Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1888-02-23
Some Advice to Boys.

My son, you may not be missed o
pie when you die. 1t won't be necessa-
ry for you to leave much money for a
tombstone. The few people who love
you, who tenderly and dearly and truly
love, will know which mound covers
your sleeping figure, and they can find
| it just by the ferns and grasses that
wave above it, and monument 90
| feet high won't make strangers care for
you, or make them love you. or make
them remember you. You may not be
missed a great deal by very many peo-
pie when you die, my boy, but that
isn't what you want to think about.
You want to make yourself felt and
noticed while you are here. That's
what you want to do. And that is more
than most men do. Just run your eye
over this paragraph again, if you have
time, and think over it little while
you are waiting for morning service to
begin. Now and then you will meet a
man who actually rejoices in a mean,
envi0us sort of way to think that in
few years his more popular, prosperous,
successful neighbor will be dead and
forgotten. 1t may be true. The big,
wide world is so busy with the living
that she does seem to forget her child
ren when they fall asleep. But you will
notice that the man who rejoices
in this is usually a man whom she las
forgotten while he yet lives; who is
not noticed; who is not felt or heard in
the world at all. Now do you go ahead,
my boy, and don't stop to wonder
whether the world will remember you
and miss you one hundred years from
world in a hundred years, Heaven send
it may be under your feet then-you
just go ahead and make yourself felt
now. When you are gone the world
will get along without you, my boy;
but while you are here do you make it
understand that you are running part
of this show yourself, if it is nothing
more than standing at the tent door
and directing the people to pass to the
right and move along in front of the
ges.-Burdette.
The Editor.-The happiest moment
in an editor's life is when, tired (which
he always is) he tumbles into his bed,
wraps the "drapery of his couch" snug
ly about him and quietly doZes off, Sc
renely conscious that no part of the
day hich has just closed was wasted.
He has spoken well of his friends, just
ly of his enemies and ill of no man.
He has improved every opportunity to
do generous act or speak a kindly
word. He has done nothing of which
any good man could feel ashamed, and
has done what he could to make the
world happier and better. And thus,
as he mentally sums up his moral ac-
counts and finds balance on the side
of good. not counting delinquent sub
scribers, he passes into the peaceful
realm Of sleep with as much joy as the
Peri passed through the gates of Eden.
And so it is with the old editor who.
after we'll spent life, lies down for his
last long sleep. His breast is neither
haunted by fear nor tortured by regret.
He has nobly acted his part on the
stage of life. He has left to posterity
an example worthy of imitation. His
life has been poem filled with love
and tenderness and joy, and as his last
breath passes from his tired body he
scents the perfume of the Elysian fields
and hears the sweet songs of the birds
of Paradise. The tone of Gabriels
trumpet has no terrors for his ear and
as he passes through the pearly gates,
he is greeted with the cheerful words,
"Come in; take the best position on
the front seat; you are an editor and
have faithfully executed your part in
the great drama of life."