Rensselaer Union, Volume 8, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 October 1875 — The Religion We Want. [ARTICLE]

The Religion We Want.

We want a religion that bears heavily not only on the “exceeding sinfulness of sin,” but on the exceeding rascality of lying and stealing; a religion that banishes small measures from the counters, pebbles from the cotton-bags, clay from the paper, sand from the sugar, chicory from the coffee, alum from the bread and water from the milk cans. The religion that is to save the world will not put all the big strawberries at the top and all the little ones at the bottom. It will not make onehalf a pair of shoes of good leather, so that the first shall redound to the maker’s credit and the second to his cash. It will not put Jouvin’s stamp on Jenkins’ kid gloves; nor make Paris bonnets in the back-room of a Boston milliner shop; nor ‘let a piece of velvet that professes to measure twelve yards come to an untimely end in the tenth. It does not put bricks at five dollars a thousand into chimneys it contracts to build with seven-dollar material; nor smuggle white-pine into floors that have paid for hard pine; nor leave yawning cracks in closets where boards ought to join. The religion that is going to sanctify the world pays its debts. It does not consider that forty cents returned from one hundred cents given is according to the Gospel, though it maybe according to law. It Idbks on a man who has* failed in trade, and who continues to live in luxury, as a thipf.— The Christian.. The man who lives right and is right has more power in his silence than another has by his words. Character is like bells which ring out sweet music, and which, when touched accidentally even, resound with sweet music. God takes some things from, us lest we should spoil them, and we have more of them in missing them than we should have in keeping them.

An Oregon exchange lately came out with the assertion that all the ladies in town were wearing “ Government socks.” The agonized editor tore all the hair out of his head, shot seventeen holes in the compositor and chased the proof-reader into the mountains with a shot-gun. He then slipped back in the night and barricaded himself in his office, where he spent three days in talking through the key-hole to the enraged females, trying to convince them that he wrote “ Garibaldi sacks.” —in the San Francisco jail is a girl only sixteen years old. She is excessively shy and demure, blushes when looked at by visitors, and faints when drunkards are brought bleeding and yelling into the prison. Her face is delicate and expressive of retiring modesty and gentleness. Her name is Annette Gillard, and she is awaiting trial tor stabbing a man four times with a big butcherknife, and then smashing his skull with a brick.