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10 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.