Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1888-05-11


dent. scoff at Congress, bully the Leg
islature. and transgress the laws oil
the land daily | drive across the
bridge faster than walk, and open
" sneer at the five-dollar fine with
which the sign-board threatens me. l
have walked ION the grass" in Fair
mount Park: in Central Park | have
''plucked a leaf, flower, or shruo. |
have stood on the front platform
for many miles. have talked 10 the
man at the Wheel" Ihave got on and
off the cars willie in notion" ] have
smoked abaft this shaft | have re-
fused TO keep moving on the Brook
lvn Bridge; ] have neglected 70 clear
the snow from my sidewalk; | have
dumped the ashes into the alley at
early dawn; | do not muzzle my dog
and last year he was not registered; |
do not always turn to the right
when am driving: | do not always
procure tickets before entering the
cars"-why, i can't begin TO tell one
half NV lawless acts. But one virtue,
even though it may be considered
negative one. insert here a a saving
clause: | have never overstated the
value of my property 10 the assessor.
THE ART OF LETTER WRITING.
In letter writing be entertaining be
amusing, be brief, and, if you can, be
funny. \ funny letter is always wei
come. But don't be funny if you can't.
Don't try to be funny. Unless you are
morally certain that your fun Is funny
fun, save it for a sermon.> Nothing III
all this world is so fiat, insipid, taste
less, vapid, utterly savorless, as fiat
fun. 1t is heavier than stupidity,
staler than dullness, blanker than va
cancy. Now and then | receive a let
ter which some writer-who Is as de
void of humor a. a COW is Of feathers
has tried to make funny for my en-
tertainment, and as | dismallv wade
through the dreary lines, my heart Is
painfully disappointed, because |
think: What all excellent, sensible
letter has this good-hearted fellow
spoiled, because he thinks ! ain an i'd
lot. doing nothing but grin and giggle
all the day" He could write good
letter. too. did he write like his own
natural self. But you say, Il
might write letter that | thought
was very funny, and yet it would not
be funny at all" Well, n-no, no. You
see you have some sense. You can tell
a brilliant sunset from Il burning lmn
Der yard. You can count the feet OF
your poems on your fingers, and you
know that stethoscope and phalanX
make not a good rhyme. You know
when thing is funny and when il Is
flat. You know enough TO eat when
YOU are hungry, don't you? Well,
then. you know when n sketch is real
lv funny and when ii is only disas-
trous imitation. We'll, then, you
say, you profess TO be funny. DO
vou think that everything you write
is really funny" Oh, my tender Tel
emachus, if you dreaded to see the pa
per that contains my written words
as / do; if you went out into the will
derness and dubbed yourself with
votlr pen as often as | do; If with
heavy heart and streaming eyes, alone
and in the darkness of failure, you
buried as many printed jokes, dead in
the hour of their birth, a. | do, you
would trade your pen for hand saw
and paint brush and write spectacu-
lar dramas! Why, if you made one
half as many successes "a | have
made. and do make twice as many
failures, the gods will envy you.
GIVING THE POOR A CHANCE.
Give the poor man a chance? My
son, the poor man takes about all the
chances without waiting to have one
given him. If you give him any more
chances than he takes, he will soon
own everything, and run the Texas
man out Of the country. The fact is,
emust curtail the poor mans chances
a little. We must sit down on him,
and hold him down, and give the rich
man a chance The poor man has had
things his own way too long. He has
crowded the rich man out. But for
the poor man this old world would
have cast anchor 5000 years ago, and
be covered with moss and lichens to-
dav. like United States man-of-war.
Edgar Allan Poe was the son Of stroll
ing players; George Peabody was a
boy in a small grocery; Benjamin
Franklin, the printer, was the son of
a tallow chandler: John Adams was
the son of a poor farmer; Clifford, the
first editor of the Quarterly Rerieio, was
a common sailor; Ben JohnsOn-rare
Ben Johnson-was bricklayer; the
and couldn't write his own name
neither can you; even his illustrious
son couldn't spell it twice alike; Rob
ert Burns was a child Of poverty, the
eldest Of seven children, the family Of
a bankrupt; John Milton was the son
Of scrivener; Andrew Jackson was
the son OF poor lrishman; Andrew
Johnson was a tailor; Garfield was a
boy of work, too poor even To have
regular trade: Grant was a tanner;
Lincoln keel boatman and common
farm hand, and the Prince Of Wales
is the son Of Queen. 1t is his mis-
fortune, not his fault; he couldn't help
ii. and he can't help it now. But you
see, my dear boy, that's all there is OF
him: he's just the Prince Of Wales,
and he's only that because he can't