1879 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE. 



455 



The contents of this leaf and the one following are 

 not directly connected, with the subject of bee-culture. 

 On this account, I make no charge for them, and, if you 

 choose, you can cut them out without reading. 



\ur tcmm- 



And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and 

 cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that 

 one of thv members should perish, and not that thy 

 whole body should be east into hell.— Matt. V. 30. 



*Y friend, did you ever, in childhood, 

 get a sliver in your ringer, and refuse 



! " to let your mother get it out, because 

 you could not bear the pain V Perhaps you 

 let it go until next day ; and when you awoke 

 in the morning, it was festered, swolen, and 

 painful. Then, in spite of the fact that you 

 had told her the day before you would rather 

 bear the pain and let it be, you now reluct- 

 antly go to her for advice and counsel. 



"My child," says she, "you must let me 

 get it out; it will be much more painful 

 now, than it would have been yesterday, but 

 every hour will make it worse, and the* soon- 

 er it is done, and the pain over, the better/' 



"O mother, it is so sore now I cannot bear 

 to have it even touched ; indeed I cannot, I 

 cannot; O dear ! what shall I do ?" and be- 

 cause you can do nothing else, you have one 

 of those big cry's that we all remember so 

 well, in childhood. If you do not remember, 

 just stop and take a good look the next time 

 you see some juvenile in real trouble. 



Mamma says nothing, but goes and gets a 

 needle, and a sharp line pointed knife. She 

 puts out her hand to you in silence, and you 

 now come to her, for where else in the world 

 can you go V Your father would take it out, 

 in no time, but you would far rather have 



her do it, because because why ? He 



loves you as she does, but somehow she 

 thinks' more of the little aches and pains a 

 child finds so hard to bear, and as she puts 

 her arm around you and gives you a kiss be- 

 fore undertaking the fearful surgical opera- 

 tion, it seems as if that caress took off about 

 half of the pain already. She knows, and 

 she herself feels every twinge, almost as 

 much as you do. By and by, when you al- 

 most begin to feel as if you could not have it 

 cut into any more, the sliver has been reach- 

 ed, the accumulated matter is released, and 

 the pain is certainly abating. Finally you 

 are actually smiling through your tears ; and 

 as the "naughty old sliver" comes out, you 

 laugh and cry altogether. When the trouble 

 is all over, you say, 



• I am so glad it is out, mamma, and I will 

 I next time, to have it out first, and to re- 

 in her that you know best." 

 I remember a boy's coming into my store, 

 a few years ago, crying so that he could not 

 speak. In vain, I tried to gather from his 

 broken words what the trouble was. Final- 

 ly it came out. How like the boy with the 

 sliver in his finger! It seems lie' had been 

 in the store with several boys, and they were 

 looking at some little horse shoe magnets. 

 One of them, partly in sport, and partly in 

 something worse, slipped one of the magnets 

 into this hoy's coat pocket. They all went 

 off, and he reasoned, boy fashion, that, as 



he did not put it there, it was not stealing to 

 keep it. lie went to bed at night, but it 

 would not lie straight on his conscience, and 

 by some means, I know not how, he came to 

 me and "owned up." As I took his hand, 

 and told him I should always remember him 

 for a boy who meant to be honest, his smiles 

 through* his tears were not very far different 

 from those in the picture I gave you before. 



Later in life, I saw a friend who refused 

 to give up a piece of property when circum- 

 stances seemed to indicate it would be best. 

 There was no disagreement in regard to the 

 price, but my friend seemed rather to be 

 sticking for what he thought his rights, to 

 sell or not to sell as he pleased. I happened 

 to be near, when the better spirit conquered, 

 and remember one expression made. After 

 the promise was given, and the conditions 

 agreed upon, a smile took the place of the 

 heretofore determined look, and something 

 to this effect was said : 



'1 feel a great deal happier than I have 

 for a long while, and I would have given it 

 up long ago, had I known I would have felt 

 so much better." 



I know, my friends, how hard it is to give 

 up, when we have got it into our heads, that 

 it is right to hold on, and I know that it 

 sometimes seems like giving our very right 

 hand, to confess we have done wrong, and 

 make the first move toward getting into the 

 right spirit; but if , after making a start to 

 relent and to do the disagreeable duty, we 

 feel that happy approving voice of conscience, 

 we may be pretty sure we are in the right 

 track. Sometimes I catch myself speaking 

 harshly of some one, and censuring severely 

 what I and the rest of community feel to be 

 a very wrong and wicked course. After a 

 little, the voice of Conscience says, "If you 

 think the brother or sister has done wrong, 

 why do you not go to them and tell them so, 

 instead of speaking to others about itV" 

 Conscience has "got me," to use a slang 

 phrase, and there is no evading her voice. 

 I may say I wish I had not talked as I did, 

 but it is done, and the best amend I can make 

 is to take up the cross. I start out, and even 

 though I have been through the experience 

 dozens of times, I begin, as I come nearer 

 the individual, to experience the same feel- 

 ings I described, when I went to visit the in- 

 temperate man who did such heavy service 

 among our saloons, about a year ago. I 

 begin to feel that it is a most strange and 

 unheard of thing, to go complaining to some 

 body who may, perhaps, be almost an utter 

 stranger, and I often feel as if I would lath- 

 er be whipped, knocked down, or even 

 pounded, if I could be excused from the dutv 

 that conscience holds up before me. I say 

 to myself, I know it is a mistake this time ; 

 but conscience replies," You thought so be- 

 fore, but how did it turn out V" But there 

 are peculiar reasons why I should not go this 

 time, and I am sure I am making a mistake. 

 Conscience now takes me to task a little 

 severely, for my cowardice and want of 

 faith. 



"You admit that you have never made a 

 mistake yet. and that you have never failed 

 of receiving that approving voice, when you 

 have taken up these little crosses ; go right 



