The Austin weekly statesman. (Austin, Tex.) 1883-1898, 1892-02-11
THE HOME CORNER.

Have you heard of the "Pass On So
ciety?" You need no initiation fee,
no grips nor passwords. You need
only to pass on the magazine you en-
joyed, the poem that inspired you,
the book that whiled away a lonely
or weary hour So many people who
would enjoy them as well as you have
fewer opportunities for getting them;
and it is SO easy for you to pass them
on. If one followed out that plan in
other things, what delightful world
this would become after awhile! Sup
pose that you passed on to some lonely
soul the courteous greeting, the bright
smile, the warm and friendly clasp OF
| the hand! Suppose that instead OF
carrying along the street the chilling
and repellant look which you reserve
| for strangers, you wore look of hui
nan interest and sympathy for your
| kind and passed on whatever CHEEKY
good nature and warm hOpefulness
| there may be in your soul! 1t is utter
selfshness that absorbs all the good
| things of life and gives
nothing in return. Join the
Pass On Society, and pass on
all the cheerfulness and sunshine and
springtime bloom that fall to your
| share.
~
About a year ago the Review of Re-
views asked for letters from its read
ers, giving their views on the spot
that they considered the most beauti-
full in all the world. The replies that
the magazine received were various;-
as various as the people who wrote
them. Some selected spots in SWitzer-
land or in Italy; and the places select
ed were, almost without exception, al
ready known to fame. But among
all the letters was one rare and beau
tiful, and full of sweet suggestions
| 1t was written from Glasgow, and the
place selected was in the desolate,
smokeblasted region that lies near.
And such place Some workmen
digging away the earth to make a
railroad embankment had left hol-
low which rains had afterwards turn
ed into pond; and this pond was the
place which the Glasgow writer looked
upon as the fairest spot
in all the world! Beautiful, indeed,
it must have been, when he could
touch it with such tender fancy as
this:
Where careless diggers dug their clay
Was left Il waste, red pit
Close by mems daily path it lay,
Yet none regarded it,
"Betimcs the heavens trimmed it bright
With clear gray rain; its red
Waste heart stirred now with mystic light;
Itliyed that was so dead
within its ragged rim it held
The skys wide pomp it d ew
Sad beauty from the stars Of old
The last vain cloud 1t knew.
quick morning trimmed it up with gold
The hammered noon blew there;
There twilight spread its crimson fold,
Its Htlul moons were fair.
Yet, still no man regarded it,
Save him who sings, to him
The visions in that SOmber pit
Outshone the Cherubim."
But the poet says that when he took
his friends out to look at this pool of
"clear, gray rain," they came back
with "their boots filled with water and
their mouths filled with strange
oaths." They were indignant, you
see, at having been led out to look at
mere pond by the side of the railroad.
Nv
| think of this, sometimes, when the
morning rises over Austin, and the
people go about with scarcely glance
over such scenes as few countries can
equal in soft and placid beauty. The
trailing mist takes on the mornings
rOseColor before the sun is visible: and
it goes floating and wrapping itself
about the hill tops with gentle undu-
lation, as though it were the robe of
some spirit that one could almost see,
so subtle grows the entranced vision.
The first sunrays go leaping along the
hill tops like genii playing some frolic-
some game; and the valleys are filled
with soft and somber shadows. Away
across the river, other hills lift their
blue silhouette against the sky, their
ruggedness all smoothed by the dis
lance and the clouds of trailing mist.
Everywhere, the colors are soft and
tremendously blended; and there are
no trace Of wintry nakedness and
desolation. Everywhere, windows are
being opened to let in the sunlight
and the smokewreaths are rising from
all the chimneys and melting away
into the morning air. Everywhere
life is astir, and the day has set
every brain to planning, every hand
to working out its schemes: and
many, alas! are too busy to look out
and see what beautiful world lies
before them.
Nv
Thackeray has always been espec-
tally dear to this Home Corner for his
genuineness. No matter what kind
of garb man Wore, it was the man
that Thackeray respected, and not
the texture of the cloth or of the hon.
ors he wrapped around himself No
man had truer love for worth, or .
greater contempt for shOddy. 1t was
in his Book Of Snobsn he said:
81 believe such words as fashion,
able, exclusive, aristocratic, and the
r. 81