The Kansas herald of freedom. [volume] (Wakarusa, Kan. Territory) 1854-1860, 1859-06-25
From ne CAica0o JoUdn0l.
1O-udJ aE1O 1OSEESWs
-. ~

Do you think you are sufficiently CRATE
full that to-day is Saturday and tomorrow
is the Sabbath. AUD doesn't it seem to
You that somehow they grow fewer and
fewer, as the years grow more and more?
That the easy old coat and the comfort
able slippers and the coy arm chair are
not assumed with that abandon now, that
they were wont to be, years ago? That
the barrier of single Saturday night is not
broad enough to keep the crowd of cares
from getting over, like pack of wolves,
into the calm, green fold of the Sab
bath?
We are afraid it is so-that we al are
getting older, and in fact wickeder, when
we ought to be getting better. 1t is bad
sign when man cannot help calculating
the profit on a corner lot, while his wife
is saying sweet things to him that he
doesn't hear, Just as she used to do be-
fore she was a wife at all. We do not
know that DR.. Clark intimates in his Com
mentary how far man is from "boiling
point" who laments loss of four dollars
and half, on load of hoop. poles, while
the clergyman-good man-has Just said,
1--WE will read for our instruction, this
morning."
But we do know that such tendencies
are petrifying; that many man, intent
upon getting "a pocket full of rocks" has
found to his great establishment, rock in
his left breast, about the size of his heart.
We do know that an old Peter of heart
is poor piece Of machinery to run life
with.
She would be sensible woman who,
when she desires to improve her COM
plexion, should say gentle word to the
weeping, or do gentle deed to the want
ing. And repose is just such cosmetic,
only it is deeper than Skin Deep" for it
beauties the heart and adorns the life
1t is to labor, what the shadow is to the
sum- 1t is there one will find the dews of
nature sparkling and pure, if he finds
them at all.
But repose is not sleep; neither is it
inaction, but only the simple, unartifcial
play of thought and feeling 1t is Just as
when the village mill stands still. The
damp wheel is motionless in the dark and
dripping house; "the sound of the grind
ing is low" the miller's cloud has settled
to the white and powdery floors. But
the stream runs on with unimpeded flow,
and the play of its waters is calmer and
brighter and more beautiful than before.
Now everybody has grist of his own, of
some sort; and the doctrine is, leave the
grain in the mill, and close the gate, that,
not all the Seven. the waters of life may
be beaten into pillows and foam by the
whirling wheels.
Go out into the midst Of Gods great
temple; sit down upon the banks of life's
river; look away up towards the fountain,
and away down towards the sea; discover,
if you can, what millers seldom know
that "water runneth by the mill, the mil
Ter wots not of" that God made the
river if you did make the mill.
So It's, that it proves a right excellent
thing to fence the world out, and the
Sabbath in. Time has walled it round
with couple ofnights, but how pure and
calm may we have it between.
If the business man must have some
thing to do every day, let him make an
inventory Of the contents Of the heart on
| Sunday; let him overhaul the old dusty
ledgers, and see what he used to have
there, years and years ago; and If he will
take our word for it, he will find curious
things he hasn't thought of in an age; find
too, that like an old garrett, it contains a
great deal that is out of fashion. 1t
would not surprise us at all to learn that
he had many memory he would not
exchange for State Bonds at premium,
if he could. What blessing it is that
the past and its wealth Of memories never
found their way into Wall Street! 1t
would not be SO very strange, if some
foolish little trinket should delude him
out of a tear; nor if he should take GER
tain titled deeds and certificates Of stock,
that somehow latterly he had been in the
habit of putting in his heart, out of the
place they desecrate, and leave them the
next Saturday night in the iron safe where
they belong. Very likely he would find
he had written his wrongs there; and it
would be just the day to remove them,
loo
"Stoop down serene. and write them in the dust;
Trod under foot, the sport Of every wind.
Swept from the earth, and blotted from his
mind"
Such is the sort of Sabbath Herbert
sang of when he exclaimed,
Sweet Ts s.S day, 80 pure 50 calm g bright