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No. 27 Vol. IX.- CONSCIENCE AND FUTURE JUDGMENT. > sat alone with my Conscience In a place where time had ceased. And we talked of my former living In a land where the years increased And I felt I should have to answer The question it put to me. And to face the answer and question Throughout an eternity. I'he ghosts of forgotten actions Came floating before my sight. And things that 1 thought were dead things Were alive with a terrible might. And the vision of all my past life Was a terrible thing to face; Alone with my Conscience sitting, hi that solemnly silent place. And I thought of a far away warning. Of a sorrow that was to be mine; In a land that then was the future. Hut now is the present time. And F thought of my former thinking Of the Judgment day to he; Hut sitting alone with my Conscience seemed judgment enough for me. And I wondered if there was a future To this land beyond the grave: But no one gave me an answer. And no one came to save. Then I felt that the future was present. And the present would never go by. Kor it was but the thought of my past life Crown into Eternity. Then I woke from my timely dreaming Ami the vision passed away. And I knew the far away warning Was a warning of yesterday. And I pray that I may not forget it. In this laud before the grave. That I may not cry in the future And no one come to save. And so 1 have learned a lessou Which I ought to have known before. And which, though I learned it dreaming. 1 hope to forget no more. •skt l sit alone with my Conscience. in the place where the years increase. And I try to remember the future. I n the land where time will cease. \nd l know of the future judgment. How dreadful soe’er it lie. That to sit alone with my Conscience Will he judgment enough for me. Elgin (III.) Every Saturday |tscjy^N| PROCRASTINATION Habitually leaving undone that j 1 which ought to be done at the proper j I time is fraught with much pain and misery, and in many instances with 1 1 •death, as has been and is being daily j; •demonstrated by published accounts j • >f casualties attributed to thenegli-j< gence of individuals. Procrastination is • m ora or less a fault of every person and j it can only be cured by patience and a j strong effort of the will. Weak-minded people in general, especially those with unfavorable surroundings, will yield to ■ its power and to the power of immoral customs more readily than their strong- j er minded fellows, and they will prac-: tice them until a heedless character is j established to which can be ascribed the i greater portion of the pain and the an noyances which, m one form or another. j mankind experiences. It is not only detrimental to those who have acquired j such a lixed habit, but to the industri- J ously inclined element of the human j family with whom they come m con- j tact, for this reason, that its inliuence | retards the progress and lessens the de- j sire of those whose endeavor is to sup- j plant it by cultivating qualities which | lead up to the full growth, physically j and mentally, of noble manhood. En vironments and associates have much to do with the formation and the prac tice of human customs, but they are in no wise a correct standard by which to estimate the reliability of all the char acteristics of man, because it is natural for him to gloss over his short comings when possible to do so, and to keep in the background such traits as would prove injurious to his reputation and to his welfare if permitted to see the light of day for inspection; consequent ly, only the good qualifications are dis played openly while the evil ones are practiced in secret, which makes it im possible to determine man’s real moral worth. The beginning of the develop ment of it lies in failing to properly dis pose of seemingly small, ordinary af- fairs of life of no apparent consequence to any person or project, yet they are laden with inconvenience and distress,; to the truthfulness of which time will j attest. It, like every other human' habit, enlarges and becomes deeply 1 rooted in our natures according to the ! time and manner in which we apply ourselves to its cultivation. Not one | individual of the many in existence is j free from its taint, because the intelli gent power of man is not so constructed as to admit of that. But it may be held in check and not be permitted to ex pand to a marked degree by a system atic course of self-discipline, to be self inaugurated. because man knows his failings and should know what barriers i to erect to prevent a repetition of them, j Many of us here in durance vile can impute our present conditions to bad habits, and we can readily discover how | it all might have been avoided, but will we take the precaution to evade future bouts with the law along the same line. ! is a question to be solved individually. It is the root of all evil and it occasions sufferings of as many different kinds as there are colors in a rainbow. It ' can only be held down through adher ! ing strictly to rules of self-government J of an elevating character and for a con i sideration of the rights of others. Therefore, seif-discipline is essential to a correct and happy life, and wisdom demands its universal adoption and its strict adherence at all times. M. A. ( INCONSISTENT HOPES Many of the disappointments of life have their direct source in the incon sistent hopes which we fondly and thoughtlessly cherish. Some of these are. in themselves, and under the exist ing circumstances, impossible of fulfill ment . Some are contradictory, the one to the other, one absolutely preclud ing the other, and many are so foreign from each other that the very charac ter and energies adapted to bring one to fruition will prevent the other from blossoming. We all smile at the child who wishes to grasp the moon, but some of the hopes we persist, in cherishing are almost as unreasonable. We undertake some enterprise, for example, which demands powers and qualities in which we are markedly de ficient. One man hopes to become an orator, though lie has no depth of voice or magnetism of presence. Another aims to be a writer, though he can by no means disentangle his thoughts or express them with clearness. One de sires to become a leader, though he lacks insight and infiuence;another at tempts to perform skilled labor, who has not mastered the first elements. Numbers of people are daily suffering disappointments in their work from having formed such fallacious hopes as these. They complain, and feel it very hard that, with high aims and honest efforts, they should yet reap only fail ure. They do not recognize that they are struggling after the impossible, trying to do that for which they are not fitted, and in which, therefore, they cannot reasonably look for success. Y'ery often the hopes we form are in compatible with each other. A man wishes to be strong, healthy and vig orous, yet at the same time he is cher ishing some habit of self-indulgence which is sapping the foundations of his constitution; or he hopes to succeed in business, yet also longs to spend much time in exciting pleasures. One man hopes to accumulate a fortune, yet also desires to spend money extravagantly; another would like to become a fine artist, yet longs to unite with it a hand some income. Theoretically we know that such hopes are antagonistic, and, therefore, fallacious; but practically we continue to pursue them both —to make compromises and then to complain at the inevitable failure. In no way are conflicting hopes more frequently cherished than in that course “IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND.” STILLWATER. MINNESOTA, FEBRUARY U 1890. of conduct which we are pleased to call generous. We do a kind action, hop ing to add to the happiness of some one. But when this hope is fulfilled we are not satisfied: we want to be paid for it by thanks, gratitude and appre ciation, and if we are not. we feel to some extent defrauded. Or we join in a scheme of philanthropy, having for its object the welfare of certain classes, in the improvement of conditions or the furtherance of justice. When these good ends are secured, are we quite con tent if we ourselves have sunk out of sight? We hoped to have been com mended and honored for our part in it; our name to have been mentioned, and our efforts recommended, and, if this is not done, a shadow of disappointment falls across our path. Now these gen erous and selfish motives are of an utterly different nature, and cannot ilourish simultaneously. When one brightens, the other fades; when one reigns in the heart, the other is subor dinated. The hope that animates real generosity is the well-being of our fel low-men, in some of its many varieties. If we limit our desire to that, our path is plain; our energies tlow unobstructed: we accomplish ti e benefit, or give the needed help, or add to the happiness of cert ain persons, and their welfare is at once our success and our reward. When our effort is fulfilled so is our hope,and we are content. I»ut when we muddy this pure stream of generous desire with a longing to oe rewarded by praise or gratitude or respect or high office, we introduce a foreign element, which i nullifies the benevolent emotion, and I finally dissipates it. As Marcus An j toninus quaintly observes; ‘‘Some men, when they do you a kindness, are per | sistently ringing ’ he obligation in your ears. < )thers. more modest, yet remem ber the favor, and look upon you as their debtor, A third sort shall be every jot as much benefactors, and yet i scarce know anything of the matter. | These are much like a vine, which is | satisfied by being fruitful in its kind, | and bears a bunch of grapes without I expecting any thanks for it. Thus a 1 man that is rightly kind never pro claims a good turn, and does another as soon as he can. just like a vine that bears again the next season.” These are but a few of the inconsist ent hopes in which we indulge, and the failure of which brings so much need less disappointment. Life is made up of choices, which we can by no means evade. Let us face them frankly and fearlessly and abide by our decision. 11 lit when we have done so. let us not be so unreasonable as to hope for the results which belong to the other path in which we have refused to walk. Philadelphia (Pa.) Ledger. HORRORS or PRISON LIFE “No doubt that a lot of boys think there is some romance about getting locked up for some offense against the laws." remarked a young man who is now employed in a store in this city. •‘This idea is engendered by reading trashy stories in the five-eent libraries. Boys of lifteen read about the wild ad ventures of mythical lads of their own age and naturally try to copy them. Stories of pirates, robbers, caves, dock rats,gutter-snipes, fly boot-blacks, ama teur detectives and a irt young thieves, who get the best of everybody, inflame the minds of the youngsters and lead them into bad ways. If they don't do wrong themselves they glory in the ill doings of other boys. Their sense of honor is blunted, and crime does not seem really serious to them. Murder, train-wrecking, highway-robbery and burglary have no really serious signifi cance to them as facts if coupled with the slightest tinge of romance, as in the stories they have read; stories which I am beginning to think are all w’ritten by dissolute men of slight ability and no conscience. What these boy heroes need is a course such as I took for one i offense, and it was my first, although I'm willing to admit that I often thought about committing crimes be fore it, while tired with the cheap stories I had read. “1 went to State prison for my first offense, which was for nothing more than stealing some jewelry from my sweetheart and pawning it. L have no excuse to offer for doing it except that I was full of liquor and dead broke. I had no friends to intercede for me and the judge sent me down for two years, be cause 1 was just over eighteen. That saved me from going to the reform school for three years. I guess 1 was a good prisoner. L obeyed the rules and worked hard to please everybody and probably had just as good treatment as the richest prisoner at Trenton. 1 have no complaint to make about the prison keepers. I got my deserts and no more, but the horror of the life there made a deep impression on me. No boy can understand it until he has seen it: An hour in prison will take all the romance out of a criminal life, and 1 really think that it would he a good thing to take all of the pupils of the public schools through the State prison, or some similar prison, at least once every year and let them all see the worst side of it. It would nip a lot of crime in the bud. I don't know whether this is a new idea or not, but 1 do know that it is a good one. There is no sentiment about it, either. It is just hard common sense i from a young ex-convict. I know that j if 1 had had the slightest idea of what j prison life was like I would never have i risked going there. -A walk through a State prison would have taken all theromanceoutoi'crime for me. I have seen the two-termers, and they are all animals. Real men don’t go back. Once is enougji for them. Lt's enough for any one with the slight est degree of human feeling. I would rather die than go through it again. It is death in life lor a fellow with any feeling. 1 got out fourteen months ago and went to my one friend—a man of the world, who had a little influence. I had a suit of prison clothes and $4. I wanted him to get me a job in New ark, and he said. "No.’' lie told me that no matter where L went in New Jersey 1 would be thrown down in a short time by somebody who knew of my crime or had been in State prison with me. lie said that my fellow pris oners would he my worst enemies and that if l sought his aid in getting em ployment it must he with the under standing that I told my boss just what I had been through, lie helped me to get a street stand for the holidays a year ago and 1 cleared SJO. lie wanted me to get into business for myself just as quickly as possible, but my board bills took ail the money I could get and 1 hustled for a job in a store. 1 got one in a hotel, but had not been there four weeks before 1 was called up by the proprietor and asked if it was true that I had been in State prison. I answered ‘Yes,’ and was tired. My friend got a sharp letter about allowing me to use his name as a reference. Yet while I was in that hotel I saved the boss over S4O on meats, because I showed them how they were being done by the butcher and the steward. This didn’t count for me, however, and I made up my mind that the next job I got would be on its merits. “I caught a chance at extra work in the market, but didn't have the nerve to confess that I was a jail-bird and I worked nearly two months before I saw trouble. Then an ex-keeper gave me away to the boss. I didn't deny being in State prison, but said that I was try ing to be honest and wanted a chance to prove it. Bounced! The next thing I struck was a waiter's jacket and apron and out I went, because a detective went up against me with the proprie tor. 1 said to him: ‘Well, what differ ence does that make to you ? I can’t steal anything here,’ but he gave me Tronic.' SI.OO per year, in advance « turns. , Slx Months 50cents. the marble heart and 1 went back to my friend for advice again. He said: ‘Don’t you think of taking a job unless you. i make a clean breast of the matter first and then hold every cent you can save until you can start for yourself. It takes a peculiar sort of a man to hire an ex-convict and trust him, but there are such men, and if you approach them right you will get therewith both feet.’ “I answered an advertisement that afternoon for a boy in a butcher shop with some experience in cutting meat, i could teach lots of old butchers their business, because I was brought up at it by one of the best butchers in the State. 1 applied, was hired, but did not have nerve enough to cough up my his tory. 1 lasted there for eleven weeks, and one day I met a woman who had been buying stuff every day, and she asked me to take a run around the corner and meet an old friend. I got excused for a minute and went with her to come up against a short-haired fellow, whom .she said was her husband. A minute later 1 recognized him as a man who ran a machine just across the room from me at Trenton. lie said that the woman was his wife, and sug gested that she shouldn't pay anything | for meat thereafter. I just told him where he could go and left them stand ing. Next day l noticed a chill in the shop. The boss was hanging around me all the time and about two o’clock j he handed me an unsigned note and I asked me to read it. It gave me dead ! away. I made a front ami asked him ! whether he had any fault to find with my work. He said that he hadn't, but | that if I was the best man in the world ; he wouldn't hire me any longer, because I L didn't make a confidant or him in the : start. •‘Then he sacked tne, and at the same time handed me a sealed ietter ad dressed to his brother-in-law and told me to go to him. I went to his brother in-law’s place, lie read the note and handed it back to me. All it said was, ‘You can sympathize with this young man.’ ‘“Can you sympathize with a fellow who went wrong once and got his de serts if he is trying to do right now and wants another chance in the world?’ •“1 can,’ said he. Tell me your story.’ “Then I told him everything, from the start right up to date, and he said that he knew a man who would give me a chance, and that nothing would ever be said to me about my trouble so long as I did my work and aeted on the square. He made me cry, and I believe l enjoyed crying. The last thing he said to me was: ‘1 think your old trou bles are over, my boy and if you have any more they will be of your own making. I know just how you feel.’ Next day I got my present job. 1 knew that my boss knew all about my prison life from a man who had been there and had fully realized how' terrible the silent life is. I suppose some of my old enemies have since taken the trou ble to tell my boss about my record, but it has made no difference. 1 have been getting #l2 a week in wages and making from 811 to 86 in commis sions and premiums and there never has been a question about my hones ty. If there is, it won’t be my fault. I will never again tempt the hor rors of the lock-step, the silent grind in the shoe shop, the torture of the narrow cell and the cheer less routine of prison life. I have found a man. an employer and a friend. I tell this to warn other boys. I am not sentimental or perhaps I could tell it better, but I don’t want to go into the horrors of prison life. I think that the worst feature of it, and the one which will make the strongest impres sion upon a boy, is that one which for bids a prisoner turning his head or using his eyes when strangers are pres ent, and that other one which imposes absolute silence at all times. To bo deprived of speech is an awful punish ment for a boy. I know it was for me, and it was a blessed relief when an in spector or instructor spoke to me and 1 gave me a chance to use my tongue.’’— • Newark Call.