Adam never had to wear a collar with saw teeth all around the obtrusive edge of it. Adam never lived next door to a man who was trying to learn to play on an ac- cordeon. Adam never had to fasten one of his sus penders with a shingle nail and the other with a hair pin. Adam never fell over a rocking chair while groping around in the dark after the bottle of paregoric. Adam never had to rock the cradle while Eve ran across the street to borrow a cup of sugar from a neighbor. Adam never had his only pair of gun boots eaten up by a dog while he was spending an evening with a friend. Adam never had to keep the baby while Eve went out with a determined cast of countenance to reform the world. Adam never got to the depot just in time to see the rear car disappear around the water tank. Adam never came home at a very late hour fiom the lodge to "discover that he had left his latch key in a pocket of his other pants. And Adam never edited a newspaper and found out when making up the form that he laked just this paragraph to fill out the column. True Christmas Charity. There is a tendency at each Chri.tmas. tide for writers to urge too stronglv, I think, the beauty of Christmas-giving", br donation or distribution among the lowly and fhe very poor, writes Edward W. Bok in the Christmas number of The Ladies Home Journal. No' charity can be more beautiful, more typical of the Christ spirit than for those who can afford to do so to send a glimmer of light Into the lives of thousands In our great cities who can onlv eke out a bare existence. And it speaks volumes for the generosity of our wealthy classes, and the heroic wprk done by our charitable organizations, that in no othei nation on the globe are those who live in poverty and want so well remembered on Christmas as are the poor classes of America. But there Is a claw which U not reached by the donations of the weal thy, or by the work of charitable organl zatlons. There are in this country thous ands of homes into which reverses ot for tune come each year, where death or busi ness failure causes the keenest heart an guish and the severest self-denial. These homes contain sensitive, natures which shrink trom the outstretched hand of charity, poor and proud is the name the world has for them. Perhaps; but let me tell you my friend, it Is not easy to receive charity when all your life you have dis pensed it. A reversal of fortune Is the hardest thing in this world to bear. The poor know not its tortures. It is the keenest kind of poverty. Into such homes would I direct, at Christmas-tide, some loving kindness. In this country where one Is up to-day and down to-morrow, there is not one of us but who, in his or her acquaintance, knows of an instance of reversed fortunes. Let something from you go into such a home. The born poor will be remembered hy others; the newly made poor may be forgotten. Our first duty, is to those dearest and nearest to us; then our friends. But let us take just one step beyond. No matter how heavy we may think our own bur dens, there are always those who are far more heavily burdened than ourselves There are homes in which the sunlight of kindness rarely enters. And thev are not in the districts of poverty, either. There are homes into which a simple toy, one Mower, a single book, ent on Christmas morning, would fill the dav with happi ness. We all like to be remembered, and with whom is remembrance sweeter than with those whose friends are few. Why lie Loved Her. "Is it true, Bessie," asked a young man, that you won the prize in the oyster eat ing contest at your church festival.'" "It is," answered Bessie. I ate a lartre plateful in fifty -seven seconds." -What was the prize?" "Another plate of oysters." "How long did It take you to down that one?" "I couldn't touch h. I don't want to look at an oyster again for ten years." "Bessie," said the young man, tenderly, mv own darling, 1 feel that the time has come when I can ask you the question that has trembled on my lips so long." He took her unyielding hand In hfs. and but this scene Is too sacred for spectators.' Please retire. Koto This. Lives of poor men oft remind us, honest a toil don't stand a chance; more we work we leave behind us bigger patches on our pants; once where they were new and glos sy, now are patches of different hue, all be cause some patron linger, and will not pay us what Is due. Then kind friends be up and doing send In your mite be it so small, or when the snows of winter linger, we will have no pants at all. A Sympathetic Response. "My dear,', said he to his lady love, "I've been busy all day; not manual labor, you know, but brain work which is the hard est kind " "Yes, indeed; I know it must be for you," and there was a look of ten der sympathy in her eyes which aroused him. She was quite in earnest. He changed the subject. -7 . "" ' sr
The Wilson Mirror (Wilson, N.C.)
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Dec. 21, 1892, edition 1
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