Bethel University - Spire Yearbook (St Paul, MN)

Page 7 text:

The Acorn VOL. III. MAY 1911 No. 8 ■£? % TRUE GREATNESS. One evening as I sat musing in a grove on the banks of the Mississippi as I am often wont to do, there occured one of the most memorable episodes in my experience. The sun had just disappeared beyond the hills and the western sky was all aflame. The fragrance of May flowers, the twittering of the birds, and the soft evening breeze lulled my senses into a sweet contentment. I felt that I was in the midst of nature where L was permitted to sip from rhe brimful cup of charming graces. “The birds around me hopped and played, Their thought I cannot measure:— But the least motion which they made It seemed a thrill of pleasure. The buddingtwigs spread out their fan. To catch the breezy air; And I most think, do all I can, That there was pleasure there. Suddenly I was disturbed by somewhat sluggish foot-steps. A young man. seemingly morose and gloomy flung himself carelesly down on a near by bench and began soliloquizing in a most cheerless mood which grated up on my mind until I became conscious that the crown of nature is not all what the Great Architect intended it to be. “Cursed be everybody,” he said. “What’s the use of working and being honest? 1 have tried to do my level best for those people. I have faithfully worked day and night as a slave and they have given me reason to believe that I enjoyed their fullest confidence. But here came Smith, the Dude, born at the height of society, and of course I had to be kicked out. Honesty and ability probably will go a long way; but ability exchanged by a flattering tongue and guided by dishonesty, which is politely named shrewdness, goes all the way. They talk about great men, but what is greatness? Why, it is simply to be at the top. No matter how you got there. It goes against me; no I simply cannot go fawning and flattering in order to gain advantages, hut. I guess I have to. If I don’t I will not become anything but a mere machine.

Page 6 text:

Photos anC Frames P H OTO STUDIOS HIGH GRADE PORTRAITS AND COMMERCIAL PHOTOGRAPHY 527 First Ave. S., Minneapolis 25-27 West 5th St., St. Paul -------and------- GRAND FORKS, NORTH DAKOTA

Page 8 text:

6 T1IE ACORN But I need money; I must have some no matter if crooked methods must be employed. Eureka”! I have it! Down here lives an old widow whom I know has seme money. I'll just go over and see it I can t sell her som mining stock that n.ever existed. She is innocent and will not suspect evil. This is the way by which many a man has become great. Oh ■God. may mother never know what I am about to do. I know it is wrong, but I must get even with the world some way; I must have money. I had not seen the old man sitting by yonder weeping willow before he arose. His steps were not firm, Ids hair was white as snow, his face was furrowed showing that life had used him rather roughly; but there was something kind and bcnovelent about the aged man which appealed to my soul. He walked slowly up and laying his withered hand on the young man's shoulder said. My son, The youth gave a violent start, but remained seated. My son. ho continued, I have heard your idea of greatness. I do not know if you wish to become a Napoleon, a Webster, a Rockefeller, or if you wish to become simply a society lion. Be that as it may: but f heard also by what means you intended to reach your idea! of greatness. It is a virtue in any man to yearn for renown, it is also certain that no man will become eminent without striving for greatness. Even a man born a noble or of wealth is not great if he has not done anything worthy of the name. My son. greatness is something far more then idle show or vain power. I will relate you a little story which will illustrate my conception of true greatness—the story ol little hump backed Billy Butts. It is a year and a half aso to-day since his father was killed by the train. Tom Butts had always been a drunkard; ano a year and a half ago to night he was on his way home from town, hut so. in- w toxicatcd, that inspite of the cold November rain, he had gone to sleep. He had sat down to rest on the railroad track without being able to keep awake; and the Western Express had run over him. This was a terrible blow to the Butts family. !t is true that Mr. Butt had not been a good husband or father, but he was now gone. Who should now provide for the family? Billy, the oldest child, was only nine years old and a cripple at that. The mother was frail and sickly, but something had to he done. Billy was taken out of the school which he loved so much, and where he had worked so earnestly. Miss Frost, the teacher, had often said that Billy was the brightest and best boy in school. Some day, she said, he will surely become a great man. But now, however, his career at school was abruptly cut short. He must look after Naney and Bessy while mother, by washing, provided bred for herself and her three fatherless children. Th» Butts’ had always been poor. Luxury had never been known there: hut now real want and hunger rapped often on tlielr door. Many were the evenings that Mrs. Butts had to sing the babies to sleep without a supper. Billy did all he could for his beloved mother, but still thiros grew from bad to worse; and at last the breadwinner's strength entirely gave out. She came staggering home late one Saturday night and scarcely did she reach her bed before she fell in a swoon. There she lay for nearly three days in a semi-conscious condition, tossing back and forth In a delirious fever. Sunday and Monday were long and dreary days for the poor children. A cold rain was beating the window, and by Monday night all their fuel was gone, and their food was also becoming very scarce. On Tuesday, when Billy looked out through the cracked window, he saw the .sround covered with snow and a howling ind raging in all its fury. It was very