Wilmington journal. [volume] (Wilmington, N.C.) 1844-1895, 1870-04-22
Il Sermon.
My hearers. shall draw forth the horns
of my argument from the following hymn

My hearers. shall draw forth the horns
of my argument from the following hymn:
This world is all q tleetin show,
TO mans illusion given;
Never aspire where you cam set,
Or to the airth you'll fall.
agree with the tavern keeper, who said
when the circus company sloped without
payin' him for grub and grog, ''ths world
is oil feetin' show" and l also side with
The hungry man, who cried outin the bus
tin agony of his heart, when lie saw q
lantern, that it is "for mans illusion
given!' Ny friends! you wrap your feel
ings around the rotten things OF this world
even as monkeys do their tails around the
unsound limbs of old trees.
When you get high up, yoU find yCur
honey-bee hoIler turns out to be Il hornets
nest and when those little flying belize
bub's commence pokin their sharp pointed
! sno" IS deep into your carcass, you WIG
! gle -Aout like an eel in fryin' pan, your
tail gets untWested, or the limb breaks,
that you have grabbed as tight as leather
sucker does q brickbat, and you fail, CO.
whollop, upon the broken glass bottles,
which are always strewed under the pizeu
Upas tree Of pleasure! Oh, the vanity OF
desirin' the slippery paths Of this airth =
You run after 'em, you pa {, yOu blow. the
parspiratlon runs down yOI like soapsuls
in a washing machine, your body is cover
ed over with the prickly heat OF anxiety,
and your feet with the soft corus OF care
and disappointment. And what arc al
these sutferings for? What makes YOUR
nose bleed, and what makes y0nr blood
boil like hot pitch at q tar gathelin? Why
| you've been running after the great shoaJ
OF MGmmOn! Ills tail has baeu Gipp'd i'll
Satan's lard kittle, and when you think
OV1'
the ashes OF veXation on your palms when
you've dipp'd your fingers into the sand
glue OF experience Gnd wisdom. SO That
they'll stick fast and no mistake, tho cue-
sed crltter gives 81 grunt like tho Dustin Cf
bladder. and bis tail slips through Your
paws like geese creased Eighteenth!
Oh, my beloved hearers how awful is
your situation in that pertickulcr time +
You see the hog that you've been runnin
after all your born days way on ever 50
far ahead, and you're ever SO ditto behind
All your precautions have come TO what
hickory wood Will IN the winter time,
smoke Your trousers arc split your
shirts dirty, and your eyes arc streaming
like two ile-hopper8 on rainy day. Your
head aches, and you see tho sea turtles and
canvass backs rootin straight into your
skull. The tieas Of dependency bite you
through the day, and bed bus Of cob
science, as big as ehcep, keep you from
sleep at night You'ro worse than man
with his hands tied, lying naked in bayou,
without musketo bar Ont Of rcmorso
springs just about ten million nu,kectCa.
with comic stockins on their legs, and an
gers in their mouths, all horin straight
through and through your body, and film
up the holes with caw-itch and GkunEs
cologne.
Your situation is too numerous to mon
ton. The molasses hogshead of generooi-
ty and good feeling is STAYED in, and the
sweet stream of kindness aud humanity is
mixing with the tar, dead dogs and drunk
en- niggers lyin about on the levee Of vice
and immortality. The Mississippi OF love
is at low water, the steamboat Of prayer
| and the broad horn of faith, boln laden
with the rich cargo Of the country above,
git crnelly snagged on the logs Of despair ;
and both sink deep in the yalIer .nud Of
sin The catfshes of hell, which are born
in the bilin spring of intemperence, float
round your brains and the schreco! owls
of sorrow set boohooin" in tho hen .roost
OF your hearts. You're deserted and de-
spised-you're 10 more use to the world
than pair Of goggles are to a stone blind
man, and you're no moro use to your
selves than problem Of Euclid 10 z Niger
baby