The Camden weekly journal. [volume] (Camden, South-Carolina) 1853-1861, 1854-06-27
Mi5tallanRuas,
The Strength of the Soul.

1t rests. AS every arch has Its Keystone, every
lever it's fulcrum; as every body has its centre
of gravity, which must rest ON something, so
every soul must have-a point out of itself, Of
stability and repose.
We cannot always tell what it is. A man
does not always know what it is himself Men
do not often ask themselves questions enough
to know what the strength of their souls is
Like the vital force in the body we know when
it is present and when it is gone, but not where
it is.
Here is man full Of activity and energy,
joyous, vigorous, the life of his circle. Sudden
Iy, as if struck by an evil eye, he seems to col
lapse and wither-he loses energy and eiastici.
.ty; he does nothing, and is good for nothing,
Nobody knows what has come over the man;
but the strength of his soul is departed. What
has been touched? Uhat has gone from him Z
Oftentimes the world knows not; he, perhaps,
tells no living creature; all we know is, that
the man is bighted
Nor, when the strength of mans soul has
died out, does he always die. There are ma
ny men, aud women too, who outlivethe strength
Of their souls. One may see in the western
forests girdled trees around, in whom never
more vital sap shall ascend from living root,
yet still, for while, shooting forth blossoms
and leaves, from the mere habit of past vital
ity-and so men, when the strength of their
char ical habit Of living.
Sometimes the strength of mans soul lies
where he does not look for it. He only discov
ers where it was by the blow that strikes it.
Here is men of reading q man of varied
intellectual resources, a man of wide accom-
plishments, versed in art, and skilled in learn.
ing. He shows himself friendly, aud has scores
of friends ;.he has fair wife whom be loves
passing well. A beautiful daughter prattles
and totters around his 6re>ide-so tiny crea
turr, so fair and fancifnl, with her soft curs,
her gay ignorance, her sweet absurdities -the|
little thing seems made only as the luxury and
ornament Of existence-ils toy and play thing
not its essential want. The roots of this 9ra !
wind. flower seem too threadike and fine til
strike into the deep and lower granite of mans s.
soul. The man plays with her daily VI hen he
closes his book, or comes in from his business,
but he thinks of her as passing perfume, a
dew-drop, bird song on a glad morning-a
merry song on to begue x passing hour. Alas /!
there comes day when the uerry voice is ST.
lent, and Of all that life and beauty, there re-
mains only poor, sorrowful wreck, white,
calm, and deadly chill.
He rises up from his bed, to 60 forth as
aforetime. He tries all that charmed before
what is the matter9 Has he not all that he
hada The strength of his soul has departed! |!
Those threadlike fbres were wrapped about the
deep granite of his soul !; the foundations Of
his life have been riven in tearing them away.
Another mans strength lies in the compan-
ionship Of some human heart. The mortal
pilgrim goes on for years with deep desire
unsatisfed, a craving unanswered; but, in some
fortunate hour, another soul is found to satisfy
the craving and answer the demand. An eye
beams on him as star; another h.nd clasps
his, heartgives back thought for thought
feeling for feeling-all that ne had yearned for.
Now the strength of his soul is in this other
soul. But as an iceberg comes grinding be
tween two ships sailing joyfully in company,
90 death rises up between these hearts, parting
for ever. The man awakes alone, and 10! the
strength of his soul is departed! Nature is
silent; for him the sun shines not, the birds
sing not; the beauty and grandeur of nature
exists only as life to the blind and music to the
deaf The whole world of nature, art, poetry.
music painting-all are buried for him in that
one grave.
The strength of an inferior soul is in his
riches The man loses a wife, and he is sorry !;
his child dies, and he is sorry; he Loses his
friend, and he is sorry; but still he bears up
bravey, and his life still has attractions; bat
a stroke sweeps away his riches, his life's Ia
Dor of accumulation, and the man is crushed !;
q L. bo,1 tho
his soul has departed.
Ambition is the strength Of another mans
soul-to gain some station of dazzling emf
nence-to be above other men. The roots Of
his being all run into this idea; the man de-
velopes from it it nourishes him for years.
Wife, child, literature, wealth, art-all these
are well in their way !; they are very good, nay,
they are beautiful in his eyes, so beautiful, 50
good, that one might sometimes think that in
them lay the vitality Of his being. But these
fade, these change, these die and pass from
him, and though the man be troubled, it is but
for season. He is like kingly pine; his
smaller roots have been cut, but the deep root
of all holds him upright. Now the axe is laid
to that, and the sound Of his fall is as the
crashing Of mighty pine in the still forest.
Sometimes man seems to be chased by
sorrow, from refuge to refuge, from outwork to
outwork, bravely fighting all the way ,scornins
to yield himself vaaquished.. At last he en-
trenches himself in the very inmost citadel, and
here makes desperate stand If this be ta.
ken, the strength of bis soul is vanquished.-
Piutarch says, that in the plague of Athens,
Psricles lost his son. bis sister, his wife, andal.