The age-herald., 1899-06-25

and the legions of care troop forward and plant the black flag of unrest upon the meadow-lands of the dawn No person whom one has not wounded is of authority to cast thorns in ones pathway. No lover of peace or justice will needlessly create unhappy emotion in any human breast; none who Is worthy of membe rship in the parliament of man will cause strife of any nature. The bigot, the purseproud the man drunken of authority, the egoist the self-righteous, the self-anointed holy, the fool-these are prone to peeyishness lretfulness, petty tyranny an overwhelm- Ing desire to exercise authority to which they are not entitled by any sense of right or adVisa bility or decency. Dives paid a terrible penalty. In all the walks of the world there are Diveses, rich chiefly in un- righteousness, narrow -mindedness, big otry, Vain-Slory. Beyond this life there is no other life which they long to meet They have no spiritual quality, but are merely swine feeding at the swill-troughs that reek of that which is coarse and unclean.
 The frettul, the unchamtable, the ungen- erous, they unite in the common purpose of robbng our little lives of sunshine In their breath the flowers fade, the grass Wlthers, the birds cease to voice nature's hymn of praise; and so fall the shadows upon the peaceful places we are striving to reach. Lo! the spirit has fled, and only the casket
 is left
 In it's emptiness here,
 Of voices and feet, of laughter and sorrow
 bereft,
 There remains to us-fear!
 In the glory of noon, if open the shutters
 you throw,
 Flooding chambers to gold,
 The silence will breathe or a past that we
 never may know;
 'Tis tale that is told!
 Many a hope has been vanquishd, many purpose made abortive, many a journey turned from the daffodil-path by human un- Kindness, and only fear and some vague dream of a tale that is told left to them that ask why, and to whom no answer comes under the cold moons pale way.
 After all, it would seem that nothing but art Is true. Tt Is not strength but Art ob- tains the prize" Art is the incentive and the reward of every high calling, every lofty demand of every worthy mind. Art lifts us above the herds of the fields and the vulgar minded who would wound when they may. It opens new kingdoms for our minds, new objects in life, new ways to peace and contentment. The poet and the painter, the trained lovers of the beautiful live worthily. Others feed upon husks and know not truth. My mind is my kingdom, which my thoughts darken or brighten as my will bends or rises to confronting emergencies. Angels may sing to sleep beside the couch of ease or devils dance to wakefulness where the hard boards of transgression hear their burden of moan ing repentance. Art shall have it as it wiH--the art of living rightly, or that ab- sence of art which leads to living wrongly. Without art there can be no peace, no hope, no promise of good things deserved and enjoyed whilst time doles its days.
 So let gentleness rule the world. It were better than rod of iron or sword of steel, or the destroying batteries of unlxindness as manned by all the spirits of unrest, snarling and mouthing and gibing at the forces that strive for the better lifeI
 THE MURMuRER.