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"Our Aim will be, the People' Right Maintain
VOL- 12.
WILSON NORTH CAROLINA. WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 30, 1893.
NO. 21
M
son
MERRY MORSELS.
aHD radiant reflections
by henrt Blount.
punctuated with Pungent Points
and Spiced with Sweetest
Sentiment
When the heart is full the sbul speaks
No man can die wrong who
We are never so strong as w
thankful.
tives right.
ien we are
Life without sorne shadows Would be a
painful glare.
Belief is the rudder by which the ship of
our life is directed.
Repentance never comes tod late, if it
comes from the heart.
Everything requires rest. Even storms
must have their wreck-creation.
It is said that cranberries will cure dys
pepsia. That's sour opinion tco.
The boy who sprained his a nkle had a
lame excuse for not attending i school.
Flies want to make spectacles of them
selves when they light on a man's nose.
Yesterday is a scholar in
and today should profit by its
Did any one ever see flour
wild oats which people sow in
days?
experience,
teachings.
made from
their young
This is an exacting world for when we
4o write we even then rr.ust
for it.
do penance
Tea and coffee and sugar and molasses
and such things are luxuries of the grocer
kind.
The fellow who is continual!) informing
you of the direction of the wind is a vane
man.
Now Eddie wants to know to what geo
logical formation does rock the cradle be
long.
A boy with his mustache does not feel
down in the mouth. His down is not long
enough.
A successful architect may not be an
honorable man, but he certair ly has good
designs.
It is the hammer of custom which welds
those links in the chain of habit that are so
hard to break.
Love is that golden latch key which
tiangs on the outside, and lets in happiness
to every heart.
Don't be depressed by
misfortunes.
Tis the blackest storm which gives the
loveliest rainbow
Evil gossip is the slimy and poisonous
channel through which flow! the foulest
and blackest water of meanness and de
pravity. The unknown is an ocean, and con
science is the compass of the uuknown;
bought, meditation and prayer are the
$reat mysterious pointings of the needle.
In this wintry life the presence of those
we love is like a gleam of sunshine through
the cloud, lighting up the shadows and
giving warmth and lustre and loveliness to
all beneath the ray.
Joy is the happiness of lov;. It is love
exulting. It is love aware of its own fell
c"ty, and resting in its riches
no fear of exhausting. It is
view of the treasures, and
which it has
love taking a
surrendering
rtself to it without foreboding!.
The earth is every day overspread with
the veil of night, foi the same reason that
the cages of birds are darkened, so that we
mav the more rapidly see ahd apprehend
the higher and purer and sweeter harmo
ni of thought nd reflection amid the
hsh and stillness of darkness.
Though our world has been defaced by
the blighting influence of sir , there is still
m"ch left that is beautiful Wo It In
the first golden fias.h of mdrning, in the
ured strength of merldiah dav
subdued glow of evwil nor.
ng down the western way kde the rich
nanner. of decending day, aiid night with
vwu uiaaem, lights her
"er, and trails her robe of
through the skv.
fetarrv chand-
blazlng jewels
Only An .Empty aieeve.
On one occasion a fond and idolatrous
mother, with her only child, was on board
of a fine steamer that was furrowing with
its flying keel the briny bosom of the
foaming deep. The day was bright, and
looked like it was basking in Heaven's
own glad, sweet smile of loving approba
tion. The air was soft and balmy and
bracing? The passengers were bright and
merry and joyous. The mother worship
ped boy attracted the attention of all as he
ran to and fro upon the deck, for he was
as f ulj of glee and brightness as the decend
ing sunbeams which fell in sllverest light
upon the sparkling waters, and mingled
their radiance with the glistening foam of
the gently throbbing bosom of the deep.
In a moment when no one dreamed of
coming calamity, a cloud of dark dismay
shot across the recently radiant scene, art
agonizing cry of horror rent the air, a
mother's heart went out in a scream of
wildest anguish, for that little boy had
fallen overboard and had sunk out of
sight forever. The mother caught at her
darling boy-as he went over the railing,
but she only grasp the sleeve, which was
torn from the coat by the sudden plunge,
as the boy went down into a watery grave,
lost to her forever, while she only held in
her trembling and phrensied grasp the
empty sleeve. With a heart torn and shat
tered and writhing in bitterest torture that
agonizing mother walked for hours to and
fro in wildest grief, and made all heatts
tremble and quiver with the wailings of
despair. Finally her reasons was de
throned, the mind was lost in chaos, and
the, mother with eyes flashing with the
wild fierce, appalling gleam of the maniac's
delirium, still clutched and hugged to her
bosom In wildest delight the empty sleeve,
still believing that she held the worshipped
idol which God had taken from her idola
trous embrace. Reader, listen : that moth
er's worship and idolatry and aspiration
and aim and soul desire and finally over
whelming agony and torturing despair sug"
gest to us what we only too often find in
other relations and experiences of human
life. How many love this world, and in
their Idolatrous passion grasp its garments,
and hold fast with all the energy of their
natures, and amid all perils, until their
eyes are opened at last, to find that their
idol has passed fiom their reach, leaving
only the empty sleeve to remind them of
their vain struggle, and to stir their souls
with unavailing agony. The grasping af
ter wealth, after honor, after a name, after
renown, after vain pleasure, is only grasp
ing upon the belt of what proves finally
to be an empty sleeve. How often the last
hours of human life are filled with experi
ences like those of the agonized mother. La
bor lost, aims deceived, hopes disappointed
the future darkened, the heart wrung with
anguish. On the shore of the world
are an unrecorded number of empty
sleeves, left to testify of too short reach of
hands and a false confidence of a hold upon
merely the belt of ths garments of objects.
The mother's was not upon her boy, but
merely upon his garment. Ours is too
seldom on realities, and to often upon re
semblances and outward things. In sober
trnth, the world and all it contains will
soon be washed from our grasp by the
billows of time, leaving us utterly alone
and miserable, if we have no hold upon
things beyond. In the final wreck of all
things here below, and it is sure to come
to us all, what shall we have? We can
carry nothing of this world in our hands
Shall we then have a grasp upon what is
living and enduring? Shall we have the
pledge and joy and life forever in our
hands, or shall we have only an empty
sleeve.
High Praise.
We feel good. Life is not in vain.
The earth seems brighter, the flowers
emit a sweeter fragrance, the birds sing
more beautifully, for we have received
praise far beyond our deserts, and it comes
from the polished pen of Sir. Hubert, for
Col. John D. Cameron, the veteran and
brilliant and able and scholarly and versa
tile journalist is kind and generous enough
to sav :
(I am much gratified at the handsome
tributes paid your speeches this summer.
It is something to expand State pride to
find a North Carolinian who Is at once the
orator, the poet, the dramatist and the hu
morist a combination of excellences
which you possess and which is r s rare as
it is brilliant."
Saturday Night.
Saturday night is the great mnemonic
summing up. On Saturday night the
present resigns In favor of the past. On
Saturday night memory turns the light on
her darksome gallery, and snatches the
veil from ten thousand pictures. It is on
Saturday night mostly that we sigh for the
touch of the vanished hand, and the sourd
of the voice that's still. And on Saturday
night with those who have wandered away
from the good and the true, the things that
they thought were dead things, become
alive with a terrible might. For on Satur
day night we sum up the good and the
evil alike. Saturday night is symbolic of
death ; and some how it seems pitched over
against the borders of eternity. We can
stand in the door of Saturday night and
conceive snatches of music, such as ear
hath not heard ; and we can almost get a
glimpse of the gilt spires "on the other
side of Jordan." On Saturday night the
murderer remembers his victim, the wid
ow her husband, the maid her lover, and
the heart its benefactor. On Saturday
night the white-haired patriarch realizes
that he Is fast hastening toward the valley
of shadows, and memories of the lullabies
his mother sang, come fluttering back to
his cracked and juceless heart, like wound
ed birdlings to a long forsaken nest. God
bless Saturday night. It is only the black
ness that borders the light. By and by
when the shadows have a little longer
grown, the Saturday night will settle on
us all, with its gloaming and its deliver
ance. Then we'll go to sleep here and
wake up there , then we'll get sick in this
world and wait to get well in the next. For
there are bluer skies and brighter waters on
ahead, even if we do have to walk
through the dust and corruption and
worms to get there.
Some evening when the Arch-angel
who upholsters the Heavens, comes at
eventide to hang red curtains of fire around
the windows of the setting sun, he will let
down the golden ot the sunset, and usher
us out of the Saturday night of this world
into the Sabbath such as we never saw be
fore. Then we shall see the King in His
beauty, and on our vision will burst on the
light that never was on the sea or shore
the light of perfect day. There the Sab
bath morning has neither moon nor night.
It is the only Sabbath, and only the holy
inhabit It. There the sun never sets, and
the flowers never fade; every day is a
poem , every sunset a picture, and the fu
ture beckons and brightens at every turn
of the path. There the soul will sit witnln
walls of sardonyx and chrysopasus and
sapphire; and about it will be a cataract of
colors, a sea of glass, and a city like the
sun. ,lAnd there shall be no night there.'
His Experience.
George Stallings came up yesterday
morning with that sheepish, guilty expres
sion upon his usually sweetly blushing
face that unmistakably indicates the perpe
tration of a most awful, naughty thing,and
we knew something ailed him. At last he
began to snicker and blush,and we knew it
was coming. It seems that he must have
had a most skerumptious time, judging
from the following rhapsodic flash of the
divine afflatus':
I put my arms around her waist
It felt as good as cake,
Oh dear says she what liberties
You printing boys do take.
And then upon her blushing cheeks
I printed a caress,
Oh dear, says she, I kinder like,
The freedom of the press.
And with that hint, "to press" I went
With all my might and main,
And when I thought I'd broke her ribs.
She said, "just try again."
I caught her then and made a squeeze,
As strong as Vulcan's stroke,
When all at once I gave a sneeze
And my onlv "gallows'' broke.
Too Fresh.
"Where are you going my pretty maid?"
To salt the cattle, sir," she said.
"May I go with you, my pretty maid?"
"You might absorb i sir," she said!
For Boys.
The Democrat says: Aim at perfec
tion in everything; they, who aim at it and
persevere, will come much nearer It than
those whose laziness and dependence
make them give it up as unattainable.
There are no rivals so formidable as those
earnest determined minds that reckon the
value of every hour, and that achieve em
mlnence by persistent application. Do
the best you can whatever you undertake,
if you are only a street sweeper, sweep
your ''level best.' He who does best,
however little, is always to be distinguished
from him who does nothing. Persevering
mediocrity Is much more respectable, and
unspeakable more useful than talented in
constancy. Activity is the law of life.
Patience is power in man. Faith in our
own ability is half of every battle. ''A
living dog is better than a dead lion."
Character is a man's real worth, reputa
tion is his market price. A good charac
ter, good habits and iron Industry are im
pregnable to the assaults of all the ill luck
that fools dream of. Genius, after all, Is
only the power of making an effort. 'Ge-
nlus, unexerted, is no more genius than a
bushel of acorns is a forest oak." Do not
croak against genius, or want or opportu
nity. If your opportunities are not good
enough better them. It is cowardice to
grumble at circumstances; the persevering
men rises above them. Opposition gives
him better power of resistance. Kites rise
above the wind: No man ever worked
his voyage in a calm. A head wind is bet
ter than no wind at all. No man ever
achieved renown who was too lazy to ex
ert himself. It is more noble to make your
self great than to be born great. There Is
no genius in life like the genius in energy
and activity. We cannot go to sleep beg
gars and wake up millionaires; we cannot
go to bed dunces and wake up Solomons.
We mast work and wait. We must win
if we want to wear. Every detection of
what is false directs us toward what is
true; every failure is hut a step toward suc
cess; we should profit by the follies of yes
terday. The young man who distances
his competitors is he who masters his busi
ness, who preserves integrity, who pays
his debts, who lives within his income and
who gains friends by deserving them.
'Stick to your aim; the mongrel's hold
will slip,
But only crowbar's loose the bulldog's lip;
Small as he looks, the jaw that never
yields
Drags down the bellowing monarch of the
fields."
The Bachelor.
We NV not a bachelor;
He leads an MT life,
Yet he deserves no PT for
He ought to CK a wife.
If he is YZ he will not wait,
Until he's in UK
But now SA to find a mate,
Who'd come in Love's RA.
He CZ he is foolish too
For in the ND's dead,
Without one sweet RT can woo.
And then so EZ wed.
No dainties nice to ET gets,
Nor NE soft caress:
In KC's sick, no angel pets
Him LA distress.
It's RD finds to cook his steaks
And says AG's no doubt.
And eat the KK a baker makes
To EK a supper out.
He has to wash and IN, too,
And mend his CD clothes;
Ilis IC lodgings make him blue,
When there at EV goes.
Of course in IC slumbers well,
In DD finds delight
To hear no cherub AB yell,
With NRG all night. .
But in old age will be sad,
His heart will AK lone,
No fam LE will call him "dad,"
And E will die unknown.
All Play, No Play.
I like to look upon a scene
Where music soothes and charms;
It seems to drive dull care awiy,
And all my trouble calms.
But there are times when I would turn
Mr face the other way,
And that is when the organ man
Take 'round his hat for pay.
True Religion.
It is the hidden treasure of. religion that
enriches the family circle with all the
lovely virtues of moral beauty and purity.
It is this that makes home a paradise of
domestic bliss, over-arches It with the be
nignant smiles of Heaven, and waters It
with the crystal streams of tender sympa
thy, making It redolent with the blooming
fragrance of mutual love. It reflects Its
high mellow radiance on culture and In
telligence, and impresses every heart that
comes within Its sacred precinct. And
the Gospel Is the treasure of earth, ft en
riches Its wild deserts, a the river Nile
does the barren plains of Egypt, causing
Its stertlle wilderness to blossom as a
rose." Whit would this earth be without
it? A barren, Icy winter, without the
blushing of Spring without the green
glory and splendor of 'Summerwithout
the yellow fruit and rich abundance of
Autumn. It would be a world without a
sun to throw the bright rays of day over
the sea and land a garden without its
floral beauty a home bereft of .the smil
ing divinity of the parental lore and care.
But the chief glory of this treasure Is the
power to enrich the endless ages of eterni
ty with pure and substantial fidelity. Drop
ped into the endless stream of Immortality
it makes its water clear, sparkling with
joy, and reflecting the bright glories of
Heaven torever from Its tranquil- and
storm less bosom.
Brightness Beyond.
Though the clouds hang Hark above us,
and our path is lost in night,
Over there, beyond the darkness, stUl the
sun is shining bright,
As in distant hills the rainbow falls from
out the flying storm,
So beyond, o'er bright, green pastures,
Hope's new glow is beaming warm. ,
There are ne'er a cloud but drifted! ne'er
a sun but shone again,
Though Its beams fell not In places shad
owed by the olden pain . 1
Still somewhere our fett shall falter fal
ter in the face of light,
And the vUtas of the future stretch, illu
mined out of sight!
It is always bright dear comrades, on the
other side the cloud.
All beyond is pure and golden, though we
cannot pierce the shroud.
Soon sweet joy shall turn the fabric;, and
the soul shall wear, at last
Royal, glistening robes of gladness, for
the sackcloth of the past.
' Lovely Nights.
We have never seen lovelier nights than
those of the past week. Air mild and bal
my as ever sighed o'er ArabyJ the blest
Skies unclouded as those whose blue arch,
bends in crystal purity above the eocbanted
lake of Como or the gleaming Neapolitan
waves. And moonlight bathing hlU'val
lev, rock, rivulet and cascade, city and wild
wood, in a flood of radiance rich and silvery
as ever illumined the romance-wreathed
courts and towers of the Alharabra, or sin
less bowers of primeval paradise. And yet
in the face of this glorious light and
beauty, people will still court the shadows
of earth and wed their miserable gloom,
not once lifting their heat U and heads up
to that ever gushing fountain of life from
which comes that pure and chastened spray
of mellow light which ever follows the
noiseless current of the downward flowing
moonbeams.
God's Good Gifts.
God has given us so much to make life
hippy, so much to make earth beautiful o
much to evoke our praise and. adoration;
and yet many walk through earth with a
growl and a snarl upon their tongues and
lips, for their vision Is so near sighted and
contracted they see no beauty and no glory 4
and no splendor in the blooming flowers
and sighing brooks and golden sunsets, and
all the perfume of the flowers and the
wordless songs of babbling streams and
lulling, muilc of sweet toned birds are lost
to their dull and cold and dumb and unap
preciative senses.
Like Breeds Like.
Jimpon says he loves the sough of the
forest trees."
-Well Jlmson is something of a hog
himself."
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