The Camden journal. [volume] (Camden, S.C.) 1836-1851, 1850-02-26
HIGHLY CONCENTRATED SERMON
BY OLD HUNDRED.

My dear dandies and bellies, fops, and firts,
and other stragglers down the hill of life, my
text to-day is that much used and abused say
ing, Does your Mother kaoD you're cut ?"
Poor silly inflated grub-worms, would say
from your slyness and capers that she can't
know you're out. You young lady, with par
asol like a wilted cabbage leaf on raln-rod,
and chains ofhair down each cheek, like bat
te-tailed spider dipped in blacking, had been
making his everlasting elopemcnt, over your
rouge covered face, leaving broad trace behind
him, and ON your back a peck of. bran-and
your mncing gait like you were picking your
way among rotten eggs, or was barefooted in
a brier patch, and your arm lined to brainless
dandy, (but I'll come at him as soon as am
done with you,) wriggling along the street, and
for what! to hunt up indigent virtue, or suffer-
ing innocence, to pour balm on the wounded
spirit of poverty, or onl TO smear your own
giddy heart with the corrodng grease Of vanity,
to hear fools whisper as you pass, "what fair
girl'' Remember, vain one, beauty is but skin
deep. and the storms of matrimony and bleak
winds of afiction, rubs it all out and leaves the
countenance bare and unbecoming as a wealth
er-beaten barn door, unless you put on coat
OF the lasting paint of fmeekness, worth and love,
under the varnish of beauty. If you can laugh
like him who wins, and know that you are still
loved and lovely, and that you are still beauti-
tul, now that the gloss that hid your worth and
goodness its dazzling glare is gone, you shed a
happy influence on all near you, make US poor
erring mortals feel just like man almost fro
zen, feels when he sets down by a cheerful fire
at his own home. He hears the storm but
heeds it not; he is happy once more. But have
you done this? am afraid that you are but a
butterfly, born wol7u, to die an insect.
All, don't half like that laugll-it was fore
ed; you pretend to be pleased with that FOOLS
wit, when you knew it was stolen! On, why
such deceit, giddy tluttering worm of the cab
bage patch; you are sold, soul and body, for
little empty, windy useless adulaton; yes, sold
to that old snake with the fish hook on his tail
the same snake that fooled your nanny in
Adams truck patch-and oh scissors how he
will strip that finery and raise dust for mile
around, with that peck of bran. Say, flower
sucking butterfly, does your mother know you're
out! If she does, she is unfaithful to her trust;
and ought not to be trusted any more than the
man who stole handful of acorns from the
blind sow; go home, gossamer, and try to pre-
pare yourself TO be woman, and then when
you are abroad, any body will know that your
mother knows you're ont.
Now you that was cut out for man, but
was SO vilainously spoiled in making up, I'll at
tend to your case For what end did YOU burst
upon the worlds door and rush in uncalled, like
a man chased by a mad bull, what good do you
expect to bcstow Oh your fellow man--some
useful invention, some heroic act, some great
discovery, or even one solitary remark? No,
those that look for anything useful or good from
you, will be Just as badly fooled as the man
who caught skunk and thought it was a kit
ten; or the old woman when she made greens
ont of gunpowdcr tea. You know where the
ncatcst tightcst pants, with the strongest straps
can be got on tick, hut you don't know where
the next useful lecture will be delivered, you
know the fashionable collar of Il vest, but you
never studied the gorgeous hues of rainbow,
vat of; you know how fool feels in full dress,
but you don't know how man feels when he
eats the bread earned honestly by the sweat Of
his brow; you know how monkey looks, for
you sec one every day, twenty times, in your
landlady's looking glass, but you don't know
how a man feels after doing Il good action, you
don't go where that sight is to be seen. Oh.
you wasp-waistcd, catlisil-mouthed, babboon-
shoultlcrcd, callipcr-lcggcd, goose:eyed, sheep
faced, bc.whiskcred drone in the worlds bee
hive what are you good for! Nothing but to
cheat your tailor, neatly lisp by note line from
some milk and cider poet scntinicntally, cat oys
tiers gravcly, smoke cigars lazy, make silly
girls act the fool silamcny. | say, does your
mother know you're out, poor useless toad |
am afraid you have no mother nor never had.
You are no more use in this world than n
time piece in Il beaver dam, or Il hair mattrass in
a hog pen. You fill no larger space in the
worlds eye than the toe nail of a musquito
would in market house, or a stump-tacd dog
in all out doors; you are rs little thought ofas
the fellow who knocked his grandmothers last
tooth down her throat, and us for yonr brains,
ten thousand such could be preserved in u drop
of brandy and have as much sea room as 4 tad
pole in Lake Superior! and as for ideas, you
have but one, and that is stamped on your lead
Ell skull in letters an inch deep, that tailors and
females were made to be gullcd by you, that all
may envy you yoar appearance. Poor useless
tobacco worm, you 0rc Il case. Docs your mo-
ther know You're ont 1t is lunch time so