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Vol. YII.—No. 8. For The Mirror. What is life in a cell? Solitude? It is more, ’Tis the crumbling of wrecks on a rock driven shore, . ’Tis the warm pulse of life in a cold living grave; ’Tis the galling of chains on the hands of a slave; ’Tis to gaze day by day on the gray stony walls Till from natures high throne reason totters and falls. ’Tis the horror of living where living is death; ’Tis the dreading to perish where dying is breath; ’Tis the breaking of hearts and the wringing of hands; ’Tis the place where the slave hugs his strong iron bands. Ever shut from the light of a beautiful world. Just as into a grave of oblivion hurled. 'Tis to live o’er the past In a hideous dream; ’Tis to sigh for the lost we can never redeem; ’Tis to know there’s a sun yet to ne’er see its light; ’Tis to know it is day while we linger in night; ’Tis to think of our friends whom we never can meet; ’Tis to drink all the bitter with none of the sweet; ’Tis to feel there is music though never its thrill: ’Tis to know that our tongue must be silent ana still; ’Tis to close both our ears to all things that are done. And to use both our eyes just as though we had none. ’Tis to know we’re a body a heart and a soul Which is owned by another beyond our control. ’Tis to think of a mother, a wife or a child Till the pulses grow quick and the reason runs ’Tis to feel that our body is chained to the ground And our soul would be shackled if it could be found; ’Tis to gaze every night through the strong iron bars At the pale harvest moon as it glides by the stars. And to think if there lives in that heavenly sphere A great race quite as cruel as that which live here. If there dwells in that world either angels or men Who do herd one another like bulls in a pen. Crkmona. f' / As Heaven’s Language, Potent to Elevate. If music has'charms for the savage, what must it then be to the civil ized world ?. Good music is one of the greatest pleasures man can enjoy. Every nation and tribe on the globe has music of some description and each has its charms. Music, such as Theodore Thomas’ orchestra, the Marine band or the Mexican band produce, will hold an audience entranced for hours. Music at home, where the family gathers around the organ or piano, is a blessing to all. It has a great moral influence. Not only is it a mere pleasure, but it is refining and elevating in every sense. A good voice is a gift that should be as precious as gold. Would that we had more music and less other amusements that are degrading and immoral in their influence. Brigham. The most pleasing sound to the hu man ear undoubtedly is music. It pen etrates the depths of the soul. It exercises its influences over us accord ing to its nature. It inspires us with new zeal, joy and enthusiasm. It bright ens and purifies our minds, gladdens our soul and enlivens our spirit. Yet, on the other hand, it makes us sad, sol emn, melancholy and depressed. It has the power to make us laugh or weep, as the occasion or the nature of the mu sic may suggest. It has pulled men out of sin and degradation, and infused new life; it has given to them a higher and nobler purpose. Well and truly has it been said that music has done as much for humanity as any other one thing. Long may the sweet strains be heard for the benefit of mankind. One Lung. In my opinion music surpasses all arts and is becoming more and more perfect every day. Ingenuity can pro duce no art that can compete or com pare with music. It has become so necessary a part of our modern life that it may readily be termed the breast plate of civilization. Music is at least half of life; in warfare or in peace alike it plays its part; in prosperity or pover ty, sickness or health it is a constant solace and exalting companion; it pro duces the desired effect in almost any emergency, soothing and controling ■often the most aggravated mental dis- <&l)r Jhissnn illiiror. LIFE IN A CELL. MUSIC. Its Influence for Good Believed by All. STILLWATER, MINNESOTA, SEPTEMBER 28, 1893. turbance. With its elevating inspiring influence it can lead us from the ma terial realms of the finite into the in finite; rapt in its exquisite folds the soul can rise above circumstances and revel in celestial joys leaving all earthly trials far below. P. A. F. Music is the universal common lan guage of mankind. All civilized na tions can read it aiike; and to the bar barian it speaks as plainly of peace or war, anger or love, joy or sorrow as to the master whose magic touch thrills the soul with the perfected harmonies of the divinest composer. The harsh bray of the pagan horn, the sighing ca dence of Israel’s harp, the chant of the pipes ot Scottish highlander of Tyro lean mountaineer of Savoyard peasant, the plaintive twang of the banjo each speaks with rousing eloquence a com mon language of hope or peace. The drum, the shrill fife, the bugle blast, the trumpet call, all are potent to rouse in man that joy of battle which hurls him headlong on his foe without count of cost. All humanity understands its meaning, for it is the voice of nature prompting man to an ever higher civili zation. Ossian. Music is a language of the soul. To its voice does the soul respond accord ing to its attuning to morality. Among savages, whose moral and mental plain is low, music is of so crude a nature as to be hardly worthy of that name. As the mind and soul expanded to broader and loftier views of things temporal and spiritual, so have the perception of the beauties of music and the expan sion of its methods of expression in creased. Among all fully civilized people music is a power, rarely, if ever, leading to evil, but wondrously effica cious to move to good. However low down in the scale of civilization we may find the crude germs of music it will be in connection with religion—of a reaching upwards. From the simple timbrel in the hands of Miriam and her followers to the mighty organs of our present cathedrals and churches, the praises of God have ever been sounded with musical accompaniment of voice or instrument or both. J. B. Music, sweet language of the soul, wherein lies thy transcendent power to banish hate and jealousy, to soothe the sorrowing and to gladden the sad, to engender joy and create love? What spirit moves in thy sweet melodies, call ing us from present to the past only to hide it too from our mind as thou cast eth thy spell around us and we hear thy magic hand sounding the chords of love, hope, peace and happiness. JEolian strainswaft their harmonies across our brightened pathway, bidding us revel in the sweet heaven of a pure and holy life, the life of the soul. Down in the lowest depths of the most degraded mind its moving power descends. Softly the harmony fatlls upon and steals away its conciousness of vice. Pure thought is engendered and for a time flourishes amid its base environment. The soul is freed and dwells in the highest heaven where turmoil, strife and the vicissi tudes of life are forgotten when we dwell in music’s spirit land. Why is it that music is so potent with all creation. From man in God’s im age, through all the creatures of the earth to the lizard and the serpent, the voice of music has its enchanting spell. Perhaps, did we but know it, down to the lowest animal organisms this “ voice of the great creator ” speaks the divine language. Nature is full of music; the rippling streamlet, the laugh ing brook and the murmuring river all sing their hymns of praise; the winds whispering to the tree tops sing of the infinite harmony of all creation. Man kind as he awakens from rudest bar barism gives voice to the celestial lan guage in shrill untutored utterances. As his mind developes and his soul as pires, he evolves newer and better methods of expressing himself in that MM ■HHMHnHI “ IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND.” Leonardus. beatific language of the soul. Music will awaken in the most polyglot as sembly the same sensations, moving all as it moves. It will elevate, arouse, ex cite, but never debase. Surely then is i-t the language of the hoped for bright hereafter where all is love and purity. It. F. Music is the sunshine of pleasure. Without it life loses half its sunbeams. Under its magic spell w T e dwell in para dise; and, for the time, forget the com monplace world. There should be a musical instrument in every home, no matter if it is only a jewsharp, and if there is no one in the house that can play the instrument invite some one that can. Music cheers the fireside and smooths the petty differences of married life. Technically speaking. I know but little music, and prefer sim ple melodies. I detest intricate music in which the theme is lost in an aval anche of variations. I would rather hear a hand-organ wheezing out Annie Laurie than an orchestra bellowing forth some of Wagner’s thundering noises. The sweetest music I ever heard was in Mexico. I was riding along a mountain stream when far up above me there floated out upon the breeze the notes of a guitar. Suddenly there burst forth the free, joyous voice of a young girl, singing a simple Span ish lay. The song echoed from crag to cliff in joyous harmony ; each echo add ing new charms to the music, until the gorge resounded with a thousand fairy voices. C. (J. A Strange Adventure. While in Washington, D. C., a few years ago, a strange adventure befell me. It happened thus. Late one night in July (it was the fourth day of the month) I was hastening past the Capitol on the way to my lodging when I perceived standing a few yards before me, directly in my path, a solitary figure. I lessened my speed and approached cautiously toward the interloper. In the darkness I beheld a man gazing in sorrowful contemplation upon the Cap itol. As yet he was unaware of my presence. I paused and examined him more intently. My hair began to rise when I noticed his dress. He was clad in the uniform of a general of the Co lonial army. A feeling of awe seized me. My first impulse was to fly, Sud denly the apparition turned and discov ered me. Terror made me reckless, and I faltered out, “Who are you?” In a mild yet commanding voice, the figure replied, “Approach, and you shall know.’’ Trembling I advanced within a yard of the figure and beheld one whom any school-boy would have recog nized: George Washington stood before me. The spectre then said: “Do you recognize me?” “I do” I replied, “but where did you come from ? I thought you dead.” “Dead, my son, I have been for a century,” he replied, “but to me the gift is given to return to earth once in a generation, that I may see the land my genius converted into a temple of liberty, and witness the prog ress its sons have made. Yon pile that looms so stately before us, once the tem ple of justice and equality, is now an arena of party squabbles. Instead of combining for the peoples' good, they waste the country’s substance in petty wrangling.” The spectre could scarcely speak, so deep was his emotion. After a pause he resumed: “Alas! it is sad to know that men barter their franchise for gold. I thought they would hold their dearly-bought liberty above their love of self. I perceive the end, all my work has been in vain. I thought to establish a republic wherein all would be accorded equal rights and justice. I find that instead of social equality, gold is the god of the people. Gold rules all-powerful, and justice is placed upon the market as a commodity. Oh, my country, great has been your fall and sad will be your end.” I turned away my head, not to look upon the emotion his own words had excited. I heard a sob, and lo! he had vanished. C. C. I read an article in a certain maga zine in which was portrayed the many queer American homes. The most queer and uninviting being the home of the American Indian of to-day—a wigwam—with a few lazy looking men sitting around the camp fire, while off at a distance some squaws were stand ing with a few sticks of wood on their backs. This, the writer seems to think, is the ideal home of the American In dian. His language and manner of treating the subject distinctly indicate that he is some Eastern man who knows nothing of that which he thinks he knows so much, in portraying them only as they once existed and as they still exist in fiction. He seems to think that because many of us Indians love strong drinks and are inclined to be lazy, the whole race is the same. If drunkenness and laziness are confined to the Indian race, every man on the face of the globe has Indian blood in his veins. If we carefully trace the history of the dif ferent nationalities that now exist in this world back to their origin, we will find that every race with no exceptions once existed in a savage or rude state. Their mode of living was similar to that of the aborigines of North Ameri ca. But being now clothed in the garb of civilization, man is apt to forget his remote ancestors and look upon all the Indians of to-day as lazy, worthless hu manity because the Indians of the fif teenth century were found to be so. The average citizen of the Indian Ter ritory compares favorably with that of the civilized world. There are people of all classes, good and bad. educated and uneducated. There are homes of all kinds, from the costly mansion down to the log cabin. Then why not give the Indian any honor or credit they may justly deserve. Is it right or just for any man to lower the estimate of a race by representing them to be below what they really are ? “Let by-gones be by-gones; if by-gones were clouded By ought that occassioned a pang of regret. O, let them in darkest oblivion be shrouded; Tis wise and tis kind to forgive and forget.” Choctaw Harry. The Freeman says that “the Afro- American is not dead but sleepeth.” I think however that it is high time that he shakes off the dull sloth and awakes to show the world of what stuff he is made. If he will not disclose himself no one will go to the trouble of discovering him. Many whites are willing to help the race forward but they will not do all the lifting. We must lift, they will help us stand firm on the higher level. If the people of the North spent mil lions of money and hundreds of thou sands of noble lives to shake the shack les from off our limbs, they will hold out a helping hand when they see that our motto is “upward and onward.” But till our race manifests a well de fined desire to march in the ranks of progress and push through dangers and difficulties to the full achievement of a social manhood we can expect no so cial equality. We are, as a race, too much given to unthriftiness, triftiing, and sloth, hence we are left scraping dishes, blacking boots and other menial employments. No man is counted of any higher value than what he sets on himself. H. T. W. No wonder education is at a low ebb in the &outh when colored teachers are killed for continuing their duties in op position to the whim of some social re former. At Amit, La., William Gra ham a well-known and respected color ed teacher was teaching in a school for white and colored people together. Some whites told him to quit, the colored people called on him to stay; he did not quit. Two distinguished citizens on Aug. 13th chased him out of the school house and shot him dead, making the third colored teacher shot in that school. I. T. TcmuQ. J SLOO P er year, In advance, i ERMo. -j si x Months 50 Cents. Indians Misrepresented. Southern Methods.