Chapter L: S. Leary, (3)

“Very well. Now, suppose you were walking behind me some day, and saw me drop a quarter; what would you do?”

“Pick it up and give it to you, sir.”

“Wouldn’t you want to keep it yourself?”

Crawford hesitated; but he saw a smile on the old gentleman’s face, and, smiling himself, he finally said:

“I should want to, sir; but I shouldn’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would be stealing.”

“How do you know?”

“It would be taking what wasn’t my own, and the Bible says we are not to steal.”

“Ah!” said the old man, “so it’s the Bible that makes you honest, is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you had not heard of the Bible you would steal, I suppose?”

“Lots of boys do,” said Crawford, hanging his head.

“The Bible, then,” continued the old man, “shows you the right and safe path—the path of honesty, does it?”

“Like the lamp!” exclaimed Crawford, seeing now what all the old man’s questions meant. “Is that what the text means?”

“Yes, my boy,” the man answered, “there is always light in the Bible to show us where to go and what to do. Don’t you think it would be a good thing to take the Bible, the good old lamp, and let it light you right through life?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you think you will be safer with it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why?”

“Because if I’m honest I will never go to prison.”

“And what else?” asked the man.

Crawford thought awhile. By-and-by he said,—

“If I mind the Bible I shall go to heaven when I die.”

“Yes, and that’s the best reason for taking the lamp. It will light you right into heaven.”

LXXIX.
THREE BRIGADES.

There are three brigades, or three little companies, which I think ought to be organized among the boys and girls in every Sunday-school in America. Can’t you form them in your Sunday-school? It is a very simple matter. It will not cost any money: only a little time and forethought, and a will to do. One brigade is called the Rainy-Weather Brigade, and all the little boys and girls who join this company pledge themselves to go to Sunday-school every Sunday, when they are not sick, even if it is raining. The second brigade is called the Front Seat Brigade, and all the members of this company pledge themselves to occupy front seats in the Sunday school during the opening exercises before they pass to their classes. The third brigade is called the On-Timers’ Brigade, and the children in this brigade pledge themselves to be present on time at the opening hour.

You can see at once how helpful these little brigades are in every Sunday school (where they exist) to the officers and teachers. Some children will not go to Sunday school when it is raining or when it threatens to rain; some will not go forward and occupy front seats when they do go; and there are others who are always tardy. What a blessing it would be if all the little children would organize these brigades at once in their schools, and try to get every scholar to join each one of them.

LXXX.
“HOME, SWEET HOME.”

Go with me, boys and girls, to the gay streets and gilded saloons of the great city of Paris far across the sea. Here is said to be the centre of all the world’s follies and pleasures. It is at night.

An American, who has left his home and native land to view the splendors of the wicked city, is passing along the street. He has beheld with delight its paintings, its sculpture, and the grand and graceful proportions of its buildings. In the midst of his keenest happiness, when he was rejoicing most over the privileges which he possessed, temptation assailed him. Sin was presented to him in one of its most bewitching garbs, and he yielded to the voice of the siren. He drank wildly and deeply of the intoxicating cup, and his draught brought madness. Reason was overthrown and he rushed out, all his scruples overcome, careless of what he did or how deeply he became immersed in the hitherto unknown sea of guilt.

The cool night air settled damp and heavy upon his heated brow. Walking on and on, not knowing or caring where he went, by-and-by strains of music from a distance met his ear. Pretty soon, following in the direction from which the sounds came, he was able to distinguish the words and air of the piece. The song was well remembered. It was “Home, Sweet Home.” Clear and sweet the voice of some singer, using his native tongue, rose and fell on the air; and the poor wild man stopped and listened to the soft cadences of that beloved melody.

Motionless he stood until the last note floated away, and he could hear nothing but the ceaseless murmur of the great city. Then he turned away slowly, with no feeling that his manhood was shamed by the tear which fell as a bright evidence of the power of song, and also as an evidence that he, the guilty sinner, was not yet absolutely lost beyond recall.

The demon of the wine cup had fled, and reason once more asserted her right to control. As the soft strains of “Home, Sweet Home” had floated to his ear, memory brought up before him the picture of his own “sweet home.” He saw his gentle mother and heard her speak, while honest pride beamed from her eye; she seemed to speak again of her son, in whose nobleness and honor she could always trust. His heart smote him as he thought how little he deserved such confidence. He remembered her last words of love and counsel, and the tearful farewell of all those dear ones who gladdened that far-away home with their presence. The tide of remorse swept over his soul as he thought of what the sorrow of those at home would have been could they have seen him but an hour before. Subdued and penitent he retraced his steps, and with his vow never to taste of the terrible stuff that could so excite him to madness there was mingled a deep sense of thankfulness for his escape from further degradation. The influence of home had protected and shielded him, although the sea rolled between.

How strong such memories are to prevent the commission of crime! How powerful is the spell of home! How important, then, is it to make home pleasant and lovable! Many a time a cheerful home and smiling face will do more to make good men and good women than all the learning and eloquence that can be used. It has been said that the sweetest words in our language are “Mother, Home and Heaven”; and one might almost say that the word “Home” included the others. Who can think of home without remembering the gentle mother who sanctified it by her presence? And is not “Home” the dearest name for heaven? Oh, then, may our homes on earth be as green spots in the desert, to which we can retire when weary of the cares of life and drink the clear waters of a love which we know to be sincere and always unfailing.

LXXXI.
EDMUND ASA WARE.

In another chapter of this book I have told you, boys and girls, something of the story of General S. C. Armstrong, the founder of Hampton Institute. I am now going to tell something about another white man, who was the founder of another great school for colored people. His name is Edmund Asa Ware, and he was the founder of Atlanta University. Of course you know that I must love Atlanta University because I was graduated there myself a long time ago; but I think that Atlanta University should have a warm place in the heart of every black boy and girl in America. It has done and is doing a great work for the higher training of our men and women.

Mr. Ware was born in North Wrentham (now Norfolk), Mass., December 22, 1837. When fifteen years old he removed with his father’s family to Norwich, Conn., where he entered the Norwich Free Academy. In 1859 he entered Yale University, from which institution he was graduated four years later. In 1865 he went to Nashville, Tenn., where he served for a year as principal of one of the newly organized public schools of that city. In 1866 he came to Atlanta, Ga., and under the auspices of the American Missionary Association began the educational work to which he devoted the rest of his life. In 1867 he was appointed superintendent of schools for the state of Georgia under the Freedmen’s Bureau, and traveled widely in the prosecution of that work. The same year a charter was obtained for Atlanta University, which institution was not opened, however, until 1869, and Mr. Ware became its first president and continued as president until his death. He died suddenly of heart disease September 25, 1885, in Atlanta, and was buried September 29th in Westview Cemetery in the suburbs of the same city.

A few years later his body was removed to the campus of Atlanta University, where it now sleeps. A huge granite bowlder was brought from Massachusetts, his native state, by funds contributed by the graduates of Atlanta University, and this bowlder, suitably inscribed, marks his last resting place on earth.

At the memorial services held in honor of President Ware in Stone Hall, Atlanta University, December 22, 1885, on the forty-eighth anniversary of the birth of the dead president, Prof. Bumstead, who is now president of Atlanta University, spoke the following words about Mr. Ware’s boyhood and early life:

“It was a pleasant boyhood, and its joys were innocent and wholesome ones. A white rabbit, a goat, and two hounds were the pets with which he played at home. He threw the line for speckled trout in the meadow brooks, and he rowed his boat upon the pond to gather the fragrant waterlilies.

“It was an industrious boyhood. In summer he gathered blueberries, huckleberries and blackberries for market. When twelve or thirteen years old he spent his school vacations in service as a clerk in a village store. When fourteen he cultivated and harvested thirty dollars’ worth of vegetables.

“It was a conscientious boyhood. His mother has no recollection of his ever being untruthful. His village teachers all commended him for his unvarying conformity to the right in school. It is said that when he was fifteen years old he had never been absent a day nor had a mark for tardiness. When serving as clerk in the village store his employer showed him a certain article which had some defect about it, not very readily noticed, and bade him say nothing about it. He promptly told his employer that he could obey no such instructions.

“It was an ambitious boyhood—ambitious, of course, in the best sense of the word. He eagerly seized upon and improved every opportunity for self-improvement. He read the best books and periodicals. He heard lectures from such men as Beecher, Phillips, Curtis, Everett and Gough.

“In the autumn of 1859 he found himself a member of the largest Freshman class which at that time had ever entered Yale College. Here for the first time I grasped the hand and looked into the earnest eyes of my friend. I remember him in those early college days for the unaffected modesty of his bearing, the simplicity of his dress, his manifest hatred of all pretense and shams, his keen sense of humor, and his dry wit. His professedly religious life had been begun at the Norwich Academy but a few months before he entered college. Both in the academy and college he was active in religious work, and his face was set like a flint against all forms of iniquity.”

Mr. Ware was married in 1869 to Miss Sarah Jane Twichell, of Plantsville, Conn. His wife served with him long and faithfully at Atlanta University, and continued to serve long after he had passed to his rest. She was left a widow with three daughters and one son. She herself died subsequently. The son has since been graduated from Yale University and from Union Theological Seminary, New York City, and is now chaplain of Atlanta University.

Mr. Ware was a good man who believed that God had made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on the face of the earth, and that Christ had redeemed us to God out of every kindred, tongue and people and nation; he believed in the common origin and common destiny of the whole human family, in the Fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man, and, therefore, recognized no distinctions among men except those founded on character or merit. Along with a host of pioneer New England missionaries who came South to help us shortly after the war Mr. Ware’s name deserves to be honored and revered by a grateful people to the end of time.

LXXXII.
AN ANTE-BELLUM NEGRO PREACHER.

Once upon a time I heard Bishop Fitzgerald of the M. E. Church, South, tell the following story.

I give it in his own words:

“The ante-bellum negro preachers were the product of the times, and differed from the mass of their race only in the fact that they were shrewder and more eloquent. Among them were many men of piety and good sense and burning zeal. In others there was a combination of cunning, superstition, excitability and volubility almost indescribable.

“To the former class belonged a noted negro preacher of Culpepper County, Va., an old man of blameless life and venerable appearance, who so entirely commanded the confidence of the white people, and whose influence with the people of his own race was so wholesome, that no one thought of enforcing against him a statute then existing which required that in any gathering where six or more negroes were assembled a white man should be present. Despite this statute Uncle Jack came and went as he pleased, trusted by the whites and venerated by the blacks.

“At one of his meetings a party of mischievous young white men planned to have a little fun at the old man’s expense. Waiting near the door of the rustic chapel until the services were concluded the company approached the old preacher and its spokesman said:

“‘Old man, we are officers of the law and are patrolling this beat. You have violated the law, and we are going to whip you for it. Come along with us.’

“They led the way to the thicket near at hand. Uncle Jack followed in silence.

“‘Have you nothing to say, old man?’ asked the spokesman.

“‘Nothin’, Marstah,’ said Uncle Jack.

“‘Perhaps you don’t think that we really intend to whip you,’ said the young man, ‘but we will. Have you nothing to say to that?’

“‘No, sah,’ said Uncle Jack; ‘I has nothin’ to say. De fac’ is, Marstah, I has oftened wondar’d that I has nevah been whupped befo’. Saint Paul was a much bettah man dan I is, an’ dey whupped him ’mos’ ev’ywhar he went. I has preached much longah dan he did, an’ I has nevah got a whuppin’ in my life. It seems to me dat I ought to have at leas’ a few licks!’

“The young scapegraces looked at each other in confusion, and it is needless to say that Uncle Jack was not whipped.”

LXXXIII.
PURITY OF CHARACTER.

Boys and girls, if you will take a plum or an apricot you will find that over the outer coat of either one of them there glows a bloom more beautiful than the fruit itself—a soft, delicate powder that overspreads its rich colors. Now, if you strike your hand over that you will find that the bloom will at once depart, and when it goes it is gone forever. It only appears once. You go out into the flower garden early in the morning. The flower that hangs there impearled with dew, like so many jewels—you shake it once, so that the drops or beads will roll off. You take that same flower, after the dew has been shaken off, and you may sprinkle water over it as you please, yet it can never be made again what it was when the dew fell on it so gently from heaven. Again, on a frosty morning, you may see the panes of glass covered with landscapes, mountains, lakes and trees, blended into a fantastic picture. Now, lay your hand upon the glass and by the scratch of your finger or by the warmth of the palm; all the delicate tracery will be obliterated—all the beautiful picture will vanish, and you could not reproduce it, although you tried for a hundred years. Once wiped out, the picture on the glass is wiped out forever.

So there is in youth a purity of character which, when once touched and defiled, can never be restored—a fringe more delicate than frostwork or the dew on the flowers or the bloom on the plum or apricot. Character is a thing which, when once stained, can never be again what it was. When a young boy or girl leaves the home of his or her parents, with the blessing of a mother’s tears upon the cheek or the blessing of a father’s hand upon the head, if earthly purity of character be once lost it is a loss that can never be made up again. Though by God’s mercy the sin may be forgiven, yet its effects cannot but be in some way felt, and the boy or girl will never be what he or she was before.

LXXXIV.

Never think yourself, whoever you are, of small importance. Never think that it is of little account whether you are good or bad, or what your example is to others. Each mere particle of dust, every tiny grain of sand, the minutest atom, is an active agent in the whole universe. So each one of us is of importance in our sphere, however isolated and insignificant that sphere may appear to be.

A few particles of dust in a watch will stop its motion; small barnacles on a ship’s bottom will hinder its journey; and a little shifting sand in the great river will change its current. So, little boys and girls exercise their influence for weal or woe upon the world. Don’t you believe for once that the world is moved only by the great forces, the great men and the great enterprises. Little folks and little things likewise help to move the world along. Great generals are necessary; but what would they be without the soldiers behind them?

Every boy has his part to do in the great work of the world, and every girl has her part to do. Every boy and girl is of importance; how important nobody knows, and perhaps never shall know until eternity reveals it. There ought to be in this truth great encouragement and great comfort to all who think that they are insignificant and have no work to do in this busy world. Perhaps in the distant future many a man who estimated himself great shall be found to have been insignificant, because of unfaithfulness to his trust; and many another man who perhaps thought himself of little worth will find himself glorified because he did what he could.

LXXXV.

Poetry is more than verse-making, more than the jingle of words, more than the sing-song of meter.

Sunshine and flowers, brightness and joyousness, the harmonies of the passions and the inspiration of love—these are the poetry of life.

Without poetry, life is a tread-mill; a veil of tears; a dreary waste. Even religion is only a crucifixion—a death to sin—if we have not the resurrection into the new life of joy.

Many of us make hard work of life by bending our backs too much. We get dirt in our eyes by keeping them too near the dust, and we get narrow-minded and selfish by our narrow radius of vision.

To become truly rich we must stand in the dignity of our manhood; walk in the integrity of our calling; and run in the rhythm of a poetic nature. Out of harmony is out of sphere. The dignity, integrity and poetry of life are all lost by inharmony; only the ashes of disappointment are left; but with these we can dance at our work, and turn irksome duties into joyous privileges. Instead of moping in the valley of the shadow of death, we may live in the sunshine, where beautiful flowers and luscious fruits and delicious sweets grow.

Yes; yes; we might as well live in light as in darkness; make life a joyful song as a funeral dirge; live amid glory as shame. With a radiant countenance, a beaming eye, and a loving hand, we can do more work and have more to do; we can get more out of life and have more life to enjoy; we can scatter more sunshine and have more left for ourselves.

Christ came to bring to every toiler, heaven. Let us get into it quickly. It is here—and here only—that we find the poetry of life.

LXXXVI
ON BEING IN EARNEST.

Of ten men who fail in life, nine men fail for want of zeal, earnestness, courage, where one man fails for want of ability. This half-heartedness, this lack of zeal, this timidity, this shrinking from duty and hard tasks is seen on all sides and among all classes. But I tell you, boys and girls, that the least enviable people in all the world are those who think that nothing is particularly worth while, that it does not matter much how a thing is done if it is only done with; who dwaddle along in a shabby sort of a way, considering only their own ease, with little sense of responsibility, and with no shame in being shirks. Every boy should make up his mind to live a round, full, earnest, intense life. Every girl should do the same. Don’t be satisfied, boys and girls, to be jellyfishes, with only a capacity for drawing in nourishment and lingering on until your time comes to die. Be vertebrates, people of backbone, purpose, aim, enthusiasm, earnestness.

At a public dinner President Roosevelt asked Governor Odell of New York if he knew anything worth doing that was not hard in the doing, and the governor could think of nothing. As a rule perhaps there is nothing, and yet things once hard in the doing become easy as skill is gained by repetition. Be in earnest, be faithful and resolute, and it will act like a tonic, giving light to the eyes, springiness to the step, and buoyancy to the heart.

Don’t be overcome by your circumstances. No matter how distracting a man’s surroundings may be, he may yet be able to focus his powers completely and to marshal them with certainty if he makes up his mind to do it. If things go hard with the self-mastered man or boy, he will be able to trample upon difficulties and to use his stumbling-blocks as stepping-stones. If a great misfortune overtake him he will simply use it as a starting point for a new departure, a turning point for more determined effort. He may be weighed down with sorrow and suffering, but he always starts anew with redoubled determination to do the thing he has set his heart upon doing. He will not be discouraged; he will not give up; he will fight it out to the end. Put him in prison, and he will write the “Pilgrim’s Progress.” Deprive him of his eyesight and he will write the “Paradise Lost.”

It was the spirit of earnestness which fired the soul of Martin Luther at the Diet of Worms, who, after being urged to recant, said: “Here I stand; I can do no other; God help me!” It was this spirit which characterized William Lloyd Garrison, the champion of the abolition of slavery, who, when he was urged to stop fighting slavery, exclaimed: “I will not equivocate, I will not retract, I will not be moved one inch, and I will be heard.” So be in earnest, boys and girls, at home, at school, at work and at play. It will help you a thousand-fold.

LXXXVII.
YOUNG PEOPLE AND LIFE INSURANCE.

Every little boy and girl, and, of course, every man and woman, of the colored race in America should carry a life insurance policy of some kind in some reliable company. In this matter the old people, as in some other things, ought to set the example for the young, but there are some reasons, growing chiefly out of their previous condition of slavery, why our mothers and fathers have not, as a rule, taken very largely to the business of having their lives insured. But because our parents have been negligent in this matter there is no reason why the younger generation should be. Life insurance is a good thing, boys and girls—one of the best things in the world. American life insurance companies alone pay to policy-holders or estates of policy-holders over one hundred million dollars annually. Only a very small and almost insignificant portion of this vast sum goes into the hands of colored people, and for the reason that very few colored people carry life insurance policies.

Now use a little common sense about this matter. Whatever is good in life insurance for other races is good for our race; whatever in life insurance benefits other races will benefit our race. In business as in education, whatever is good for a white man is good for a black man. I would, therefore, urge every boy and girl to join a life insurance company, and where your mothers and fathers are not insured I would urge you to do your utmost to persuade them to join at once.

For one reason, a life insurance policy is not expensive. You might as well talk of the expense of buying bank stock, or the expense of putting your money into a savings bank or any other safe place as to speak of the expense of keeping up a life insurance policy. It is accumulation and not expense. Every dollar put into life insurance is a dollar saved to yourself or your estate.

For another reason life insurance is a good business investment. Carefully collected statistics on file in Washington City prove that investments in life insurance are much safer and yield much larger returns than money placed in a savings bank. When you are older you will perhaps be able to make these comparisons for yourself. For the present you can take my word for it.

A third reason, life insurance is cheap. You can in an instant create a capital of $1,000, though you may be ever so poor, by laying aside only a few cents a week. Young people chew up and drink up and smoke up and frolic up more money every week than would be sufficient to protect them against the rainy days that must come to everybody.

And, then, life insurance has a character value. It makes a young man a better man; it makes a young woman a better woman; that is to say, it makes them more economical, more business-like, happier, and, I believe, it will make them live longer.

It is high time that black boys and girls were learning these things and acting upon them. When God commanded us not to serve money as a false god He did not say that money could not serve us, and I beseech the boys and girls, and the old people too, to exercise the same foresight and the same good sense about life insurance that other races exercise.

LXXXVIII.
THE LITTLE SAILOR CAT.

In September, 1893, grouped on the Fall River Line pier at the foot of Warren Street, New York, there stood a party of twenty-three sailors waiting for the Puritan to take them on to Boston. The central figure in the group—a short, thickset man, with bronzed and grizzled moustache—stood erect with arms folded over his chest. Upon the solid foundation thus made nestled a little white kitten. The man and the kitten were the Boston contingent of the crew of the steamship City of Savannah, which had been wrecked the week before on Hunting Island, off the South Carolina coast.

The story of the beaching of the steamship and of the taking off of her crew by the City of Birmingham had been told in all the newspapers, but nothing had been said about the cat, so the Boston Herald said. Before the shipwreck the cat was nothing more than an ordinary ship’s cat, and the captain had named him Mascot; but that was the end of his distinction. After the disaster, nevertheless, all the sailors swore that the kitten was as good a sailor as any of them.

“He’s a wonder,” said the short, thickset man, surveying the cat proudly; “nobody thought of him in the rush, but he got there just the same. He climbed the rigging in that gale like an old tar and held on for hours. He wasn’t a bit frightened either. Only he would ‘caterwaul’ when he got hungry. We were on board of the boat fifty hours after she struck before the sea was such that we could be taken off in boats. At night the captain ordered all the crew into the rigging and made us stay there. We each took a piece of rope and lashed ourselves on, so as to keep from falling off when asleep. That’s what the captain said the string was for, but I never slept at all. I don’t think many others did. The cat got along without any rope, and she was there in the morning all right. When we got away at last, nearly crazy with thirst and so faint that we could hardly climb down the ‘Jacob’s ladder’ into the Birmingham’s boats, that little fellow climbed out of his nest in the rigging and wanted to go too. We were glad to take him.”

LXXXIX.

1. Be punctual and regular at all the services of your church.

2. Give close attention to the pastor in the public service. Good hearers make good preachers.

3. Whenever you are aided by a sermon tell the pastor about it. In this way you will help him more than you think possible.

4. Do not neglect morning and evening prayer at home. Pray daily for God’s blessing upon the preaching and other labors of the pastor.

5. In the world let your light so shine before others that they may be led to glorify your Father which is in heaven. Let your light shine.

6. Invite your friends to attend divine services. A drawing congregation is as good as a drawing preacher. Call for your friends often.

7. Remember day by day that you are not your own, but have been “bought with a price,” and that you are Christ’s servant. Watch and pray.

8. If any service is required of you in the church or in the Sunday school, do not shirk it; always say: “I will try for Jesus’ sake.”

9. In the prayer meeting speak briefly and to the point. If you pray, ask only for what you want. Be short and direct. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

10. Never subscribe more than you are able to pay, and be sure to pay whatever you promise. Whether much or little, give it cheerfully. “God loveth a cheerful giver.”

11. Having found eternal life, use all appropriate means to develop Christian character. Prayer, reading the Bible, attending church and Sunday school, reading good books and Christian newspapers, keeping the best company—all these will help you.

XC.
A WORD TO PARENTS.

Children are a gift from God. Children are a heritage from the Lord. It depends largely on parents whether they become a heritage of honor and delight or of sorrow and shame. It is not simply incumbent upon parents that their children be well cared for, fed and clothed, properly educated and so forth; but more than this, they are to be brought up “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” This being true, then, the highest aim of rearing children is not simply that they may win success and command respect in the world. Respect and success are greatly to be desired and sought, but beyond them and beyond everything else is the highest and chiefest aim of parental love and care; that their children may honor and command the righteousness of God in the life that now is and magnify the glory of God in the life that is to be. This is the mark and prize of their high calling.

Admitting this, then, the early conversion of children is all-important. But if they are to be early converted, is it not wise—nay, absolutely essential—that mothers and fathers prepare the way by restricting their natural impulses by which they are led to desire indulgence in the gay vanities of life? Is it not positively wrong for parents to indulge that pernicious and destructive delusion, which some allow, of permitting their children to have their own evil way in the hope that in due time they will in some way see their error and turn to the right path of their own accord? Father, you are a Christian. Mother, you are a Christian. Now, in your home, in the management of your children, are you doing the best you can to show what a Christian family should be? How is it, my friends? I leave that question with you.

XCI.
A HELPFUL MESSAGE.

Life is too short to spend any time on a book that is not worth reading; but when you read a good book you will be richly repaid if you stick a sort of mental pin in sentences that especially impress you and return to them again and again. If the book is your own, it is sometimes helpful to mark it neatly here and there, and to copy some of the nuggets of thoughts. In that way you help to fasten them in your brain, and perhaps to engraft their meaning upon your lives. From a book of the writings and speeches of a New York preacher, Dr. Maltbie D. Babcock, who went a year or two ago to “the better land,” I have culled the following sentences that hold, I think, a helpful message for boys and girls as well as for old people.

“Look out for your choices. They run into conduct, character, destiny.

“To make the best of things is the right way to let things make the best of you.

“Pay as little attention to discouragement as possible. This is the only world in which a Christian can suffer.

“Whenever you feel blue remember that God loves you and think up some kindness, if no more than sending a flower to some one or writing a note.

“If you can help anybody, even a little, be glad.

“Do not let the good things of life rob you of the best things.

“What have you done to-day that none but a Christian would do?”

XCII.
THE UNSEEN CHARMER.

Carl Brickermann, a collection clerk in an uptown bank, in his accustomed daily routine found it necessary, among other things, to call by telephone the downtown brokerage firm of Hopegood & Co. One day he missed the familiar feminine voice which had usually responded to his calls. But the new voice seemed sweeter and much more passionately penetrating. For two or three days Brickermann was puzzled, not only because of the change at the other end of the ’phone, but also because of the strange and unaccountable fascination which the new voice possessed for him. At length one day, almost in desperation, he turned aside from his regular business inquiries to ask:

“Where’s the other girl?”

“Which other girl?” asked the mellifluous voice over the articulate wire.

“The one who used to answer the ’phone for the Hopegoods,” explained Brickermann.

“Promoted,” came the response, with a merry little laugh.

“And you have her old place?” asked Brickermann, somewhat encouraged.

“Yes; for awhile,” said the same still, small voice at the other end, and it sounded more and more sweetly to the would-be masher.

“Well,” said Brickermann, laughing the while, “I used to know her quite well, and I should like to meet you face to face, if you don’t mind. I am so charmed with the music of your voice I am sure I should be perfectly entranced with the magic of your face.”

A merry peal of laughter from the other end greeted this sally. The young man continued:

“I used to come down some days about four o’clock to see Margie. Will you, my Unseen Charmer, grant me the same high favor?”

“Why, certainly! Come any day,” answered the sweet voice which had so strangely bewitched the young man. In ecstasy Brickermann shouted back:

“I’ll be down this afternoon.”

Brickermann hung up the receiver, and, chuckling with delight, he turned to his other duties with the alacrity that a young spring chicken displays when it suddenly discovers a big fat worm.

By three-thirty o’clock he had arranged his toilet, and stood before the mirror giving the finishing twirl to his budding moustache. He brushed his clothing the second time, brushed his hat, and, figuratively speaking, arrayed in purple and fine linen, he sallied forth. He boarded an elevated train bound for the downtown district. On his way down he tried to picture to himself the kind of a girl he should meet at the Hopegoods. Would she be tall or short of stature? Blonde or brunette? Above twenty-one years of age or only sweet sixteen? The quick arrival of the train at Park Place put a period to Brickermann’s reverie. He went tripping across a few blocks to the place where all of his hopes had been centered during the past few hours—in fact, days. Arrived there, he stepped into the front office where “Margie” had formerly presided. It was the same snug and cosy room, but he failed to behold there the eagerly expected young lady. Instead he ran amuck a chubby little boy, with a ruddy face and curly hair, and perhaps not more than fourteen or fifteen years old, sitting in “Margie’s” place.

Brickermann was visibly embarrassed. He did not know where to begin or what to say. He twitched nervously at the glove which he carried in his hand, and finally he stammered:

“Is—er—Mr. Hopegood in?”

“No, sir,” said the boy. “Can I be of any service to you?”

Brickermann’s face turned blood red, and great drops of perspiration stood out upon his forehead. The accents of the little boy startled him, for they were the same that had been wafted to him almost daily along the wire and with which he thought he had been enamored. In the midst of his confusion he managed to say, hoping almost against hope that his identity had not been discovered:

“Well, er—er—I’ll call again.”

And, without waiting to hear the Unseen Charmer speak again, he hastily retired with as good grace as was possible under the circumstances.

XCIII.
OUR COUNTRY.

Boys and girls, we are all American citizens, the last one of us. This is our country, as much as it is the country of any other race, and we should love it and fight for it as our fathers have loved, fought and died for it on many a battlefield. We may be the descendants of Africans, but we are citizens of the United States. This is our home—our country. Let us believe it, in spite of what some foolish people say. Therefore I am going to give you one or two sentiments which you should learn early in life in order to stimulate your patriotism.

1. May the honor of our country be without stain.

2. May the glory of America never cease to shine.

3. May every American manfully withstand corruption.

4. May reverence for the laws ever predominate in the hearts of the American people.

5. The sons and daughters of America, may their union be cemented by love and affection, and their offspring adorn the stations they are destined to fill.

6. May the growth of the American union never be prevented by party spirit.

7. The boys of America, may they be strong and virtuous, manly and brave.

8. The girls of America, may they prove to be such in heart and life as will make them worthy mothers of a strong and noble race.

9. Health to our president, prosperity to our people, and may Congress direct its endeavors to the public good.

10.—

May Peace o ’er America spread her wing,
And Commerce fill her ports with gold;
May Arts and Science comfort bring,
And Liberty her sons enfold.

XCIV.
THE “DON’T-CARE” GIRL.

About the worst girl in all this world is the girl who doesn’t care what people think or say about her conduct; the girl who goes to every “hop,” to every party, who stays out late at night with the boys, who hangs over the gate and talks to them, and who cuts a number of foolish capers, and then when any one speaks to her, shoots her head ’way up in the air, and turns up her nose, if she can, and says boldly: “Oh, I don’t care; nobody has anything to do with me!” She is the worst girl in the world, and she will never come to any good end. Every girl who is a law unto herself in regard to all that she says or does is certain not only to bring upon herself the condemnation of those whose good opinion it is worth while to have, but she will most certainly incur the punishment of a just God. And sometimes, I am sorry to say, I think that when a girl proudly declares that she doesn’t care for the good opinion of others she does so because she knows that she has already lost all right to that good opinion.

It is wrong, boys and girls, to undertake to run roughshod over the so-called prejudices of the public. It is a foolish thing to take delight in trying to shock people by your boisterous and unladylike and unbecoming conduct. Every really wise and nice girl does care a good deal for the good opinion of others, and particularly for the good opinion of persons older than she is. She recognizes the fact that the laws of conventionality and of good society are based upon what is right and what is proper, and that no girl can with propriety set them at naught.

Some girls go so far as to say that they “don’t care” what their own fathers and mothers think. The wild girl who says this is setting at defiance not only the human parental law, but also the law of God, which plainly commands children to obey their parents.

Haven’t you ever seen a “don’t-care” girl? She is nearly always reckless in manner and speech; she is bold and defiant; she is impudent beyond mention; and she is very fond of ridiculing girls who do care a great deal what others think about them.

No matter whose children they are—no matter what schools they have attended—these “don’t care” girls are no good, and good girls ought not to associate with them. Every day such flippant girls are treading on dangerous ground, and some day, unless a merciful God prevents it, she will come to open disgrace and die and go to torment. I am hoping to see the day when all the “don’t-care” girls will have passed out of existence, and then all our girls will be of the refined and womanly kind who do care a great deal about their conduct, their manners and their morals. I don’t want my daughter to associate with any other kind.

XCV.
NEGRO HEROES.

No true history of the American continent can be written without giving due credit to the part which brave negro men have played on the field of battle in the defense of liberty. At the head of the list of great negro soldiers stands unquestionably Toussaint L’Ouverture, the emancipator of Hayti, the little republic to the south of the Island of Cuba. This black hero, who never saw a soldier until he was fifty years old, crossed swords with the great Napoleon, who is said to be the greatest general the world has ever known, and he outwitted that great warrior. Wendell Phillips in a great oration places the name of Toussaint at the head of the list of all the world’s great leaders and statesmen, above the name of even our own George Washington.

Next comes Crispus Attucks, who was killed in the Boston massacre on the night of March 5, 1770. His blood was the first blood shed in the cause of American independence. John Adams and Daniel Webster both date the beginning of American independence from that terrible massacre. Later on when the Revolutionary War came the negro played a valiant part and many individuals won just fame. For instance, Peter Salem and Salem Poor both distinguished themselves at the battle of Bunker Hill, and at other points. To-day a monument stands on Boston Common erected in honor of Crispus Attucks, Peter Salem, Salem Poor, Samuel Maverick and James Caldwell.

All the boys and girls now living know about the heroism of Antonio Maceo in behalf of the freedom of Cuba, and how that brave general laid down his life for his own people shortly before the United States in 1898 took up arms in defense of Cuban liberty and drove the Spanish tyrants out. Of course there were many colored soldiers who took notable parts in the work done by our country during that short and decisive war. It is even claimed on good authority that the black soldiers saved the regiment of Rough Riders, which was commanded by the intrepid Colonel Roosevelt who afterwards became governor of New York and president of the United States.

But before the Spanish-American War the negroes had given good account of themselves on many a well-fought field—in the war of 1812 and again in the great Civil War. In the Civil War, which resulted in the restoration of the Union and the freedom of the slaves, there were 186,000 colored soldiers. To-day a monument stands on Boston Common, also, in memory of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts Regiment of United States soldiers. This was a colored regiment, which was commanded by a gallant white man named Robert Gould Shaw. He and a large proportion of his command were killed at Fort Wagner, S. C., in July, 1863.

In the Civil War we were not allowed to have our own officers, all the officers being white. In the Spanish-American War this was changed, and we had over two hundred officers, including some as high as colonels and two paymasters with the rank of majors. When another war comes we are going to have some generals as well as colonels and captains and majors. Some of the little boys who are reading these words may be called on to render this higher service for the country and the race. I hope, boys, if it should be so, that you will be prepared to give as good an account of your stewardship as those who have gone before. I hope you will learn a good deal about the lives of the great heroes above named, and about others whom I cannot stop to mention now. In this way you will gain inspiration for the future.

XCVI.
FREDERICK DOUGLASS TO YOUNG PEOPLE.

Shortly before he died Frederick Douglass made a tour through the South. Among other places he visited Atlanta University. At that place he made an address to the young people. It is so full of hope and help that I wanted to place it where every ambitious black boy and girl in America can see it. It has never been published before, except in the Bulletin of Atlanta University. Mr. Douglass said:

“My young friends: I see before me an assemblage of young people, full of the blood of youth, just entering upon the voyage of life. It is an interesting spectacle to me, as to us all, to meet such an assembly as I see before me this morning in an institution of learning, of knowledge, and of ethics and of Christian graces. I experience great pleasure in what I see to-day. There is no language to describe my feelings. It was no mere image that John saw and described in the apocalypse. It was a new heaven and a new earth indeed. When I look back upon the time when I was a fugitive slave I recollect the evils and cruelty of slave-hunting. No mountain was so high, no valley was so deep, no glen so secluded, no place so sacred to liberty that I could put my foot upon it and say I was free! But now I am free! Contrasting my condition then and now the change exceeds what John saw upon the isle of Patmos. A change vast and wonderful, that came by the fulfilling of laws. We got freed by laws, marvellous in our eyes. Men, brave men, good men, who had the courage of their convictions, were arrested and subjected to persecutions, mobs, lawlessness, violence. They had the conviction of truth. Simple truth lasts forever!

“Be not discouraged. There is a future for you and a future for me. The resistance encountered now predicates hope. The negro degraded, indolent, lazy, indifferent to progress, is not objectionable to the average public mind. Only as we rise in the scale of proficiency do we encounter opposition. When we see a ship that lies rotting in the harbor, its seams yawning, its sides broken in, taking water and sinking, it meets with no opposition; but when its sails are spread to the breeze, its top-sails and its royals flying, then there is resistance. The resistance is in proportion to its speed. In Memphis three negro men were lynched, not because they were low and degraded, but because they knew their business and other men wanted their business.

“I am delighted to see you all. Don’t be despondent. Don’t measure yourselves from the white man’s standpoint; but measure yourselves by the depths from which you have come. I measure from these depths, and I see what Providence has done. Daniel Webster said in his speech at the dedication of Bunker Hill monument: ‘Bunker Hill monument is completed. There it stands, a memorial of the past, a monitor of the present, a hope of the future. It looks, speaks, acts!’ So this assembly is a monitor of the present, a memorial of the past, a hope of the future. I see boys and girls around me. Boys, you will be men some day. Girls, you will be women some day. May you become good men and women, intelligent men and women, a credit to yourselves and your country.

“I thank you for what I have experienced to-day and I leave you reluctantly, and shall always carry with me the pleasantest impressions of this occasion.”

XCVII.
TOO HIGH A DAM.

Once upon a time a criminal, sentenced to a twenty-year term of punishment, declared that his ruin was due to the fact that too high a “dam” had been built around his early life.

He was a boy on a farm, the son of strict parents, who never unbent into friends and comrades, but had iron ideas of parental duty along the lines of restraints, and gave large doses of the catechism and the Ten Commandments, interspersed with much fault-finding and complaints of the waywardness of boys in general and their own boy in particular.

As a consequence the boy chafed against the “high dam,” burst its bounds early and came to the city with a zest for freedom in proportion to the restraint he had undergone and an admiration for a fast life. This was by way of reaction from his disgust for the farm and its slow ways.

“Don’t build your dams too high,” was the brief sermon preached by this condemned criminal and directed to parents—especially those who are rearing children in the country or in small towns. Human nature will continue to be human nature, and boys will continue to be boys. Youth will long, and naturally so, for variety and amusement. The house in which parents never unbend in sympathy with their children’s longing for a little brightness and jollity, where work goes on in unretrieved monotony, and home means only a place to sleep and eat in—such a home sends its boys and girls to the city before they are panoplied to meet its temptations; either this, or else it hardens and saddens them into mere machines or beasts of burden.

Books, music, flowers, games, social clubs, cheerful pictures, love and sympathy—these will bind the young heart to home and right living and will obviate the necessity of the “high dams” of restraint.

XCVIII.
A GOOD FELLOW.

He was a good fellow.

He spent his money like a Prince.

There was nothing too good for him to do for those with whom he kept company.

He lived rapidly, and had no thought of to-morrow. He burned the candle of life at both ends.