Democratic Sentinel, Volume 9, Number 2, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 February 1885 — Dress Not Sinful Vanity. [ARTICLE]

Dress Not Sinful Vanity.

Buskin is not the first great writer who has treated the subject of dress with due gravity. He has shown us that a serious study thereof is a needful virtue, instead of a sinful vanity, and that a harmonous and weEhc&nstruoted gown is as much a work of art as a picture or a statue. Neither can it be argued that the work is mean, since it is to adorn human beings, who are, after all, nature’s masterpiece. His words are but the expression of an opinion held by all artists, from time immemorial, and indirectly expressed by most of them. For there is neither drama nor painting in which costume, both as to color and drapery, does not form an "all-important element, and there are few impressive scenes in our works of fiction in which the dress is not mentioned. The unconscious tribute to its influence is not only due to the realistic force of such descriptions, but also to their power in expressing character. —American Queen. Energy will do anything that can be done in this world; and no talents, no ciroumstonces, no opportunities wifi make a man without it.— Goelhe.

Our Beacon. He was a stumpy old man, with a smooth-shaven, wrinkled face. A very large wart adorned the side of his nose, and a pair of twinkling gray eyes peered from under his grizzly brows. His head was bald exoept for a thin fringe of silvery hair, which was always nicely curled. The deacon’s most wonderful characteristic was his low voice, which was at one moment a deep bass, and at the next a thrilling treble. When he led the hymns, he was “first too high and then too slow, and always contrawise.” He was a veritable Yankee, with his “haow,” and “caow,” and “idears,” and “p’ints,” and could always drive an excellent bargain. He could sell moldy oats for a higher price than his neighbor could sell good ones, and would laugh in his sleeve at the discomfiture of his purchasers. He would haggle for hours over the price of a pig or a oow, and in the end, to use his own expression, he would generally carry his “p’int,” Very fond was he of “speaking in meeting,” and in his rambling talks he was constantly “p’inting morals.” . A mischievous boy having once set himself the task of oounting the number of times the deacon used these favorite words in one of his Thursday evening lectures, gave, the result as thirty-lour, and—no one doubted it. Our deacon had three hobbies. These, to use his own words, were “craps,” “orgings” and “dancin’.” It was a difficult matter to decide which worried the old gentleman most. “Craps hev been mighty poor this year, and I’ve had slats and slauthers of bad luck,” was his ready excuse when any one tried to induce him to increase the amount of his subscription for the poorly paid minister. Indeed, to allow him to tell the tale, “craps” were always poor, and in no way explained the marvelously steady increase of his bank account. Not the faintest shadow of doubt disturbed his belief that his satantic majesty dwelt within the case of an organ, and that to, bring such a “squeaking pony” into the church would be a deadly sin. Dancing was almost as unpardonable. He often called for a special prayer service in behalf of the weaker members, who persisted in their wicked course. In this cause he even went so far as to open his tightly tied purse strings and purchase some penny tracts on the all-important theme. These tracts he distributed and then patiently awaited results; but, alas, none appeared. It was one of the Deaoon’s chief delights to conduct the funeral services of some departed brother or sister. He would talk an audience to sleep iu his deep bass’ tone, then suddenly awake them by changing to a treble; recite all the “vartues” of the deceased—and would sing half a dozen inappropriate hymns. For the young people he was a laughing stock, and even the other ones could not suppress a smile at some of his quaint sayings. He had, seemingly, but one aim m life, and that was—gain. Himself and his family he scrimped through life that he might leave a goodly sum at his death.- During life he gave sparingly to the Lord, but after death it was found that he had bequeathed some hundreds of dollars to the church he had graced (?) for so many years, with the provision that no musical instruments should ever profane the sanctuary. Poor man! In life he clung too fondly to his money, and even after death, when it could no longer be a delight to him, he could not leave it without one last fling at the despised organ. He was a character such as is found in almost every community, and although his faults were many and his virtues few, he did as well as his cramped and sordid nature would let him. In his way he tried to serve the Lord, and perhaps his crown will be brighter than those of some of his neighbors whose lives present a seemingly fairer page. —University Press.