The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1885-12-03
want OF these ornaments of the soul

and women is, perhaps. more at home
than with books, for there are a great
many books which he can not touch at
all. for want of the necessary scholar
ship. Now, everybody can talk of men
and women. and especially of women.
Here his most telling method of ap-
preaching the subject is to deprecate
any belief in the possibility of virtue or
dlsinteredness existing as a motive
cause. The actions Of men, unfortu-
nately, proceed from so many and COM
plex impulses that it is always possible
to assign one which is bad and un-
worthy. Ii, for instance, public deed
is done which involves the sacrifice of
much money or much labor, what more
rational than to suppose it done
with the view of getting the praises of
men? If the labor of life eliminates
in some great thing, which brings
money as well as name, what can one
who reads the soul so well as a cynic
attribute it to but thirst after filthy
lucre? When there are several ends to
be attained. let us, he says, always
choose the least noble. When several
may have been at work, let us, says the
cynic, choose the basest. Thus society
means crush at an 'tat home.n din
ner party of twenty people-strangers
to each other; futile attempt not to
appear bored; perfectly transparent
pretense at enjoyment; and such terms
as friendship, gratitude and honor are
now tolerably devoid of meaning. Cler-
gymen are, by the nature of their pro-
fession, humbugs. All political men
have one single aim and no other-to
get or to keep place. And the little
things that we were once taught to re-
gard as among the most pleasant in
life. the gathering of families. the talk
ing over old times with brothers and
cousins and the joyous public festivities.
these are the saddest humbugs of
modern civilization, the things that
poison our cup of happiness. With
these maxims and some few others the
literary cynic makes out pretty well.
The art cynic bas narrower sphere
of action. You may find him about the
picture galleries. He stands before
picture where the whole soul-a poor
thing, perhaps, but all he has-of the
artist has been poured out. Women,
looking at the fixed thought on the
canvas, are moved to tears. He, how
ever is unmoved. After mature consid-
Grafton he turns to his friend and
whispers audibly: 'Ahi yes-pretty
well-the old trick, you see!' So the
simple country folks dry their eyes,
ashamed to be seen crying over picture
that is done by the ''old trick and go
on to the next, all their pleasure spoiled.
Sometimes he gets an opportunity of
speaking out in some review. Then,
taking the picture in detail, he has a
chance to sneer at every one.
The theatrical cynic-he never laughs
and never cries; needless to add that
he never applauds. His finest opportu-
nifty is when the whole house is in tears.
He is wont, then, to turn round to the
man with him, whose throat is, perhaps,
choked at the moment with a sup
pressed sob, and to whisper loudly:
Very badly done. all this. / never
saw worse piece" So that the peo-
pie all round leave off crying and try
| not to feel interested in the heroine's
| sufferngs. In the same way, when
faces are broadened with grins. when
boxes and pit and gallery are
roaring with laughter, he win sit with
| unmoved countenance or remark. impa-
tiently, ''Dear mel this is very melan-
choly!'' which has an effect upon the
audience similar to that of oil upon the
unnumbered smiles of ocean. Some
nights ago saw two of these critics at
q New York theater They were not
| greatly advanced in years, the elder
being apparently about twenty-one.
| They listened with grave faces at the
funny parts, keeping, | thought, a fur
| tive eye one on the other, to detect and
deride any accidental lurking smile,
| but when we came to the misfortunes
of the heroine, and the agony was piled
up higher than we could well bear. these
two young heroes. with whom intellect
| and an overwhelming appreciation of
art altogether conquered and drove out
sympathy, and with whom the critical
faculty SO far mastered the emotional,
that theyslost the power of feeling the
thought, in watching for the expression
of the poet, suddenly rose. moved by a
common impulse. "Baht'' said the
younger, with an infallible air of dsdain,
''what rot it is! Let us get out of here.
So they got out. The two boys were,
after all, only boys. AS for the rest of
us we cried and laughed at the foolish
piece till our sides aehed.
Isaw young but very promising
eynic the other day, in an Episcopal
Church. Three boys were sitting
together, he in the middle. but think
he had come alone. The other two
pulled out their Bibles and followed the
lessons, joined in the chants, sang the
HYMNS, knelt for the prayers, and gener-
ally comported themselves with be-
coming reverence and propriety. He,
however, my cYnic, regarded them, to
right and left, with an air of the most
sublime contempt. He would look
around the church, as if to call atten-
ton to this preposterous humbug and
his own superiority. In Difference to the
service, he stood up for the hymns and
sat down for the lessons; but he neither
knelt, nor joined in the singing, nor
affected anything but the most supreme
boredom at the whole thing 'sRelig-
ion?" he, seemed to say. Prayers?
piety? Dear, dear. what absurdity." !"
OF inferior quality, but, perhaps.
mora qffaotiva IN hic eneafl vuau iS fba