The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1900-05-02
Saturday Night.

be glad when any one day has slipped
away, but to millions the coming of
Saturday night
All, have you ever thought Of the
majesty, the solemnity, the blessing,
the peace that broods when the sun
goes down and it is the eve OF the
Sabbath?
Cover the furnace fres-the great
bleching, flaming furnace fires that
drive thousand wheels and shafts
and needles that turn and weave and
force aud weld. Let the factory be
still, with neither the hum Of voice
nor of machinery. A hundred men
and women are now trooping from the
doors of the great, dull building.
There is a bright look on their faces,
brighter than that of yesterday. May
be it is only borrowed from the glory
Of the sunset.
And maybe it is because it is Satur-
day night.
Workman, put up your pick and
turn your face toward the glowing
west. There sinks the great, red
sun that marks the end of your week
of toll and the coming Of day Of
rest
Iii is Saturday night
A hush steals over the farmyard.
The old sun-burned horse, weary with
his work in the field all day, stands by
the stable door and whinuics content
edly. He will have an extra share of
food for supper and an extra amount
of brushing and rubbing down.
For it is Saturday night!
Tomorrow he will enjoy the dignity
of passing the plow that the farmer
left standing in the fallow earth,
while he draws the carryalI with its
load Of bright faces and conteuted
hearts to the little white village
church.
There is hum and briskness and
an odor of baking and steaming sweets
and meats in the kitchen. The pud-
dings and pies and cakes are coming
from the oven and are being put by
on the dresser. The busy housewife
is now concerned about her salads
and cold meats for the Sunday dinner.
It is Saturday night!
Pink-toed children, as fresh as
flower buds from their dip in the bath
OF warm water, cuddle down into
snowy and unwrinkled sheets, sweet
as the grass over which they were
dried in the sun. They have repeat
ed the text of the Sunday-school les
son, have said "Now 1 lay me down
to sleep" at the mothers knee, and
now she bends over them to kiss their
drowsy lids.
The "Song of the Shirt is hushed
for a little time. Tomorrow the tired
eyes of the weary stitcher may look
about on the green fields and the arch
ing trees at the edge Of the busy,
needless, careless city. AS the sun
goes down the breath of untrammeled
nature seems to steal over her SEN
| ses. There is only s.na!! window,
high up to be sure, through which the
pink and gold light Of tho departing
day may steal. but she does not fail to
catch the gleam.
It is Saturday night!
There are throngs on the city's
streets. There are baskets and bum
dies being borne homeward. There
is tho belted shopper, who needs must
wait each week for his meager. wage
to buy the little shoes or tie little hot
or cap that is waited for so eagerly by
some brighs-eyed girl or boy. He
bears the treasure home proudly, and
no more proudly wears King his
robes Of state than does poor man 8
child his "new clothes" Many of
the shops have kept their doors open
for this belated shopper. They knew
he would come.
tits Saturday night!
The millionaire ceases reckoning his
gold and wondering whether stocks
will go up or down. The great strug-
gle for wealth is put aside, if not for
gotten. Tomorrow the tick OF the
telegraph machine in his ears will be
church organ. He will read OF the
wall, back Of the pulpit, "The Rich
and the Poor, They Meet Together;
the Lord Is tho Maker of them ALL"
0, Hope and Love and Peace come
creeping, softly creeping, and claiming
place in the great worlds throbbing
heart when the sun goes down and it
is Saturday night. Mbdeste H. Jordon
~, e. Tn,:e Pa.,,,LIs.