The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 6, 1903, Page 6

THE SUNDAY CALL. e These Witty Sayings by Kate Thyson Marr @re the Talk of the Whole Country. Watch for the “Meows”’ Next Sunday. / )y AKOVEis a fierce combination of the world. the flesh and X the devil. At long intervals sometimes an “X"-rav of f&'y heaven is thrown in. . * » - Truth should be either beautiful in the nude or clev- erly masked. - *- * Love is a double-back action of the skyrocket and Goes up heavenward all right, but the stick comes down to earth Ol e ike being struck by the sharp corner of the s of some women is S S always compared with a dog; a woman with a cat. The best { either man or woman have been idealized by figures of woman. t works of man are written in the feminine. A steamboat is he engineer speaks of the giants he controls as “her. * g an becomes cynical it's either a case of love or liver pills, or he e wrong horse (or featherweight champion). R t hides under the cloak of religion is an insult to the Al- nk themselves so large and important that the conductor wo fares. * * * s experience to every young fellow h it cost him. » Iways wants to give He forgets how 1 » whor never run after man. She might catch him. kers go on a strike, oh, why should the spirit of mor- * * * ation of being found out. times commands a pretty good ce is golden and « * x t some people cannot daub over a past with a few lavers of Iways the most luscious fruits that hang on the top boughs. at one’s feet may be equally refre HEROICS By The Parson FA E = MAN died in England him an exce the other day, leaving behind t though somewhat circumscribed repu- terary worker, and a considerable body of tation as a ciated than it ever has been or will be.. But he made one him And in the course of it he coined a phrase which for many a year and perhaps y a century will be passed from lip to lip by those who themselves v be ignorant of its origin, but who will find it a trumpet call to noble living. This is the special verse which is sure to poem which will give immortality. have wide currency: It matters not how straight the gate, How charged with punishment the scroll, 1 am the Master of my fate, 1 am the Captain of my soul. “The captain of my soul.” How the phrase stirs the blood and haunts the memory. It voices the protest of an unconquerable will against the de- It is the outcry of the baffled, but not of the beaten. It is the embodiment in line of classic simplicity and force of an indomitable purpose not to be overthrown and crushed bv the ills and woes of life. Something was said in these columns not long ago about the advantage of having a hero, some greater spirit to which one might look for quickening and inspi crees of fate tion. Such an ideal is good as far as it goes, but better vet is it to weave into the very fiber of one's nature a heroic strand, to get as a com- ponent part of one’s being the fixed determination to hold one’s self steady and serene, not to let reason become unseated or judgment dethroned or hope become paralyzed whatever befalls you. The basis of such a temper is the realization of the fact that while we cannot control external events we can forever remain monarchs of that do- main which we call the inner life. We can become so independent of the out- ward scenes of circumstance that they will leave hardly more impression upon us than the gentle breeze of summer has upon « sturdy oak. Our store of faith, hope, love and courage may not be lessened even when all the stars go out of our sky. Here is a man #ho makes an unfortunate marriage. Here is one who is suddenly plunged into financial ruin. Here is a third, who, after long and patient struggle, is compelled to admit that he has failed miserably in his profession. But if any of the three possesses the really heroic temper he will say to himself: “Well, these things are terribly hard to bear: they are due partly to my own lack of foresight and energy and partly to other people, but I will not let the present situation blight the remainder of my davs. I may be a disappointed man, but I will not be a ruined one. If the outward props have failed me I will turn to the inward sources of supply and cheer.” Now that seems to me 2 kind of heroism beside which charging up San Juan hill in the face of the enemy’s fire is a comparatively easy thing. Not for such moral heroes are the rewards of fame or the plaudits of a grateful country. No one trumpets far and wide the details of this battle with one’s soul. It is fought out in loneliness and with tears and bloody sweat. But no conqueror returning from his campaign ever tasted such sweets of vic- tory as does the man who fights his battle through until he can honestly say: “I am the captain of my soul.” And sometimes that last added ounce of de- termination may be just the force that compels the outward obstacle to yield as the Confederate armies finally melted away before Grant’s grim purpose to fight it out, even if it took all summer, At any rate, whether or not the mastery of one’s soul brings in this life external prosperity and success he who does achieve the captaincy of his soul may cherish as his own the faith of an American poet, Dr. Washington Glad- den, who sings: And fierce though the fiends may fight And 'ong though the angels hide, I know that truth.and right Have the universe on their side. And that somewhere beyond the stars Is a love that is better than fate. ‘When the night unlocks her bars, 1 shall see him and 1 will walt, poetry, much of which ought to be more widely appre- * it ! THE ORACLE OF MULBERRY CENTER By S. E. RISER S people down at Mulberry Center are takin’ a good deal of interest lately in the sufierin’_l _of them poor people at Newport. I don’t call them poor meanin’ that they have to work for a livin and have to make the boys wear out their pa's old pants or anythin’ like that, but there is = different kinds of poor. After thinkin’ it all over I've come to the conclusion that the worst kind of poor in the world’s the kind they are at Newport. One time I went to the opery-house up to the county seat to hear a man by the name of Riley recite some poetry, and it was blame ®00d, too, and I remember in one poem he was tellin’ about a man that was mimtlln’.vu,th peo- s ple that had money to put under the chair laigs when they didn’t set straight. It didn't seem to cheer him up much and he said after he'd thot it all over, says he: “There's nothin’ much patheticker thau jest a-bein’ rich.” Them words are as true as gospel. 1f you don’t believe it read the red and blue supplement of a New York Sun- day paper some time and learn about the sad times they have at Newport. The beautiffl Mrs. Van Allstein ‘E_lobbs. who was one of the famous Van Daum Van Chubbs, wakes up in the morning about 3:30 p. m. and while waiting to have her breakfast in bed says: “Oh heavens, what a dreary life this is. Things was so dull last night that 1 just couldn’t stand it and went to bed be[ore_S o'clock in the’morning. The dredful monotony of it is getting on my nerves. If Harry Lehr would only get up a dinner where each of the guests would find a rattlesnake under the plate or something to give a person one more good old thrilll It's so stupid I don’t know how I can ever worry tarough the summer. It's no fun watchin’ one man flirt with another man’s wife any more, because that’s so common. and got to be proper, anyway. “What a horrid stupid dinner that was at Mrs, Bigwad's last night. If the trapeze performers that performed above the table while we were eatin’ had only fell and broke their legs or necks or something it might have turned out to be quite an interestin’ affair, but there was nothing happened and I'm almost sure 1 fell asleep along about the sixteenth course. One can take a dummy along to wear her extra ropes of pearls and diamond stomachers. but no- body has invented a dummy that will help to drink champayne after vou get full yourself. That’s the saddest thing of all. You can pay people to dance and sing and play music, but you've got to do your own drinking to get the fun of it. What's the use being rich when the woman that does your washing can drink just as much as you can before she begins to forget what it tastes like?” By that time the maid brings in her breakfast, and the poor woman realizes with a shudder that she can’t eat any more than if she was nothin’ but a poor clerk workin’ in a dry goods store at $7 2 week. Then there is Mrs. Rockingham Cood. It is enough to make a person’s heart bleed to read about her sad case. Her husband has so much money that she’s got sick tryin’ to live up to his income. Life has no interest for her any more. She’s hired people to trace her descent from Alfred the Great and so she has nothing left to long for. I was readin’ her interview with a New York society reporter the other day and ] never felt so sorry for anybody in my life. “What is there left for me to do?” she said, almost with tears in her ‘eves.” “There’s only one night in every twenty-four hours, no matter how much money you have, and you have to stop and sleep awhile about every so often, even |{‘you have to take an extra servant along to help carry your jewelry. “How could you expect a person to be cheerful under such conditions? “You people that have nothing to o but work can’t imagine how terrible it is not to have anything on one’s mind about how to make ends meet. Sometimes I think I would almost give anything in the world not to be great and refined for just a week or two. so I could go out among the poor. vulgar, common peonle and forget the awful bur- den of responsibility that society has placed upon me. It’s getting worse and worse in this country. There's hardly anything left for us to do that the lower classes can’t take up. A little while ago us people that are in the aristocracy thought a boon had come to get out in our automobiles and run over common low-born folks and kill one another that we almost forgot how sad a life we lead, but the first thing we knew it had got so that the boorjwassie had auto- mobiles, too. so there we were right back where we started. : “Newport’s not what it used to be. Oh, this dreadful curse of money! Nearly anybody can have a million dol- lar cottage here now. It's got so us old families can’t look out of the windows any more without being shocked by seeing somebody whose father worked in his shirt sleeves. Think of the wear and tear of such things on our refined nerves. Sometimes I almost wish I was dead, only there’s the horrible thought that one may have to associate with common people, such as carpenters and fishermen, in heaven.” i Judge Miller almost shed tears he felt so bad, when him and me got to talkin’ about it the other day at the post- office. “Jeff,” says he, “you and 1 don’t half appreciate the blessin’s that in the lexicoglical logarythms of the diurnal juxtaposition fate has saw fit to give us. Here we are, at liberty to come and go, usin’ the nights for sleepin’ and the days for workin’ and not even wearin’ collars if we don’t feel like it. and vet we sometimes complain. When I think of the sad case of them people down there with nothing to look forward to but the things they’ll have to eat and * drink and wear and see and say the next night it makes me feel humble and ashamed of mysel. "‘Thcres one thing that surprises me about them Newport people, though, and that is that some of them haven’t happened to read about old man Nerc. If they would get hold af a good biography of Nero they could learn a lot that would keep them out of their trouble. Nero had almost as hard a time keepin’ himself amused as the New- port peogl:, have, but hte’wa! kind to him. He found a lot of Christians to burn when he’d done everything else in the sportin’ line. We can’t expect the Newport people to go into anything-of that kind, but they might make ar- rangements with the lynchers to bring their negroes there to burn, That would be something new to most of them and 1 ain't got any doubt that the first society leader who gives a dinner with a Arst-class lynchin’ for the amusemint of the guests would make quite a hit.” : _\\‘\\\‘\ > B ) - men may,have been created equal, bu‘?lill would be a_hard matter to make the lucky ones think so. - When a man achieves fame he should either die or be stricken dumb. 5 5e . ® The way of the transgressor is mighty slippery. o . People who live in glass houses ought to roost in the cellar. S e The presence of some peoole always leaves a bad taste in the mouth. ez ol - Some men feel actually insulted if you do not laugh at their aged jokes. Py i Goo-goo eyes and wobbly jellied notes may open the gates of a fool's aradise, but they fly shut with an awful ang. S ah A pimple on her nose will take the conceit out of any woman. @ & .9 Grief and sorrow are teachers fro whom we learm the noblest lessons o life. - - . Some natures find relief in silence, others in perfect foghorn screama. * - - i The man who thinks he is oainting the town generally makes a very cheap chromo of himself. e A bright smile will chase the shadewy from the darkest surroundings. - . K The glorious dreams of ambition oftey end in a very startling nightmare. - - B Those who view life as a joke seidomy do their own laughing. - . The philosopher erally does the !alkmgpwhile the other fellow hustles. *TTe W Experience is the teacher who be- lieves there's “no larnin’ without lickin".” B e i Flattery is the salve that our egotismy offers to our vanity. - - - There is something sad about a pipe dream when the pipe goes out. o s e Many men might have a hundred eves and yet never be able to see through the wiles of a woman. . L - A man will promise his wife almost anything in public if it will only keep her from calling him stingy before his friends. 8.5 ® @ I prefer an ice woman to a wooden one. The former may thaw out, but the latter is hopeless. TN S When a woman puts a_market value on her love, fight shy: it isn't worth the price. " R Can children be rated joint stock quo- tations? e iy Girls, never mistake bubbling gush for love. HUMILITY By Old John “Gorgon’” Graham [} EVER do I see one of these fellows swelling around with izf§ their petty larceny pride that I don’t think of a little ex- perience of mine when I was a boy. caught me lifting a watermelon in his patch one after- noon and instead of cuffing me and letting me go, as I had expected if I got caught, he led me home by the ear An old fellow 25 {5:?. to my ma, and told her what I had been up to. 5 Your grandma had been raised on the old-fashioned plan, and she had never heard of these new-fangled theories of reasoning gently with a child till its under lip begins to stick out and its eves to fill with tears as it sees the error of its ways. She fetched the tears all right, but she did it with a trunk-strap or a slipper. suMstantial woman. Nothing of the tootsey-wootsey about her foot. nothing of the airy-fairy trifle about her slipper. And your grandma was a pretty and When she was through I knew that I'd been licked—polished right off to a point—and then she sent me to my room and told me not to poke my nose out of it till I could recite the Ten Commandments and the Sunday-school lesson by heart. There was a whole chapter of it, and an Old Testament chaoter at that, but I laid right into it because I knew ma, and supper was only two hours off. T can repeat that chapter still, forward and backward, without missing a word or stopping to catch my breath. Every now and then old Doc Hoover used to come into the Sunday-school room and scare the scholars into fits by poing around from class to class and asking questions. That next Sunday, for the first time, I was glad to see him happen in, and I didn’t try to escape attention when he worked around to our class. For ten minutes I'd been busting for him to ask me to recite a verse of the lesson, and, when he did. I simply cut loose and recited the whole chapter and threw in the Ten Commandments for good measure. It sort of dazed the Doc, because he had come to me for information about the Old Testament before and we'd never got much beyond “And Ahab begat Ja- hab,” or words to that effect. But when he got over the shock he made me stand right up before the whole school and do it again. He patted me on the head and saLd I was “an honor to my parests and an example to my play- mates.” 1 Lud been looking down all the time, feeling mighty proud and scared, but at that I couldn’t “elp glancing up to see the other boys admire me. But the first person my eye lit on was your grandma, standing in the b?ck of the room, whe:e she had stooped for a moment on her way up to church, and glaring at me in a mighty unpleasant way. “Tell 'em, John,” she said, right out loud before everybody. There was no way to run. for the elder had hold of my hand. and there was no place to hide, though I reckon I could have crawled into a rat-hole, So, to gain time, I blurted out: “Tell ’em what, mam?” “Tell "em how you come to have your lesson so nice.” 1 learned to hate notoriety switching her off onto the shut my eyes and let it come, on the way out. “Hooked a watermelon. mam.” right then and there, but I knew there was no weather when she wanted to talk religion. So I though it caught on my palate once or twice . There wasn’t any need for further particulars with that crowd, and they simply howled. Ma led me up to our pew, allowing that she'd tend to me Monday for disgracing her in public that way—and she did. That was a twelve-grain dose, without any sugar coat, but it sweat more cant and false pride out of my system than I could get back into it for the next twenty years. I learned right there how to be humble, which is a heap more important than knowing how to be proud. There are mighty few men that need any lessons in that. (From “Letters From a Seif-Made Merchant to His Son,” by George Horace Lorimer. By permission of Small, Maynard & Co., publishers, Boston, Mass.) “NEVER TELL.”"® If you should learn of some dark sin, ray never tell; The truth may cause the tears to start, The truth may break another heart, The truth may tear two lives apart— So never tell. No harm is done through unknown deeds, So never tell; Some_hearts know less of day than nia! Don’t be the first to cause the blight, Don't rob a life of sunshine bright— So never tell. The world is cruelly unjust, So never tell: Ii we but knew how hearts may break, Ii we but knew how hearts may ache. We'd leave them Hope for Love’s sweet sake, And never tell.