The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 27, 1903, Page 6

THE SUNDAY CALL. with an ax to knock an idea out. ik o There is a tide in the affairs of many men. and women, too, for that matter, hat leads to matrimony and switches off t alimory. S R ) Iways looking at their iriends through - . * days when married ladies flit to re, while hubby stays home alone chelor once more and is happy. The world puts its heels on the neck that bows down and crawls. . * » e loses his pride he never finds anything * * * ist in being blind they are sometimes rbolt. B - - ho boasts of keeping on the narrow path his toes he gats an awful bump. RS widow will soon have a chance to harvest her - * * that carries a dead heart is often one of t comes as the reaction after every ty has more of fear than zeal in its * * - were perfect men would hate them. "l YR If you w 1 in love don't squeal over a few bruises. S Love rie has warmed up to the sizzling . * * n thinks she's the best dressed r s it might amount to down- IR RS we hear some woman talk we wonder how a man lure the tc re without being chloroformed. * * * n enfoys all ts coming to her when she uced y to a where he is afraid to “‘sass” ng from a high-toned ng pin onslaught. g e that we cannot forget. A widow three pasts if a golden future looms - . - i on the dregs of bitterness when he | d look pleasant when his wife enter- i DO If any should sing or recite, we | | f Heaven has gone astray, as there Well, . = . The woman with a mission goes through life like a plow- share with a ting the torture of meek and suffer- % megaphone attachment g 2s the One You Will See Next Sunday. You See That Cat? FUNNY, ISN’T IT?P It Is Not Half as Funny On This Page 49 I T'X v o | B TRATE ] - A@ . DY eraent OT R | friend to escort her around the garden. Think of a garden party and only one man around. - - - If a woman is too clever men think her a prig. 1If she iy not at all so, they think her a fool. . - R A practical joke is an insult in disguise. & b CRE A man who boasts of his morality needs watching o Le e All the wotld loves a lover except the girl he is chasing SO Love is often a poor-paying hot air investment. Ry s What sort of prices would matrimonial misfits bring 4t a bargain sale? - - - It does not take a fifty-mile gale to blow in a fifty-dollar ner. e The [oou\vho will pick a quarrel with the gander is surs to have her feathers plucked. . - - Time is money when a fellow’s watch is in soale T R Memory is both the hope and despair of life. - - - The first lesson some drummers learn is the “Rogue’s March.” - - - A high moral tone may have at times an awful twang. K - . WHEN I AM DEAD, 1 do not ask the mourner’s tear Of those who pass around my bier; 1 do not ask the tragic grief In tears alone that find relief; But bending o’er my narrow bed, Speak kindly of me whea I'm dead. Ah! lay not flowers, white and sweet, In rich profusion at my feet, But bring some memories with you there That link my name with scenes once dear— And beg a blessing o’er my head, As you look on me when I'm dead. If I have failed! Ah, then forget The bitterness of vain segret— Let it for me atonement plead— Forget the thoughtless word or deed, And breathe a prayer for me instead As you look on me when I'm dead, Ah! could we of another’s life Its record find of dangers rife— Of disappointments, sobs and tears, Temptations, doubts and loves and fears— We'd pause as tragic lines were read In admiration of the dead. Ah! question self, and who can tell, Could you have filled my place as well? Life’s troublous ebbs and tides have braved— Though yearning for some love you craved— So whisper prayers above my head— And judge me kindly—when I'm dead. ¢ KATE THYSON MARR. s 32 L B A A el e e————————————————————————————— | THE INVASION OF BEACON HILL I THE ORACLE OF MULBERRY CENTER ‘ By Cld John “Gorgon’ Graham. ' By S. E. Kiser. > society that I don't think of my old k Smith and his wife Kate—Kate t. was before he married her—and how tried to butt their way through the upper . ank and I were boys together in Missouri, e g = and he st heard of him off and on and loafing 2 good d Then I forgot all about him until one daga few years ago when he turned up in the as Captain Henry Smith. the Klondike Gold King. just back fr cle City, with a million in in ¢ There’s never any limit to those, except his imagination. d when a week later my office boy brought.me Henry Augustus Bottes-Smythe, but I sup- posed it wa ished foreigner who had come in to size me up so that nd out his roast in Chicago in his new book, and I told the boy to show the general in. I've got a pretty good memory of faces, and I'd bought too much store plug of Hank in my time not to know him. even with a clean shave and a plug hat. Some men dry up with success, but it was just spouting out of Hank. Told me he had made his pile and that he was tired of living on the slag heap; that he'd spent his whole life where money hardly whispered, let alone talked, and he was going now where it would shout. Wanted to know what was the use of being 2 nob if a fellow wasn’t the nobbiest sort of a nob. Said he'd bought a house on Beacon Hill, in Boston, and that if I'd prick up my ears occasionally I'd hear something drop into the Back. Bay. Handed me his new card four times and explained that it was the rawest sort of dog to carry a brace of names_ in, your card hostler, I didn’t explain to Hank, because it was congratulations and not explanations that he wanted, and I make it a point to show a customer the line of goods that he’s looking for. And I never heard the full particulars of his experiences in the East, though, from what I learned afterward, Hank struck Boston with a bang, all right. He located his claim on Beacon Hill, between a Mayflower de- scendant and a Declaration Signer's great-grandson, breeds which be- licve that when the Lord made them he was through, and that the rest of us just happened. And he hadn’t been in town two hours before he started in to make improvements. There was a high wrought-iron railing in front of his house, and he had that gilded first thing, be- cause, as he said, he wasn't running a receiving vault and he didn't want any mistakes. Then he bought a nice open barouche, had the wheels painted red, hired a nigger coachman and started out in style to be sociable and get acquainted. Left his card all the way down one side of Beacon street, and then drove back leaving it on the other. Everywhere he stopped he found that the whole family was out. Kept it up 2 week, on and off, but didn’t seem to have any luck. Thought that the men must be hot sports and the women great gadders to keep on the jump so much. Allowed that they were the liveliest little lot of fleas that he had ever chased. Decided to quit trying to nail 'em one at a time and planned out something that he reckoned would round up the whole bunch. Hank sent out a thousand invitations to his grand opening, as he called it; left one at every house within a mile. Had a brass band on the front steps and fireworks on the roof. Ordered forty kegs from the brewery and hired a fancy mixer to sling together mild snorts, as he called them, for the ladies. They tell me that when the band got to going good on the steps and the fireworks on the roof even Beacon street looked out the windows to see what was doing. There must have been ten thousand people in the street and not a soul but Hank and his wife and the mixer in the house. Some one yelled speech, and then the whole crowd took it np, till Hank came out on the steps. He shut off the band with one hand and stopped the fireworks with the other. Szid that speech-making was not his strangle-hold; that he'd been living on snowballs in the Klondike for so long that his gas- pipe was frozen; but that this welcome started the ice and he thought zbout three fingers of the plumber’s favorite prescription would cut out the frost. Would the crowd join him? He had invited a few friends in for the evening, but there seemed to be some misunderstand- ing about the date, and he hated to have the good stuff curdle on bis hands. B T as tends B e e o P, While this was going on the Mayflower descendant was telephon- ing for the police from one side and the Signer's great-grandson. from the other, and just as the crowd yelled and broke for the house two patrol wagons full of policemen got there. But they had to turn in Hank’s little Boston tea-party. After all Hank did what he started out to do with his party— along in the old town after I leit..] Jrounded up all _Ius neighbors i_n a bunch, though not exactly according ng store a little, and farming a little. )t schedule. For next morning there were so many descendants and great-grandsons in the police court to prefer charges that it looked like a reunion of the Pilgrim Fathers. The Tudge fined Hanks on sixteen counts and bound him over to keep the peace for a hundred years. That afternoon he left for the West on a special, because the limited didn’t get there quick enough. But before going he tacked on the front door of his house a sign which read: “Neighbors paying their party calls will please not heave rocks through windows to attract attention. Not in and not going to be Gone back to Circle City for a little quiet. Yours truly, “HANK SMITH. “N. B.—Too swift for your tincle.” Hank dropped by my office for a minute on his way to ’Frisco. Said he liked things lively, but there was altogether too much rough- house on Beacon Hill for him. Judged that as the crowd which wasn't invited was so blamed sociable, the one which was invited would have stayed for a week if it hadn’t slipped up on the date. That might be the Boston idea, but he wanted a little more refinement in his. Said he was a pretty free spender and would hold his end up, but he hated a hog. Of course I told Hank that Boston wasn't all that it was cracked up to be in the school histories, and that Circle City was not so tough as it read in the newspapers, for there was no way of making him understand that he might have lived in Boston for a hundred years without being invited to a strawberry sociable. Be- cause a fellow cuts ice on the Arctic Circle it doesn’t follow that he’s going to be worth beans on the Back Bay. From ‘Letters From a Belf-Made Merchant to His Bon,’” by 'Lorimer. 34 George Horace By permission of Small, Maynard & Co., Publishers, Boston, Mass, - UNDAY - SCHOOL superintendent arrested.” “A treasurer of benevolent funds absconds.” “A leading church official under suspicion.” Such dlines as these in the newspapers not only pro- luce an unpleasant shock upon us, but give rise to serious questions and misgivings. That is the worst result of the wrongdoing of the presum- ably righteous man. It not only clouds and perhaps wrecks his own future and brings dishonor and shame upon his family, but it strikes at the foundation of virtue in the community and lessens the common stock of faith and confidence. When Deacon Jones embezzles the money of his church, when Parson Smith runs off with another man’s wife, people begin to ask if there is any such thing as honor and decency, anyway. - Now it'is well to remember, in the first place, that the wise and just ruler of this universe does not stake his continuance of virtue in this world and its ultimate triumph over vice on any one man or any ten men. The righteous government and ordering of this universe 2oes on even if the respectable men in Sodom are reduced to five or even to one. Once in history—so some of us think—God did risk a great deal upon the earthly career of a well-beloved Son, whose perfect life has for nineteen centuries illustrated the moral possibili- ties of a human soul. If he had deviated a hair’s breadth from rec- titude it would have been harder for many persons to aauw= ta vir- tue’s ways. But even if among the ordinary children of men one and another do now and again swerve from the right, their lapse does not prove anything against the reality and the majestic supremacy of the moral law itself. riot call and bring out the reserves before they could break up(’ ULBERRY CENTER, Sept. 24.—I see there’s a Chicago professor that says a man has a right to eat his fellow man when they ain’t nothin’ else around that's worth grubbin’ up. I don't know whether he's goin’ on the theory that human flesh is about the cheapest article in the market _ these days or whether he just has a natchural 9 taste for good society, but anyway I s’pose there’s a logic in what he says. Big fish eat uip little fish, so it's only reason- able to think the good Lord in his all-seein’ wisdom intended the big men of this \vorld to eat up the little chaps. Mr. Rockyfeller has been at it a good many years and seems to be thrivin’ on'it, so this professor in his collidge probably knew what he was talkin’ about before he spoke. Speakin’ of fish makes me think of Stuyvesant. Stive is an expert on the gobblin’ up business, and accordin’ tc the papers he sides in with the professor. Stuyvesant don’t use quite the same figger of speech, bein’ more used to select so- ciety. Instead of comin’ right cut cold-blooded and sayin’ it's right for men to eat up one another, he's a little more refined about it and says it's all right for a few railroads to gobble up all the rest. I seen a report about it the other day, and as I disremember it, he says there's about two hundred railroad companies in the country now that's got to get et up by about fifteen of the big ones. “It’s the natcheral law of give and take,” he says. “You can’t make water run uphill, so it shows that the railroad business has to be done by a few companies. The rolling stone gathers no moss, which only goes to prove that it's foolish for the big roads not to force the little ones to come in and git swallowed up. Too many cooks spoil the broth, which makes it as plain as day that a railroad company with only four hundred and seven miles of track and not a millionaire among its directors hasn’t enny moral or logical right to do business. It’s a long lane that has no turnin’, and thig shows that the railroads of this country have got to belong to RocRyfeller, the Vanderbilts, George Gould, Jim Hill, Pierp, me and three or four more of us boys that got sent here by the Supreme Being to fix rates, WHEN GOOD MEN GO WRONG By The Parson. Indeed, the surprise and sorrow which we feel when a good man goes astray testify to our innate recognition of the rights and claims of virtue. In his latest and in some respects his most absorbing story—"The Mettie of the Pasture”—James Lane Allen has delineated with wonderful acuteness the shrinking and the repulsion of a pure, high-minded woman before the sudden revelation of a moral strain in one whom she had previously regarded as the best of men. No, we are not to condone the lapse from virtne on the part of professedly good men and true. Their sin is greater than that of the man who never made any profession of goodness. I, for one, rejoice that the world holds religious people accountable to a higher standard of virtue than may be current in the community. The constant scrutiny of their fellow-men is something that Christians ought to be grateful for instead of trying to escape it or complaining because of the criti- cisms of their neighbors. But let us not forget that where one church treasurer steals a hundred, yes a thousand—many of them with exceptional opportuni- tios for pilfering—are as honest as the sun. Where one minister mis- behaves, a thousand live clean and ‘helpful lives. And goodness it- selfi—the real thing, I mean, not its counterfeit—never goes wrong. It will always stand the light of day. Therefore with all thy gettings, my dear {riend, get goordness and get more goodness day by day. And never think that a modest, sensible profession of a desire and purpose to be good makes it harder to achieve the real thing. It makes it a good deal easier. When you ally yourself with forces that make for righteousness in the community, when you publicly acknowledge that you want to be counted in with the people who cherish and pursue the highest ideals, you gain the added strength that cames from fellowship and from a manly, clean-cut, personal de- cision. I make smoke, refuse to abolisl;1 ml-_ade cfrosuln': :nd ,9" the other legiti- i omes in the line of railroadin’. s 'llzxis;n:;l!kn;:n:t puttin’ the railroads in the hands 7{ the Gov- ernment is all foolish. That wouldn’t be logic. You can’t do things in this world that ain’t logical. It's just as Professor Starr says, only I don’t like the cold-blooded way he talks. Some of _t)}e_ big fellers have got to eat the little ones to keep them from gettin’ in the way. It's the natchural law of supply and demand. The big ones do the demandin’ and the little chaps bring on the supply. There you have the whole thing worked out logical. I know it's logical, because the ses don’t seem to like it. = . masosf course, reasonin’ the thing out on Mr. Fish's plan, we ‘might say that the toothe acke's logical because the masses don't_like it, but as Judge Miller says, that would be beginnin’ the question. can't help agreein’ to the broad principle laid down by the Chxcag’o professor that it's all right for men to eat one another, only there’s some details about the plan that there’s goin’ to be a good deal of trouble in workin’ out. It looks as though it wouldn’t be any more than reasonable to s'pose the lean people ought to have the right to eat the fat ones, but the dickens of it is that the fat ones generly are the strongest, so they mightn’s give their free will and consent. Then you'd have a situation that wasn't logical. It would be like the timé when Orrin Hitchcock' and Dave Martin matched their horses for a race, one fall, at the county fair. Orrin had a horse that was nearly two-thirds thoroughbred and Dave’s mare was just a common sort cf a plug that he'd raised himself, and he didn’t know much more about horses than they say an ordinary Justice of the Peace knows about law. Orrin borrowed fifty dollars to put up on the match and there was a big crowd out to see the race. Dave came to me before the match took place and says: ¢ 43 4 “Jeff,” says he, “I've always tried to live a good Christian life, and I don't want to wrong my fellow man just for the sake of win- nin’ fifty dollars. Do you think it's right for me to go into this thing ?” “Well,” says T, “I can’t very well give other people advice on these things, but if I was in your place I wouldn’t do it. You're a husband and a father. You've got to think of your wife and chil- dren.” : “I know it,” says he. “I have thought of them, but Orrin’s goin’ into it with his eyes open. He knows all about it. I haven't ki anything from him. So I don’t see where there would be any grace agin my fambly.” So the race come off. They got an even start and away they went. Orrin had seen two qr three big races and knew the tricks of the track. He let Dave get a little ahead at the start and then hung onto his wheel. They went around the track that way the first time and Orrin looked at the crowd in the grand stand as they were goin’ past on the last round and kind of smiled. I felt sorry for Dave because I had a morgidge on his place at the time and I knew he couldn’t afford to lose the money, with the interest due in about three weeks. Along tords the home stretch we seen Orrin lean forward and be- gin to let his horse out, but somehow he didn’t seem to gain very fast. Then pretty soon he commenced to use the whip, and still Dave's blamed old plug kept goin’ right along in front, and almost before anybody realized what had happened they went under the wire with Orrin about four lengths farther back than he was when he began to let his horse loose. After the excitement had died down so_we could get a chance to talk about it I went to Orrin and told him I was sorry he'd lost. He scratched his head a while and then looked at me kind of sorrowful and said: “I don’t know just how I'm goin’ to raise the money to pay it back to the man I borrowed it from, and I was a blamed fool to bet, anyway, because I can't afford to lose so much; but that ain’t what's botherin’ me the most. Dave hadn’t any right to win that race. His mare ain’t got any sthoroughbred blood into her, and he didn't drive right. Darn it, Jeff, it ain’t logical. That’s what I'm lookin’ at.” So you can’t always tell about these things. Fish and Starr and them people may have it all figgered out accordin’ to logic, but logic like the knot the preacher ties. It doesn’t always hold. Logic’s the same as clothes. The styles keep changin’ right along. Every little while some captain of industry gets up and tells the people not to fret because it’s the logic of events that’s bringin’ the combines, and that we ought to quit complainin’ about it. Yours for logic, JEFFERSON DOBBS. (Copyright, 1903, Sampson-Hodges Co., Chicago.)