The Lampasas Daily Leader. (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 11, No. 143, Ed. 1 Friday, August 21, 1914 Page: 3 of 4
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THE LAMPASAS DAILY LEADER
IN THE WORSHIPER
Reverence !s Something Which
Dwells in the Heart, and is
Not of Material Things.
A burning bush in the desert, and
God was there; the court of Solomon’s
temple, and God was there; a cave on
the rock-ribbed mountain, and God was
there; the plains of Bethlehem, and
God was there; the caravan track from
Jerusalem to Damascus, and God was
there; the stone quarries of the Isleol
Patmos, and God wars there!
Reverence is not a- thing of time or
place; it is not inseparably connected
with a day or an hour, isolated from
the rest of the calendar; it is not to be
discovered only in a building set apart
from the other buildings. Reverence
is an attitude of mind, a state of heart,
a sensitiveness of soul to whatever is
sacred, to whatever speaks of God.
Undoubtedly there are times and
places closely associated with moods
and acts of worship, but the reverence
inheres in the disposition of the person
Expressions of Reverence.
To have a nature that is quickly re-
sponsive to the presence of God is the
first and major part of reverence; tp
act becomingly is the second part. The
first is the same everywhere; the sec-
ond varies in its form with latitude
and longitude. Whether to remove
the shoes or the hat, to stand or
kneel, to speak or be silent, is a mat-
ter of country and custom. Each must
express his reverence in his own way.
The soul that feels God—in the glow
of the sunset, in the stately splendor
of a great church, in the words of the
Bible, in the helplessness of little chil-
dren, in the flowers, in the sever© sim-
plicities of Puritan morality, in the lit-
anies of conventional worship, in the
heroisms of self-sacrificing men, in the
love of pure and generous hearts, in
the mighty movements of national
progress—the soul that feels God and
responds, is the soul that is reverent.
Do not be ashamed of it, do not re-
press or hide or smother it, do not
freeze it into the forms of passing
fashion. Such moments of exaltation,
such stirrings of pure emotion, are
what constitute the wealth of the
soul’s life; without them we shall
grow coarse or sterile—lightless, mus-
Truth That Thrills.
The birds—say it out bravely and
naturally as Jesus did—my Father
feeds them; the lilies, my Father
clothes them; the temple, my Father’s
house—why d^jraise or evade it? The
thrill comes, the spirit quivers with an
awakening wonder, deep calleth unto
deep, the ecstasy of spiritual discov-
ery fills the heart; and it is ours, as
truly as anything the palate tastes, the
eyes see or the hands touch. Let us
be natural in spiritual things.
There are times when it seems as if
God could not Bpeak to the mind; the
j prejudice and pride of partial knowl-
edge stand in the way of receiving a
divine revelation. But if there is one
spot that is always sensitive, tender
to the slightest impression and listen-
ing for the faintest accent, then God
will make himself known. Thus we
shall find the true meaning of our oth-
/erwise unintelligible lives.
J The Everlasting Father is trying to
j communicate wj^h us through many
i channels; reverence is simply our
\ readiness!1 to receive the message in
( whatever form it may come.
j “Earth’s cr*mmed with heaven,
\ And every common bush afire with God;
But only he who sees takes v!t his shoes.’*
GENTLE SPIRIT HAS POWER
One of the Best Signs of a Man’s Re-
ligion Is the Tone of
One of the fruits of the spirit h
gentleness. Do not think it is an in-
dolent virtue, having neither influ
ence nor power. It has an opposite
quality. The mild power has an easy
sway. Select from one’s acquaint-
ances a person of benign and tranquil
demeanor and you feel at once he has
an influence over you. You like to be
with him. You incline to listen to him.
If, however, he is loud of tone and
violent of manner, you are with him
as little as possible. Why? Because
his temper is animal. It doesn’t touch
a single melody in one’s nature. He
Is harsh and discordant. That is not
one of the fruits of the spirit which
the apostle commends. It is one of th#
works of the flesh which the apostle
condemns, such as envyings, wrath,
strife, etc. There is not one of the
proscriptions of the Scriptures thai
gentleness practises. It belongs tc
the spirit, the divine spirit, which
banishes loudness and vociferatior
from its daily life. It may be coud
terfeited, but that is because it is oi
(great worth. One of the best signs oi
p. man’s religion is the tone of hii
voice. If that is eruptive and volcanic
he wanders from the true path.—Ohic
H ASSEN PEAK in eruption is the
most unique natural feature in
the United States today. Its
present outburst constitutes the
only volcanic activity ever seen
by the eyes of white folks within the
borders of the United States outside
of Alaska. It gives this country the
last physical phenomenon needed to
make it possible to say that every-
thing that can be seen anywhere in
the world can bo seen here, writes
Frederick Faulkner in the San Fran-
Lassen was the one place in the
United States where such an outburst
might reasonably have been expected.
Geologically it is the youngest and
latest of all the great series of vol-
canoes which in days gone by poured
out their lavas over the plains and
valleys of the West. Shasta was long
dead and cold when Lassen was born,
and the enormous lava fields of east-
ern Oregon and Washington had long
since been cut down by the streams.
More than that, the Lassen region
has poured out glowing lavas within
the century. There was no one to
see it at the time, but from the Cinder
Cone, ten miles northeast of Lassen
peak, there flowed a field of lava two
miles long and four miles wide so re-
cently that the burned trees still stick
out of the edges of the flow. The lava
lies there as new as though it was
floured out of the bowels of the earth
yesterday. Neither tree nor shrub has
yet had time to find a footing on it.
Flree Still Smolder.
Then all over the south side of Las-
sen are numerous evidences of the
lingering fires. Pungent sulphur
in a rough circle on the summit mark
the broken-down walls of the ancient
crater. Between them is a hollow 500
feet deep, the filled-up mouth of the
subterranean passage to the fires be-
low. Until this summer this hollow
has always been filled with snow, but
the reopening of the crater near the
lowest point of the depression and the
violent eruptions of steam have melted
away this healing covering over the
Geysers Fill Old Crater.
Beside the geysers of Iceland and
the Yellowstone it would be idle to
place the steam vents and boiling
lakes of Bumpass’ hell, but as an
example of present-day volcanic activ-
ity In California, and a spectacle not
only of wonder, but of beauty, the
place is one of the most interesting
on the Pacific coast.
High on the southwest flank of the
old fire mountain it lies, a steaming
bowl of geysers, smoking sulphur j
vents, and bizarre lakes of many col- j
ored boiling waters, the whole sunk j
500 feet deep in the mountain side and !
a third of a mile across. From the
evidences which surround the place, j
the masses of distorted lava and the '
courses of the former volcanic
streams, the hell was once a crater of
the old volcano and its smoke of today
is from the smoldering embers of its
When I first visited the place I had
just dragged my pack horses around
the old trappers' trail on the face of
the cliff at the head of Mill Creek can-
yon, where the melting snow water
tumbles over from Lake Helen above,
and had camped in a clump of snow*
smoke strikes the nostrils everywhere.
Steam vents and boiling springs keep
the ground bare in the midst of 15-foot
snowbanks. Solid sulphur boils out
of the springs. One ancient crater is
tail of solfataras and fumaroles of the
type common on Vesuvius and Aetna.
Up to a very late day in geological
Wstory, the sea occupied what is now
the Lassen region and extended far
into Oregon. About the close of what
ia known as the lone epoch that terri-
tory was uplifted, and there began a
long period of volcanic activity extend-
ing down to the present day. From a
multitude of vents lava was poured
out upon the earth. The more liquid
lavas flowed far and wide to form
The thicker lava accumulated around
the vents and built up the great vol-
canic mountains, Lassen peak, Bur-
ney butte, Prospect peak, Mount Hark-
Bess, Magee peak, Crater peak and
hundreds of others. Lassen stands
1M37 feet above the sea, its snow-
capped peak conspicuous from the
PCilroad W miles away. Three peakB
banked hemlocks a few hundred feet
below the top of the eastern ridge. I
was unaware of the close proximity of
Bumpass’ hell until, bent on exploring
the way, I climbed the remaining
snowbanks to the pass, and suddenly,
so suddenly that I stepped back in-
stinctively to avoid plunging into the
boiling pit below, the hell appeared
A dull roar rose from the crater, a
sulphurous steam stung my nostrils. 1
looked out from the snowbank on
which I stood and saw a deep bowl in
the mountain, a third of a mile across,
ringed with twisted and broken lava
rock. Hemlock clung to the crags
and in their shade lay mocking snow-
banks. The bottom and waTls of the
great bowl were stained a dirty yel-
low with sulphur. Steam rose every-
When I saw the new crater on Las-
sen on June 4 and 5 the vent, by
an engineer’s tape, measured 275 feet
long. Since then it has grown in Bizo
antil it is 450 feet long and 150 feet
By F. W. SULLIVAN.
“Now, Dick, isn’t this simply ador-
able?” demanded Eloise, tightening
the reins over the unkempt Sack of
“The situation has its merits, I’ll
admit,” I replied, glancing happily at
the radiant girl.
We were seated side by side in the
little two-wheeled vehicle known as a
donkey-cart. I tried earnestly to dis-
entangle the leaping landscape to dis-
cover our whereabouts.
“And you have tried to convince me
that an automobile is the only means
of seeing the country,” she remarked
“It’s the only means of seeing it in
one place,” I jerked out. “If those
trees would only stay put for a minute
I might enjoy it more.”
The padded board that passed for a
seat back struck me sharply beneath
the shoulder-blades, for the three-
“Oh, it’s all in getting used to it,
Diek,” was the patronizing reply.
“Same as a broncho,” I hazarded,
foiling the seat back triumphantly by
leaning forward. Eloise did not deign
to answer this flippancy.
We had left Northampton shortly
after luncheon to drive along the road
that circles the bay on the 'south shore
of Long Island. After two weeks of
pleading, interspersed with glorious
rides in my humble roadster, I had
finally agreed to become Eloise’s guest
for the afternoon behind Earsby, on
one condition—that the duke should
be left behind.
This In itself was regarded by con-
servative observers as a triumph in
itself, seeing that the duke—a real
one, at that—had been the girl’s con-
stant companion of late during most
of the hours between sunrise and mid-
His Grace of Twizdale was not a
half bad sort in his way, but, I often-
asked myself, how could he love Our
Lady of Joys as I did, who had been
to school with her in pinafores and
hoped vainly for so long?
"Where are we now?” I asked.
“On our way horns, my fine humor-
ist,” replied Eloise a trifle icily. “I
suppose you are glad.”
“Only because you have an engage-
ment with the duke at half-past three,”
I replied, “and ought to be on time.
You reminded me of the fact yourself
before we started out.”
Eloise colored a trifle and I cursed
“The duke will keep,” she said
“He wasn’t pickled whe^n we left,”
I suggested, “but you can’t tell what
he has been doing since.”
“Please confine your witty observa-
tions to the landscape, Richard,”
warned Eloise stiffly.
“Slow down your mule and I will,”
I retorted with an equal amount of
The conversation languished after
this, and the afternoon appeared about
to become a failure.
We approached a little grove and I
surreptitiously looked at my watch.
It was just three o’clock, and I judged
we would not disappoint the duke. I
resigned myself with a twinge of bit-
As we entered the cool greenness of
the little arbor, Earsby dropped from
his racking canter to a walk, and in
the very center of the shade stopped
short, pulling at the reins to loosen
“Get up!” commanded Eloise
“Here, let me have the reins,” I
commanded, and took them from
Knotting the ends, I belabored the
animal with considerable energy and
precision. Earsby turned his head to
the front, whisked his tail and slew a
fly that was resting on his seventh rib.
After that demonstration of marks-
manship I paused.
“Perhaps a switch Ttrffl do the busi-
ness better,” suggesteu Eloise, and I
immediately got out and cut one from
the nearest tree. Again I attacked
the stubborn animal, but only succeed-
ed in raising a cloud of dust.
Earsby yielded a great sigh of com-
fort and commenced to nibble the
grass at the side of the road. My
herculean blows might as well have
“Stop!” cried Eloise, when I was
about to swoon with fatigue, "I think
love will do It. I never did. believe in
using brute force with animals.”
“No, keep it for humming-birds,”
said I, heaving the splintered club into
Eloise again chose to disregard my
words and descended from the cart.
She slipped her fingers beneath the
bridle, patted the neck of the creature
and talked *©ntly, but firmly, to him.
Then she started to lead him; but she
Earsby, with grass protruding from
the corners or his mouth, chewed
regularly on the bit and betrayed a
flickering Interest in a eloud shadow
that raced across a distant field.
“You’re not using love enough,” I
ventured from my comfortable seat in
the cool grass. “Get really affection-
ate, Eloise. You can’t fool a donkey
with that half-way business.”
“Richard Parsons,” she flamed, her
cheeks flushed with her exertions.
“Come here and selp me. The idea
of a great big man like you sitting
there and watching me work! I don’t
believe you care whether I ever get
back to town or not.”
“Sure I don't,’' I said easily, filling
my pipe. “But calm yourself, maybe
the duke will come and rescue you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, It’s this way, Eloise. I have
heard Twizdale call enough people
‘blithering ahsses’ to gather he knows
liow they act. With that knowledge
he will probably come and rescue you
from this one.”
“Which one?” she gasped, ex-
hausted with pulling.
“Both,” I said. “Don’t be partial.
Come on, sit down beside me, and-
we’ll cool off.”
With a final exasperated tug Eloise
gave up the ghost of a chance she had
with Earsby and follov/ed my sugges-
It was really a divine little nook for
Suddenly Eloise laughed.
“As long as we are here, let’s hav8
a jolly little picnic all by ourselves,”
she said. “Isn’t it delicious in this
green grotto? Look, Dick, up between'
the trees you can see the clouds float-
ing by. Isn’t the blue beyond the;
green lovely? And over there in the,
field. See the men haying in the
I grunted responses indifferently as
though I owned the place and had-
brought her along to see it. I couldn’t
trust myself to say anything else.
Eloise knew that I loved her, but
she also knew and recognized that
wealth and social position were indis-
pensable requisites in the man she
“What’s the matter, Dicky?” cried
she. “You’re not yourself at all.”
I made what I now recognize as a
gallant attempt to flounder through a
few of my well-known witticisms, but
the only smile I could raise was a
pitying one. Eloise xold me I was
going off horribly—a bally English
expression, I believe—and I admitted
it with a groan. Then I cursed my-
self for an imbecile and trembled for
fear she would divine what the matter
I knew I should soon make a fool of
myself, and in desperation heaved
rocks at Earsby in a last flickering
endeavor to get him on the move.
But he, adamant animal, proceeded
according to the numerical strength
of grass tufts and no faster. For a
considerable time there was silence
while Eloise hummed.
“I certainly do admire those men
over there,” she said at last warmly.
“Yes? Why?” I inquired affably,
to keep up the conversation.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied,
half yawning. “I just do.”
Now anything that Eloise admires
comes at once under my very personal
scrutiny. Consequently with feelings
compounded of the emotions of Ga-
boriau and Doyle, I proceeded to dis-
cover why she admired those men.
The first clue was this: They were
in a hayfield, making hay. Their
pitchforks glinted dazzlingly in the
sunlight, which fact brought me to-
my second postulate, namely, that the
sun was shining. Proceeding logical-
ly, I achieved the following:
That the men were making hay
while the sun shone.
With a sudden feeling that I had
left part of me floating round in the
air somewhere, I looked at Eloise.
She was smiling at me divinely and
her eyes were sweeter with love than
a honeysuckle is with honey.
Then I made a fool of myself as I
had feared all the time I would; but
never was a fool more wonderfully
confirmed In his folly!
"By Jove! It’s five o’clock!” I ex-
claimed after a few seconds, pulling
out my watch. “If we can’t get your
celestial creature to ambula-e we will'
have to walk."
At this Eloise gave a little fccreanii
and, springing to her feet, ran down
to the dusty roadway.
“He’s gone!” she cried in a despair-
ing voice. “Oh, why didn’t I think?”
“Think what?” I demanded fero-
ciously of my future wife.
“About darling Earsby. He always
leaves here at a quarter to five .sharp.
You see—oh dear, what have I done?
—early in the summer, when I rarely
saw any one, I used to drive out here
with him and read In this little grove
for a couple of hours. He nibbled the
grass, and I read and thought about
“Then you expected him to stop
when we reached here this after-
noon?” I cried, insane with joy.
“Why, Richard Parsons!” she ex-
claimed reprovingly. “The Idea of
such a thing.”
And we let it go at that, since I was
in no condition to distinguish ideas
And, after a while, we started tOj
walk borne in a leisurely manner.
Here’s what’s next.
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Vernor, J. E. The Lampasas Daily Leader. (Lampasas, Tex.), Vol. 11, No. 143, Ed. 1 Friday, August 21, 1914, newspaper, August 21, 1914; Lampasas, Texas. (texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth897105/m1/3/: accessed February 15, 2019), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Lampasas Public Library.