Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

10 THE YOUNG SOUTHERNER The Song of The Mystic. In the hush of the valley of silence I dream all the songs that I sing: And the music floats down the dim valley Till each finds a word for a wing, That to hearts, like the dove of the deluge, A message of peace they may bring. But far on the deep there are billows That never shall break on the beach; And I have heard songs in the silence That never shall float into speech; And I have had dreams in the valley Too lofty for language to speak. I have seen thoughts in the valley— Ah, me! how my spirit was stirred! And they wear holy veils on their faces— Their footsteps can scarcely be heard; They pass through the valley like virgins, Too pure for the touch of a word. Do you ask me the place of the valley, Ye hearts that are harrowed by care? It lieth afar between mountains, And God and His angels are there; One is the dark mountain of Sorrow, And one the bright mountain of Prayer. —Father Ryan. With Correspondents. We have several very interesting letters this week which I am sure our young readers will appreciate. I wish to call attention especially to the one writ ten by the brave, patient invalid, Thomas Lockhart. Think, dear children, of one having to remain in bed twenty years with no hope of ever being able to walk, or even to move without help! But with all his suffering how cheerful and pa tient he is. His faith in God sustains him through all his trials and he is happy in the hope of the bright hereafter. W hat a lesson his life of patient suffering should be to us who are more fortunately situated. I trust that every one who reads this page and can do so, will send this young man the small sum he asks as the price of his book. Notwithstanding his terrible affliction, he is try ing to make his own living, and the truest charity is to help those who try to help themselves. But sending the money for this booklet (only 15 cents), is not charity in the sense of giving, for each one gets value received. Don’t mistake the address: Thomas F. Lockhart, Wellington, Mo. Dear Mrs. Hodges: Have you room for a wheel-chair among your jolly band of Young Southerners? While they are planning their vacation and waht they intend to be when grown, I wonder if they ever pause to remember how it must be wi'th those, like myself, who have no hopes or plans as far as this world is concerned? I must continue to lie prone upon my back, per fectly motionless, as I have for the past twenty years. I will never sit up or walk again. My dis ease is rheumatism, and God alone knows what I have suffered. I was only fifteen when I went to bed to rise no more in this world. I will not sadden you with a description of my awful condition. I still have one finger and thumb and one eye un touched by disease. I can read and write a little. My mind is sound, and I can hear and talk. There are blessings indeed! lam without hope so far as this life is concerned, but I am not without hope of a better one beyond the grave. My hope is to be Conducted by Louise Threete Hodges. one of God’s angels by and by. This is better than anything the world can give. I have so much to be thankful for. We all have if we only would learn to count our blessings. I am poor, helpless and alone in the world. Yet I can smile, laugh and praise God for His goodness to me. My condition could be so much worse. Dear friends, don’t whine your way through life. Don’t growl like a sore-head. Make the best of things as you find them. Don’t worry and fret over what can’t be helped. Just do the best you can, and leave the result with God. Dear Editor: I have written the story of my life and had it published in pamphlet form. The title is “Seventeen Years in a Mattress Grave,” and the price is only 15 cents. The sale of my little book has supported me ever since my mother died, four years ago. Surely all your readers can afford to order a copy. There is a good lesson in it for the children. I am sure it will be a help to them. It contains my picture. Please order and thus help me along. Address, Thomas F. Lockhart, Wellington, Mo. Dear Editor Young Southerner: Some time ago a request was made in your paper for short biographical sketches, but so far I have not seen any from the children. I will send you one and hope you will find it worth publishing. Andrew Jackson, a brave leader in the war of 1812, was of Irish descent. His parents came from Ireland and located in the Waxhaw settlement, North Carolina, where Andrew was born in 1767. He was a strong, red-headed lad with a very high temper, and “Andy,” as he was called at home and at the small country school he attended, was the hero of many fights and quarrels. He was poor, but spent all of his spare time studying law, and after he moved to Tennessee, was admitted to the bar. He was then appointed District Attorney, and then Judge of the Supreme Court of Tennessee. He began his career as a military genius in 1813, when he fought the Creek Indians, but it was at New Orleans that he, with only a few volunteers, defeated General Pakenham, with several thousand regulars. After the war his ability, energy and strong char acter won for him the affection of the people, and after several terms in the senate he was elected president. He was the founder of the “Spoils System,” and a member of the Democratic party. He served two terms as president and then re tired to his home, the “Hermitage,” where he died in 1845. Mary Ewing. Atlanta, Ga. Dear Editor: Do you think your readers would be interested in the subject of “National Flowers?” Almost every nation has its national flower just as it has its ensign or standard, and the people of these nations are loyal to their chosen emblem just as they are to their national hymn-and flag. The golden rod is considered the national flower of the United States, although it has never been officially adopted. In the language of flowers the golden rod is the emblem of “encouragement” and is also a symbol of the “Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.” England has for her national flower the beautiful rose, and seeing this lovely flower on English money, seals, and other things, reminds one of the air, “God Save the Queen.” Ireland ’s national flower, the shamrock, is said to have been chosen by St. Patrick, their patron saint, who said that its three leaves represent the Trinity —Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Scotland has the thistle, which, like the Scotch The Golden Age for June 21, 1906. people, will prick or pierce those who try to take it or trample it in the dust, and like the Scotch, is strong and sturdy. Italy has for her national flower the marguerite, or daisy, so named for the Queen Marguerite. The Fleur-de-lis, or “Flower of the Lily,” of France, whose royal blue tint was once worn only by the French nobility, is a favorite design for jewelry, and is found on French silke, tapesries, carpets and other decorated art work. Louis VII, while on a journey to the Holy Land, chose it. Germany has the corn-flower, which is found in every part of the land, and Switzerland has the edel weiss, which is found on the rocks where the wind has blown gravel and soil. Egypt has the Lotus, which is more of a fruit than fl:ower, and of which these “mild-eyed, mel ancholy people,” are very fond. The Lotus is a kind as sedative, which steadies the nerves, and puts to sleep the partakers of it. The old-time Egyp tians used to make captives of the people who par took of this sleep-giving fruit. The pomegranate of Spain is also a fruit, but it has the most beautiful blossoms. The flowers are deep red and orange-yellow, mingled or striped. They are double like a rose, only shaped like glad iolus. The pomegranate reminds us of the story about Proserpina, who took six of the seeds of her native fruit because she was so hungry, and after that had to stay six months on earth and six in Hades. Japan has about the loveliest flower of all the na tions, excepting England’s rose, which is the chry santhemum. China has a flower, the poppy, which, although very beautiful, is looked upon with horror by many people, because the deadly drug opium—of which these almond-eyed people are so fond—is made . from it. Holland, too, has a lovely flower, the tulip. The finest tulip bulbs in our garden came from Hol land. The Cactus of Mexico is very pleasant to look upon from a distance, but it is a treacherous beauty, for if you come in contact with it you get pricked so hard that you wish you had never seen one of the horrid things. Sincerely yours, Mary Belle Gordon. Atlanta, Ga. Influence. May every soul that touches mine— Be it the slightest contact—get therefrom some good, Some little grace, one kindly thought, One aspiration yet unfelt, one bit of courage For the darkening sky, one gleam of faith To brave the thickening ills of life, One glimpse of brighter skies beyond the gathering mists, To make this life worth while And heaven a surer heritage. —Selected. He Had Done His Share. He was ten years old and had gone to the den tist’s to get one of the last of his “milk teeth” extracted. It was not a difficult matter and the little fellow never whimpered. Instead, he said to the dentist, when the operation was over: “Well, we made a good job of that, didn’t we?” “We?” replied the dentist . “Why do you say ‘we?’ What did you do?” “Why, I held he socket while you pulled the tooth, didn’t I?” —New York Globe,