The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-09-22
BEAUTY SPOTS IN THE DESERT
BY "BRIcK" PoMERoY.

How like the ocean is the great des- ert of Sahara, of which nearly all of us children have read on this blessed Saturday night. He who journeys on towards the destination so long thought of and looked for, travels with his load through sand and along routes which bleach the bones of those who have fallen by the wayside, because of their improvi- dence, till his eyes catch and his feet rest upon the green sod, with it's wide, wide border of sand. Here are the springs that give to life and to strength that which they need to carry them to the beyond.
 The expert traveller journeys from oasis to oasis. It is less tiresome than to contemplate long travel across desert waste and halting in the burn- ing sands further to the east; when the east is never reached, any more than is the west. The desert is dotted with green lands, beauty spots and resting places, as life is dotted with good and beautiful events, and as the journey of life is marked by the flower covered hillocks of love which we SO love as Saturday nights.
 How prized those nights that mark the six days run of days to us when, an overworked lad on a farm, won- dering if life was more of desert or more of green fields and fresh air. The farmer came in with his hoe, scythe, cradle or rake, and as he mopped the precipitation from his brow ,ssid that he was glad the weeks work was one. The overworked wife and mot. ger counting on having the cellar, wardrobe, garret, pantry and measure of food for the morrow, all in order, and then that the wash ing, ironing, mending, baking, stew ing and arranging were all done be- fore the night turned on it's heel and slowly receded, as came the morn. The children washed their feet, put aside their playthings and books, and went to bed wondering why the Sun- day was ordered to be SO dry and so long, and so tiresome, as the parents too often make Sunday for the little ones, who are so thoughtlessly locked out from happiness, to sit in the dis cipline that is generally too tight to be beneficial.
 The tired horses and the weary oxen could also rest. There was no waiting, waiting, waiting, waiting the coming of drunken father home from the tavern or the saloon, when we were a boy; as home was ever held in such high esteem that it's present or future attractions and comforts could never be spared for beautifying places of dissipation. Manliness was also held in such respect that no man who was under the roof that shell tered our boyish days ever desired to waste and demean it by sinking the man to mistake.
 Tonight we are happy as is babe in cloverfeld, resting in the shade. This week, while walking with a rel ative in Elmirs, when in front of the Railway Y. M. c. A., we met a man, a barber, who said that he remembered, as though it were but yesterday, a speech, or four political speeches, made in one day, in 1868, in Watkins. That he remembered much of the speeches and their prophecies. That he then began to read our Saturday Night" chapters, and that they. had melted thought, encouraged and de- veloped the good, directed his path, mellowed and benefited his life, which now is lined with flowers of happi- ness instead of the weeds of dissipa- tion. He said that the writings that came so straight from the heart went to the heart, to besutify and strengthen his life, and now, as we met, while each was journeying on, he wished to thank us for the good we had done and encouraged him to do.
 Yes, there are sweet fruits now growing from the trees we have been striving to plant along the way, one end of which is marked by a cradle, the other, by grave, showing the Alpha and Omega of life's race-course as we journey on to the greater be- yond.
 How we wish that every Saturday night, of every man, marked an oasis in the desert. That each man would put himself at peace with himself as comes the night that closes the week. That not one of all the wives in the world were found to sit in agony, waiting for the coming of the man who had sworn to love her, but whom drink always causes to abuse the woman he should love, respect and, tenderiy as possible, care for before all others.
 How we wish that every child in the land could play and romp with papa when comes the Saturday night, l