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THE YOUNG SOUTHERNER
Three Tragedies.
A cruel word, a scornful smile,
And a dagger cold and keen,
Each pierced alike, a gentle heart,
Each ended a life, I ween,
The word destroyed the life of love
And kindled the fire of hate,
The smile brought death to budding hope,
And despair is a soul’s sad “fate.”
The dagger stilled an aching heart,
And the deed was sin, judged by men,
But word and smile with their killing smart
Found record alone by an angel pen.
L. T. H.
Two small boys apparently about eight or nine
years of age were passing along the street together.
They were both clean, and neatly dressed but the
garments of one were of finer material than were
those of the other, and there was a well-to-do air
about the one that the other lacked. But they
were well satisfied with each other, and oblivious
of the lady who walked a little way behind them,
they chatted, as little boys will, of the things that
interested them. Finally one said to the other as he
ran his hand over the soft, fine fabric of the sleeve
of his companion, “Do you have to take off these
clothes when you get home?”
“Naw,” was the reply with a litle sniff and a
perceptible stiffening of the small figure, “I wear
’em all day. I’ve got lots more.”
Then turning and surveying his questioner from
head to foot he asked, “Why? Do you have to
change yours?”
“Y-e-s. You see,” the other said apologetically
“these are the only good ones I’ve got, and mamma
has to wash ’em when they get dirty, so she makes
me take ’em off as soon as I get home. I wish I
didn’t have to, ’cause its lots o’ trouble; ’sides I
don’t love to wear the old raggedy ones.”
“Why don’t your father buy you some more?
Aint he got any money?”
“No, I ’spect he don’t have much,” was the re
ply, and the little sigh and the silence that fol
lowed—the child was too loyal to his father to say
more—sent a thrill of pity through the heart of
the lady who overheard, for she happened to know
that the father of this boy was a drunkard and
spent most of his meager earnings at the saloons.
Oh,” said .the other with the “pomp of pride”
in his young voice, “my papa has lots of money.
He’s going to buy me a watch and a pony ’fore
long. He owns four saloons and I heard him tell
mama last night that he was doing a rushing bus
iness. ’ ’
Just then the children’s attention was attracted
by something in a show-window and they stopped.
But the scrap of dialogue overheard spoke volumes,
and gave a glimpse of one of the many tragedies
that are daily being enacted wherever the liquot
traffic is doing a “rushing business.”
With Correspondents.
Dear Editor Young Southerner:
I have been thinking for some time I would speak
to you through this splendid paper— The Golden
Age. lam sure all that read it love it, for it lends
to us an inspiration to live higher and nobler lives
for our dear Master.
I have read where some of you want to play; oth
ers want to be electricians or historians and some
brave soldiers. But my dear boys and girls, I have
not heard any say yet that you wanted to be a
Soldier of the Cross. Would you not like to be a
worker for the Lord and a soul-winner for Christ?
I am going to tell you a story that I once heard.
Maybe it will help you along your way. Once in
the far North in the snow-bound regions lived a
Conducted by Louise Threete Hodges.
man and his dogs. They were hunters, not hunters
of game but of men. When people went there to
visit the country and see the mountains robed in
the purity of snow and to look upon the grandeur
of God—sometimes they would w T ander away from
the paths and get lost. Then it was the dogs went
out to hunt. This man had trained these very large
dogs to go out and find human beings that had been
lost on the wayside and bring them in that they
might be given food and drink. Once he had a
friend to visit him. When the dogs all came back
to the tents he carried his friend in to show them
to him. He called the largest one to him. The
dog was lying in one corner alone; he got up and
wagged his tail and lay down restlessly; again the
owner called the dog by name and this time the dog
moved in another corner of the tent. Then he of
fered food, but it would not eat. The man then
turned to his friend and said, “Doctor, what do
you think of him, this is my bravest dog?” “Why,
my good friend,’ ’the Doctor replied, “the dog ap
pears to be sick.” “Explain the action of this
dog to me, if you understand it.” “Why, he has
been out on the mountain to search for a human
and did not find one. This dog will not ever eat
if he goes out to hunt for a person and has to come
back without one.”
Oh, girls and boys; let us learn a lesson from the
dog and not rest satisfied unless we have done some
good to some one each day.
Let us go and find the “lost ones” that have
gone astray into the path of darkness and sin and
lead them into the “green pastures” where there
will be no more sin nor sorrow. Let each one of us
be as faithful to our Master as the dog was to his,
is the prayer of your sincere friend,
Constance.
Dear Editor Young Southerner:
I have taken quite an interest in the letters from
the boys and girls printed in “The Golden Age.”
I will begin with a story as very few have. I will
choose for my subject, “The Country Life.”
The country life, as every one knows, is very
delightful and pleasant in both winter and sum
mer.
In summer the children gather flowers, pick ber
ries, play under the large oaks and cedars, and
many other happy times have they. I believe the
greatest sport is to help milk the cows. I hope we
all know how a bell is tied on each cow’s neck, how
large the pastures in the country are, etc. When
milking time comes, the girls gather up their buck
ets and pails and go to the pasture, singing their
favorite songs.
When they reach the pasture they blow the old
fashioned horn, which is kept in almost every coun
try home; and cows come from every direction. Af
ter milking the girls march home to prepare supper
for the working hands, who come tired and hungry
from the field.
In winter, when the wind is moaning soft and
low, mother and father tell some old-time tales,
which were told them by their parents years ago.
The large, open fire-place is a beautiful sight, when
filled with large pieces of wood, cracking and pop
ping. “Santa,” our beloved, comes in the merry
season—and the rest need not be told.
Mary Booker.
The Power of Music.
“Wondrous is the power of music; passing that
of fabled necromancy. It takes a man up out of his
most sordid surroundings, and sets him in heavenly
places. It touches the fibres of the inner life. It
seals the eyes to outward sights and unfurls new
vistas full of transcendental beauty; it breathes
over hot wounds and heals them: it calls to the
surface springs of pure delight, and bids them gush
forth in an arid desert,”—Selected.
L. T. H.
The Golden Age for June 28, 1906.
Only One Pair.
Mamma—“Why, Johnny, what is the matter?”
Johnny—“ M-my new s-shoes hurt ra-my feet.”
Mamma—“No wonder, dear; you have them on
the wrong feet.”
Johnny—“ W-well, I c-can’t help it. I ain’t g-got
no other f-feet. 800-hoo-oo!” —Chicago News.
v-’
A Small Matter.
“Oui, madame is ill, but ze doctor has pro
nounce it something very trifling, very small,” said
the French maid to an inquiring friend.
“Oh, I am so relieved, for I was really anxious
about her,” replied the friend. “What does the
doctor say the trouble is?”
“Let me recall. It was something very leetle,”
answered the French maid. “Oh, I have it now!
Ze doctor says zat madame has ze smallpox.”—
Philadelphia Ledger.
How to Stand.
Few people stand properly. Some are too lazy
to do so; some do not know how. In which class
are you?
When someone asks you to “brace up,” do not
“brace back.” To throw the shoulders too far
back and the abdomen too far forward is as inju
rious to health as the practice of shoving the shoul
ders forward and hollowing the chest.
Extremes should be avoided. In order to gain an
idea of what a proper carriage of the body should
be, stand with back against a wall; now touch wall
with as much of the body as possible from heels
to back of the head. You will find that to do this
lhe abdomen must be drawn in and the chest raised,
In this position the lungs are given a breathing
space.
In walking, the chest should lead, rather than the
abdomen, the weight of the body falling upon the
center of the feet rather than upon the heels.
Never allow the body to settle down, as it were,
upon the spine. Keep the back straight; it is not
only fashionable, but healthful, to do so. To crook
the spine and drop the chest is to give an invita
tion to indigestion and a dozen othej ills.
A Needle-and-Thread Tree.
A remarkable specimen of botanical curiosities
is the Mexican maguey tree, which produces a needle
with thread attached all ready for use. At the end
of each leaf of this plant is a slender sharp thorn?
inclosed in a sheath. When the thorn is carefully
drawn out from the sheath a strong, smooth fibre
resembling a thread is found attached to it, which
may be drawn out to considerable length. Thus
nature wonderfully provides a needle already
threaded. Wouldn’t this seem to be a boon to old
ladies who, on account of failing eyesight, find diffi
culty in threading their needles?
Let the day’s work be done as the hours are
passing. Let it have something of completeness in
it. Let not the opportunity that is so fleeting, and
yet so full, pass neglected aw*ay. Frothingham.
“There is no dart capable of inth/ting a deeper
wound to the heart than an unkind word, , and all llle
repentance will not serve to erase the sean? 1 "
careful, therefore, and shun unkind words always*”
Saiasate, the world-renowned violinist, has takes
his instiument all over the world. It has been the;
companion of the forty years of Ids manhood.
Saiasate, my son, wed thy vitd>in, but never a
woman,” is said to have been the advice v-lGeh was
gixen him with his first prize at hhe- Paris Cunspipeifc.
toire, and Saiasate has been trix to it.