{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_36785/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_36785","id":"gutenberg_36785","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36785","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Biographies","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Conduct of life"],"text":"</pre>\n\n\n\nProduced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n                        TREADING THE NARROW WAY\n\n                            By R. E. Barrett\n\n                                 Boston\n                    THE ROXBURGH PUBLISHING CO. Inc.\n\n- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -\n\n                            Copyrighted 1917\n                            By R. E. BARRETT\n                           _Rights Reserved_\n\n- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -\n\n                                PREFACE\n\nThe chapters in this book are not based on fiction, they are not drawn\nfrom imagination, they are not gems that come from culture and learning,\nbut are gleaned entirely from the rugged school of life, and are for the\npurpose of cheering the down-hearted to a realization that a good life\nhas its just reward, that through continued combat every temptation,\nobstacle and evil will vanish if a strict observance of God's law is\nkept in carefully treading in the narrow way.\n\n- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -\n\n                               DEDICATION\n\nTo that dear teacher who urged me to go to school when I was past twenty\nyears of age, and helped to mold in me the true principles of honor.\n\nTo a fine Judge on the Bench whose many fatherly talks to poor\nunfortunates, whose feet had slipped from the narrow way, who helped me\nto obey and respect the law.\n\nTo a splendid intellectual lawyer, one of God's clean home men, whose\nguest I have been at many intellectual feasts, to him I owe the\navoidance of the saloon and learned the intrinsic value of sobriety.\n\nTo my two eldest sisters, one sister-in-law, and my devoted wife through\nwhom I learned the desperate struggle and what it means to live clean.\n\nTo a poorly paid self-educated minister to whom I am deeply indebted for\nthe first introduction to my master.\n\nTo these in the major part, and a few others, God bless them all, I owe\nwhatever I am to them, to these dear people I affectionately dedicate\nthis book.\n\n                                                                R. E. B.\n\n- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -\n\n                                CONTENTS\n\n           CHAPTER                                         PAGE\n                I. Early Footsteps.                           9\n               II. Getting the Backbone.                     21\n              III. The Two Paths.                            32\n               IV. God's Intention Man's Prevention          46\n                V. The Sadness Behind the Vale               61\n               VI. Gratitude.                                71\n              VII. Just Poems.                               87\n             VIII. Sallie's Loyalty.                        112\n               IX. Sunshine.                                117\n                X. Temperance.                              133\n               XI. Every Day Philosophy.                    145\n              XII. Glimpses from the Past.                  158\n             XIII. Hopes That Exploded.                     179\n              XIV. The Weary Traveler.                      196\n\n- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -\n\n\n\n\nTREADING THE NARROW WAY\n\n\n\n\nEARLY FOOTSTEPS.\n\n\nRobert Emmett Barrett was the soothing and patriotic cognomen my father\nfastened upon me when I first opened my eyes and I looked him squarely\nin the face. I say my father named me and I honestly think he did. The\nfirst two-thirds of the name proves my contention and opens the book\nwide enough that the reader has no trouble in discerning the nationality\nof my father. Mother was an English woman and I knew it the first time\nshe called father \"Arry.\" If mother had had her equal rights in naming\nme, I might have been a Gladstone; but somehow or other father\nmonopolized mother's half interest and she finally became disgusted and\ntold him to name me any blooming thing he wanted to. If mother could\nhave foreseen this savage war across the orient, I believe, she would\nhave handled the center name, but the way it stands I wouldn't shoulder\na gun for England and I can't use my undeveloped oratory against\nIreland, and I am about half persuaded to let them settle their own\ntroubles. It being no fault of mine that I am half Irish and half\nEnglish, I let it go at that and get along with everybody the best I\ncan. It's hard to separate the halves from the whole, and so, from a\nperpendicular standpoint, I give the Irish the top half and the English\nthe bottom half; I'd rather let the English have the running half\nanyway.\n\nSo far the name Emmett hasn't done me much good, I've only used it nine\nor ten times since I had it, thrice at political speeches, a couple of\nFourth of July addresses, once on Decoration Day, once at a church\nwrangle, and a few times when I was mad. I find it doesn't help me much\non bank cheques, they get turned down as quickly with the Emmett signed\nas without it. If the name is ever going to do me any good I wish it\nwould hurry up and be a progressive or I will be compelled to think\nfather was impartial and talked mother out of her rightful one-half\ninterest.\n\nAfter the ordeal of naming me had been fairly or unfairly dealt with, I\nwas told I was a free born American citizen and some day I might be\nPresident and have absolute dominion over the blue room, where I suppose\nthe chief executive goes when he has the \"Blues.\" I never considered\nthis encouragement very seriously, for, as I have read in some almanac,\nthere is only one chance in eighteen million, the odds are against the\nslim chance and it's sort of a blue skim milk proposition or a church\nraffle affair, and if it's the only time that opportunity is going to\nknock at my door I don't think I'll be at home, I'll let Wilson do the\nbest he can and let some live Republican Progressive have my chance.\n\nIf Wilson would only hurry up and get the Government to make those loans\nthey've been talking so long about and loan it, at about four per cent,\nto citizens like myself, irrespective of names and nationality, and not\nhave the principal come due too quickly, but in periods, like twenty\nyear franchises, I believe he ought to have a second term; but if he\ndoesn't get some loans placed pretty soon I don't know what hard working\nmen like myself are going to do.\n\nThe only thing I ask Wilson to be careful about when he loans the money\nis the rate. I don't want to see the rate on loans as high as it was\nduring Cleveland's second administration.\n\nI borrowed eighteen dollars in 1894 to settle up a partnership fanning\ndeal with a Methodist preacher. It seems that outside of the banks no\none had any money, and you had to call on the gentleman banker, get down\non your knees and have tears as large as pullet eggs rolling down your\nhollow cheeks, if you succeeded in your desires. Somehow the bankers\nknew they had a good thing; they not only got the fat and tallow but\nthey stripped you clear to the bone.\n\nThe eighteen dollar note was dated August 28, 1894, and read in part;\n\"With interest at the rate of ten per cent per annum\"; and from here on\ncomes the craftiness of the banker: He interlined thus: \"From January\n18, 1894, if not paid when due.\" On October 23rd the same year I paid\nten dollars on the note; September the 11th, 1895, six dollars; and\nDecember the 5th, 1895 the final payment and accrued interest was eight\ndollars and twenty-five cents, making a total of twenty-four dollars and\ntwenty-five cents on a loan of eighteen dollars for one year, three\nmonths and seven days. What was the rate of interest charged? That\nbanker is retired and worth a hundred thousand dollars; hadn't he ought\nto be?\n\nTo borrow money under that rate you needed the health of a bear, a\ncataract of energy, a colossal mind, unlimited self-respect, boundless\nself-confidence, all impregnated with an iron honesty. That kind of\ninterest makes me feel like the investor, who bought some unseen land\nfrom an honest real estate man, and, when he went to look at his\nproperty he found it submerged in water. The real estate man told him it\ncould be irrigated, but he had no idea it was susceptible of such\nprofuse moisture. After he gazed at it a while he said \"Instead of\nbuying this land by the acre I should have bought it by the quart.\" He\nprobably has an unrecorded deed, I have the paid note in my possession,\nI feel proud I got it paid; but my pride halted suddenly when I got it\npaid and in all these years it hasn't advanced much for men who can take\na nickle and make it into a dollar so all fired quick. Some time I'll\nframe that note with a glass on both sides of it.\n\nComing back to the early events. I was born beneath the shadows of the\nRocky Mountains where the placid and sleepy Platte wound leisurely\nthrough the broad meadows and sleeping undeveloped valleys and had\nabundance of God's elixir before the day of the great reclamation\nprojects that sapped its mountain waters.\n\nBecause I mention the Platte here, don't get me mixed with that other\nfellow that has made the Platte famous and was until recently holding a\ncabinet position on an underpaid salary, he's no relation of mine and I\nnever knew him until he ran for President. He did the opposite from what\nI did and took that one slim chance, made three strikes and fanned; I'm\nglad I let it alone.\n\nWhen I was six years old and my parents still said what I should do they\ntook Horace Greeley's advice and went a hundred and six miles farther\nwest. At their destination there was no buildings except the section\nhouse, depot and a little building that sheltered the hand car. The\nentire population was not over a baker's dozen. I don't believe there\nwas a quieter place on God's footstool.\n\nOne good thing about those days was the taxes; I think a week's\ncompensation on the railroad would pay the taxes, County, State and\nMunicipal from 1887 to 1890. How we have progressed in taxes since then!\nEspecially Colorado.\n\nIn this little dreary place where I had no associations to lead me\nastray I took account of my surroundings. I was away out there on the\nbarren plains where the grass curled and burned under the blazing sun,\nwhere foliage was scant, where the lonely cactus and prickly pear\nawaited the step of man to imbed itself and cause more pain, no trees or\nflowers to whisper words of encouragement, no cheerful forest or shady\ndells, nothing at all to cause the deeper emotions of a queer nature to\nassert themselves. Nothing but the broad miraged prairie stretching as\nfar as the eye could see.\n\nNo cooling breeze to alleviate the pain on a youthful face or the faces\nof those careworn early pioneers who blazed the way for future\ngenerations, who would erect homes, till the soil, plant trees, and\nendeavor to further promote civilization, until succeeding generations\nwould reap the pleasure and peace that was purchased through these\nsacrifices and hardships of their forefathers. We owe to the pioneers\nsuch a vast debt of gratitude that we never can pay the the principal\nwith no interest attached, and it's a different kind of interest than\nfour per cent a month.\n\nAfter I had grown to manhood and my lot had been cast in other places it\nwas over fourteen years before I saw much of the old scenes, but when\nreturning to the old places I noticed great changes. The town had grown;\nfew of the old places were left and the old haunts and nooks were hard\nto find.\n\nA dreary and quiet sadness steals over one when looking at his boyhood\nand manhood earliest recollections, and as I glanced at the old scenes I\nstood and looked longingly, earnestly and lovingly at the old familiar\nplaces. There was the locust grove I helped to plant two decades ago;\nthere was the little stream after which the town was named: there was\nthe old pump which so many times quenched my thirst; there was the exact\nspot where dearie said the joyful word; there was the old house where\nour first baby was born; there was the farm patch I used to plow, and\nthe meadow where I pitched the hay. All seemed different and as the\npathos of the change surged in my breast I walked away longing for\nsomething I couldn't get, and would never get again.\n\n\n\n\nGETTING THE BACKBONE.\n\n\nAbout the year 1889 when I was seventeen years old I commenced on the\nlowest rung on the railroad ladder and went to work on the section. I\nwas frail physically, and must have been the same mentally, for I never\ngot beyond the third rung. I worked in the days when you spoke for the\nspring job the preceding fall, and then often your application met\nfailure. In hard times when jobs are few the fellow that has them is\nblessed with unusual longevity, and whenever some one did pass beyond,\nhis demise was railroad talk for a long time.\n\nWhen you consider that all through the central west, which had a few\nyears earlier been homesteaded after several repeated crop failures,\nalmost the entire population were looking for employment and the only\ncash job in the country was a section job, you can realize how desirable\nand prized a position it was.\n\nI don't remember how it came that my application was slumbering all\nthrough the cold winter with a large number of those half-starved\nhomesteaders who hadn't raised anything for so many years, received\nrecognition in the spring; but it did and I got one of the plums.\n\nThe first time I pumped a hand-car I fully realized the Lord had made no\nmistake by taking out one of the ribs and leaving the backbone whole. If\nyou ever pumped a hand-car I will pass from this painful mode of travel\nand let you refresh your own memory and backache.\n\nI got along pretty well, when the \"Boss\" wasn't nervous that the road\nmaster would come along and want to borrow another fifty dollars on his\nword without interest, everything went nicely. When weed cutting time,\ncame I gritted my teeth, held my back as straight as I could and whacked\naway. Besides the excruciating pain in the back that made you feel like\nyou would like to give one long piercing yell, throw your shovel away\nand run for town, there was the additional pain of seeing the \"Boss\"\nsitting on the hand car resting his back. He had the advantage and the\nauthority! I must keep at it and cut the weeds or the wheels of the\nlocomotive would slip, the traveler couldn't resume his journey, all\ntraffic would stop, and down would go the railroad stock and let out all\nthe water.\n\nIt would have been a blessing if the water could have been spilled by\nsome patent process where the weeds were to be cut, but, monopolies\nmonopolize and if the Lord didn't see fit to have the rain fall in\nSeptember instead of June no one was to blame, except Grover Cleveland.\nThe Republicans said the country always went to the dogs and dried up\nwhen the Democrats elected a President. I was too young then to know\nmuch about statesmanship and I wouldn't want to say for repetition\nwhether or not the Lord and Cleveland were working together or\notherwise, but I do remember some one was mighty stingy with the\nmoisture.\n\nIf you, my dear reader, have never had the privilege of cutting weeds\nfor a dollar and thirty-five cents per day for three weeks in succession\nthen, for all that's good and beautiful, take my advice and let the Jap,\nGreek, or Italian have your place and do the mowing. Either of them can\nget better wages and any of these dark-skinned brethren will do as much\nin three days as the white man would in one day and cause the pale face\nno extra exertion.\n\nThe pain in the back caused from close association with a shovel from\nseven o'clock to twelve o'clock and from one o'clock to six even now,\nover twenty years afterwards, almost makes me break down and give vent\nto my feelings in a more noticeable manner than my friend Taft when he\nwas informed that he had carried Utah. If you have ever been tortured\nwith lumbago, you have a slight knowledge of what races up and down the\nback of a weed cutter. When he bends down he can't get up and when he\ngets up he can't get down. There you are! Humiliated, suffering and mad,\nknife blade sticking you whenever you move, but you must or bust. You\nare a free born American citizen but you must lose sight of the special\nendowment when you are cutting weeds. The constitution may be back of\nyou, but just at present you have got to get back of your own\nconstitution and a \"darn\" good one too, or you've lost your job and that\ndearly beloved stipend of thirteen and one-half cents an hour.\n\nBeing on the low rung of the railroad ladder is the same as in all other\ndepartments, the man at the bottom gets the low wages, needs the good\nback and carries the heavy burden. He don't need much brain; he is told\nwhat to do; how to do it and when. He's told when to go to work and when\nto quit. Brains would be a nuisance and, if he had any, he wouldn't be\nworking on the section. Time has proved that, and the Dago takes his\nplace.\n\nWhat became of the Irish, Swede, German and Bohemian section men of\ntwenty-five years ago is more than I know. Extempore, an increase of\nbrains did something for him and you don't find him tramping ties with\nthe Dago. But the man at the low rung hasn't much choice; he can work or\nquit. His job is always in jeopardy as he couldn't save enough in a year\nto loan out an occasional \"fifty\" to smooth the feelings of an over\nauspicious road-master. He's at the bottom and whatever falls goes down\nto him and in an undignified way he must carry the whole load, for it\ncan not go lower. The general manager can ease his feelings on the\nsuperintendent, and he on the road-master and the road-master can growl\nat the section foreman, but when the section foreman dumps the whole\nputrid, half-boiled mess on the unlearned day laborer you can see the\nurgent necessity of a fine piece of choice workmanship in the middle of\nthe back. You seldom see a man with a front like a wash-tub turned\nedgewise working on the railroad. There is no room for him! You must be\nable to see your feet if you cut weeds, and have a stomach that can say\n\"Hello\" to the backbone at nine fifteen A. M.\n\nWhen the winds used to tear loose from the nasty bad lands of South\nDakota and come tearing over the semi-arid plains for three days in\nsuccession at a velocity of sixty miles an hour it seems the Lord could\nhave improved on man by giving him a gizzard to grind up the accumulated\ngravel that had been beaten into his daily bread. It came pretty near\ntaking the hide off from me to keep pace with those hungry homesteaders\nwho were afraid of losing their jobs and existence.\n\nI am glad that I had the backbone. The term is applicable in two ways.\nOne is the acquisition of a resilient mechanism in the center of your\nback, starting at the base of your brain and running down to a certain\npoint or as far as is necessary, and the other is a priceless stamina,\ndetermination and a square deal. I am not sorry that I acquired some on\nthe railroad; its a good thing to have in the every day affairs of life.\n\nI hardened my backbone when I worked on the steel gang a few years\nafterwards, and, if there is such a thing as a steel backbone, I claim\nsome right to its possession through low remuneration and dirty cabbage.\nKeen retrenchment policies make better satisfied stockholders and also\nmake wages that would embarrass a bumble bee if he were buying a pair of\nleggings and expected to pay for them.\n\nIt takes unlimited backbone for a congressman to vote \"Yes\" on the\nprohibition amendment and turn down the easy money of the brewers. It\ntakes backbone for a president to cast custom aside and step into the\nhalls of congress and demand that the party pledges be kept. It takes a\nbetter backbone to enter the same halls and take a determined stand on a\ncause that means better citizenship. It takes backbone if the minister\nousts the liberal paying hypocrite who is helping to kill the church\nwith his pocketbook.\n\nIt takes backbone every day you live and if you don't use it in the way\nit was intended you can't tread the narrow path and expect to slip into\nheaven without being recognized. You may do it on earth but you must not\ntry it where you are known. It takes backbone to be a Christian, the\nearnest conscientious kind, that can lay all jealousy aside, all\nprejudice and hatred and give the offender a square Christian deal.\nUnless you can do these things you CAN'T be a Christian, the kind that\nJesus told us to be. The other kind is a sham and an out-and-out sinner\nis far better. True Christianity will not allow one individual to do\nanother of the slightest wrong. The conscience of a real Christian will\nnot allow any ill feeling or the harboring of malice. You know it's\nwrong, your conscience reminds you of the wrong and unless you remove\nthat kind of Christianity you can never receive the fruits that come\nfrom the narrow way and be a successful Christian. You know yourself if\nyou are a sham so why try to fool anybody and carry a false label.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TWO PATHS.\n\n\nDon't forget the warning of the Saviour when he says: \"Enter ye in by\nthe narrow gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way that leadeth\nto destruction, and many are they that enter thereby. For narrow is the\ngate and straitened is the way that leadeth unto life, and few are they\nthat find it.\" Travel the path that becomes shining gold, the one that\ngrows lovelier, the one where you are never alone: You'll need the\nfriend of this path when the heartaches and trials are hard to bear.\nDon't chance the other path and sell your soul for pleasure, wealth and\ndamnation.\n\nThe journey of life, be it one of success or failure, closely resembles\ntwo paths. When we reach the age of accountability we must of our own\nvolition choose one of these paths. Where the paths commence to fork out\nand go in separate directions we see a sign spread clear across the\nentrance and it says: \"I am the way, the truth and the light.\" We study\nthis for a long time and then go to the other side and on the same sign\nboard it says: \"Though your sins were as crimson they shall be whiter\nthan snow.\" We are young, full of life and can't really understand what\nit means but we are ready to start on life's pathway and there are only\ntwo paths to choose from.\n\nWe look around and see the broad, open path with no restrictions, filled\nwith the aroma of choice flowers, we meet social companions, have gay\nparties, they tell us of the pleasures they are enjoying. From this\nsurvey and study we note that the broad path looks cheerful and\ninviting, the narrow one seems straight ahead as far as we can see.\n\nWe can notice that the crowd seems to be going the broad way. People in\nall conditions of life, well dressed, prosperous looking people of\nwealth and affluence, and the ordinary working people in their customary\ngarb. They look happy and contented, and we decide to take the broad\nway.\n\nWe didn't notice, until after the start, that the course has a\ndescending grade and we get a long distance on the way before we call a\nhalt. We have seen a great many things that are not elevating and we\nconclude that after we go a short distance we'll turn back, start over\nand take the other path, and though the things that looked so inviting\nat the beginning are losing their attractiveness.\n\nThe demoralizing things we see are pitiful. There is a poor fellow\nreeling with drunkenness. MY! hear that vulgar, profane language coming\nfrom the foul mouth of that young man. There's a party drinking wine,\nlaughing boisterously and telling stories that are very improper for\nladies and gentlemen. There is a poor girl in a calico dress that seems\nto be alone; her face looks sad and she seems to be watching and waiting\nfor someone. There is a pitiful story in her once pretty face that would\ncause you to weep if you knew it.\n\nLook at that old man with a gray beard; he has been a powerful man in\nhis day, his well built physique tells that. He's a man of more than\nordinary intelligence, his features show fine breeding. He must have got\non the wrong path from not noticing the sign board, he seems out of\nplace here. I thought so. He is turning back! My! how he stoops as he\ncommences the ascent. But he is sticking to it. There he is telling a\nyounger man of the mistake he made and is trying to persuade him to\naccompany him back. Well, isn't that splendid! They're both going back.\nIt must have been that last remark that the elder man said to the\nyounger man that persuaded him. \"Lo, I am with you always even unto the\nend of the world.\"\n\nThere is a whole crowd about to start back; are they going? No, they\nlisten to that well dressed fellow over there smoking a cigarette, and\nholding up that beer bottle and he has influenced them to go a little\nfurther. It must have been that last remark he made when he told him\nthere was going to be a beer drink and a free dance at Switzers that\npersuaded them.\n\nThey go on and on; they are commencing to look ragged and worn out; the\nroses have flown from their cheeks: their eyes are no more full of\nlustre and keenness; the gray hairs are showing, the step is not so\nfirm, but still they go on. Now they are old, they have lived so fast\nand reckless that they haven't hardly got the strength nor the\ninclination to start to climb that long hill that took forty years of\nthe best part of their lives to descend. It seems an impossibility and\nthey do not desire to consider it.\n\nLook at that poor woman over there. Listen to the poor soul as she is\ndown on her knees and the tears are falling like summer rain. Listen to\nher broken, sobbing words. My, isn't she the most pitiful, dejected and\nforlorn looking creature you ever saw! Hear her as she sobs \"Lord, I saw\nthe sign but oh I was so foolish, I didn't heed it but I remember it and\ndear Lord hear me, I'm old, feeble and poor, I am friendless and I have\nsinned and broken Thy laws. Oh take me as I am. Amen.\"\n\nWho is there beside the blessed Jesus that can pick up this poor\nunfortunate daughter as she now stands before the bar of sorrow and\ndespair awaiting her dues? She was given and entrusted with a pure and\ninnocent life in infancy but she was frivolous and sought after wealth,\npower, position and the many other transitory and fleeting things. She\ntook her clean, innocent life and so soiled and stained it that it would\nbe unrecognizable to any one but he who gave it, and now, when it is\nfilled with barrenness, she comes to her maker with her wasted life,\nwhen in all candor and sense of fairness she could expect nothing in\nreturn, but he says to her \"Though your sins were as crimson they shall\nbe whiter than snow.\"\n\nThen we see the other path that was trod by the bleeding feet of the\nlowly Nazarene. We know the anguish and pain he suffered; we think of\nthe fiendish death he died that he might say to a sinful people; \"Come\nunto me all ye that labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest.\"\n\nThis narrow and straight path may not be so beautiful at the beginning\nas the broader one. We think if we follow it all joys and pleasures are\ngone. But what a mistake, for each day that we travel, it becomes\nprettier, the flowers are sweeter, the trees are greener, the skies seem\nbluer. We find temptations and trials but we have some one to lean on,\nand there is a sweet peace and enjoyment known only to his followers. It\nmakes it easy to pass the saloon and enter the church. The Lord is in\nthat little church and his servant there knows every man, woman and\nchild for miles around. See them cluster around him; he loves them; each\nday he lives he does some one a kindness. He listens to your sorrows and\nheartaches; his joys are your joys and never a word or thought but one\nof goodness and kindness has he for anybody. He looks tired today; he\nspent an all night's vigil at the bedside of a sick friend. Did you see\nhim when he stopped and caressed that little girl who had broken her\ndoll? It meant something to her and he has won her everlasting\ngratitude. See him talking to that young fellow over there who is\nwavering and unable to decide which path to take. Notice his warm and\nfriendly attitude and see, he has won his confidence and has got a\npromise from him. See that sweet-faced, light-hearted maiden, he has\njust come from her home and she has consented to lead a better life.\n\nLook there, will you! He is helping up that poor man whose feet slipped\nfrom the narrow way and he is taking him home to the broken-hearted\nwife. See the sadness on his dear old face as he gives what comfort he\ncan to the poor woman; he's back again the next day and is talking to\nthem both. \"Yes,\" they said from now on they'd cling close to the\nmarriage vows. Don't they all look happy and pleased. There he is again\ntalking to a poor man who has been unsuccessful, he worked hard, lived\npure but went too heavily in debt and can't meet his obligations. Worry\nis making him sorrowful and shortening his days, but the dear pastor\nwith his hand on his shoulder and his warm words of sympathy has a\ntelling effect and the heavy clouds are leaving his countenance and as\nthey part, each understands the other. The cordial, glowing hand-shake\nis given and both have received good. There he goes again; he's just\nmarried a young couple and is advising them, he is telling them not to\nbe down cast when a snag comes along but to work together, tread the\nnarrow way, keep faith in God, and He will bless and prosper them.\n\nThere is pain in his heart today; he has just come from the home of\nbroken-hearted parents who have laid away in the silent city their first\nborn. In his great love for them he has told them about Jesus, the\nsorrowful life he lived, the great pains and heartaches he endured, and\nhe did it all for them. As he leaves they love him as a father and a\nsweet peace has descended upon them and the wound commences to heal.\n\n          And so it goes, day after day,\n          He's telling some one of God's narrow way;\n          He's planting some flowers where flowers should be;\n          He's smoothing the path from dull misery;\n          Here a kind word, there a good deed,\n          He's doing his best to meet every need.\n\nThe greatest need in keeping in the narrow way is in sincere and earnest\nprayer accompanied by a tenacious faith, is the only source that leads\nto the full and sweet companionship of the blessed Jesus. The every near\nrealization, what God can accomplish for us fulfills the truth that the\never listening ear of a just and righteous master has ample succor for a\nburdened and heavy heart. Faith without something to justify its\nestablishment, though it be ever so great, is in reality groundless and\ncontains no true merit, but honest prayer for honest motives and coming\nfrom a desirous heart is the great medium through which sinful mankind,\nso prone to err, is brought into a close relationship with a wise and\nprudent God, a God who willingly compensates every effort whose basis is\na true and unselfish heart.\n\nTrust God fully at all times and pray with such sincere, fervent and\nunselfish motives as is only needed to replenish a pure and unspotless\ndesire. When prayer is answered, as God sees fit to answer, we can\ndiscern its force and effect in our hearts from the knowledge and fact\nthat a change has taken place and a deep feeling of keen satisfaction\nhas fully satisfied a craving want. If this were not so the prayer alone\nwithout any manifestation from a true and living God, would be\nworthless. A long composition of nicely polished words spoken to an idol\ncould in no wise be called a prayer. The densest mind could surely\nrealize that no sympathy lies in anything not able to comprehend a\nfeeling. Silence would be better and is more valuable. It is better to\nkeep still than to say something that would cause some one to err or\nstumble.\n\n\n\n\nGOD'S INTENTION MAN'S PREVENTION.\n\n\nGod's handiwork and its beauty is manifest wherever the eye rests. The\ntowering mountain peaks, the great boulders, the babbling brooks, the\npeaceful valleys, the green grass, the beautiful flowers, the shady\ndells, all speak of his master hand. The moon-beams playing on the still\nwaters, the sunshine streaming through the golden clouds, the perfect\npoise and artistic shape of the trees growing on the mountain side among\nthe jagged rocks where the hand of man never trained or cultivated them.\nThere they stand as sentinels waving to and fro by the gentle breezes\nand tell of His wonderful works. The wild flowers growing side by side\nin the shady dell, each a different color, whisper His wonderful plan.\nThe little brook dancing and playing in and out among the deep chasms\nchiseling its narrow passage among the granite, jumping over big rocks,\nrolling little pebbles, it steals here and there until it spreads out on\nthe great plains and fertile prairies into a rushing river hurrying on\nits way to the ocean. The beautiful sun-set casting its long stream of\ngolden beauty over the western sky mocks at the skillful artist when he\ntries to imitate its marvelous shades and tints. The moon breaking\nthrough the silvery clouds and showering the heavens with beauty and\ngrandeur rests its glory on the evening dew, and the millions of\ndiamonds glitter and glisten in a splendor and elegance far beyond the\nhand of man. The many stars hanging like precious gems upon a great\npedestal twinkling and sparkling tell the same story of His wonderful\nhandiwork.\n\nGod was not satisfied with all these marvelous things and, though they\nare perfect, good and beautiful He must surpass them. He must have a\ncrowning effort to all their glory. So to defy imitation He brought\nforth His masterpiece and called it man. The incomparable and\nunsurpassable, the grandest achievement of his architecture. In his\nwisdom He provided everything for his needs and comfort. Sunshine to\nwarm him, darkness to rest him, trees to shade him, give him fuel and\nshelter, birds of song to cheer when weary with labor, flowers to\nbeautify, soil to produce whatever he sowed, rain and sunshine to mature\nit, meats of all kind to nourish him, fruits, fishes, grains, honey,\nmilk and everything necessary for his growth and sustenance, He made him\npure, clean, strong, and beautiful, just a little bit lower than the\nangels. He furnished man everything to start with. It was no disgrace if\nhis hands were blistered and dirty if they were stained by honest toil,\nhe fought hardships and privations, he was the hardy pioneer blazing his\nway for home and country, raising his children near to nature's heart\nand cleanliness. He gave to posterity strong, hearty, rugged men and\nwomen, he lived honorably, his labor was rewarded and he died ripe in\nyears as a fitting tribute to his great achievements.\n\nTime rolled on! Years became centuries! Methods changed and the great\nplan of God was lost.\n\nGreed, avarice and monopoly commenced to steal the bread from the\ninfant's mouth; the keen and bitter struggle for existence is in full\nsway; the great land of liberty and opportunity no longer can put forth\nher boast and call and call for him to come, build homes, prosper, live\nwell and accumulate.\n\nWhat changeful conditions today from then! We boast of our great\nenlightenment and yet we are like the drowsy cat under centuries of\ndomestication. As soon as the raw meat is put before us all the\ncenturies' training is cast aside and we are ready to do acts of\nbarbarians. Instead of being able to arbitrate and handle all questions\nof war through peace tribunals we cast aside the brotherly teachings of\nthe great book, increase the standing army, build more warships, enlarge\nthe navy, and be ready for war, ready to shoot our brother, ready to\ndestroy his home, leave his children penniless and fatherless, a widow\nto struggle and mourn, posterity to be enfeebled, a gigantic debt to\nstagger many generations unborn, a country bankrupt and all teachings of\nlove and better citizenship disgraced.\n\nNo wonder our people are discouraged and feel we are slipping away from\nthe preamble of our great Constitution! If this age and this country can\nnot handle all questions, national and international, and extend the\nfullest measure of brotherly love where peace is needed; what age or\ncountry can?\n\nI think it may be America that will be called upon to lead other nations\nand have them cast aside their war preparations and prepare for peace.\nIn every crisis through which this country has passed we have been\nfortunate, thank God, that the right man has always been found. We have\nhad our Washingtons, Lincolns, Websters, McKinleys, Wilsons, and\nhundreds of others and in every instance when some great problem has had\nto be solved, either in this country or abroad, in either science,\nstatesmanship, literature or art, no matter how perplexing, difficult or\nintricate, American brains and ingenuity, in the vernacular of the day,\nhas brought home the bacon, Swift's premium, if you please!\n\nI have always felt deeply sorrowful for the man who studies long and\nardently with a bowed head resting upon his hands. His whole soul seems\nto be calling for the fine sympathies that can only be rendered from the\nloving teachings of the Nazarene. He is calling for the tender affection\nthat is keenly necessary to right him just before that sullen burning\nwave of despondency casts him into utter gloom and sorrow. O\nChristianity! Christianity! amid wealth, society, culture, influence,\npeace, advancement, laws, legislators, and boasted liberty where art\nthou?\n\nVisit the parks of any cities, towns or small villages and you can find\nsitting on the benches man after man who is unable to solve the problem\nof an honest existence. There he is, honest, clean, and worthy of good\ncitizenship, unable to find labor that will keep him an honor to\nsociety. What will become of him in this land of boasted opportunity and\nliberty? Plenty for all; but monopolized and organized until the\nlaboring man is almost ostracized. Look at his countenance, clear cut,\nmanly and open, haggard, yes, but from what? From worry, loss of sleep,\nlack of food, responsibility of a family without funds, etc. But withal\nyou find no look of dissipation, no odor of liquor, no foul language,\nand still with all these excellent qualities of meritorious citizenship\nhe is sinking. How long will he stand it?\n\nWere you ever in a condition of this kind when any way you turned you\nwere outfigured. How long can a man have a thorn like this continually\ngetting deeper and deeper into his flesh before he will make a grasp for\nit, and endeavor to release the pain? Where is the cause? What is wrong\nwith our wide heralded economic system? This condition being true of the\nman with a family how alarming to the young man of today without a\nfamily? Show me any incentive or inducement for the common ordinary man\nof today without funds to cause him to establish a home and rear a\nfamily under the grand old Stars and Stripes, and I'll show you a man\nthat loses worse than a bankrupt in the finer sense of the word.\n\nWithout the establishment of homes this nation can not stand. No matter\nhow frugal a man is, no matter how economical his habits you can give\nhim the most promising part and he can not marry and rear a family\nbecause at every angle he is beaten. What is he going to do? Free land\nis almost gone, food stuffs are high, all his needs are expensive; how\ncan he make it? Every line he wishes to enter is crowded! Reason for\nyourself and see if this is not true.\n\nWhen you talk of large families, who raises them but the poor people and\nthis will soon be eliminated. If the poor man raises one child he is\ndoing more than his duty to society than the rich man. The expense is\nsuch a night-mare and horror to a common, ordinary and honest man to\nprovide the necessaries of life for his family that I sometimes shudder\nand feel sorry that I caused children to be born, fought for a home,\npaid my debts, and lived clean. I wouldn't want to do it again for my\ncountry, and I love her as I do the man of Galilee.\n\nI fear America is no longer another word for opportunity as was said by\nthe beloved Emerson, unless she helps him to establish homes on the\npublic domain by loaning him money at a low rate on long time periods\nand keep him at work and help him along and not foreclose when he is\ndoing his best to win. He'll win, give him a chance.\n\nWhat Emerson said may have been true at an earlier period it was so\nintended, but the plan was lost sight of and the great greed for wealth\nwas accomplished to the detriment of the majority who have been obliged\nto make their living with their hands. It is a sad fact but true that\nthere is a revolution slowly kindling in the breasts of the laboring\nclass of people against capital; God grant that in some way the fire can\nbe put out.\n\nI have sometimes thought what's the use of living. The sorrows and pains\noutnumber the joys by a large margin. You slip down the hill of pleasure\nwithout any exertion, but to climb the mountain of morality is a\ngigantic task, for every step is a struggle, and after you have fought\nand won nine-tenths of the journey one misstep and you slip to the\nbottom and the whole climb is before you again. It's fight, fight all\nthe time, continually and forever! It robs you of nature's rest, steals\naway your ambition, stirs up hatred towards those in easy circumstances\nand causes conditions of unrest and strife.\n\nIs life worth the gigantic struggle to overcome the perplexing\ndifficulties and endeavor to live honest and clean and not slip down the\npath of despair where the great majority seem to be going. I say it is!\n\"For, what do you profit if you gain the whole world and lose your own\nsoul.\"\n\nLet your mind ponder over the story of Lazarus picking up the crumbs\nfrom the rich man's table and you must conclude the starving beggar\ngained uncomparable joy and satisfaction to the rich man's torment when\nthe two men's lives were carefully weighed on the scales where God\npredominates and not the sugar trust. It pays! It pays in a thousand\ndifferent ways!\n\nThere is something to a man that lives an upright life in the church and\nin the world. He is a valued asset to any community, he may be poor but\nhe has character, and this is something money can not buy. It takes a\ngood life to make a man. A fellow that is rich and lives solely for the\npleasure of his money is not a man.\n\nOne time I mused thus: If it could be so, just for the shortest duration\nof time, while temptation was the strongest and the fierce conflict was\nraging, if I could be blind, absolutely blind till the strong temptation\nhad passed and then let me see again and have my first sight catch the\nlast glimpse of the golden sun as it dipped behind the western horizon,\nleaving behind a long stream of golden beauty stretching out in its\ngrandeur to kiss the evening sky; even if a scene like this could erase\nthe temptation and the blindness prevail during the surging of the\nconflict, how could my faith be increased by not having the moral\ncourage and strength of character to withstand the evil? It's the\ncasting aside of temptation by the sheer strength of the will power that\nmakes the struggle easier, the way grow brighter, and the victories\ngrander. If God would allow such a condition once, we, in our weakness,\nmight ask again and again and instead of growing stronger we would grow\nweaker. It is the heroic fighter who has won his laurels when the\nbullets of evil whizzed all around him that you like to go up to and pin\nthe medal on.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SADNESS BEHIND THE VALE.\n\n\nA life of self-denial and sacrifice is the grandest object the sun\nshines on. There is nothing under the azure skies of heaven so worthy of\ntrue merit as the pure, unspotted and unselfish heart of a sacrificing\nmother. How my heart aches for the poor, worn and tired mother whose\nwhole life is confined in four walls with three or four children, laying\nclaim to her entire time and attention. You do not find these kind of\nwomen saturated with society; they are not fanatics on woman suffrage\nnor are they riding through the streets in a limousine with a\ngood-for-nothing yellow-nosed pup sitting beside them. In common decency\nhow can any woman with any affection or mother love center it upon such\nan object as a despicable, worthless pug-nosed cur. If it was a dog like\na Shepherd, St. Bernard, Newfoundland, and many others, there would be a\nlittle better taste shown, but when it is confined solely to the mongrel\nwhelps and Teddy bears I think it is high time to pick up the Bible and\nread the thirty-second chapter of Isaiah from the first to the twelfth\nverse inclusive. Lord, but it is pitiful to see such things committed\nwhen there are thousands and thousands of poor little homeless girls and\nboys starving to death for some one to love them, give them a home and\nthen see a poodle woman and her poodle dog go rushing by.\n\nFor a long number of years I have had the pleasure of being acquainted\nwith one of God's self-denial mothers. If this earth contains anything\nsweeter and the next world anything better the mind of man so far hasn't\nbeen able to conceive it nor the Bible to reveal it. In her early\nwomanhood and all through her life she has been frail, small-boned,\nshort of stature, delicate, and very unmuscular. Her's was not the\nphysique to struggle as she has against life's tremendous battles, but\nshe took up the burden cheerfully, looked every difficulty in the face\nsquarely and openly and lifted her voice to the ever-listening ear and\novercame every obstacle with gentleness and love. When heartaches, pains\nand sorrows seemed so heavy that human endurance could no longer stand\nthe strain and tension, she would, through the channels of her wonderful\nself-control, step from beneath the heavy clouds of trials and sorrows\nout into the sunshine of God's holy love and stand master and conqueror\nof every trial. The loyal battles she has swept with victory are worthy\nof such praise and eulogy that the human mind can not find words choice\nenough to meet it.\n\nPoverty with all its worry can not engulf her, for she has that faith\nthat there will be a way provided and she determines, and the mountain\nis seen moving in the distance. No time to partake of many pleasures is\nher lot; she must study her every day cares, rear her children, school,\nclothe, and provide for them. Many times a tear stands where joy should\nbe. It is beyond all understanding why her cross should be so heavy when\nevery atom of her strength has been used to make the world better, but\nno matter how heavy the load is, how painful the head might ache, or how\ndiscouraging the teacher, the present every day conditions must be met\nand the sooner begun the sooner ended. Every minute is occupied or the\naccumulation of wasted time makes the burden heavier.\n\nThe hands work and the mind works. Neither can rest and accomplish the\nneeds, and while the hands iron and bake and wash, the mind is occupied\non what the hungry mouths demand, and how an old coat or vest or an\nunder garment can be made into an article of service.\n\nThese are the kind of women worth while; these are the kind that more\nthan do their part in sustaining a great government. Her lot is not a\npleasant one, but she hands down to posterity a better and more\nsubstantial foundation for better government than any class of women in\nour nation; her life is an open book where the entries are made on each\nday's pages. On page after page you can see where the tears have fallen,\nwhere the struggle has been so keen and bitter that hope had almost\nfled; but turn the page and you will find renewed hope. The\never-listening ear has heard the words bathed in grief and the answer\ncame, \"Blessed are they that mourn for they shall be comforted.\" How a\nfew dollars from some good-hearted philanthropist would ease the way for\nthis poor little struggling woman. Why is it when she has reached the\npoint in life where she should expect the most the least is at hand? She\nhas passed the thirty-eighth mile post, with the odds strongly against\nher. The system is torn down more rapidly than it can be built up.\nEverything seems to combat against her and endeavor to overwhelm her,\nbut sorrows, discouragements, trials, hardships and heartaches with\ntheir utmost collective strength have not been sufficient to thwart or\nencompass her. Every one has been defeated, the cost has been gigantic,\nit has stooped her shoulders, chiseled deep creases in her brow and cast\nsnow among her locks, robbed her of comforts due her and strewn old age\nwhere youth should be. The sad face still smiles and with an\nunconceivable determination she meets every foe in the great battle\nfield of life and crushes them.\n\nShe does it from close application of that wonderful story of love that\nis found in the fifth chapter of the Gospel of St. Matthew from the\nthird to the twelfth verses inclusive. The greatest solace to aching\nhearts the world has ever known. The struggle would have never been met\nand conquered if she had depended on her own strength, she needed a\nhigher source to guide her and in every struggle the lowly man of\nGalilee stood beside her and when the cross became so heavy that she\nstumbled and was ready to fall, his loving arm was ready to shield and\nsustain her.\n\nWith all her pains and trials there came into her life one night the\ngreatest sorrow of all, and although the load she had carried far\novertaxed her strength she had to bear another and heavier one. Her\nlittle sweetheart boy of nearly two years old came toddling in one day\nwith the cruel marks of a fatal sickness on his sweet little face, and\nafter three days and nights of long vigil the tired mother laid down to\nrest, and as she slept on a pillow bathed with tears the pure little\ninnocent soul was gathered into the arms of angels and carried away.\nYears have passed, but the pain lingers and when the thoughts go back to\nthe silent form in the little white casket the tender heart of this pure\nwoman is so engulfed in sorrow that it seems it is entirely beyond all\nhuman endurance and patience. It is then this still, small voice she has\nknown so long, again speaks and says: \"Come unto me all ye that labor\nand are heavy laden and I will give you rest.\"\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\n      How her dear heart did ache when the death angel trod\n      And took back her boy to his maker and God;\n      No sorrow nor pain nor heart aches nor tears\n      Are ever more known where he takes these small dears.\n\n      There is something so sad in the valley of death,\n      When the heart stops its beat and there's no longer breath!\n      That angels must come to ease up the pain,\n      And open the soul to let the tears drain.\n\n      How long are the years and how many it takes\n      Before there is peace from the burning heart aches!\n      The home is so lonely so silent and still\n      There is something gone out that nothing can fill.\n\n      His little things stand where he left them one day,\n      The little toy dog all ready for play,\n      The big choo choo train and the horse he called Bill,\n      All wait for the hand that is silent and still.\n\n\n\n\nGRATITUDE.\n\n\nFew people care to listen to your sorrows, trials and burdens if you are\nnot succeeding. If you succeed, everybody is grabbing for the stock no\nmatter how well filled with water it is. They point with pride at the\nsuccessful man as he saunters by; he can do a great many things that are\nshady, but on account of his success and prominence they are hushed up\nand never rise above a whisper; he's dined and wined; gets cut prices on\neverything he consumes; rebates from the railroads and special\nprivileges in the churches. But take the poor fellow that each day's\ndebts eats up his pay roll and we never hear of his fine qualities until\nwe read his obituary.\n\nIf you will take a few leisure moments and look up the meaning of the\nword \"gratitude,\" you will find that there are few words that surpass it\nin quality, love and kindness. It clusters near the soul and is properly\na virtue. In this life it is very hard to be misunderstood and\nundervalued by those we love, but this too in the journey from the\ncradle to the grave we must learn to bear without a murmur, for it's a\ntale often repeated.\n\nAny one who has given their time, talent and attention serving the dear\npeople, either as a Town Trustee, member of the School Board, Mayor, or\nany of the petty offices of small towns and villages, used his best\njudgment in endeavoring to meet every issue honestly, fairly and\nsquarely, wins for his gratuitous services the everlasting displeasure\nof his constituents.\n\nNo matter how hard you strive or how honest you may be there come up\nlittle intricate issues where there is no middle course and no matter\nwhat stand you take some people charge you with graft and dishonest\nmotives. Any one who can serve for one term and is so unfortunate and\nfoolish as to accept another, has acquired a character so colored that\nit takes from ten to fifteen years in our best Sunday Schools to wash\nout the stains.\n\nDon't ever feel elated or think you are popular because you are elected\nand people call you alderman, for the first thing they will do will be\nto slip out that pleasant, sweet sounding word \"Alderman\" and put in\n\"Grafter\" with the thumbscrews set. They'd call you a grafter if they\npersonally know the treasury had been depleted for fifteen years. My,\nthe pleasures of a gratis councilman!\n\nI have heard of people losing their minds for long intervals and then\nsuddenly regain them and I have often wondered if they had been favored\nwith an aldermanic pleasure and the mind commenced to slip into space, I\nwonder if when the cog alderman appeared if it wouldn't cause such a\njolt that it would clear the whole mental atmosphere. Perhaps there is\none redeeming feature and if it wasn't for some consolation the pictures\nand scenes would be so indelibly impressed that you would be able to\nrecall them long after you'd said \"Amen.\"\n\nThe spirit of revenge and retaliation were never very deeply imbedded in\nmy make up. The seed being lightly sown I used the harrow instead of the\ncultivator and got it out. I am glad I did; it has helped me to get a\ngood night's rest instead of fondling and caressing discolored orbs that\nmight have come in sudden contact with solid and knotty obstacles.\n\nI bought a small business one time from a devout Presbyterian; I had the\ngreatest confidence and trust in him, which I had a sad right to have.\nIf false colors are carried we must find it out because they carry no\nnotice to warn us. Well, anyway, he spread the tempting menu of his\ncareful preparation in great shape. He was pleasant, courteous and very\nentertaining. The way he figured up the invoice you'd thought\nmathematics was his specialty. His tongue kept pace with his pencil and\nafter everything was figured up he brought up the \"Bonus Good Will\" part\nand I really thought he was letting me do him a favor by giving him one\nhundred iron men. You see I wanted his good will along with everybody\nelse's.\n\nI am glad I learned about this \"Good Will\" business. All told \"Good\nWill\" and \"Bonuses\" have cost me nine hundred and thirty-three dollars\nthirty-three and a third cents. Don't try to fool me on \"Good Wills\"\nagain; they're a drug on the market, very unsaleable and unpopular to\nyour humble servant.\n\nAfter I paid the \"Good Will\" price and everything was agreeably settled\nI started in with my maiden business. Going through the bags and some\nother stuff in the back room a few days afterwards, I discovered bags\ninvoiced and paid for at one hundred pounds shy. \"Shy,\" I said, and he a\nChristian! This taught me that there are eighty and ninety pound\nChristians. The loud smelling, decaying and life moving gunny sacks\ncontained prepared meats for poultry. I quit in disgust and went into\nthe front department; a fellow stepped in and said, \"How is business?\"\nand I answered \"Rotten.\" A frank acknowledgment of a painful truth.\n\nOther things ran about the same; the horses were sold as unblemished,\nsound as a dollar, etc., and mind you, he a Christian and ministers\ndropping in every few days and talking and planning how to increase the\ncongregation. My, I'm glad I used that harrow! When I sold out the\nbusiness, I marked down experiences one thousand dollars. I felt pretty\nblue after I had lost the thousand bones I worked hard to get, and it\nused to be when I got the blues I eased my mind with graveyard poetry;\npardon me for inserting it here.\n\n           If I should die tonight how few would care;\n           Perhaps some heart would ache, some one somewhere,\n           Some might cast a lingering look, a tear\n           And tremble with emotion at my bier,\n           But before many days would pass away,\n           Before my silent form would turn to clay,\n           I'd be forgotten and alone,\n           And not a heart to ache or moan.\n           Oh! this bitter, lonely life's a snare,\n           The kind friends you hear so much about are rare.\n           Some may mean it in their hearts but feign\n           And measure men by dollars not by brain.\n\nA friend came to me one time and said he was in pressing financial\nstraits and asked me to loan him fifteen dollars for two weeks. I\ngranted the request and the loan was made. I thought I was familiar with\nthe calendar and knew when two ordinary weeks ended, but those two weeks\nwere the longest I have ever known. Fortnight after fortnight passed and\nno end came. Long and endless weeks of this kind might be all right for\nthe man facing the electric chair, but they had no solace for an\nindividual anxious to get married and needing the husky \"Simoleans\" to\nfurnish a cage for his waiting bird.\n\nOne day I met the overdue biped and I said, \"How about it?\" I was young\nthen and I thought I could glide in as easy this way as well as any\nphrase I had in my limited vocabulary. \"Well,\" he said, \"I'll tell you\nwhat I'll do. I know you are about to plunge in the matrimonial sea and\nI have a proposition to offer you. I have a good standard make of organ\nthat I don't need and if you will give me forty-five dollars and forget\nabout that previous fifteen we will call the transaction closed and drop\nthe curtain.\"\n\n\"All right,\" I said, \"here is your money.\"\n\nThat organ may not be in existence yet, but it's in my memory fresh as\never. I couldn't play it, for it was all I could do to carry a tune when\nit was tied in a bag. I had no wife to play it and I couldn't keep it\nand get married, I was in a desperate condition one day when I walked\ninto a hardware store, that is a store, you know, where they keep ware\nthat is hard, frying pans, dish pans, bread pans, etc., you know what\nthose things are for. \"Well,\" I said to the village wit behind the case,\n\"I'll trade you that organ for enough household paraphernalia to cook\nwith, take care of enough viands and stuff or whatever you call it, to\nkeep two people about to start out together; each now separate and apart\nbut very anxious to be united.\" \"Agreed,\" he said, \"hand over that list\nyou've got with the articles on and I'll have them ready in a short\ntime.\"\n\nFunny, isn't it, how the wind is tempered to the shorn lamb, but how\nabout the one ready to be shorn when there isn't even a zephyr blowing.\nWell, the deal was transacted, exchange made, and that is how I got my\nhousehold goods when I married dearie. The financial report read like\nthis: Actual cash in organ, sixty dollars; actual worth, forty-five\ndollars; second actual value in organ, forty-five dollars; actual value\nof pots and pans twenty-five dollars, experience and pleasure of making\na two weeks' loan, thirty-five dollars. This was not putting a premium\non \"Bliss\" for a fellow just getting ready to carry the matrimonial\nload.\n\nThe weight would have been some lighter if that weasened faced Dutchman\nhad not worked off on me a left handed frying pan for a right-handed\nbride, and was so extremely liberal on the good deal he had made that he\nthrew in a second hand mouse trap when the new ones sold six for a dime.\nThis was the first time I saw tears in my wife's eyes. The fountain was\nopened and they flowed freely. Those tears were trivial to the tears\nwe've in shed later life, but those first tears moved me to almost\nunconsolable grief and the emotion caused a flow of poetry. It's not\nvery long and will not tire you much, so I will slip it in here as a\nfiller.\n\n                  Cheer up, little darling,\n                  You know my love is true,\n                  And nowhere in this great big world\n                  Is a sweeter girl than you.\n                  I have loved you always\n                  Trust me fully, dear,\n                  Let me be your shining star\n                  I'll sparkle when you're near.\n                  And all along our pathway\n                  We'll never pluck a thorn,\n                  But will pluck the roses\n                  In life's dewy morn,\n                  Roses are more fragrant,\n                  They'll give us better cheer\n                  And the thorns we'll cast aside,\n                  They are worthless, dear.\n\nWhen I was a County Clerk and exceedingly busy pushing the quill over\nthe big records, a M. E. Minister came in one day and accosted me with\nthat word that arouses confidence. Brother, he said, we are figuring on\na short order annex to the church, (remember that word SHORT?) and we,\nof course, couldn't slight you and if you will kindly donate as\nliberally as possible the Lord will bless you abundantly, for you know\nhe loves a cheerful giver, and etc., and etc. Well, I responded. When\nyou get your subscription list in these parts drop in and I will help\nyou.\n\nI know what an annex to some of the churches without or with cook stove\nmeans. It seems nowadays, as the prophecies are being filled, some\nchurches deem it necessary to feed the stomach before the soul,\nrealizing, I presume, a full stomach is a twin brother to a big heart.\nThey beg the food and the utensils to serve it in from uncheerful givers\nand then dispense it cautiously and sparingly, the more sparingly the\nmore money for the Lord. When the ice cream is served they forget all\nabout scriptural measure of \"Heaped up and running over\" and run it\nunder. If one dish of scriptural measure can be stretched into four\ndishes of worldly measure, there is forty cents instead of ten. High\nfinance, you see! I've often thought a society of this kind that would\nsqueeze down the measure on ice cream procured at a minimum cost, would\nbear watching if they were running a milk wagon with a pump near. If any\none else gets money in this way they call it an unearned increment. What\nwould Jesus call it? I really would be afraid to express my thoughts at\nthat kind of a meeting for fear they'd request the parcel post.\n\nIn a few days the brother dropped in and hoisted from his inside pocket\nthe subscription list and handed it to me. I glanced over it casually,\nas is natural in such cases made and provided, to see who were the\ncheerful givers. After concluding what I thought was a liberal donation\nand really beyond what a man of my means should give I put down forty\ndollars and handed the paper back to him. The ungentlemanly gentleman\ntook it and looked at it and said, \"Well, we expected much better than\nthis from you.\" You know what feelings ebb and flow within you when you\nget a snub like this. I could feel the Irish blood chasing the English\nblood at a hazardous speed, but I said nothing and was glad again of the\nearly use of that harrow.\n\n\n\n\nJUST POEMS.\n\n\n                                The Dog.\n\n                 Of all the beasts beneath the sun\n                 There is no other, not a one,\n                 That clings to man in sweet and bitter\n                 As faithful as the canine critter.\n\n                 When fortune smiles upon its crest\n                 And all your toil is richly blest\n                 The loyal dog is near at hand\n                 For slightest duty or command.\n\n                 When poverty comes stalking in\n                 And you have lost your precious tin,\n                 The good old dog is just the same\n                 In dire distress or glittering fame.\n\n                 In tattered rags or spick and span\n                 He has a truer heart than man,\n                 And when you meet most keen defeat\n                 His sympathy is there to greet.\n\n                 When you are old and had your day,\n                 With feeble limbs and head of gray,\n                 And angels come to take you home,\n                 The good old dog is last to roam.\n\n                 He'll watch beneath the stars at night\n                 Beside your grave a sadful sight,\n                 And wait and wait for many a day,\n                 When faded flowers have blown away.\n\n                 A dog's great love is most sublime,\n                 It lingers near the word divine,\n                 And intertwines from him above,\n                 For dog turned around is God and love.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\n                               The Booze.\n\n         Oh the ones who drink the booze,\n         You can tell it by their flues,\n         The torrid heat within flames up the nose.\n         At first they're moderate drinkers,\n         And become the same as thinkers,\n         And what a sight for pity ere the close.\n\n                                Chorus.\n\n         The booze, the booze,\n         Any way you choose,\n         No matter how you figure it you lose.\n\n         How many homes that suffer,\n         When they shelter such a duffer,\n         Whose presence causes heartaches, tears and blows,\n         But you can always tell 'em\n         If you can't then you can smell 'em,\n         But if all the signs should fail you there's the nose.\n\n         If you only take a drop\n         You know you'll never stop,\n         Don't you realize that dynamite explodes,\n         Better take an inventory,\n         Before you're blown, no not to glory,\n         But to where they ignite quickly, Jimmy Rhodes.\n\n         What's the matter with your clothes,\n         Or do you for artists pose,\n         Don't you ever meditate or think\n         There's enough loam in your hair\n         To rob an acre bare,\n         Take an invoice before another drink.\n\n         Stop, my friend, don't be a slave,\n         Do not fill a drunkard's grave,\n         Be a man from birth until close,\n         Come to him, the Galilean,\n         He will make your future clean,\n         He's the one to take the add from off your nose.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\n                         What's the Difference?\n\n              It matters not, so some folks say,\n              Where rests the form when 'neath the clay.\n              There is no choice when the heart is still,\n              Some always say and always will.\n\n              This may be true when we're forgot,\n              And aught remains to mark the spot,\n              But a silent stone that stands all time,\n              With letters cold to tell mankind.\n\n              Some may not care where rest their bones,\n              In foreign lands or near their homes,\n              Where tender hearts can shed the tear\n              And bathe the roses on the bier.\n\n              I'd rather rest 'neath shady trees,\n              That beautify and kiss the breeze\n              With velvet grass spread over the plot,\n              With lilies and forget-me-not.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                          The Steering Wheel.\n\n        'Twas a party blithe and gay,\n        On a joy ride as they say,\n        Gliding many miles away from home.\n        Midnight long was by\n        They were coming in on high\n        When suddenly there was an awful moan.\n\n        The steering wheel went wrong, the papers said,\n        One was badly injured, three were dead.\n        The same old story neatly woven in a tale,\n        The sadness of the scene behind the vale,\n        And not a line or word to make you think,\n        What had put the wheel upon the blink.\n\n        The verdict of jury, so they say,\n        Said the steering wheel was loose and had too much play;\n        But by chance some people looking around,\n        Some real and newer evidence was found,\n        'Tis evidence you find and seldom fail\n        If you let the ribbon bottle tell the tale.\n        So in the name of justice, as I feel,\n        Why not exonerate the wheel.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\n                     Such High Taxes, Gee-Whilaker.\n\nMeadow larks, as you have undoubtedly noticed, warble many different\nsongs. They sound like this to me: One says, \"Here is your homesick\ngirl.\" Another, \"Light the light, it is gone down.\" Another, \"Here is\nyour English preacher.\" Another, \"The smeeking smock bird,\" and others,\nfrom which the following poem is written, say, \"Such high taxes,\nGee-whilaker.\"\n\n            As I stood in the yard of our high taxed home,\n            And filled my lungs with pure ozone,\n            My eye went wandering far and nigh,\n            And I saw a meadow lark flitting by.\n\n            He flew to a post for a moment's rest,\n            And gazed a while both east and west,\n            And then soared on, going higher and higher,\n            Till he perched way up on the court house spire.\n\n            From a bird's eye view of quaint renown,\n            He sized up the modern Julesburg town,\n            The stand pipe built on the court house square,\n            Is an old eye sore with a record rare.\n            The power house hid from the passer by\n            Must been for economy, heat or pie?\n            The city sewer, electric lights,\n            Cement side-walks and high school sites,\n            Was picturesque and nice to heed,\n            But sad for the one that held the deed.\n\n            He raised his head as he ceased to note,\n            And out from the depths of his golden throat\n            His voice did peal as he said with a whirr,\n            Such high taxes, Gee-whilaker.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\n                              To the Mrs.\n\n                   I am going to take a kiss,\n                   And I know it's not a miss,\n                   But before I miss my kisses,\n                   I will take them from the Mrs.\n\n                   Kisses from the dear old Mrs.\n                   Are the sweetest kind of kisses.\n                   But if the Misses kisses,\n                   Then there will be kisses Mrs.\n\n                   Just as long as Mrs. kisses,\n                   There's no trouble with the Misses\n                   But let the Misses kisses\n                   And something's doing Misses Mrs.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                          Don't Procrastinate.\n\n                   Don't wait till tomorrow,\n                   For joy or sorrow,\n                   And miss the golden today.\n                   For every minute,\n                   Your heart's not in it,\n                   There's something slipping away.\n\n                   'Twas Jesus who said,\n                   'Ere his spirit fled,\n                   On the cross at Calvary,\n                   That he who had hope,\n                   Need never grope,\n                   For the better things to be.\n\n                   So don't never worry,\n                   And fret and flurry,\n                   For things that's not for you,\n                   But hammer away,\n                   At life's forge today,\n                   For things that are good and true.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                              Sister Mary.\n\n                Mary, I know not who\n                Has a truer heart than you.\n                Your's a life that does excell\n                For doing every duty well.\n\n                In this world of woman kind\n                A purer life I couldn't find,\n                If I looked my life time thru,\n                I would bring the crown to you.\n\n                I am proud to tell you, dear,\n                Your's has been a life of cheer,\n                Where every hardship, trial and sorrow,\n                Was sweetly met before tomorrow.\n\n                May God's blessing sweetly rest,\n                In a life so richly blessed\n                With kind words and cheerfulness,\n                For every heart that knew distress.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                                  Yes.\n\n                'Twas underneath the columbine,\n                Where dearie said she would be mine,\n                My heart rejoiced at that glad word,\n                The sweetest one I ever heard.\n\n                I've wondered many times since then\n                How one word changes lives of men,\n                Some it makes and others breaks,\n                And others know they've made mistakes.\n\n                It gladdens some and saddens some,\n                It opens up the way to rum,\n                It fills the pen, the cells of jails,\n                It wags the tongue with many tales.\n\n                It fills the lawyer's purse with fees,\n                It crowds the courts with quick decrees,\n                It to the drug store many guide,\n                It fills the graves with suicide.\n\n                It pulls the trigger of the gun,\n                It breaks the heart of many a one,\n                It causes pain where joy should be,\n                It fills the home with misery.\n\n                It joins the short unto the tall,\n                It never heeds old wisdom's call,\n                It clasps the hands of slim and stout,\n                And makes a mess beyond a doubt.\n\n                It breaks the dishes on your head,\n                It makes you wish that you were dead,\n                It mixes father with the son,\n                It has no end when once begun.\n\n                It's no respecter of your right,\n                It gets you out at dead of night,\n                It makes its scars and many a whelt,\n                It makes you cuss T. Roosevelt.\n\n                It makes the Irish like the Dutch,\n                The black the brown the squaw and such.\n                It causes if the truth would tell,\n                A thing on earth you all know well.\n\n                So with all wisdom I'll confess,\n                Before you tackle this word yes,\n                Have these professions up in G,\n                Lawyer, preacher and M. D.\n\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                        The Lay of the Last Hen.\n\n               'Twas yesterday the deed was done,\n               That made my heart feel like a ton,\n               When cruel fate held its sway,\n               And robbed my hen of her last lay.\n\n               The sympathy swelled in my breast,\n               For my old hen so long caressed,\n               Who stood by me for many years,\n               Thru joy and sorrow, mirth and tears.\n\n               When times were hard and crops were light,\n               There was to me no sweeter sight,\n               To get that egg and let it melt,\n               Underneath my gnawing pelt.\n\n               The tariff never worried her\n               She did her duty at one per,\n               Wilson, Taft or Roosevelt,\n               Never had a cause she felt.\n\n               She built the muscle in my arm,\n               She paid the taxes on the farm,\n               She kept the wolf from strolling in,\n               She clothed the kids from Kate to Win.\n\n               She always let the whole world know,\n               With joyful song in rain or snow,\n               That she'd performed a duty neat,\n               That man himself has never beat.\n\n               I couldn't help it, I'll confess,\n               The tears flowed freely, more or less,\n               When that dear form was tenderly laid,\n               Beneath the elm tree's pleasant shade.\n\n               Here's to the hen upon the nest,\n               That keeps the table, fills the guest,\n               Builds up the system, ne'er regrets\n               And brings results whene'er she sets.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                           The Dear Old Hod.\n\n                   When I've labored hard all day,\n                   And the supper's cleared away,\n                   There's a joy before I nod,\n                   When I load my dear old hod.\n\n                   As the smoke curls in the air,\n                   Chasing from me life's dull care,\n                   I can lean far back and think,\n                   And put the worry on the blink.\n\n                   Here's to thee, Missouri cob,\n                   Many years upon the job,\n                   Your's a mission not all bad,\n                   If you ease the load on dad.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                             Dear Old Kate.\n\n               I know I stayed a little late,\n               The last time that I courted Kate,\n               I had a speech I wished to try,\n               And how the hours hurried by.\n\n               The question that I wished to pop,\n               Would never let me have the flop,\n               My cheeks would burn, my throat get dry,\n               I was nearly hot enough to fry.\n\n               I guess I tried a dozen times,\n               I drilled myself in all the lines,\n               But when I reached the vital point,\n               The whole blame works got out of joint.\n\n               It made me mad and also sad,\n               I felt like going to the bad,\n               I'd practised long, out in the trees,\n               Just how to face her on my knees.\n\n               I'd hold the bough as Katie's hand,\n               And with the best at my command,\n               I'd bare my soul with pleading tears,\n               For her to join me all the years.\n\n               I guess I never would have won,\n               If Katie hadn't just for fun\n               Heard my appeal with silent feet,\n               And said, \"Why, sure, you dear old sweet.\"\n\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                                  Tim.\n\n                 Once I knew a man named Tim,\n                 Thought a mighty lot of him,\n                 For his goodness, heart and mind,\n                 Were of such a loving kind.\n\n                 Never heard him boast or tell,\n                 Of the things he'd done so well:\n                 Lips would kinda set with tension,\n                 If his past you'd slightly mention.\n\n                 Kinda made his face look sad,\n                 Maybe some great grief he'd had,\n                 But he'd pass it off and say,\n                 Kinda looks like rain today.\n\n                 Wasn't much past fifty-nine,\n                 Led a life serene and fine,\n                 Lived just on the edge of town,\n                 Liked to have the folks look round.\n\n                 Greatest chum of little tads,\n                 Liked to humor all their fads,\n                 Fixed their wagons, made them trains,\n                 Soothed their many cares and pains.\n\n                 Made no difference to Tim,\n                 If you'd never heard of him,\n                 He would always say, \"Hello,\"\n                 Said his mother taught him so.\n\n                 Worldly goods he hadn't much,\n                 Never seemed to care for such,\n                 Said he liked the Master's way,\n                 Of doing things for just today.\n\n                 Dear old Tim took sick one night,\n                 Thought his spirit would take flight,\n                 But we all just hurried in,\n                 And it helped revive old Tim.\n\n                 Said it made him awful glad,\n                 Wished a larger house he had,\n                 But we all said, get well, Tim,\n                 Couldn't lose a man like him.\n\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                           The Business Man.\n\n                Here is to the business man,\n                Who does the very best he can,\n                And pays to each their honest debt,\n                And don't forget it makes him sweat.\n\n                He labors from the morn till night,\n                With brain and muscle in the fight,\n                To keep his head above the stream,\n                When finances are not serene.\n\n                He's to the one you always go,\n                When life has pained you with a woe,\n                You know his purse is always free,\n                To lessen grief or misery.\n\n                You toss on him most carelessly,\n                The gratis job of town trustee,\n                And then you pass around the word,\n                He's just the man for the school board.\n\n                He helps to school your girls and boys,\n                He shares with you your pains and joys,\n                He helps to pay the preacher's bill,\n                And aids the churches with good will.\n\n                He has to pay his bills when due,\n                But if he asks the same of you,\n                You think your credit's met his fears,\n                And let it run along for years.\n\n                You let him long and look and look,\n                At your account upon the book,\n                And you'll admit if you are frank,\n                He pays your interest at the bank.\n\n                If he would say and tell you true,\n                When your account has long been due,\n                That ten per cent was charged to you,\n                You'd swear until the air was blue.\n\n                If he helps you, then why not him,\n                And don't keep sending off your tin,\n                But give it to your home merchants,\n                And keep the gloss from off their pants.\n\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n                             Falling Snow.\n\n               There's something in the falling snow,\n               That brings back years of long ago,\n               That makes you think of younger days,\n               Behind a span of gallant bays.\n\n               The frosty air, the rosy dames,\n               The secrets and the loving names,\n               Of days gone by long years ago,\n               Comes back today with falling snow.\n\n               The laughter pealed o'er rocks and trees,\n               The songs re-echoed with the breeze,\n               Of merry rides so bright and gay,\n               Are chasing thru my mind today.\n\n               The biting air with keen delight,\n               Puts crispness in the appetite,\n               And mother's pies of golden hue,\n               Soon faded like the morning dew.\n\n               And how I wish I could today,\n               Turn back the years the youthful way,\n               And drive the bays and see them go,\n               And blush with youth midst falling snow.\n\n\n\n\nSALLIE'S LOYALTY.\n\n\nThat's Sallie over there in that potato patch. She has been endeavoring\nto tease from mother earth enough tubers to supply the family through a\nlong winter. Nature in this and many other instances has been unkind.\nThe rain waited too long and the one supply of food that fills so large\na place are small as marbles, nevertheless this dear soul laboriously\ngathered them and is carrying them, pail at a time, and storing them\naway for a long, cold winter. Though the tubers are small and puny, she\nhas a way of cooking them with such marked success that they would\ntickle the palate of a king and he'd be passing his plate the second\ntime.\n\nSal does the housework, the buying of supplies, cares for the chickens,\nplants the garden, does the sewing, picks up the paint brush when\nnecessary, and does about everything that anyone can do. She is past\nfifty years of age, most of them hard and bitter years. They have not\nbeen the kind of years where the goal has been worth the trials and\nbitterness. The streaks of silver are beginning to show in her dark\nhair, she is small in physique, clean limbed, lithe, resourceful,\ndetermined, and intelligent. Her schooling in the practical side of life\nis an attainment any one should be proud of. She is one of the most wiry\nand courageous women that has ever lived such a grand and noble life and\nkept the sad, dreary and lonely part locked up in her unselfish heart.\n\nBehold her as she is, one of God's purest gifts! Her life is clean,\nwholesome and grand and of such a sweetness and beauty that mocks to\nscorn any imitation of the artist. For eight long years she has cared\nuncomplainingly for the aged, widowed mother as her almost sole\nbenefactor of aid and cheer in the home. She has sacrificed, schemed,\nplanned, worked, and struggled in a way that is worthy of our greatest\nfinanciers, diplomats, or statesmen. She has fought within her own heart\nfar greater battles and carried away the victory to a more deserving\nreward than many a soldier on the battlefield. She has denied herself in\norder that she might give the fullest measure of devotion to a dear old\nmother who is slipping slowly, slowly to that great home of rest and\ncomfort.\n\nGod bless you, Sallie, in your old age, when the silver streaks no\nlonger glisten in your hair and it is all turned to the whiteness and\npurity of snow; when your poor, tired aching limbs from their long years\nof toil no longer yield to quick response, when time chisels its deep\nfurrows in your brow and your keen eye loses its lustre and grows dim. I\nhope God will reward you with the choicest gifts of his kingdom, and\nwhen the final summons is made and you stand in the open doorway of his\nlove, bathed in the purity of the sparkling dew in the evening time of\nlife, may the sweetness of your character come wafting gently in the\nfulness of its beauty and dwell amidst all that is holy, sweet and\nsacred.\n\n                 Dearest Sal, you're growing old,\n                 But there never can be told,\n                 The great jewels you possess,\n                 In your life of righteousness.\n\n                 I would love you just the same,\n                 Had you reached the highest fame,\n                 For you have a heart so true,\n                 There would be no change in you.\n\n                 You have done all duties well,\n                 Better than my tongue can tell,\n                 I would love to ease your way,\n                 And turn your winters back to May.\n\n                 I have but one life to live,\n                 But for you I'd freely give,\n                 I'd go down that lonesome valley,\n                 If 'twould help you, dear old Sallie.\n\n\n\n\nSUNSHINE.\n\n\nIn endeavoring to entertain you in this chapter I wish I might have the\nwit of a Nasby or come Nye the Mark; but not having the brilliant\ntalents of either of these illustrious wits who cracked the ribs of so\nmany people I hope you will bear with me patiently as I proceed to give\nto you some rays of sunshine I have been picking up for the last twenty\nyears from all classes of people.\n\nA fellow said to me one time I'll tell you a panacea for every ailment.\nI have taken it for years and you don't need a skilled Pharmacist to\ncompound it. This was the simple remedy: Trust in providence and keep\nyour bowels open. I thought it was a pretty good prescription and if\napplied carefully you would never have appendicitis or a good many other\ncomplaints. Of course, he said, some people ask too much of providence.\nI hardly think it fair to ask the Lord to furnish you the land, the\npatch of potatoes, a pail to put them in, a spade to dig them with, and\nthen get down on your knees and in funeral tones tell him you are out of\nspuds and would like a mess for dinner with the jackets off. Don't ask\ntoo much.\n\nIt is better to whistle than to groan. It will make some heart lighter\nto hear you whistle than to groan. If you can't whistle a tune sizzle\nsomething through your teeth, there's cheer in it for some one. No\nmatter how worrisome, difficult or perplexing the problem is, don't\nworry or brood over it. Whistle if you can, sizzle if you can't. It will\nkeep you from getting meloncolic; colic that comes from something\nbesides eating too many Colorado watermelons with the accent strong on\nthe water.\n\nI've known people whom you'd think from all appearances they hadn't a\ncare in the world, the sunny side was always exposed and unconsciously\nthey would be dropping encouraging words, doing kind deeds, lending acts\nof assistance, and doing everything to lessen the other fellow's burden.\nThey didn't tell any one that they didn't know where their breakfast was\ncoming from, but somehow or other they would get hold of some patent\nbreakfast food and eat it in its native state if no cow was at hand and\nthen they were all right until the next meal, luncheon, I believe is the\nproper society word.\n\nIt never pays to be stingy with eulogies or encomiums. A little praise\nhas caused many a breast to heave with gladness and chase away gloom.\nThe cost is small, thank God it's outside of the trusts. So don't be\nbackward in using it at every opportunity you meet. If the sermon is\ngood, go up and tell the semi-paid man behind the pulpit, it won't kill\nhim. He may be surprised, but keep at it until he gets used to it. If\nbrother or sister so and so has made a misstep and you are an unbeliever\nor not, don't break your neck in rushing to your neighbor and ah, ahing\nit all over town. Let two thoughts get into your head at once and let\nthe better thought prevail, and instead of helping stain the character\nof a poor unfortunate, make it your business to use your good advice, if\nyou haven't any then keep still.\n\nWhen a church member steps from the narrow path, why has everybody such\na sudden interest? Why does it cause such a loosening of tongues? The\nBible says, \"he that is without sin among you let him cast the first\nstone.\" If any one but Jesus was without sin why not advertise it. Give\nit to the Post and use the red letters on the front page. The way I look\nat the parable quoted by Jesus is that if a stone is thrown some one has\nto throw it, it may be thrown with intent or carelessness, but in either\nevent the stone has been thrown and some one will be struck, so the best\nway is not to throw the stone, if you have to throw something, go into\none of the leagues and then don't throw a stone. Throw a baseball, but\ndon't hit the umpire.\n\nWherever you can place a rose where a thorn has been, do it. There is\nboth fragrance and class to a rose, something sweet, cheerful and\npretty; but the fellow that can find any redeeming qualities in a thorn\nis not the person that can stand inspection. Where could you put him\nwhere he would be an improvement? You can't progress unless you make use\nof the things progress is found in. Pluck the rose every time, leave the\nother alone.\n\nDon't wait 'till it's time to erect the tombstone before you pay tribute\nto your dear friend. One small flower is worth more to the living than\ntons piled on their caskets. Some poor fellows never get tomb stones,\nhead stones or anything to mark their graves. How much better you feel\nif you have never put a pebble in any one's path as an obstruction to\ntheir progress than if you had been rolling boulders and now see your\nmistake. You can't afford to do it. Pay your little tributes all along\nthe journey of life. Be as careful dropping pains or sorrows as you\nwould dropping pearls.\n\nDon't wait 'till your father, mother or wife dies, then lie about them\non their tombstones. You only have one father and one mother; be careful\nand think some before you pour out any derogatory statements or cheap\ninvectives concerning them. Your wife is entitled to a great many\ncompliments you never gave her. The reverential words on the slab in the\ncemetery isn't going to fool any one, and have them to believe, as you\nwould wish, that you did the fine thing, when really you are to blame\nfor stealing from her about twenty years of her life time. You've caused\nhollow cheeks where roses should have been and you stole many pleasures\nfrom her and enjoyed them all by yourself. Too much swine in your nature\nto make people think you were sincere in your profuse epigram on the\ntombstone.\n\nSo many people think they are endowed with a peculiar and special sort\nof wisdom and are able to fool their fellow men so successfully that\nthey try it on the Lord. Here is where they make a fatal mistake, for\nthe Lord certainly knew what he was doing when he made countenances. The\nnewspaper's most clever ads are no comparison to the clean, open ads the\nLord puts on faces and the clear unfrosted windows where you can look\nfar into the soul.\n\nYou can't break man's laws without being detected. If you are a sneak\ncriminal, inebriate, crook, lascivious, immoral or any other of the\ndegrading types in the category of a false man, the warning is openly\nand clearly displayed on your countenance. You can't fly false colors\nand succeed, for sooner or later you pay the penalty to the last\nfarthing. When you hear the remark \"I don't like his looks,\" there is\nsomething shown in the countenance to verify the statement or no\naccusation would have been made. Be a man and your face will do the\nadvertising.\n\nDon't be afraid of censure or criticism or let it keep you from helping\nthe fellow that is down. God gave us religion for that purpose. It's\nsomething to use every day in the week and not a specialty for the\nSabbath; the more you use it the brighter it gets. Anything you don't\nuse and keep polished loses its usefulness and becomes rusty. Use it\nwhenever you can and you'll be surprised the confidence you gain in\npeople's hearts. It's the greatest purifier in the world, that's why God\ngave it to us. He knew what he was doing. It's the only thing in the\nworld that will lift up the fallen woman, the drunken man, the horse\nthief, the blasphemer and all others when every hand is turned against\nthem. It's a panacea for every evil. It's the only thing that will take\nhumanity with all their sins after they are entirely forsaken and down\nat the threshhold of hell and make them better. It will take them in the\neleventh hour when they come sneaking in at the back door with\ncharacters stained as black as night and every law has been\ntransgressed, but as they plead piteously for forgiveness, their\npetition is heard and all their sins are blotted out and the Lord gives\nthem another chance. He stoops down in his great mercy and love and\ngives them that peace beyond all understanding. He raises them up and\nhelps them reach for the cross when no hand is extended to help them.\n\nAt every opportune chance laugh long and heartily, nothing is better to\ncheer and comfort, and while it is doing the other fellow good you are\ngetting the cheapest medicine on the market for your digestive organs.\nTry it after you eat some boarding house pancakes an inch think. You\nhave lots of things to smile for. There is always some one else worse\noff than yourself. You see them everywhere. If you have a large family\nyour neighbor has a larger one. If you have none at all pity your\nneighbor who can't figure out some way to get rid of his mother-in-law\nwithout losing his wife. If you are able to hobble around, have a heart\nfor the fellow in the wheel chair and the fellow that has to stay flat\non his back and never sees the sun rise.\n\nThere are two kinds of sunshine; one is entirely dependent upon the\nindividual and the other was inaugurated shortly after creation. Each is\nnecessary to fill the divine plan. While one kind is periodical in some\npeople, the other is always at hand unless clouds intervene. God's\nsunshine is unexcelled and is a marvel in itself for warmth, beauty,\ncheerfulness and grandeur. The rising and falling of this wonderful\norbit body is said to start and finish the work of man, as he was\nsupposed to labor and scheme from sun to sun.\n\nThis plan may have been popular and proper before the day of the\nmulti-millionaire, but the time is too short for the present day man,\nand in order to pay the necessary obligations to exist the twilight at\nboth ends must be consumed and then reach in and grab several hours of\ndarkness. The housewife may have to sew and rock the baby and prove her\ncontention that her work is never done, but it's up to the Governor, the\nold man, Dad, or any other name you may call him, to keep the flour in\nthe bin, coal in the bucket, shoes on the children, and an endless\nnumber of other things. He's the lad that must fix it up with the banker\nwhen the note is renewed. He must through some devised method dress the\nkids in schools as good as his more prosperous neighbor, or there's\nsnobs and tears. He must provide something besides the proverbial soup\nbone that one neighbor could borrow from another through the winter\nmonths. He must buy the latest books, procure lyceum and chautauqua\ntickets, pay the preacher, the ice man, the milk man, the water man,\nlight man, and dig continually for charity, and thus you see the sun to\nsun theory has the bottom torn out of it.\n\nDad is never still long enough for the birds to build nests in his\ngoatee and set three weeks. If he slackens up you notice a visible\nreduction in your pancake pile. The Lord didn't make the suns far enough\napart for dad or some other people. I worked for a farmer one time that\nused to start out with a handmade sun about two-thirty A. M. and never\nceased till ten P. M. The meals always bothered me; I couldn't tell if\nit was breakfast the next morning or two suppers. If God's sunshine\nmeets man's sunshine and the two mix properly, you've got an individual\nthat is a continual pleasure, one whose existence is exhilarating. He\nwhistles and sings and smiles and laughs and gets out of life everything\nthat is good, and everybody likes and knows him.\n\nI was never so ashamed in my life as I was one time when I had encased\nin my left cheek a quid of tobacco the size of a hen's egg. I was\ncarrying on nonchalantly a conversation with a depot master, and the\nsaliva was gathering so rapidly, it wasn't long before I could only\ngrunt. I always disliked to ruin a floor with expectoration and was also\nembarrassed by the presence of the agent's boy, a little fellow of four\nyears, but my mouth was so full and my cheeks so inflated that leakage\nwas starting and I was forced to eject it or swallow it. I chose the\nformer and let it go. It sounded like the distant booming of guns and\nthe space required to contain it on the floor was unbelievable. If its\ndimensions didn't cover a foot square outside of the innumerable\nrivulets in every direction, I'll buy my wife a twelve dollar Easter\nbonnet for a Christmas present. The little boy looked at it and said,\n\"My, that's a big one!\" I sneaked out crestfallen, abashed and ashamed,\nbut didn't have the sense to quit for some years afterwards, when the\npreacher said something about the ashes to ashes and dust to dust.\n\n\n\n\nTEMPERANCE.\n\n\nThe cause of temperance is one that has been close to my heart for\ntwenty years. Taken from the logical standpoint of protection to the\nhome, sound saneness, improvement in morals, an enhancement of\ncitizenship, it is the second paramount issue of the age. Take away\nliquor, stop the traffic entirely, and you reduce seventy-five per cent\nof crime. The empty whisky-bottle is the greatest curse that ever\nexisted. When it is standing filled in front of some bar-room mirror, it\nis harmless, but when it is empty it signifies that it has been drank by\nsomebody and has been the direct cause for all that has followed.\n\nTrace it up and you will find sorrow, misery, heartaches, remorse,\ndisgrace, shame, humiliation, want, poverty, destroyed homes, cruelty,\nhatred, anger, revenge, and murder. Rags, vulgarity, dishonor, wasted\nlives, and deceit. Ruined sweethearts, broken-hearted wives, disgraced\nparents, and hungry, shoeless children. Disease, filth, white slavery,\nprize fights, tangoes, rottenness, and shame. Keeley cures, jails,\npenitentiaries, poorhouses, brothels, cabarets, and insane asylums.\nThieves, robbers, safe blowers, beggars, pick-pockets, delirium tremors,\nand death. Leave it alone!\n\nSome people say there is no harm in it; there isn't if you leave it\nalone. You can take a loaded revolver and lay it alongside of a\nwell-filled whisky bottle and they will get along side by side\npeacefully as long as time exists. Each one separate and apart are\nharmless; but let a sane man come along and drink the whisky, pick up\nthe revolver, and what happens? Every nationality without distinction to\nrace or color, Irishmen included, will run for safety.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nA well-educated young man with brilliant prospects, neatly attired,\nattractive, and of fine, honorable parentage, was passing a saloon one\nday when a friend standing in the doorway invited him in. He had never\nbeen in a place of this kind in his life. His parents had taught him,\nfriends advised him, and a sweet faced girl had warned him. Conscience\ntold him to decline and go on, but, like millions of others, he heeded\nthe invitation and stepped in. \"Come up and take something,\" the tempter\nsaid. \"No,\" he said, \"I never drink.\" \"Come on,\" urged the tempter. \"It\nwon't hurt you.\" \"NO,\" he said; \"it's beneath the dignity of a true\ngentleman and it would break my mother's heart.\" \"Ah, come on, don't be\na kid,\" he urged, and still the boy said no. After continued and\nrepeated solicitation he finally yielded and drank his first glass.\n\nAlas, the fatal mistake was made. Years of careful training were swept\naside. Hopeful aspirations of his mother when she looked on his innocent\nface in the cradle were all for naught. Solemn advice from a kind father\nwas lost sight of, and the deed was done. That first drink fired his\nbrain. Others were taken and his eyes shone, the house treated, and the\nonce quiet, manly lad was loud and boisterous. Self-respect was cast\naside and foul utterances flew fast and thick from a once clean mouth.\nThe end came. He reeled in drunkenness and fell to the floor in a\ngibbering drunken stupor. He was put to bed and when sober he felt the\nshame and remorse so keenly that he was at the point of self\ndestruction. He thought of his mother, his father, the dear little\nsweetheart, and his friends. He was so afraid they would all hear of his\nignominy that he kept secluded. He couldn't bear to face them, tell all\nand start anew.\n\nThe humiliation was more than he could stand and he slipped farther and\nfarther down the steep and rapid descent to hell. Back in his cheerful\nand once comfortable home a dear old mother sat waiting and watching\nyear after year the lamp was kept burning. A kind old father sat with\nbowed head thinking and thinking. A dear little girl was weeping and\nweeping, and still he didn't come. Where, O where was he and why didn't\nhe come? Alas! how sad as he sank lower and lower. Drunken brawls were\ncommon, nights spent in revelry very often; the dissipation was telling,\nhis once clean countenance was haggard. His step was languid, lethargy\nwas settling upon him, and his whole being was repulsive. His character\nwas no longer clean and a thing of beauty. Brothels caught him and God's\npenalties were discernible for the violation of his laws. Decent men\nshunned him and pure women scorned him, but still the light was kept\nburning. The mother watched, the father waited, the sweetheart prayed,\nand the friends yearned; but down, down, down he went. Even dogs hurried\nby him, the filth and disease was nauseating.\n\nThe years sped quickly and there he is clear down at the bottom, an\nobject of disgust and scorn. Behold him, beneath the mass of stale and\nputrid slime, a castoff, friendless and penniless vagabond. Beneath the\nmost loathsome and foul degeneracy conceivable; even beneath the filthy\nsewer. He lay on a bundle of rags in a drunkard's hut. As he moaned and\ngroaned, an old friend passing by heard him, stepped in and stood\nlooking at him. With tears streaming down his cheeks the boy looked up\nand said, \"my life is ebbing, I am at the border line, my career is\nwasted; I am a drunken, despised and worthless sot, friendless and\nalone. I can see nothing ahead but the blackest despair. Oh my poor old\nmother, my poor old father, my dear little sweetheart, My Sav--oh--oh.\"\nAnother spell grasped him and as he tossed and shrieked and moaned,\ngrappling with the demon, writhing in mental anguish, terror clouded his\ncountenance, his eyes rolled, his limbs jerked, the mouth dropped open,\nthe tongue protruded, he clutched until the blood trickled from the torn\nflesh, a loud, gurgling, terrifying scream, and he was dead. Died with\nthe delirium tremens caused by the rum demon. As the old friend wiped\naway the tears and stood looking at his pitiful form he noticed in one\nof his torn and ragged pockets a slip of paper. He pulled it out and\nread:\n\n                      Listen, friend, today,\n                      To what I have to say,\n                      Don't let temptation sway\n                      And miss the narrow way.\n\n                      When you are young and gay\n                      And anxious for the fray\n                      Be ready to say \"Nay\"\n                      And tread the narrow way.\n\n                      The debt I have to pay\n                      As here near death I lay\n                      Wouldn't hold so much dismay\n                      Had I trod the narrow way.\n\n                      Oh tread the narrow way\n                      And never miss a day\n                      Ask Jesus how to pray\n                      And tread the narrow way.\n\nHow can America, the foremost nation of the world, that has long boasted\nof liberty and advancement, allow the liquor traffic to continue when\nthe condition it causes are so critical. It is stealing away her brains,\nincreasing her crime, lowering her moral standing, demoralizing her\ncitizenship, and giving to posterity a weaker race and causing such\npoverty, misery and unhumanitarian distress. Can this enlightened nation\nafford its continuance and let it remain when it has a grasp so powerful\nthat it is endangering its very vitals? Can America, with her\nunsurpassed institutions of learning, her brilliant and scholarly\nstatesmen, her great mineral and agricultural wealth yet unfound and\ndeveloped, allow a traffic so alarmingly demoralizing as to let her\nconstitutional principles decline? Can she sit still, under her broad\nand world famed methods of progress, and allow such a traffic, that\ndevastates from every source, for a revenue wrung from women's tears,\nthat is so rapidly depreciating her citizenship. Is she prudent? Is she\napplying the Christian principles of her constitution to obtain revenue\nfrom a traffic so nefarious and debauching? If she realizes the danger\nahead why delay an amendment that enhances citizenship and principle.\n\n                America, 'tis thee I prize,\n                'Twas underneath thy azure skies,\n                Where heaven's light first met my eyes.\n\n                I love thy thrift and enterprise,\n                To me beloved and so wise\n                Thy name is one I idolize.\n\n                Thy blood did purchase liberty,\n                To make this land so great and free,\n                And quench forever tyranny.\n\n                Oh may thy name forever be\n                Embraced within a righteous plea,\n                That lessens pain and misery.\n\n                It is for thee that I will fight,\n                When'er thy cause is for the right,\n                For none but these e'er use thy might.\n\n                I'll heed your call with keen delight,\n                But should I fall before the night,\n                Let freedom's flag be my last sight.\n\n\n\n\nEVERY DAY PHILOSOPHY.\n\n\nLook out for the man whose face shows it pains him to say \"Good\nMorning.\"\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nNever be afraid to trust the man whose dog meets him with a bound.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe mad rush to join the appendicitis club and sing in the choir\ninvisible has lost its popularity, both for the good of posterity and\nthe pocket book.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome people take a great deal of liberty with the English language, when\nthey speak of work.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nStick to the boys who borrow a five occasionally and pay it back; rather\nthan the fellows who love you like a fly does molasses when your roll\nwould choke a lazy mule.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt's cheaper to buy your coal from your regular dealer and take short\nweight, than to steal it from the railroad and pay court costs.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt's an ice cold fact that the fellow who is continually condemning\nothers' faults and pointing with pride to his own great meritable\nachievements, is not entitled to a premium for sincerity.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt's often the sour, surly looking man that goes down in his pocket and\ngives you his last quarter, when hunger is beating a fast tattoo against\nyour breastworks.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nBecause a man joins the church and becomes a pious and strict respecter\nof Sunday observance, don't cast all caution aside and let him sell you\ngold mine stock on Monday, unless you know something about the mine.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome men tell you the wonderful things they have done from the corner\nstore dry goods box and then let their wives earn the living over the\nwash tub.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nMany a man has nearly grasped St. Peter's hand, when his wife's razor\nedged tongue drove him clean down to perdition.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe fellow who is always harping hypocrite and hurling cheap invectives\nagainst the church isn't the man to arouse confidence, the only one he\nhelps is the devil.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nTake away profanity from some men's conversation and you haven't enough\nleft to know what they said.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen a man buys an Auto or a Ford on credit and lets the whiskers grow\non his coal bill they say he's got the fever. I don't think it could be\nthe brain kind.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf money and whiskey would lose their influence in the courts, juries\nand legislatures would go to sleep and jail doors rust on their hinges.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhen the Lord turns his X rays upon the people, the churches will fill\nso rapidly that Easter bonnets and dress suits can be picked up\nanywhere.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nI know a wealthy man by the name of Moore who never was satisfied.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nObituaries are not a safe guide to the real truth.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nRecollections become dim on the witness stand.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt's better to faint in the arms of truth and die in poverty than to lie\nfor the lap of luxury and die disgraced.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nA drunken man's breath is preferable to the wagging tongue of a gossip.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nAny man could live with a woman who has the patience to bathe in a wash\ntub twenty-one inches in diameter for seventeen years without\ncomplaining.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nMarry in haste and repent in alimony.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIt's a sad fact that many a man has missed his calling and there is\nelegant material for day laborers among the professions and vice versa.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf it wasn't for $$$ a great many people would be wearing the stripes.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome men are so economical they go without socks to buy whiskey.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf some women were better cooks there would be less dyspepsia and fewer\ndivorces.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf too many cooks spoil the broth, could too many church denominations\nspoil the man?\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe longer you use the Christ-like religion the better you like it and\nthe better it makes you.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe man who makes careless remarks about women does not possess the fine\nattributes of a gentleman.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf religion cost money, how some church members with bible names would\ngrab for their purses when the lights go out.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nReligion and sympathy cost nothing, but you'd think they were diamonds\nthe way some people use them.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe first marriage is for love, the second for convenience, and the\nthird a cold business proposition. Don't try for a four-bagger.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe cleanliness of the tea towel is a safe criterion to a good\nhouse-keeper.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe great jewel \"Consistency\" cannot be bought with money.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome people are so hard hearted, onions would have no effect at a\nfuneral.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf you don't like the taste of life's medicine, be your own doctor and\nchange the ingredients.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf some weak-kneed marshals and sheriffs would do their duty, there\nwould be less bootleggers.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nSome women join the ladies' aid and use the lemon extravagantly.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nMany a woman can hardly keep from yelling \"Hallelujah\" when her husband\ndies.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf some mothers don't spend more time with their children and less with\npolitics this country will be over-run with pick-pockets.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf all mis-mated marriages were suddenly annulled, it wouldn't take an\nexpert mathematician to count those left in wedlock.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nIf it wasn't for their money, thousands of women would leave their\nhusbands.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhiskey has killed more men than all the surgeons.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nLay the rod on the child before he gets too strong.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nBetter be a lady waiting than marry a sot.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nHonesty stops millions from becoming millionaires.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nWomen born in Alaska seldom get married; too long in cold storage.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe undertaker's sympathy never interferes with his profits; he gets the\nlast crack at you and you can't kick.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nMany a woman, who never had an extra pair of hosiery at home, loses\nsight of economy, after her marriage, and plunges into extravagance so\nheedlessly that her husband gives up in discouragement.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nLive within your means, but don't borrow money to do it.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nSpend your money when you are young, if you want to spend your old age\nin the poor house.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nPut a strong proviso in your deed before you turn it over to your\nchildren, if you expect to buy your own tobacco.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe boy who criticizes his father's depleted finances on account of\nhardships and honest failures, should be bodily removed into the open\nair with the same amount of clothes he had when he was born and let the\nthermometer show forty degrees below zero.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nA court or jury that will convict a man for stealing a ten cent soup\nbone and acquit the man who made thousands by going into bankruptcy\nought to have a steady stream of hot tar running down their aesophagus.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nMany a rock-ribbed democrat votes for a Republican, if there is\nsomething in it.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe tramp, with his back against the water tank, studies as hard on his\nside of the problem of existence as does the fellow with greater\nresources, who is up against it.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe man who can fulfill the bible by taking the slap on both sides of\nthe cheek is seven parts lamb and one part Irish.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe difference between a cackling hen and a cackling woman is, one\ncackles when she lays and the other cackles all the time she don't lay.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nTrust in God but look out for everybody else.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe man that totes a whiskey blossom on the end of his flue carries a\ncheap add for the devil.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nDon't worry over the sport that can smoke twenty cigarettes a day.\n\n                   *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe girl that marries the man to reform him has a SAD lesson to learn.\n\nA good excuse saves lots of lying.\n\n\n\n\nGLIMPSES FROM THE PAST.\n\n\nI most humbly beg your pardon for inserting here a short address to a\nRepublican Convention when I was aspiring to the office of County Clerk\nfor the second term. The chairman having instructed the secretary of the\nconvention to cast the entire vote of the delegation for myself, I\naddressed the convention as follows:\n\nMr. Chairman and gentlemen of the Convention: Accept my profound thanks\nfor the splendid manifestation of honor that you have conferred upon an\nhumble individual like myself. I wish to impress upon you the political\nprinciples I outlined to you briefly two years ago, are the same today\nas they were then. I would rather be defeated honorably, squarely and\nhonestly than to be successful with a tarnished character obtained\nthrough disreputable methods. I realize, as do all intelligent reasoners\nwithholding myself to be the humblest among you, that character is\nsomething that is not acquired while we sleep. It is a constant every\nday struggle, a life-long battle. Take away our character and what have\nwe left.\n\nI desire to say to you gentlemen that during my lifetime I have been\nintimately acquainted with labor in its most aggressive form. I know\nwhat it is to stand between two shining bands of steel under a scorching\nJuly sun. I know what it is to stack hay under a sultry and oppressive\nheat. I know the loneliness and privations that comes to one who has\ntended stock in the heart of the Rocky Mountains. I fully realize that\nthese different pursuits require grit and determination, they are the\nhardest kind of labors, but I can say to you in all candor that I have\nnever worked harder in my life than in the past two years endeavoring to\nserve the citizens of this county in the capacity of clerk.\n\nIf I have been competent, if I have been faithful, if I have done my\nduty, that is not for me to decide. You are the judges of these\nconditions, if you think I have, then I ask for your support and\ninfluence. You are a body of men from all parts of this county; if each\none of you will work for the best interests of the party I see no reason\nwhy we should not be successful at the polls. The campaign this year is\nshort; I wish to say for myself that I will not be able to get around\nmuch. The duties of my office for the past six weeks have been very\nstrenuous and will continue so to be for some time to come. The state\nboard of equalization were late in sending their report and not only\nbeing late, but were unkind, and raised the valuation on several of our\ntaxable properties and this makes extra work for the clerk, so I trust\nyou will be like the turkey in the tall tree and keep one eye open for\nthe boy from Lodge Pole.\n\nThere has happened in my short career as an American citizen a good many\nthings that I have felt elated over and proud of. I am proud that I am\nan American citizen, born under the stars and stripes and belong to a\nnation second to none. I am proud I was born in a state whose brow is\nbathed by the mighty Missouri and upon whose bosom flourishes the most\nproductive crop of the union. But if there is one thing that I am\nprouder of more than any other, it is the fact that I belong to a party\nwhose motto is principle and good government, and whose loftiest aim has\nalways been to make America the ideal nation of the world. I thank you.\n\nI will here relate an incident that happened when I first encountered\nexperience in her knee breeches, I have termed it a fighting, explosive\nnauseating cough remedy. I would prefer calling it an egg nogg; but\nthere is one extra ingredient that disfranchises the egg and in a\npeculiar way leaves the nogg there in a somewhat embarrassing condition.\n\nWhen I was a youth, I had some peculiar traits in my makeup. My main\ninstruction was received from that old professor, experience, and day by\nday I gained some valuable knowledge in the school of hard knocks. Being\nof a peculiar turn of mind I had implicit truth and confidence in all\nmankind, and on account of this trait I have often met with misplaced\nconfidence.\n\n\nFor instance, the \"Bonuses\" and \"Good Wills\" heretofore related. I had\ncontracted a bad cold of tenacious irritability down near the little\nhamlet of Paxton, Nebraska, while performing the menial labor of an\nevery day workman on the renowned line of the Union Pacific. The work\nbeing accomplished was known as bucking steel. Through climatic\nconditions of contraction and expansion the rails on one side had gained\nfrom nine to twelve feet over the rails in the other side. The side that\nwas ahead was being pulled back to the point opposite the other by a\nlocomotive attached to a large cable. Some said this strategic work\nswelled the premium of the water soaked stock; but this contention is\nleft to philosophers and those who study economic problems, as to\nwhether or not the corporation was ahead rails at Omaha or short at\nOgden.\n\nThe days were exceedingly warm, it being in the autumn of the year. I\nlost more perspiration than was due me and along toward evening, when\nold sol was getting ready to retire and also largely due to a scant\nwardrobe, a chilliness would steal over my spare physique. The ride home\nfrom the work in the evening, on flat cars, at a hurried speed, caused\nthe night air to condense in the locality of the throat. Nature not\ndoing her part, I tried to assist her in removing the obstruction and,\nas soon as the speed of the train would allow, I shot from the car in a\nmad race for the boarding house. Being sure footed and fleet, I was\ngenerally first at the wash basin, erasing from my countenance\nNebraska's productive soil and leaving what the water didn't loosen on\nthe old fashioned long rolling boarding house towel. These repeated\nconditions day after day commenced to tell and the slight cold became a\nhacking cough that embraced more forcibly than a Dutch lassie reared on\neastern corn.\n\nAfter the work was completed, the men were returned to the various\nlocalities. Upon arriving safely at my destination, I went to the home\nphysician. \"Doc\" when not incarcerated in the county bastile for\ndispensing a compound familiarly known as whiskey but better known to\nhome residents as hades corked up in a bottle, prescribed, from his oft\nwater stock. (I pause for a scalding sensation felt on my cheeks.) Poor\nOld \"Doc\" is sleeping beneath the sod.\n\nConstant concoctions bringing no relief, I was at last listening to a\nwell meant prescription from my co-laborer Dick. He said his remedy\nwould give unwavering satisfaction to ailments like mine. I don't think\nhis remedy would stand the pure food law test; but when you get to\nclutching you'll clutch anything. So I listened to the unlearned\npharmacist and keenly assented and he started to compound two well known\ningredients in equal parts. One ingredient was controlled by that\nmagnetic dollar chaser, John D., and the other was controlled by nobody,\nit did the controling, i. e., oil and whiskey. I'd cover up this last\ningredient and give it a better concealed classical standing but\nignorance is bliss and there you are. This carefully prepared drink, my\nfriend said, should be taken five minutes before breakfast. So according\nto directions I hoisted the tin cup and down went the fluids. Just\nenough oil in it to make it slip quick, and you had it before you really\nknew it.\n\nIt is now twenty-three years since I swallowed that conglomeration and I\ncan't hardly pass a home one-gallon kerosene can full or empty without a\nkeen desire to kick the bottom out of it, but you have to be careful\nwith other people's property, whether it's mortgaged or not. No matter\nhow keen or fertile your imagination may be you can't realize a dose of\nthis character unless you taste it. Take the minutest equal parts of\neach, mix them, drink them and be convinced. Was I sick? Of all the\ngreat guns of all our wars, Civil or uncivil, I will take my oath before\nany judge of common jurisdiction, sitting as a court of record and say I\nWAS.\n\nThe only recollection I have of the breakfast menu was the two hard\nboiled eggs and a faint remembrance, as I was leaving the table, of a\nfruit picture on the wall tipping up and down. That was the first time I\never saw anything inanimate acting so. Mercy, the taste of that oil and\nthe remembrance of it, mixing in a place the size of your fist! Think of\nthat rip-roaring, sizzling tobacco flavored, ingredient, trying to slip\none over on that kerosene and knock out those two hard-boiled, well\nmatured, boarding-house eggs. I say in all candor, I don't blame John D.\nfor watering the oil. Water it more, John, it will be milder to take. I\nwent through the oil belt in Indiana, Texas, Oklahoma, and all the rest,\nI visited all the stills, illicit, and otherwise of Kentucky, Tennessee,\nand Colorado; and as soon as brother Pat could get me to my room and my\nhead out of the window I hoisted the hottest fluids and food stuffs ever\ncontained in the stomach of man or beast. I have always felt sorry for\nthose eggs on account of their age.\n\nI must take a short glimpse here of a peculiar incident that transpired\nunder my roof between two men of the cloth. One was a M. E. minister and\nthe other a seven day advent. The advent had been staying in town for\nseveral weeks and I became fairly well acquainted with him and his\nestimable wife, and he asked me if they might have a few meetings at our\nhome in the evenings, and I said certainly and he came. Both he and his\nwife were scholars, well cultured and refined and we enjoyed listening\nto their version of the scriptures. How the M. E. minister came to be\nthere one evening is still a mystery to me, but I think some one of his\nparishioners must have told him that Satan had entered our home and he\nhad better intervene and see if he couldn't extricate us from the wary\ngentleman's clutches.\n\nThe evening entertainment was progressing nicely and the advent man was\nin charge of the machinery, when suddenly the M. E. man took issue with\nhim over his version of one of the scriptural passages and quick wit and\nrepartee was fast and furious. The advent was the superior in scriptural\nknowledge and the way he got the other fellow in the meshes and so\ncompletely tangled him up is an event that can never be erased from my\nmemory. The M. E. man was nonplussed, red of face and angry; and so\nungentlemanly as to let all the fireworks in his dignified Sunday nature\nexplode and told the cool, calm advent that teachings of his kind should\nbe in hell. You may lay this excitement to anger, being worsted, or\nanything you like, but I think the gentleman he came to remove from our\nhome entered him one hundred per cent strong. Why he was on his feet\nwith his Methodist fists clenched, ready to fight, and if it hadn't been\nfor the soothing, pacifying utterances of his good wife saying, \"John,\"\n\"John,\" I don't know what would have happened. The other fellow laughed\nat him and I really think if the worst had occurred he would have given\nthe angry man a fuller meaning of the Bible and turned the other cheek.\n\nI think if an Advent says Saturday is the Lord's day and should be\nobserved on the Sabbath, the Methodist says Sunday is the day, and some\nother denomination says Friday is the day, I'm willing to be convinced.\nIt beats having the Fourth of July come on Saturday, and if I had enough\nmoney so I needn't work I'd say let seven different denominations have\nseven different days, and no matter which home I observed I wouldn't be\nleft out shivering in an undershirt. Something peculiar about church\ndenominations, all of them headed for the same place, but each one\nanxious to route you. One tells you they have the old travelled road,\nfounded on the Bible, another a different way, founded on the Bible, and\nothers another different way, also founded on the Bible. I conclude the\nbest and surest way is to be a Christian and read the Bible, live it and\nlet God show the way. Sunday churches or Saturday churches carry no\nguarantee that you'll reach Heaven.\n\nBefore I invested in \"Good-wills\" and \"Bonuses\" and other losing\ninvestments, I would occasionally take my family for a little trip on\nthe Los Angeles limited and rub against the aristocracy and the\ndiamonds. Years before when I was a day laborer on the same road over\nwhich this elegant train glides, I thought to travel on such a goddess\nof beauty was a luxury only for wealth and culture, and a pleasure\nunequaled, but hope beats eternal in the human breast and as I had lived\nlargely on hope for over thirty years, I finally said hope can go to\nblazes, the opportunity is here and why not embrace it.\n\nWell, it is certainly a big taste of wealth and affluence to settle in\ncushions a foot deep with all the wrinkles eradicated for once in a\nlifetime by a well filled stomach of the choicest viands in the culinary\nart. And oh the lofty thoughts as you settle down in the deep upholstery\nand listen to the clicking of the rails as you speed away on this\noverland beauty. There is a peculiar feeling under your vest as you\nnotice the well groomed man, the well groomed woman, the sparkle of the\nelectric lights and the glitter of the diamonds. Elegance everywhere.\nThe very height of ingenuity. Then when you enter the dining car with\nits rosewood finish, tastily decorated tables, superb linen, and cast\nyour eye over the choice menu and have the black gentry all attention\nand ready to care for your smallest want, you may feel as I did, pretty\nclassy company for a boy from Lodge Pole. Of course there are snubs here\nand there, you find them everywhere. They are in a class that is well\nknown for nineteen hundred years. They took the leading part in the\ncrucifixion of the Nazarene. We can't exist without having them, and if\nyou will notice in any walk of life, there is a pain for nearly every\npleasure, with corns and bunions thrown in.\n\nAs a hunter I never received any distinction and am forced to admit as\nsuch I am an entire nonentity and failure. My father owned a rifle which\nwas the only one of its kind in our community for years and years. Its\nearly history I am unfamiliar with and never learned it. It was in his\npossession when I was born and I suppose it was the gun he carried on\nthe hand car for protection when the Indians were numerous in the latter\nsixties. At some time it received a broken stock and ever after its\nbeing repaired it was known as old splice. For many years when the old\nyear died and the new year was born, old splice spoke forth at its birth\nand its missile of death generally lodged in the tail of the railroad\nwind mill.\n\nOld splice was the type of one hundred years ago, when people weren't\nkilled as quickly as today, the loading was slow and gave one chance to\nescape; I remember brother Pat used it to shoot a dog that he had tied\nup with a rope. He took steady aim, pulled the old fashioned hammer and\nfired. When the smoke cleared away the dog was running with the fullest\ncapacity of its limbs. The ball had cut the rope.\n\nI never shot old splice but once and I'll always remember the incident.\nA chicken hawk had been tormenting the poultry for a long time and I got\nbold and reckless one day, grabbed old splice (some one had been kind\nenough to leave it loaded) and sallied forth bent on destruction. The\nhawk was soaring high in the air but didn't seem to want to descend any.\nOld splice was supposed to carry half a mile and as I knew this was not\nthe distance from the gun to the hawk, I concluded to test out old\nsplice and see if the prowess of the old fellow had been exaggerated. I\nhad heard some one say you must get down on one knee, as an attitude of\nrespect, I presume, and hold the stock solidly and lovingly against the\nshoulder. I did both of these things and fired. I felt my head strike\nthe ground so amazingly quick and hard that it confused and startled me.\nI knew I was committing no crime and couldn't account for such harsh\ntreatment. At first I thought the bird might have struck me in the face\nand, it coming from such a height, would cause a terrible compact when\none body met another, but I abandoned this idea, as no hawk was anywhere\nabove or below. Then I thought I might have torn some planet loose, but\nthis was an asylum idea also. Then I thought some one may have overfed\nold splice and made him bilious. I afterwards learned this was true. The\nmiscreant still lives.\n\n\n\n\nHOPES THAT EXPLODED.\n\n\nIf it wasn't for the word hope this would be a dreary world for the\nfellow who plans and builds in the future. It rises and falls in every\nhuman breast. Some have an over abundance, and others lack in not having\nenough. It arouses buoyancy and encouragement to see one who reaches\ntoward hope and almost succeeds but doesn't get quite a firm enough grip\nto fasten the goal securely before he has to let go; but no matter how\nhard the fall, or how often, he's up and trying again. Discouragement or\ncomplete failure never causes a faltering step or gets time to fester\nwith despondency before keener activity revives the energy and the\nshattered hope is rehabilitated and again swells the breast so full\nthere is nothing to do but try again. Bless the hopeful man or woman.\nSome can't stand the fall, they go down clear to the bottom. Defeat and\ndespondency chain them fast.\n\nIn the year 1896 when Bryan was preparing his famous oration \"The Crown\nof Gold\" that was so ably delivered and well received and which was the\nleading factor in opening up the road for him to the White House, I\ncommenced scheming and planning on patentable ideas. Nineteen years of\nhard thinking has brought no visible financial returns and so far the\npatent attorney is the only one who has received toll. I never entered\nthe field thinking I had any latent ingenuity like Edison, Westinghouse,\nFord and many others; but I had hopes, as long as I could pay the\nattorney and the filing fee of the patent office.\n\nMy first application for a patent was an adjustable track wrench that\nmet complete failure after a year's pendency. I thought I had a good,\npractical, economical, and convenient wrench, but after the said period\nof time elapsed my attorney informed me it was rejected by the chief\nexaminer on account of prior similar claims already patented. Of course\nyou must not get confused and wonder why he didn't tell me this before I\nfiled the application. If he had the self-explanatory portion of the\nscheme loses its self respect and puts the attorney in a bad financial\nlight, which I would dislike to do. However, the discouraging news was\nso cool and saddening at this first attempt that it froze my ingenuity a\ndecade and a quarter, and then hope rose again and I called once more on\nthe dormant faculty and changed attorneys.\n\nAfter due diligence had persevered and I had stood the condemnation of\nmy wife, who said I was getting absent-minded and hard of hearing, I\nsent in my application duly witnessed and sworn to, along with the\nnecessary stipend that makes the wheels buzz in the attorney's head and\nswells that seven millions of profit accrued in the patent office from a\ngood many fellows like myself. Nice to help swell this big profit for\nsome day when this accumulation becomes large enough our wise custodians\nof this fund may transfer it like ordinary Town Council men do when one\nfund gets too far ahead and pay off the national debt. My second\napplication was an improved index and a device of meritable convenience\nover present ones, so I thought. It has been pending two years after\nfailing ten times before the chief examiner, who doesn't seem to have\nthe courtesy to allow it.\n\nWhile the invention was safe and secure in the government vault, I was\nrash enough to go into another irrational period and get out a computing\ndevice for the busy coal man to aid him in rapid accurate calculations\nand do away with the old time method of having coal swell so sixteen\nhundred pounds was a ton; not really a long ton but a short ton. This\nwonderful invention hatched in the brain of an ordinary man, lingered in\nWashington one year and a half, and was then rejected. I wouldn't care\nfor having it rejected, but I'd like to have the rejectors use a milder\nword, one that doesn't rankle so much and stir up the mean things in\nyou.\n\nWell, here are two great inventions for the betterment of the race\ndenied, and from the way the attorney wrote in his last tribute of love\nto me, the third is hanging over the precipice and is ready to fall\namong its ancestors.\n\nI had hopes when I invested in the last two ideas, my total\nexpenditures, including postage on a voluminous amount of\ncorrespondence, was $141.28, and this is how I disbursed the interest on\nthat amount:--I calculated conservatively that the two inventions would\nnet me $50,000. Here she goes! To my father-in-law, for giving away his\ndaughter to me, for which I have never paid, $1,000.00; to two\nsisters-in-law that favored my suit, $1,000.00 each; to a brother-in-law\nthat did the square thing by me, $1,000.00; to my oldest brother, who\ncontinually hammered me when I was young and smaller than he, $1,000.00;\nto a younger brother, whom I could hammer, $1,000.00; to my four\nsisters, $1,000.00 each. Ten thousand of the iron men at work. The next\n$20,000 I put at interest in Colorado, where it is easy to get a ten per\ncent rate. This would bring me in $2,000.00 a year to live on, and by\nbeing frugal I might be able to smoke a five cent cigar occasionally and\nlet the corn cob pipe have a chance to dry up some of its nicotine. The\nnext $10,000 went to old people who have nearly reached the summit of\ntheir lives, but on account of the feebleness of their limbs, poor\neyesight and a meagre pocketbook, the final ascent overtaxes their small\nreserve of strength and with want and sacrifice being in the majority\nthey can't quite make it. To these aged and needy people I would give\n$500.00 cash. This amount would render their last days comfortable, free\nfrom worry and care. That helps twenty old couples, forty people that\nare worthy and needy. The remaining $10,000 goes from my pocket in ready\ncash to people met every day, people whose countenances have rigidly\nprinted thereon a silent appeal for sympathy and help. A meal to the man\nsuffering from the pangs of hunger; $50.00 to a woman making her living\nover a washboard and fighting a losing fight against poverty to rear her\nbrood; $100.00 for a present and a Christmas tree to poor little\nchildren who never have the pleasure of unwrapping a doll or any kind of\na toy; $5.00 to a laboring man looking for work; $10.00 on a\nsubscription list to help a poor widow bury her boy; $25.00 to the man\nin the pulpit preaching straight from the shoulder; $10.00 for a\nrailroad ticket to take a girl home who expected work in the city but\ndidn't find it. And so goes the remaining $10,000, here a little and\nthere a little. I think I could gladden more hearts with this last\n$10,000 than the great man who spent millions in libraries and free\nreading rooms throughout the country. With all due respect to him, the\nman in overalls and the girl who must work are the ones who need\nliterature the worst, but the struggle for existence is so keen they\nhaven't time to read books and they feel humiliated and unwelcome in\ntheir everyday garb mingling with the better dressed people. The\nwell-groomed man and woman of today, in a large sense, doesn't apply any\ntoo closely the ethics of the Galilean and would rather not mingle with\nthe less fortunate people, so the conclusive thesis is there is no\ncongeniality between the two and the primary object of helping the\nfellow who needed it most is a failure. But alas, the $50,000 is still\nbehind the capitalist and must wait for hope to rise again.\n\nNot feeling satisfied but that there was plenty of loose coin waiting to\nflow to me, I took up the pleasant but unprofitable part avocation of\ncomposing songs. I had a Washington music firm write the music,\ncopyright the songs in my name, do the advertising, and remit one-half\nthe proceeds to me semi-annually January 31st and July 31st. I was very\ncareful to set out specifically the remitting part in our contract. Each\nsong had its own peculiarity and sentiment to touch the public pulse,\nwhich so far has been untouchable. The first song, \"A Tear Drop Always\nGlistened in His Eye,\" was to fasten itself on the hearts of the people\nlike \"Annie Laurie.\" \"When the Silver Moon Light Sparkles on the Lake\"\nmade its bow to the public; I hoped lovers with emotion would go wild\nover it and would know a good thing when they heard it. If they had such\na feeling the emoluments failed to show it. The third song, \"Anna, My\nAnna,\" was short and jerky for the happy-go-lucky class of people that\nfell so in love with \"Casey Jones.\" But it seems this class wouldn't\nrespond either, and leaves me with the entire stock on hand with an\nexpenditure of $90.00 trying to get the people to sing. I find them more\nunresponsive than the preacher when he says let everybody sing, and a\nfew who gave their best years in the Lord's service lift up their\ncracked voices in earnest endeavor to lead the sheep, and the sheep,\nlambs and all go astray. My share of the profits has been ten one cent\npostage stamps, just the ordinary kind, the common kind you can get from\nevery postoffice in the country. And the trio which failed to receive\npublic recognition I laid away where moths and rust doth not decrease\ntheir earning power and neither do thieves molest them. Three more hopes\ndecently but sadly buried.\n\nThere is also intertwined and resting sweetly in slumberland 175 shares\nof Cracker Engle Gold Mine Stock at twenty cents per share and twelve\nyears accrued interest. I had the customary notice before I bought that\nthe stock would advance rapidly in price and if I invested without\nhesitation and without investigation I would have the benefit of the\nfirst and early advance. I hearkened to the alluring honey literature\nand sent a U. S. money order, something whose face value couldn't be\nquestioned. I wanted to be absolutely sure I'd get the stock. I got it\nall right. I have such faith in that stock that I can go anywhere and\nleave it behind unlocked doors and it never strays away.\n\nA home boy succeeded in getting a patent on an improved table. He\nincorporated under the laws where Wilson was governor and then invited\ncapital for manufacturing purposes. He styled his invention \"The Great\nWestern Improvement Company\" and sold seventeen shares at the flat sum\nof $5.00. I learned a little from the crack at the Cracker Eagle and did\nnot fly so high and only took the $5.00 worth. It's comical now, to me,\nhow the inventor and promoter explained how his table was superior to\nthe common ordinary everyday table that's been in use so long. It had a\nhollow holding receptacle in the center and he said after the meal had\nbeen stowed away and nothing was left but the dishes and flies, the\nhousewife could, if she felt so disposed, elevate a handle and the\nsoiled dishes would disappear and the table would have an inviting\nappearance. He said it was especially fine when conversation had been\nbrisk and company or peddlers were seen coming; all that was necessary\nwas the quick jerk of the ever-ready handle and down out of sight went\nthe dishes, flies, napkins, and everything untidy and untasty. I was\nlooking for votes when this investment was made and while the votes may\nnot have had an equal value I let it go at that and put away the stock\nfor my grandchildren. Another share of stock in the Campbells' Farming\nAssociation at a cost of $5.00 brings my get rich quick investments to a\nfinis. The only other stock I ever had was bank stock. I invested\n$1,500.00 in a State Bank in Nebraska. I didn't lose on this deal but\nthe money would have paid better on a straight five per cent rate.\n\nNothing would have done me more good and brought a keener satisfaction\nthan to have had a nice remuneration from some investment that I have\nmade. My wife called me what the bible says she shouldn't so many times\nthat it seems to look like I am really a bigger one than she said I was,\nand if I could have changed her mind by laying before her eyes a nice\nportly check for $5,000.00 or $10,000.00 it would have been such an\nagreeable surprise not only to her but to myself that we both would have\nenjoyed it, and especially myself if I could have pulled it over. But if\nhope don't come again I will have to let that excellent pleasure be like\nMathewson's speedy one and fade away.\n\nA lad of the average type at twenty-one has a great deal of stored up\nenergy; he has the muscle bank and the brain bank from which to get his\nnecessary resources, and a great many lads think Dad is a back number\nand he sees where the old gentleman was short on gray matter, and all\nadvice is lost on this sort of boys. I was never conceited this way, in\nfact I think somebody else got nearly all the gall that should have been\nmine. If a fellow holds his own in these days, no matter what party is\nin power, Democratic or Republican, you need your full allowance of\ngall. The lad that thinks that the governor's gray matter is not as\nprofuse as it should be, but he, through some unknown force, grabbed all\nthat was coming to him and part of dad's might read the following verse\nand the conclusive portion of this chapter and apply it from a stand\npoint of ordinary horse sense:\n\n                When Johnnie Jones was twenty-one\n                He said my farming life is done,\n                I'll pack my duds and say Good Bye\n                And to the city I will hie.\n                I'll show the ones who think they're it\n                That Johnnie Jones has got the grit\n                To make a name that will be felt\n                Like Astor, Gould or Roosevelt.\n\nIt makes the pain come home when you look back from fifty and realize\nthat a man at twenty-one is a darn big fool, at thirty still a fool, at\nthirty-five a little foolish, and at forty he still has some, at\nforty-five wisdom breaks in gently, and at fifty he stands on the\nthreshold of learning ready to apply and absorb, and at sixty he's a\nvaluable asset to his community and country.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WEARY TRAVELER.\n\n\nSomething has been gained and our life has not been futile if we can say\nwe owe no man and there is no obligation through which we have passed,\nfinancial or otherwise, of which we are ashamed. We may not have\nacquired honor, wealth or position but if we have lived up to the\nteachings of the plumb and the square, we have a record that will stand\nthe closest investigation when we knock for entrance at the pearly\ngates. If we can stand with our whole soul bared before our maker and he\nsees that chastity and the sweet purity of any girl or woman has never\nbeen trespassed upon we have acquired something that brings smiles to\nangels' faces. If we have stood firm when temptations surged and tossed\nand clamored and we met them and conquered, we have through our moral\nforce a better right to the precious gems of God's kingdom than those\nsaved in the eleventh hour. If we have never repeated unwholesome\nstories or spoken slightingly of another's character or said\ndisrespectfully something that we knew untrue, then we have lived well.\nEach day's battles must be fought alone and leave tomorrow's till they\ncome. Never tear down character, it is the choicest gift in the universe\nand constitutes life's work. Remember a pure woman or a pure man is the\nnoblest work of God. Don't let your footsteps slip from the path of\nvirtue but plant them firm and deep in the path of righteousness. Keep\naway from people whose thoughts are degrading, and never harbor foul and\nindecent language. Make it your most earnest desire to avoid using\nprofanity and vile utterances, an immoral epithet has a clinging effect\nwhich takes years to erase, and those that emulate and make us better\ntakes determination and purity.\n\nI am now approaching the half-century mark. I can look ahead a few years\nand see the fiftieth mile post. In all the years that have past and gone\nI can recall none where my conditions and prospects are so alarming,\nserious and discouraging as at the present time. I have a peculiar\nailment in my left side that has baffled the medical fraternity and\ncaused extreme anxiety to myself. I have endeavored with courage and\ndetermination to exterminate it. I have tried assiduously physical\nculture, osteopathy, dietics, Christian science and medicine. I have\nconsulted freely and often the great physician and all so far have\nfailed. With treatment at Hot Springs thrown in as good measure. The\nsurgeons say an operation is the only hope through which they can\ndiscover the cause and eliminate it. I dread operations like I do \"Good\nWills\" and \"Bonuses.\" My wife had one and the doctor in charge said she\nwould be a well woman in three weeks, but those three weeks were worse\nthan that two weeks' loan. They stretched into six long, bitter years\nand were the direct cause of an outlay of money in excess of three\nthousand dollars. Glad again of the early use of that harrow, for there\nwas surely a gross violation of the truth on the part of the surgeon. On\naccount of dearie's precarious health I was forced to try a lower\naltitude, and this not being sufficient it was necessary to try the\nbalmy, sunny air of California and sojourn there among the orange\nblossoms and the singing birds for seven long months. This caused me to\ngive up my position of clerk that netted me in my four years' labor the\ntidy sum of ten thousand dollars.\n\nToday as I stand looking at that fiftieth mile post I realize in the\nvernacular of the day \"I am up against it.\" My money is gone, my ailment\nbothers me, I have a family to provide for, and the wolf stands on the\nthreshold with his mouth open and his long, gaunt body in readiness to\nmake the jump. In some way I must appease five empty stomachs from\nconsuming five back bones. My investments were bad. I tied up\nthirty-five hundred dollars in a partnership lumber business, fifteen\nhundred dollars in a home to shelter my loved ones, and the rest went\nfor food and clothing. I struck a highly modern town with all the\nup-to-date conveniences, property depreciated fifty per cent, business\nwas stagnant, interest kept gnawing, and taxes went skyward. The two sad\nmistakes I made was: first, to visit the office of the County Treasurer\nand learn about the taxes; and the second was to stay out of business\nunless we had enough money to pay for it and keep to the leeward of that\nten per cent interest, but I didn't and so much more for experience, the\ngrandma of teachers.\n\nI do not lack courage and determination but knowing and being able to\nsee that fiftieth mile post causes a shudder and slight touches of\ndespondency. I think my training is more than is alloted the average\nman. I have been a day laborer on the farm, railroad and hay field. I\nhave worked for a large number of task masters and I failed to remember\nwhen I was ever criticised for not keeping up my end. I have held a good\nmany positions of trust such as census enumerator, section foreman,\nextra gang foreman, county clerk, clerk of the district court,\nabstractor, town trustee, and member of the school board.\n\nThe first time I was a candidate for county clerk I ran on the\nRepublican ticket. I am not telling this in any spirit of the braggart\nbut as a sample of confidence. In my old home precinct I received one\nhundred and twenty votes out of one hundred and thirty-two, and in the\nprecinct where I worked as section foreman I received forty votes out of\nforty-eight, and this had always been a strong Democratic precinct. My\nopponent was a strong candidate and entirely familiar with political\ntactics, an old scholar in the school. But when the votes were counted I\nreceived the certificate of election and laid down the tamping bar and\ntook up the pen. I could have established a precedent and been elected\nagain but dearie's health would not permit and I declined to run.\n\nSome say the hand of fate guides our destinies and it was so to be, but\nI am at a loss to understand why it should so be. I have lived clean, I\nhave always met my obligations with the strictest honor, no marks of\ndissipation, inwardly or otherwise, have scarred my form and thank God\nhe nor any other can find any danger signals that can isolate me from a\nfree transport to the narrow path. I have been economical, conservative\nand kind and I think I have done my very best. I have treated every one\nwith the closest application that can be unravelled from the ten\ncommandments and the additional commandment established through Christ.\n\nAll through my married life I have been attentive to my wife and in any\nroom of our mortgaged home you can see many tokens of affection that she\nhas received. I have endeavored to lighten her domestic burden and\nalmost every Monday morning for the past twelve years I have been the\npropeller at the washing machine. Hundred of times I have arisen between\nthe hours of three and four and wended my way to the family kitchen and\nwaded in on the soiled linen. I never sneaked out the back way to avoid\nusing the tea towel on waiting dishes. I can use the broom, duster and\nmake the beds. I can scrub, polish the stove, cook the steak, and\nperform almost the entire category of domestic needs; but when it comes\nto baking I would rather face the cannon's mouth (a silent one like in\nthe city park in Denver) and die like a martyr. I have often acted as\nmaid. I recall once when I was a maid my wife was bed fast for three\nweeks. We lived in a strong church town, somewhere near eighty per cent,\nit seemed nearly all were Christians but during dearie's sickness there\nwas not a single Christian woman or suffragist came to see her, offered\nher services, or was in any way interested. I am sorry this happened in\nthis broad land of boasted Christianity and civilization. Some of these\nsame Christian ladies never failed to appear when the dues for foreign\nmissions were bordering on delinquency or when some rations were needed\nfor a church spread.\n\nI believe in doing good and giving cheer. You can always notice a gleam\nof pleasure in your wife's face when you give her a box of candy, a\ndress, a dish, or some little token, and how she clings to the missiles\nof love that you may have penned on scraps of paper, chunks of wood and\nother things. They always speak for something I think meritable. I think\nthe pathway of dearie can be made more cheerful if she is remembered\ndaily and not all in one chunk at Christmas time, and then let her wait\nfor another twelve months. I never feared I would kiss my wife too much.\nI kiss her more now than when I courted her and they are just as sweet\nas ever. It helps to keep the love light in her eye.\n\nI have three fine children. I am not conceited about them; other people\nsay they are good. I have done my best to raise them well. Two of them\nare in the County High School, the eldest a girl of sweet sixteen and\nthe other a noisy boy of fourteen. The remaining one is a baby of two\nand one-half years. I must leave these three children and dearie and\nlook for employment. You can realize how pleasant it is to be separated\nfrom them. How sad it is to kiss dearie and the others good bye and have\nthe many cute sayings of a strongly attached baby ringing in your ears,\nnot only through the dreary, lonesome days but long after the shadows\nfall.\n\nSuch is life with its pains and sorrows. They come to us all and while I\nmay think my road is rougher than is allotted the ordinary individual I\nsuppose others think the same. The one great consolation I have is that\ndearie is almost a strong, well woman, and that is worth all I have\npassed through and I would gladly undergo it again for her. I must be\ngetting ready, the colonists reduced rates of our liberal hearted\n\"S-T-E-E-L\" railroads is near the finis of the twelve-day limit. The\nparting is at hand. I kiss the loved ones good bye, cling tenaciously to\nmy second-class ticket, guard well my pneumatic pocket book with its\nragged puncture and try again in pretty California among the salty ocean\nbreezes, the cheerful flowers, the fragrant orange blossoms and the\nshady pepper trees to find work and health for those I love. GOOD BYE.","title":"Treading the narrow way","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":27372}