The Pickens sentinel. [volume] (Pickens, S.C.) 1871-1903, 1891-08-20

shall some day cot Crazy.' William
Hazlltt, the great cssayist! Happy?
| mo. L have been for two hours and Il
half going up and down Patcrnoster
ROW with Il volcano III my brcast.D
Smollct, the witty author! Happy?
No. [ am sick of praise and blame,
! and wish to God that | had such en-
cumstanCcs around me that l could
throw my pen into oblivion" Buchan-
an. the wOr.d.rcnowncd writer. cNiled
from his own country, appealing to
Henry VIII. for prolcct,on! Happy?
NO. Over mountains covered with
snow. and through valleys Hooded with
rain, come a fugitive" Molierc, the
popular dramatic'author! Happy? mo.
That wretch of an actor lust now recited
lour OF my lines without the proper &C
cent and gesture. 10 have the children
OF my brain so hung, drawn. and quar-
tered, tortures me like Il condemned
sprit.'
L went to SEE wor.llln. die. AS |
went into the hall | saw its floor was
les s4cllatcd, an It's wall was Il picture
gallery. l found his death.cllambcr
adorned with tapestry un.il it seemed as
II the clouds OF the setting sun had set
tied III the room. The man had given
forty Years to the world-his wit. his
time, his genius. his talent. his soul.
Did the world come III to stand by his
dcath-bed, and clearing of the walls OF
bitter medicine, put down any compen-
sation? Oh, no! The world Goes not
like sick and dying people. and leaves
them in The lurCh. 1t ruined this man,
and then left him. lie had a magnlli-
cent funeral. All the ministers wore
scaris, and there were i)rtv-thrce car
| rlages IN row; but the departed man
| appreciated not the obscQucs.
L want to persuade my audience that
this world is 81 poor Investment; that il
does not pay ninety per cent of salts
| lactlon, nor eighty per cent nor twenty
| per cent nor t"o per cent. nor one; that
1t gives no sOlaCe when Il dead babe lies
Oh your lap: that 1t gives no peace when
conscience rings its alarm; that 1t gives
no explanation IN the day Of dire trOu-
bic; and at the time Of your deccasc it
takes holt OF The pillow case. and shakes
out the feathers, and then iolts down in
the place thereof signs, and groans, and
eNecratlons, and then makes YOU put
your head on it. Oh. >e who have tried
this world, is 1t Il satisfactory portion?
Would you advise your friends TO make
tie investment: No: "Ic have sold
yourselves for nou4ht." Your con-
science went. Your hope went. Your
Bible went. Your heaven went. Your
God wcnt> When sheriff under a writ
from the courts sells Il man out. the Oil.
Ger generally leaves Il few chairs and a
| a tnw l.,,i,
ihls awful vcnduc in which YOU have
been engaged the auctioneer's mallet
has come down upon body, mind and
soul: Going! Gone. "Ye have sol,
yourselves for nouuht."
How could you do so? Did YOU think
mat your soul was amCrc triuklet whcl
Tor lew pennies you could buy in 4 to,
shop: Did you thlnk that your soul. il
once lost. might he found again if yor
went out with torches and lanterns:
DId you think that your soul was short.
llVed, and that, painting, it would soon
lie down Tor extinction? Or had YOU nc
idea what your soul was worth. Die
you ever put your lOrciingcrS on its etcr.
nal pulses? Have you not felt the
qulVcr oi lis peerless wing: lave YOU
not known that after leaving the BODY.
the first step Of your soul reaches to the
stars, and the next step to the iartherest
outposts OF Gods universe, and that il
Will not die until the day when the ever
lasting Jehovah expires? Oh, INV broth.
er, what possessed you that you should
part with your soul 80 cheap? You
have sold yourself for nought."
But L have some good news to tell
you. L want to engage III litigation