The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 4, 1904, Page 7

THE SAN: ¥R vCISCO SUNDAY CALL. AL OLD FLOOAR. But acauire . Be- ) 3 , wh Jucklin outtl farg the floor, so ri . sh possessec o on riends mar- > run the risk of the 2 I said Lim, the rail nce, a low mative throne of observation. “In his house théy would be just so much rubbish. They don’t talk to him, and when a book don’t eak to a man it is the d hing in the world. It can't = h noise as a pig, for a pig ; quieter than a duck, for a duck quacks—it simply takes its place along with the brickbat or the old shoe-sole that curls up in the sun. But when a book even whispers to a man it tells him the sweetest of secrets. It tells him that he ain’'t a blamed fool, and this is a mighty important piece of mews. Whenever I see an old book I think of Abe Lincoln. He gathered corn for two days, keepin’ up the down row, for a life of Washington. and you men that have humped yourselves all day behind a wagon know what that means. He was lendin’ his body to the work of openin’ up his soul. It come hard, that book did; it meant backache, for it took Lincoln a long time to reach down to the ground, but it meant more than if he had been workin’ for $100 a day. Don’t understand me to say that every man that thinks so much of a book will be great: he may never be able to go to a sale such as this and buy a yoke of steers, but in the long run it will be worth more to him than all the steers that Old Elisha was a plowin’ when the call came for him to go up.” “But the prophet was a handlin’ of steers instead of books,” remarked Stoveall, who had come walking slow- ly to join Lim’s audience. “Yes, that's a fact,” Lim replied. “He was 2 plowin’ ten or fifteen yoke of cattle if I recollect right, but he LPOSSESSED OF Z ZPIZE BOOH.S FHEAFED QN IHE didn’t go to heaven till he took his mind off the cattle. Didn’t take none of his oxen with him, but he took wisdom with him, and a good book is the mouthpiece of wisdom. How old are you, Brother Stoveall?” I'm eighty odd.” “Gettin’ along putty well. And now, lookin’ back over your life, what have you enjoyed the most?"” “Well, it don’t seem to me now that T've ever enjoyed anything since I was a boy. It has been a scuffle for me to live and to take care of what little I had raked together. I have had to watch man all the time to keep him from robbin’ me.” “But he could only rob you of ma- terial things. If you'd been wiser you would have lald up something he couldn’t rob you of, and you could have set down by your fire at night and dreamed over it without any fear. You have known all along that they were goin’ to blow the horn for you R R T R 0000000 00TTI TS0 O RO T00 00000 0000000000000050) T is hard to have the feelings of one’s tender corns hurt by the intentional or unintentional blun- dering of any one, and it is some- times doubtful whether the offender is guilty of overweening good intentions or of malice aforethought. As a matter of fact, there is precious little comfort in the thought that one’s feelings have been hurt through the best intentions in the world. The wound ' is just as sore and smarts with just as great pain if inflicted with the delicacy of a lancet as with the uncompromis- ing blow of a bludgeon. The so-called friend who wounds with good intentions has an incisive way of doing so that cuts both ways—a rapler, double-edged, keen and ragor-like. The wound may not have the jagged edge of the bludgeon, but is deeper, conse- quently very much harder to reach. There is a large streak of malice run- ning through many natures, or it may be of envy or jealousy, that looks upon any favor of fate or fortune in the way of charm or talent enjoyed by another 23 a personal affront. Some people have souls so small that all good is crowded out and only evil remains. They can never discover the good in another, but are always keenly allve to the merest suggestion of evil. These people never speak well of any one nor miss the op- portunity of throwing out some hint or innuendo calculated to cast suspicion. They are not satisfied to tread on one's sensitive corns, but want to trample all over the unfortunate, and should the latter resent it, it is viewed rather as an impertinence than as an assertion of rights. e TR There are few, indeed, who have not a sensitive spot that is nursed and hedged about In the endeavor to safe- guard it from unwarranted and unwar- rantable intrusion. The spot is gener- 7 ANES TEHET HE DIDN T SAD FENCE. ally some old memory that has left a scar too deep to heal, too sensitive to bear probing, yet should the friend who has your welfare so much at heart be aware of the wound he or she will en- tertain a morbid desire to tear it open upon all occasions that fairly makes the victim writhe. . L7727, 70X SERT AN T EM” 7S HE CLIMBED TPox THE RAIZ P e O fore lose no opportunity to ask of de- A proud, sensitive woman who finds it necessary to sever the ties binding her to matrimony and misery is at times forced to be unequivocally rude in order to protect herself from the in- TENDER CORNS By Hate Thyson Marr. Feminine curiosity is often responsi- ble for the worst heartaches. The woman who is estranged from her fam- 1ly, often with excellent re: , dreads meeting mutudl friends who will pelt her with inquisitive cross-questionings, albeit well-meaning, simply because they just “want to know,” and there- quisitions of her dearest friends, and it is always the dearest friend who takes the trifiing liberty of wounding and of asking questions that often one’s own mother would not dare pre- sume to do. The right kind of woman does not ventilate her matrimanal mis- eries and nothing hurts her so deeply 2B Dt some day. It has arways Deen cer- tain that you had to go, and then who is goin’ to take care of the things you have raked together? Come to think about it, I don't believe I ever heard you laugh right good.” “I hayen't had anything to laugh about,” the old man replied. “And nobody else that was always afraid that he might be robbed while he laughed. But you have been rob- bed out of a mighty few pennies; ever since I can remember you have been able to go to a sale and buy what you wanted, and yet of all the men I know, Stoveall, your life has been the biggest failure.” “Jucklin, I could buy you and sell you three times in a day, with the price doubled etvery time I bought you back."” “‘Oh, you mean my land and house. Yes, I reckon you couid, you never saw money enough to buy me. In lookin’ through advertisements for bargains did you ever find happi- ness for sale? No, sir, for there ain't no bankrupt stocks of happiness. Oh, I used to think along your line. I JAidn’t think that I'd ever be happy till I owned all the land adjoinin’ my farm, and I was miserable because I saw no chance of gettin’ it. Every day or so I'd see a hearse goln' down the road, haulin’ some old fellow to the grave- yard, and one day it came on me all of a sudden that I had to go along there, too. Then I 'lowed that I ought to get as much happiness out of the world as possible, and I was thinkin’ about it one day while I was in town and I says to the county jedge, says I, ‘Jedge, is there any way for a man turned forty-five to be happy? He asked me if I could read, and I told him I could make out my name if it was printed in a sheriff’s sale. Then he sald: ‘Well, read good books and think about ‘em. Don’t read the things that will stimu- late you to argufy, but the things that will feed your mind without raisin’ its bristles. Some books are full of the sweet, unselfishness of the human heart. Read them. Some make the fancy play llke you have seen the lightnin’ of an evenin’ on a low hang- in’ cloud, far over in the west. Read them. Don't read the viclous ones any my but as the well-meaning but brutal Incivil- ity of curious friends, having her in- terests so much at heart and bent upon minding her business for her. There are at times conditions in our dally lives that are totally impossible of discussion, matters that concern our individual selves too deeply to ad- mit of anything like comment or dis- section, and at times the very mention or slightest suggestlon completely up- sets our nerves. We simply cannot bear any reference direct or otherwise. The friend who persists and presumes upon friendship by alluding to mat- ters that good form, to say the least, demands should be' tabooed deserves the snub that silences without question and most effectually any presumption. The friends who are the most congen- 1al, and consequently the most beloved, are those who fecognize our sore spots and regard them tenderly; who care too much for us to wound us even for our more than you'd keep close company with a viclous man. Do this and you'll find the world openin’ up toward the past a brightenin’ toward the futu One man is really stronger than other for what he knows and not for what he's got. We know he can't take his material things h , but ne man knows that he can't take the spiritual things. Solomon was the wisest man, it is said, but I believe he would have been a little wiser if he hadn’t been quite so rich. He wouldn't have been mixed up with so many women, and right there is where he proved he wan't any wiser than some cf the rest of us.’ “Well, I thought over what the Coun- ty Jedge said, and began to read, slow at first, for I hadn't been well schooled and the more I read the bigger my farm seemed to grow, and now I've got more than ten million , acres under cultivation. Laws a mas-+ sy, what a chance you youngsters have. ¢ Instead of bein’ happy only in the lat- ter end of your life you can begin now. I don’t mean that you should neglect any work that you may have to do, or that you shouidn’t want to make money, but I do mean that you ought to lay up an estate that can't become bankrupt. I am givin’ you old talk, it is true, but it is the old principles that touch man the most, for they have al- ways had a bearin’ on his life. Don’t understand me to mean, boys, that you should become bookish, but jest to mix your readin’ in along with your life. It will keep you from breakin’ yourself down tryin’ to keep up with some man that can make money easier than you can, and he will always be there, jest a little in front of you. Love your fel- ler man, for he’s all right in the long run. He's got more sympathy than hate. Somebody may tell you that hu- man nature is all seifish, but don't you belleve it. Well,” he added, get- ting down off the fence. “I must box up my gold now and cart it home. Go- in’ my way, Brother Stoveall?" “Yes, Juckin, but you are no com~ pany for me. “I reckon that's right,” Limuel re- plied. “I know it must be right, for I haven’t got anything you want.” (Copyright, 1804, by Ople Read.) own good; who know our whims and caprices and humor them; who under- stand our likes and dislikes and are merciful in judgments of them; who, while not exactly sharing our opinions and agreeing with them, respect them sufficiently to ignore them and forget them; who fathom the depths of our prejudices, but never for a moment jar them. [ Don't say unpleasant things. Those who do are responsible for half the sor- rows and heartaches that shadow God’s glorious sunshine of other lives. Don’t rattle the bones of the skele- tons In the closets. Don’t ask personal questions thag carry the sting of humiliation, remem- bering always that any satisfaction de- rived from saying mean things is ob- tained at the price of feelings that should be regarded always as sacred.