The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1885-01-02
LETTERS FROM TIE PEOPLE.
AThouglnt for the New Year.

To the Editor of the Indianapolis journal:
Some people, it is said, "read the Indianapolis
Journal as they read their Bible" and, from the
reckless way in which some of our learned poll
ticians quote the Scriptures we are of opinion
that some-yea, many. read the Journal, whose
best recollection Of the good book is that Of the
"old-fashioned Bible that laid on the stand" in
the long-ago home of the barefoot boy" In
short, the Journal is read by all sorts and con-
ditions of men, and the verdict has gone forth
that it has "gone up head" and not likely to be
turned down."
It's editorials are faithful and beautiful pic
lures of whatever subject the writer takes up
always appropriate the language breathing the
spirit of patriotism and humanity The bright
and newsy letters written by Mrs. Carleton,
Mary Dean, J. G. Fletcher and others are fresh
and inspiring It's POEMS too, by Louisa V.
Boyd and Ida May Davis are indeed refreshing.
And our own James Whitcomb Riley (of whom
Indiana is so justly proud) has he not touched
and rendered every heart by the quaintness,
beauty and pathos of his thoughts and words,
tuned to the true poetry of the soull
Yes we eagerly look for the coming of the
Journal every Monday morning. We need it
day and Friday mornings. Saturdays supple
ment brings an additional treat, and Sundays
edition is its browning excellence! 1t would be
very hard to do without its daily visits. Our
friend, no doubt was of The same mind when
the inquiry was made Of the newsboy for ''to-
days Journal" More than thousand miles lay
between old Indiana and that swift-going train.
So the boy smiled, drew up his mouth in a
whistling attitude which, being interpreted,
said: ''Since the age of miracles is past, won't
you take some other paper to-day, and 'to-day's
Indianapolis Journal tomorrow"
But am wandering. have merely 'taken
my pen in hand" to have little talk with the
great army of journal readers. At this season
of the year we always expect feast ofgood
things in general and good advice in particular,
said advice served up in homeopathic, allopathlc,
or botanic doses, according to the peculiar no
tons of the one prescribing. But in some shape
it is sure to make its appearance, and because of
this certainty we have come to look upon it
lightly, and with each year we are con-
scious of folding up in a napkin
much that is precious, and plae-
ing it securely under a bushel.
The Journals Christmas editorial says "Christ-
mas belongs to the children" and so we say
that New Year belongs to grown-up folks in
peculiar way. Most of all they need a way
mark compelling them to call halt long
enough to have few serious thoughts. In
few hours the last leaf of the old calendar will
be torn off. By some it will be done with
scarcely a thought of the past or future, while
others will write 1885 with hurried resolutions
for the coming year-all to be forgotten in a
months time, for of such it may be said, ''they
resolve and re-resolve, then die the same"
In the midst of the hurry, hustle and unrest
in the lives about u.s. one is often at loss to
know just what to do; but to quick eye and a
heart tuned with love for humanity the way
is made plain True Affections and
sorrows may press heavily upon us, and our own
burdens almost greater than we can bear, yet
the moment we stretch forth a loving hand to
lift the somber veil settling down upon the life
and soul of another, our own becomes lighter
for Life counts not hours by joys pangs, but
just by duties done"
Is it hard to know ones duty?-then let then
let the language of the heart speak, and its ten
der loving sympathies will constantly bubble to
the surface. Do not try to grasp life as a whole
but be content to know that it is made up of
tiny parts; that we must choose, and fashion,
and give color to each it takes its place in the
great web If we would have bright, warm
colors in the wool that is hourly filing the
warp, we must give heed to the little
things. Let call the roll Of the sad
and sorrowing grid on our armor of
=
work grandly and nobly for the coming year.
The deepest shadows fall on hearts that are ten
derest, and oh! how sweet the thought comes to
us as we are tempest-tossed on the great sea of
affection, heart-sck and ready to despair, that
others have been dashed about on the same
angry waves and how our soul is braced for the
conflict when they come to us with tears in their
eyes and voice, and say, 1--WE, too, have walked
in the shadows and know and feel your VICE."
IL we only could realize the value Of word
fifty spoken, the fragrance of our good deeds
would perfume the air of every life instead of
being bottled up for state occasions and Sunday
dress.
1t is told that Napoleon Bonaparte, with his
sturdy mind and ambition, became so dis
couraged of ever accomplishing anything
worthy of his endeavors in his earlier
life, that he came near committing suicide,
and was saved from self-destruction by kind
and cheering word, and that spoken by
stranger. But enough of this. We tire of long
faces and long talks. We need the right kind of
help; we need it now Don't put it off. Per-
chance this very hour some poor struggling soul
awaits your coming. Your loving help may be
the golden key to let in the sunight-to bring
back the music of hope, as it is dying, dying
away. Thousands go down to their graves every
year, and some no doubt in the little world
\ about us, for lack of that very love and sympa-
thy which justly belongs to them. Then we
bring flowers, pale flowers, Ger the bier to shed;
praisng their virtues when too late Ah yes,
we strew on the casket and newly-made grave
the roses and lilies we denied them in life
And now, as the bells toll out the old year, let
us close the book, with its soiled and blotted
pages, and welcome the joyous notes of the New
Years chimes, hoping and believing that the
record will be purer and brighter than that of
1884 ME-
VINcENNEs, lad, Dec. 81, 1884.
The School Book Monopoly.
To the Editor Of the indianapolis Journal
OF the various ills with which the Indiana
body-politic has suffered, none has been more
grevous or borne less complainingly than the