The Sabinal Sentinel. (Sabinal, Tex.), Vol. 5, No. 29, Ed. 1 Saturday, October 7, 1899 Page: 4 of 8
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Sabinal Weekly Sentinel.
HAL SEVIER, Publisher.
fln^eriloii. bubucrlptiou, 11 UU a >i*r.
COME HOME.
^bfii the year lx young aiid *)** ki-< • n IuhIm
nhoot,
Wlun the roae bloom* radiant, fair,
Wfern the licnUt wind* * in* U|* from th*
out h.
When flower* perfume ih* a r;
"The pltmniun turn* the furrow In glee
And the ripen* <1 Heed doth full
To a glorious birth In the inother * arth,
Then w* hear the Ixekonlrig «all-
C*t( through th< liuddltif; has* 1 < op#e
w Ip r< tlu fearful rabbit* play,
low and xuft tin volt* that oft lurta
love'* light thought* away.
IWe Unger and listen hut hear her till
Wheivvei w • iov* ai.d roam,
Th* y...d volt • d ntoimr c alling to t :
•‘Coni' home, rny *h- l» , <oni* lioiri*/*
!Vhei th< year ah!o rn and the i« ;.f taken
on
A *1* • |m r, *• urdb r hue.
hen the *l*> ur*- long and li! d w ith
ong
And tin night-i arc rl.. <-I wltl I* w
]fi ih* windr that ilppt* .hit 'he wheat,
In tin bloom that dapple *h» lawn.
U/i the xt a I’m that dh In th* ros it* ky
That uxhef th* r i'liaf.t daw? •
Vt • hear her voi*« . Itk* ’I n tl» •» of
the >w* • ' vote* I fi. »• k i » h’.rds
At; ti'tnulou h* u !•* :o u- w h*.*r her
io\ .ng w • tr t*»
Put w* fain wtMild l; ralorg th* brook
And watt ti tl * v c i»
M hi I* ■ t h v o « nt i 1 tl w * * r ’ h b>wy
dellx:
**t‘onie h«rnt m> i.dren. ton.* h*»m*
iu>n the year gr w A an A he +, >rt! ar.d
When th. x
h» n Time -
d* A t h
la c lot hir e
Through h*
rni pa
‘l top*
•he waving
eorn.
OVr th* m- .t-low dun and *• r* .
Jin the ruxth t^f *h« af and faII of h af
In the sundown of the y*at
%if hear h* r • ill In th* harv* - m* and
ht ' kon h* r rhlhlr* n in
Vrntn th** wheat find vine, from th* sheep
and kin*. from th* w in* pr* ** and the
hill
Tired and weary we drop our asks
And wand* r on through th* gloam
To th* waiting "moth* r" who softly enllx:
"Come horn*-, my t hiltir* n, e*»ni* home."
Th*- xtarx again tog* th* r shall sing
And heaven and earth h* one,
Wight shall fade ax the maple'* eh.id*
Melts in th* morning xun:
.Th* flush of morn ami th* blush *»f night
Shall in* * i with th** hush of noon;
IVrrnili* i'.s xnovv hall drift and blow
O'**r the blooming ios*h of .Inti*
Hu n t h * * paxt .hall * tutu Ilk* n hur*lenfd
s|av», wiih its heavy fab of years,
And Tim* shall In with latrnliy withltx
finish*-*! hopes and fears,
Th* * "Ivalli," xw» • t mother, shall call
us in,
V\ l»en lit* H a finish* d tom* .
Tik* a bird in Its nest w* hull i*stl* and
rent
And forever be at home.
•—Albert Marshall Strong. In Chicago
Chronicle*.
Breaking of an Oarsman
Kiid of an Ainl.ltii.n That l.m to
the ’ Varsity Crew
■•»******•
• rpili:\ row hrautifullj," ^aiil tlio
stranger, "am! barring aeeidrnta
•hi )‘re MIIT winners."
"Barring accidents!" tic answered.
**lh> von realize llmt if mir of those
«it'llt men catches a <Tti l>. if mu nf those
wars breaks, tint* of those sli.lt's is
jii in |m'< I. if si box or a steam I...at gets
in the nay, if one of lift . possible acci-
dents happens during the raft. they're
•ure loiters?"
“Hear me," said the stranger, “you
nuike vowing a'err uneertain sport."
1 “It' ia uncertain," he answered.eiirtly.
Tliru they were silent, whilr the ereiv
oatl on Utr glassy stream caught tip
ttieir Ionje. tnaelilnr-like stroke, and
with the coxswain f^t'imtin^r rhytlimic-
a 11 y and tlic launch pu tli n pr behind
•wept away upstream.
“No neetl to ask if you have rowctl,'*
the stranger said. "Vonr know ledge «.f
the game and your size show that."
“Nes, I’ve rowctl," he answered, "as a
substitute."
When, throwing a hunt' leg across it
Tni-lt. tl< went on, half to himself: “I’v.
•aid too much not to sat more. I’ve
u. ter said as iniieh before, but the sight
• f those fellows rowing dragged it out
of me. Talk about aecidents!
“I conic of a row I lift family. My fa-
ther stroked the crew in his time, and
iny uncles rowed, anil tut cousins. In
Itiet. the 'varsity has not put out many
tress that hate not carried n relutite
of mine. So when I came up to eol-
lejfc, a liiff, husky freshman. I did not
grite a rip for football, but was hot. for
rowinc. When I finally frot into a pair-
oar. where I nearly pulled the side out
of the boat anti dr.or the other fellow
Iran tie. I was a happy man. \nd when
1 heard the captain, after my p< rform-
.vnee on the yeasty riter, trrnnt to one
of tin old oars: ’If that bijr dub can
only learn to forget what lie knows
k< mat do.' I was a very happy man.
“Well. I soon told myself and all my
frit inis that I was sure of making the
*»nrsity. \nd there was never a man
trained like me. I could not p’. t too
much of the weights and the dmult-
bells. anti stuck to t he row in j; mac hi nos
closer than I did to my b< st friends.
fVbrn tvt lie^ati rowing in the tank, I
wanted to live there. I took to the hard
work tet'y kindly. I pn w and waved
a»> that people on the streets turned
round to look at me. and the conches
bad hard work to timl a bin enoujrh
■tan to baianee me. Hut they found
bun. We had a bijf. powt rful crew,and
as weeks and months of trainiityr went
vtl time trials were held, we folinti
we had a fast crew as well.
"Well, we cattle down here for the
real work uml the finishing: touches,
(t was u glorious time for me. I was
a horse for work; 1 jrrew fairly to love
this river and this country; and thru
eirrythini; spoke so strongly to me
•f the sjHirt I eared for most. There
were lockers here with my uncles’
names cut in them; the old nigger
cook reatcmlH'red my father; 1 wore
• cap thut had belonged to one *1 mj
cousins. And ine best thing was thst
1 was as good as uuy of my family. 1
was steady, fairly smoootb and tre-
mendously |towerful. As one after an-
other of the old oarsmen, the greatest
heroes in the world to me, citin'- down
to help the couches, anil I saw them
eye me first critically and then approv-
ingly, uty cup of happiness wus full.
I knew I was considered a strong oar.
one ol the best men in tin: boat. I knew
it from the peculiarly vicious way the
enneh swore at nu- when lie had fault
to find, and the peculiarly tender way
hu iiiipiii'.d uhout the rigging of my
seat.
"It rame to the night lie fore the race,
and I was happy and hopeful anil not
the least i-veited. The old fellows told
stories and sang songs to keep our
minds otT the race, and we went to bed
aptiet and sleepy, I us tpiiel and sleepy
us the rest.
"Some time in the night I found my-
self leaning out of my window. How
1 got there I do not know; I remember
in.thing after jumping into lied. Hut
there I was, kneeling on the floor, with
my at ins resting on the sill. It wasu
glorious .lunr night, witli a big ci.miii
up i n the sky making t lie river all silver
and deep shadow. A damp, cool breeze
was blowing, and 1 smelled woodsy
I smells and the smell of salt water. I
im very fond of nature, but I bate lifter
'. en lo r more beautiful than on that
! night. Down in the boathouse the
coaches were at work pu11ing some fin-
ishing touches to the bout. I could see
| them mot ing about in*the lantern light,
.iimI could hear their voices. From the
rooms about me came the heavy, reg-
I ulur bun thing of Hie fellows asleep.
“Suddenly, as I was ga/ing at the
moonlit liter a peculiar change came
lover it. At tirst I thought a shadow
I had comic across it. but tIm- change was
I too slight fora shadow. The river still
ran in a bright, silver sheet; hgrht and
shade were as clearly detiurd, but in
ome way tlie tt hole scene was ilifTcrcnt.
It was as if I vere looking' throng'll
glasses ctcr so slightly darkened. And
in some way I seemed to be a great way
off from it. Vet the sounds were just
as distinct. I could bear the dinghey
bumping against the float, and the
loiecs from the boathouse came up just
as clearly.
"After awhile the men entne out of
the boat house and up toward the house
and, remembering that it would not do
to be caught out of bed. I tried to get
up. I say I tried tlniiiglit of trying'
would be better. I wanted to g'et up,
I willed to get up with all my will,
but not a muscle stirred. I saw tlie men
outside coming up the walk, their faces
white in the moonlight, and I wanted
to get out of the way, and never budged.
I determined to get up. I bent my mind
on getting lip until I thought it would
snap, but my great body never stirred.
My big anus lay on the sill in front of
me. sinewy, hard as steel, blit they
were just as placid and just as helpless
as if they had been it sleeping baby's.
I heard the men enter the house, heard
the clink of glasses in the dining room
as they took a nightcap, and then 1
heard the steps of the couch coming up
the stairs to make u. filial inspection.
It seemed to me that I struggled, or
that part of me did; that 1 strained and
fought in horrible agony. It seemed
to me that the sweat must tic breaking
out on me, that my eyes must lie start-
ing out of their sockets; yet my arms
hung tranipiilly on the sill and my bi*k
chest rose and fell quietly and reg-
ularly.
“For some reason the conch did not
look into my room, and I knelt before
the window for I don’t know how long,
some times grappling, us it seemed to me.
with my helpless body in tlic bitterest
st niggle, and sometimes ntiiuh with de-
spair. And at last I simply rose quiet-
ly. with no effort, walked over to my
bed, threw myself on it and fell last
asleep.
"You think it was nightmare? So
did I the next morning,and brushed the
reincmbriince of it away. Nevertheless,
I fell just a bit shaken, and I could only
toy with my breakfast. Some time in
the morning the couch came up to me,
tapped me on the arm and drew me
aside.
“ ‘Look here. Jim,’ he said, ‘what’s the
mat ter?*
"I told hint nothing was the matter.
He shook his head and frowned impu-
t lently .
" ‘You and I owe too much to the col-
lege to mince matters,’ lie said. ‘Come,
now, what's troubling you? Sleep
well?’
"Then I told him about my night-
mare. lie listened attentively.
“'Humph!' he grunted, ‘I’ll tlx you
up a little something. You'll be all
right.’
"So he lived me up a little something
and I felt more like myself. That was a
long diiy; it seems to me now an in-
terminable day, for I think I can re-
member every minute of it. We prac-
) tired starting, and had a swim, ate
i lunch, loafed, read, talked. The jokes
] we cracked come back to me, the smell
of the grass I lay in. 1 can see the rip-
ples on the water smd the big white
clouds sailing over the sky.
"We were down at the boathouse just
before it was time to get the boat into
the water. 1 was lying full length on
the float ready dressed, just truiiksnnd
stockings, you know. 1 was lying
there, letting the warm sun beat down
on my big bare body and lazily stiffen-
ing uml riiuving my limbs to see the
muscles stiffen and swell and then re-
lav. 1 was lying there laughing to my-
self to think that at last I was going
to do (lie thing I had all my life de-
sired to do; laughing to think of the
I splendid power with which I eonli* do
j it. And then, just as quickly and us
quietly as you please, everything
J seemed to be under a light shadow.
"Just then the coach came running
down the bank.
•* ‘Now boys, be alive,' he cried.
‘Time to get out the boat.*
"Everybody jumped up but me.
Frank Moore gave me a little kick.
" Tie! up, old lazybones,' he said.
"Then he caught up one of my arms.
Hut when he let it go it fell back heav-
ily on the planks.
“ ‘Good Hod.' he gasped, ’something's
the matter with Jim.'
"They crowded round me in a min*
ute, consternation on every face, and
the coach cunie thrusting through
them.
“‘Throw water on him,’ he cried.
‘Shake him. Get the doctor.’ .
"They rolled me and I rolled like a
log. They drenched me with tvater
slid I never gasped. They worktd over
me as if 1 had lieeii drowned, and I
looked up into their faces with glassy
eyes and fought, my God, how 1 fought,
to speak to them.
“At last some one said: ‘Is he dead'.”
“'How should I know?’ suid the
eviaeh. ‘Where's the doctor?’
“‘On tin- observation truin by this
lime,’ said some one.
"‘Well, we can’t stop any longer,
there's the rcferec'it*boat now,’ cried
the coach, ‘.leaks, you stay here with
him. Drown, you row iu Ids place.’
"They laid me just inside the boat-
house. Then the floor shook to their
Heady trump as they carried out the
boat the boat thut was fairly purl of
my life. They look out the ours, they
got ohm by one into the boat, thu
coach's last lecture came to me in a
long monotone. Then tiie coxswain’s
orders, sharp mid clear, a pause, then
the swish of tiie ours through the wa-
ter. My hearing wits never so acute.
1 could even hear tiie peculiar little
grunt that my own rowlock always
git *'c.
"They passed where 1 could see them
for h minute. 1 saw the long, steady
swing that was as natural to me as
breathing, the row of brown faces .1
knew so well rising and fulling togeth
er. And ill my seut, the seat 1 cher-
ished more than any in the world,
rowed hulking Drown—Hrovvn, who
had no idea of time, who even as they
started was a little out.
“I've heartl of men whose hair has
turned white through the agony they
suffered. Mine didn't turn white; and
yet, did I suffer?
"1 tried to forget everything, but I
lay, it seemed to me for hours, every
minute of them a day long, until I
heard the swishing of a launch coin-
ing up stream. It humped against the
float, there was a babble of voices and
stamping of feet. Then little Keight-
ley, the freshman coxswain, rushed in
•• ‘Here's the doctor,’ he cried.
" ‘How did it. come out!’ said Jenks,
breathlessly, who from the tirst had
fanned me unremittingly.
‘‘‘It was a great race,’ said Height*
ly. ‘but Drow n caught a crab in the last
mile mid they beat us by ten feet.’
"Then the light shadow slipped quiet-
ly off everything and 1 groaned and
sat up.
“When the poor broken-henrted boys
came back I helped them carry in the
boat. They were very good to me. But
1 have never tried to row since. I only
watch.’’—N. Y. Sun.
TOWN PUMP GIVES OIL.
I'coplc of Flcniln»i*b«c«l. Ky., Mow
Get I’rlroldiiii from Tlietr
Old Well.
Excitement over the flow of oil in
the old town well at Fiendngsbtirg,
Ivy., continues unabated. Thousand!
of dollars have been sunk there during
the past k’l) years in the endeavor to
strike oil, numerous wells having been
drilled, but with very little success.
Now nature has taken the matter in
charge, and liy some subterranean up-
heaval has caused the oil to flow into
the large vein which has supplied the
town with water for the past 100 years.
The old well which has surprised the
people by putting forth oil instead of
water was at one time a large spring.
As far back as can be traced the spring
was used by the Indians and curly set-
tlers, supplying the country for miles
around. After the streets were graded
in 1 KUO, it was found necessary to wall
up the old spring and put in a pump.
From that time on until the present
day. generation after generation of the
town people have made the old well the
main source of their water supply, but
now will have to go elsewhere. An old
citizen remarked, when the excitement
was at its highest, that he felt as though
he had lost his dearest friend, ns the
old well and spring had furnished wuter
for his family back to the fourth gen-
era) ion.
For some time past an oily taste had
been noticed in the water, but an extra
amount of water had been pumped
from the well to supply the demand of
people whose wells liml given out, ow-
ing to the extremely dry weather, and
vv hen most of the water had been drawn
from the reservoir, the pump began to
spoilt out a mixture of oil and water.
A large crowd soon collected and
vessels of every description were tilled
and carried away. Large amounts
were poured on the streets and ignited,
the blaze shooting up and the oil burn-
ing with a white and steady glow.
I .a nips and lanterns were filled and
showed a white and splendid light, the
flame being strong and white. So
much excitement was caused by this
freak of nature that the people began
pouring the oil about the streets in a
reckless manner and igniting it, and
Mayor L. K. Yausaiit. fearing the build*
ings voiild catch fire from the burning
oil, ordered the pump locked.
While the well was open barrels of ths
mixture were carried away, and large
quantities flowed down the sewers
The oil has an odor like coal oil, but i»
of a brownish color. The water is as
clear ns crystal. For a long time it has
been thought that oil could be fouDd
in paying quantities, and now the peo-
ple are wild on the subject. Just before
the well was closed a vessel was filled
showing more than onc-hulf pure oik
Until the well is pumped out and ■
thorough investigation made, it ia im-
possible to tell the extent of the flow
of the oil, but it ia thought the supply
ia inexhaustible.—Chicago Inter Omu.
i
CAPITAL AND LABOR.
Industrial Problem the Theme of Dr.
Talmage’s Sermon.
Ttlli How the CdilUaal War lie-
tween Them May Be Knlled—
Lemon* Drown from He*
edit Strike*.
[Copyright, 1899. bv Lout? Klopsch ]
In this discourse Dr. Talmage sug-
gests how the everlasting war between
capital anil labor itvny be brought to a
happy end. The text is I. Corinthians
12:21: “The eye cannot say unto the
hand, I have no need of thee."
Fifty thousand workmen in Chicago
ceasing work in one day, Brooklyn
stunned by the attempt to halt its ruil-
rond cars, Cleveland in the throes of a
Inbor agitation and restlessness among
toilers all over the land have caused an
epidemic of strikes, and somewhat to
better things I apply the Pauline
thought of my text.
You have seen an elaborate piece of
machinery, with a thousand wheels and
a thousand bauds and a thousand pul-
leys, all controlled by one great water
wheel, the machinery so adjusted thnt
when you jar one part of it you jar all
parts of it. Well, human society is a
great piece of mechanism controlled by
one great and ever revolving force—the
wheel of God's providence. Y’ou harm
one part of the machinery and you
harm nil parts. All professions, inter-
dependent. All trades interdependent.
All classes of people interdependent.
Capitnl and labor interdependent. No
such thing as independence. Dives can-
not kick Lazarus without hurting his
own foot. They who threw Shadrach
into the furnnee got their own bodies
scorched. Or. to come back to the fig-
ure of the text, what a strange thing it
would be if the eye should say: lover-
see tlic entire physical mechanism. I
despise the other members of the body.
If there is anything I am disgusted
with, it is with those miserable, low-
lived hands. Or what if the hand should
say: I ain the boss workman of the
whole physical economy. I have no
respect for the other members of the
body. If there is anything I despise, it
is the eye, seated under the dome of the
forehead, doing nothing but look.
I come in, and I wave the flag of truce
between the two contestants, and I
say: “The eye cannot say to the hand:
‘I have no need of thee.’
That brings me to the first sugges-
tion, and that is, that labor and capital
are to be brought to a better tinder-
standing by a complete canvass of the
•whole subject. They will be brought to
peace when they find that they are iden-
tical in their interests. When one goes
down, they both go down. When one
rises, they both rise. There will be an
equilibrium after awhile. There never
has been an exception to the rule. Thnt
which is good for one class of society
will be good for all, and that which
is bad for one class will event-
ually and in time be bad for all.
Every speech that labor makes
against capitnl postpones the day of
permanent adjustment. Every speech
that capitnl makes against labor post-
pones the day of permanent adjust-
ment. When capital maligns labor, it
is the eye cursing the hand. When la-
bor maligns capital, it is the hand curs-
ing the eye. As far as I have observed,
the vast majority of capitalists are suc-
cessful laborers. If the capitalists
would draw their glove, you would see
the broken finger nail, the scar of an old
blister, the stiffened finger joint. The
great publishers of the country for the
most part were bookbinders or type-
setters on small pay. The grent car-
riage manufacturers for the most pnrt
sandpapered wagon bodies in wheel-
wright shops.
While, on the other hand, in aH onr
large manufacturing establishments
you will find men working on wages
who once employed 100 or 500 hands.
'The distance between cnpital and labor
is not a grent gulf over which is swung
a Niagara suspension bridge. It is only
a step, nnd tlic capitalists are crossing
over to become laborers, and the labor-
ers are crossing over to become cap-
italists. Would God they might shake
hands while they cross. On the other
hand, laborers are the highest style ot
capitalists. Where arc their invest-
ments? In banks? No. In the rail-
roads? No. Their nerve, their muscle,
their bone, their mechanical skill, tlicir
physical health, are magnificent cap-
ital. He who has two eyes, two ears,
Vwo feet, two huuds, ten fingers, lias
machinery that puts into nothingness
curpet and screw and cotton factory nnd
all the other implements oil the planet.
The capitalists were laborers, the la-
borers were capitalists. The sooner ws
understand thut the better.
Again, there in to come velief to the
lahoringclasses of this country through
cooperative associations. 1 am not at
this moment speaking of trades unions,
hut of that plan by which laborers put
their surplus together and become their
own capitalists. Instead of being de-
pendent upon tlic heck of this capitalist
or that capitalist, they manage their
own affairs. In England and Wales
there are 813 cooperative associations.
They have 340,000 members. They have
a capital of $13,000,000, or what corre-
sponds to our dollurs, nnd they do a
business annually of $03,000,000. Thom-
as Drasscy, one of the foremost men in
the British parliament, on the subject
says: “Cooperation is the one and the
only relief for the laboring populations.
This is the path,’’ lie says, “by which
they are to come up from the hand to
the mouth style of living to reap the
rewards and the honors of our ad-
vanced civilization.” Lord Derby and
John Stuart Mill, who gave half their
lives to the study of the labor question,
believed in cooperative institution#.
The cooperative institutinn formed in
Troy, N. Y., stood long enough to il-
, luatrate the fact that great gued might
time #f auch an Institution if It were
rightly carried or. and mightily devel-
oped.
“But,M says some one, “haven’t thw
Institutions sometimes been a failure? ’
Yea. Every great movement has been a
failure at some time. Application of
the steam jiower a failure, electro-teleg-
raphy a fuilure, railroading a failure,
but now the chief successes of the
world.
"But,” says some one, “why talk of
surplus being put by luborers into co-
operative assoointions, when the vnst
multitude of toilers in this country are
struggling for their duily bread and
hare no surplus?” I reply: Put into
in}' hand the money spent by the la-
boring classes of America for runt and
tobuceo, and I will establish cooperative
associations in all parts of the land,
some of them mightier than any finan-
cial institutions of the country. We
spend in this country over $100,000,00!*
every year for tobacco. W e spend over
$1,500,000,000 directly or indirectly for
rum. The laboring elnsses spend their
share of this money. Now, suppose the
Inboring inun who lins been expending
his money iu those directions should
just add up how much he lias expended
during these past years and then sup-
pose t hat that money wus put into a co-
operative association and then suppose
he should have all his friends in toil,
who had made the same kind of expend-
iture, do the same thing, arfd that
should be added up and put into a co-
operative association. And then take
ail that money expended for overdress
nnd overstyle and overliving on the part
of toiling people in order that they may
appear as well as persons who have
more income—gather thut all up, and
you could have cooperative associations
all over this land.
I am not saying anything now about
trades unions. Y ou want to know wlint-
I think of trades unions. I think they
ure most beneficial in some directions,
and they have a specific object and in
this day, when there are vast monopo-
lies—a thousand monopolies concen-
trating the wealth of the people into
the possession of a few men, xinless
the laboring men of this country nnd nil
countries band together they will go
under. There is a lawful use of a trade
union, but then there is an unlawful
use of a trade union. If it means sym-
pathy in time of sickness, if it means
finding work for people when they are
out of work, if it means the improve-
ment of the financial, the moral or the
aeligious condition of the laboring
•lasses, that is nil right. Do not artists
bund together in an art union ? Do not
singers band together in Handel nnd
llaydn societies? Do not newspaper
men band together in press clubs? Do
not ministers of religion band together
in conferences and associations? There
is not in all the land u city where clergy-
men do not come together, ninny of
them once a week, to talk over affairs.
For these reasons you should not blame
labor guilds. When they are doing
their legitimate work, they nre most
admirable, but when they come around
with drum and fife and flag and drive
people off from their toil, from their
scaffoldings, from their factories, then
they are nihilistic, then they are com-
munistic, then they are barbaric, then
they nre a curse. If u man wants to
stop work, let him stop work, but he
cannot stop me from work.
But now suppose that all the laboring
classes banded together for benefleient
purposes in co-operative association un-
der whatever name they put their
means together. Suppose they take the
money that they waste in rum and to-
bacco and use it for the elevation of
their fumilies, for the education of their
children, for their moral, intellectual
and religious improvement, what n dif-
ferent state of things we would have
Do you not realize the fact thnt men
work better without stimulant? Y’ou
say, “Will 3-ou deny the laboring men
this help which they get from strong
drink, borne down as they nre with
many anxieties and exhausting work?"
1 would deny them nothing that is good
for them. I would deny them strong
drink, if I had the power, because it is
damaging to tlieni. My father said: "I
became a temperance man in early life
because I found that in the harvest
field, while I was naturally weaker than
the other men. I could hold out longer
than any of them. They took stimu-
lant and I took none."
I know a gentleman very well who
has over 1.000 hands In his employ. 1
said to him some years ago when there
was great trouble in tiie labor market:
“How are you getting on with your
men?” “Oh," he said, “1 have no
trouble. "\A hj'," I said, “have not you
had any strikes?” “Oh, no,” he said.
“I never hud any trouble." “What plnn
do you pursue?" lie said: “I will tell
J'ou. All my men know every year just
how matters stand. Every iittle while
I call them together nnd say: ‘Now,
boys, last year I made so much; this
year 1 made less; so you see J canuot
P»y ns miich ns I did last .year. Now,
1 want to know what you tliink I ought
to have as a percentage out of this es-
tablishment and what wages I ought to
give you. You know I put all my en-
CISy in this business, put all my for-
tune in it aiid risked everything. What
do you really think I ought to have and
you ought to have?’ By the time we
conic out of that consultation we are
unanimous. There never has been an
exception. When wc prosper, we nil
prosper together; when we suffer, we
all suffer together, nnd my men would
die for me. ’ Now, let all employers be
frank with their employes. Take them
into your confidence. Let them know
just how matters stand. There is an
immense nmount of common sense in
the world. It is always safe to nppeal
to it.
I remark, again, great relief will
come to the laboring classes of this
country through the religious rectifica-
tion of it. Labor ia honored and re-
warded in proportion as a community
is Christianized. Why is it that our
smallest coin in this country is s pen-
ny, while In China it takes a half i
pieces of coin or a dozen to make one
of our pennies in value, so the Chinese
carry the ash, as they call it, like a
string of beada around the neck? We
never want to pay leas than a penny
for anything in this country. They
must pay that which is worth only the
sixth part or the twelfth part of a pea-
nj-. Heathenism and iniquity and infi-
delity depress everything. The Gospel
of Jesus Christ elevates everything.
How do I account for this? I account
for it with the plainest philosophy.
The religion of Jesus Christ is a demo-
cratic religion. It tells the employer
that he is a brother to all the opera-
tives in the establishment—made by
the same God, to lie in the same dust
and to be saved by the same supreme
mercy. It does not make the slightest
difference how much money you have,
you cannot buy your way into the king-
dom of Heaven. If you have the grace
of God in your heart you will enter
Heaven. So you see it is a democratic
religion. Saturate our populations
with this gospel, and labor will be re-
spectful, lubor will be rewarded, labor
will be honored, capital will be Chris-
tian in all its behavior, nnd there will
be higher tides of thrift set in.
Let me say a word to all capitalists:
Be your own executors. Make invest-
ments for eternity. Do not be like some
of those capitalists I know who walk
around among their employes with a
supercilious nir or drive up to the fac-
tory In a manner which seems to indi-
cate they are the autocrat of the uni-
verse, with the sun and moon in their
vest pockets, chiefly anxious when they
go among laboring men not to be
touched by the greasy or smirched hand
and have their broadcloth injured. Be
a Christian employer. Eemember those
who ure under your charge are bone of
your bone and flesh of your flesh, that
Jesus Christ died for them and that
they are immortal. Divide up your
estates, or portions of them, for the
relief of the world before j’ou leave it.
Do not get out of the world like that
man who died in New York leaving in
his will $40,000,000, yet giving how
much for the church of God, how much
for the alleviation of human suffering?
lie gave some money a little while be-
fore he died. That was well, but in all
this will of $40,000,000 how much? One
million? No. Five hundred thousand?
No. One hundred dollars? No. Two
cents? No. One cent? No. These
grent cities groaning in anguish, na-
tions crying out for the bread of ever-
lasting life. A man in a will giving $40,-
000,000 and not one cent to God! It Is
a disgrace to our civilization. Or, as il-
lustrated in a letter which I have con-
cerning a man who departed this life
leaving between $5,000,000 and $8,000,-
000. Not one dollar was left, this writer
snys, to comfort the aged workmen
nnd workwomen, not one dollar to ele-
in this country and they would have
in Great Britain!
vate nnd instruct the hundreds of pale
children who stifled their childish
growth in the heat and clamor of his
factory. Is it strange that the curse of
the children of toil follows such in-
gratitude? How well could one of his
many millions have been disbursed for
the present and the future benefit of
those whose hands had woven literally
the fabric of the dead man's princely
fortune. O capitalists of the United
States, be your own executors! Be a
George Peabody, if need be, on a small
scale. God has made you a steward.
Discharge your responsibility.
My word is to all laboring men in this
country: I congratulate you at your
brightening prospects. I congratulate
jou on the fact that you are get-
ting your representatives at Al-
bany, at Harrisburg and at Wash-
ington. I hare only to mention suoh
a man of the past as Henry Wilson,
the shoemaker; as Andrew Johnson,
the tailor; as Abraham Lincoln, the
boatman. The living illustrations
easily occur to you. This will go on
until j'ou have representatives at all the
headquarters, and you will have full
justice. Mark that. I congratulate you
also at the opportunities for j’our chil-
dren. I congratulate you that j ou have
to work and that when you are dead
your children will have to work.
1 congratulate you also on your op-
portunities for Information. Plato paid
$1,300 for two books. Jerome ruined
bimself financially by buying one
volume of “Origen.” What vast oppor-
tunities for intelligence for j'ou and
your children! A workingman goes
along by the show window of some
great publishing house, and he sees a
book that costs five dollars. He says:
“I wish 1 could have that information.
I wish I could raise five dollars for that
costly and beautiful book.” A few
months pass on, and he gets the value
of thut book for 23 cents in a pamphlet.
There never was such a day for the
workingmen of America as this day and
the day that is coming.
1 also congratulate you because your
work is ouly prefatory and introduc-
tory. Y'ou want the grace of Jesus
Christ, the Carpenter of Nazareth. He
toiled Himself, and He knows how to
sympathize with all who toll. Get His
grace In your heart, and you can sing
on the scaffolding amid the storm, in
Hie shop shoving the plane, in the mine
[dunging the crowbar, on shipboard
climbing the ratlines. He will make
tlic drops of sweat on your brow glit-
tering pearls for the eternal coronet.
Are you tired? He will rest you. Arc
jou sick? He will give you help. Are
you Scold? He will wrap j’ou in the
mantle of His love. Who are they be-
fore the throtie? “Ah," you say, "their
hands were never calloused with toill"
Yes, they were. You say: “Their feet
were never blistered with the long jour-
nej\" Yes, they were, but Christ raised
them to that high eminence. Who are
these? “These are they that came out
of great tribulation and had their
robes washed and made white in the
blood of the Lamb." That for every
Christian workingman and for every
Christian working woman will he the
beginning of eternal holiday.
Hash affords ns an example of an end
without means.—Chicago Deily Now*.
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Sevier, Hal. The Sabinal Sentinel. (Sabinal, Tex.), Vol. 5, No. 29, Ed. 1 Saturday, October 7, 1899, newspaper, October 7, 1899; Sabinal, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1107997/m1/4/?q=green+energy: accessed June 21, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; .