Sioux City register. [volume] (Sioux City, Iowa) 1858-1871, 1862-09-20
SIOUX CITY, IOWA. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1862
A SHORT PATENT SERMON.

I A SHORT PATENT SERMON.
D'Orvills" sends me the following text.
will expatiate little upon it this morn.
ing:
What is love ,--'Tis fools blind dream
Vf something that ns'er existence had;
1t vanishes meath the dayight's Slesm-
And when 1t 10 gone the tool goes mad
My Hearers III you think that your
lonely preacher, through practical expe-
rience, is more capable of giving perfect
| analysis Of Love than anybody else. you
sit there under teavy mistake. True,
in my more susceptible days-and before
l took to chewing tobacco often felt
slight mysterious jerking at the heart
strings, but only once the real, magnetic,
| galvanic, spasmodic, convulsive. soothing,
painful, delightful sensation Of genuine
Love. handled the article thoroughly
examined it, tasted it, rubbed it and smelt
of i,-and yet f,7 the soul Of me- l cant
now tell what it ia, nor even what it's like.
Enough to say. it's some sort Of nervous
affection, taking root in the heart and
branching out and blossoming in the brain;
| and when they come to nervous diseases,
| doctors Of medicine, doctors of divinity,
and horse doctors are alike equally in the
dark. But there is something in it, as the
! unbeliever said when he took the laug hing
| gas.
Brother Burns, who used to blow, up
what love actually was, albeit he has given
US 10 understand something Of what it is
like. He says:
ia
IT will nae let poor body
Gang about his business
That is SO, my friends! Love units
body for any useful pursuit upon the face
Of the earth, and annihi!ated his appreci-
alton of anything that is really valuable
suppose that when the fit is on, even mi
ners cant dig with the energy Of a wood.
chuck in the last stage Of consumption,
and when they come across q nugget, they
probably look upon it as being worthless.
as did -Esop's old rooster upon the jewel
he CHANGED to scratch out Of dung heap.
Love is a lazy, dreaming, high>ho.ing
state of existence, in which one either
looks Of the world as a garden full of
roses, without single thorn, or an i'm
mense field Of Canadian ,histles, and not
anii,.rv ana in. hlassnm. When yyonr
preacher Grst experienced severe touch
Of the tender, everything from tho wood.
pile to the hen house, was crowned with
roses bigger than flap jacks; and turkey
buzzards lowering over the carcass of
dead mule, seemed like SO many Cupids
poising their pinions above the bosom Of
my sleeping Beauty.
Unhappy Goldsmith, my brethren, once
poeIically exclaimed, in something like
these heart piercing words:
Oh, what is friendship but rams-
cha m that luls to sleep;
And love is but IA brushwo fame,
That leaves the wTeth--A SHEET
or, "to weep" forget which-very likely
"a sheep it's more natural.
But what says our text?-"'Tis FOOLS
wild dream Of something that ne err exist
ence had - Now, my friends. you know
very we'll that the wonf Of all my dreams
is composed Of threads spun by fsncy.
ana more brittle than the beams of a dill.
npidated moon the whoe iabricis ilmsy
trash at best. Then, if Love be nothing
more than idiots dream-giding every>
thing. and converting airy nothing in.o q
seemingly solid something, and vet nothing
| after all--then say. Love won't pay for
candle light-much less for either ats laud.
anum or its brandy cock tails. Ny Ia.
mented friend Moore says, most palheti
cslly:
New DAYS may come with milder light,
Or shed a brighter beam;
| But there's nothing half so sweet in life
As Loves young dream!
Love was once a little boy, and full
Of mischief; and then all his dreams,
| though very sweet. were, notwithstanding.
very foolish and he doubtless nund them
soT'~hen he came to grow up and know
the difference in the value of kiss and a
| five dollar gold piece, or that Of a leg of
mutton and q pretty ancle. My text,
brethren, seems 10 give us to understand,
tha, when Loves silly dream vauishes be-
fore the broad day light Of reason, the
dreaming fool is very likely to go mad as
u March hare. If this don't hold good in
| all instances, tell you, my fri,nds, that
in majority Of cases, it will apply as te.
naciously as hot glue in n nigger's wool.
Hear the same poet rave, in his crazy
second thought:
| Oh the days are gone when Beauty bright
| My hearts chain wose-
| When all my dream from morn till night,
| Was love, still lore
Here, my brethren, you can easily sec the
madness protruding an inch or SO. Mark
now TUE IeliOW Signs, uhe . iuTunSci WIN
that di.tressful h!"-how he takes on,
to think that the days are forever past
when he had little else to do, and was fit
for nothing else than to crawl under a
gooseberry bush and dream Of Love.
still love-" or sit and doze while Beauty
WAS manufacturing halter for his heart,
and perhaps for his neck. That the gifted
bard of Hiberna's Green Isle died Of a
softcning Of the brain-aiter he had drank
OF love and wine to their very lees--is
melancholy fact.
That the dream Of love "van!shes meath
the daylight gleam,' is more true than po'
! eticsl All lovers do but dream during
the uncertain moonlight OF courtship.-
They awake TO true, sober sense Of their
situations ouly in the broad ARE Of mat
rimony. And then, if they find the frs.
fame extinguished, ana beyond the power
Of rekindling, it is no wonder they 20
mad, and do something desperate-psr
chance, tear board of the pig pen.
| Q,t NV fr;onds .hara ekoul I'd bA nc ne