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10 THE YOUNG SOUTHERNER All communications and contributions intended for this department should be addressed to Mrs. Louise T. Hodges, 83 East Avenue, Atlanta, Ga. We Must Save the Birds that Sing. By AMY NICKERSON. A blue bird sang a gala song And cheered the boys along their way; Its little heart guessed not the wrong That one small urchin did that day. It never dreamed a thoughtless boy Would steal a helpless blue bird’s eggs, Nor stop a song so full of joy By breaking a wee bird’s small legs. And yet a bad boy stopped the song Os one blue bird the other day; He never can undo the wrong, And so he’s grieving at his play. He knows how drear the fields can be, Without the flash of one bird’s wings, And with the world has come to see, That we must save the bird that sings. —The American Boy. Time and toil and patience—many blows of ham mer and chisel—are required to carve from a block of marble the image that represents the ideal in the sculptor’s mind; so, too, many experiences and battles with temptation are needed to perfect char acter and bring to fixed and settled convictions the embryo principles of right and truth that dwell in every human heart. The man who has attained to a high standard of moral rectitude began his charac ter building in youth and fought and won his bat tles with temptation. We are disposed to think lightly of the trials which befall the young but many a boy and girl has met and overcome temptation with a valor and cour age as great as that required by a warrior on the battle field. Two boys, ten or twelve years of age, perhaps, sat just back of me on a car the other day. They were enthusiastically discussing a game of ball that was to occur that afternoon, and one of them had had two tickets given him and was trying to persuade his companion to go with him to see the game. “I wish I could go,” he answered with regret in his voice, “but I can’t. Mamma to’d me to go straight to papa’s office the first thing.” “Oh, you can go to your papa’s office after the game, it’ll be almost the same thing. I know your mamma wouldn’t care. This is to be the first game; and you don’t have a free ticket every day. I know your mamma would be glad for you to go.” “But I promised her I’d go to the office the first thing. Besides, the money isn’t mine.” “What’s the money got to do with it?” “Why, if I went I’d have to have car fare.” “That’s so,” reluctantly admitted the other. Then there was silence. Both boys, no doubt, were weighing the pleas ure of seeing the game together against the moral obligation of the one who had the money in trust and whose mother had directed him tc. “go straight to papa’s office the first thing.” On the impulse of the moment I was about to turn and speak a word to the tempted boy, but an instant’s reflection told me that it was best to let the voice of conscience decide the matter without outside interference. So I waited and listened eag erly for the outcome. In a little while the decision was voiced definitely and clearly: “I can’t go now, Mason, I’ve got to go to papa’s office first. But I’ll tell him about the tickets and if he doesn’t need me, and says it’s all right, I’ll be back as quick as my legs can bring me, and meet Conducted by Louise Threete Hodges* yon nt Delbridge & Rice’s. If I’m not there in ten minutes you may know I couldn’t come and you needn’t wait.” “All right,” said the other, and they both sprang off the car which had stopped at the crossing and darted away in opposite directions. The boy had fought his little battle and won. He was eager to see the game with his friend, and he might have persuaded himself that having the free ticket (something he might not have again) his mother would be glad for him to go—yet she had said, “Go straight to papa’s office the first thing,” and he knew that it was his duty to obey, although he might—probably would—miss the chance of see ing the game. His sense of duty prevailed over his own and his friend’s great desire for an afternoon of sport so dear to a boy’s heart. It seemed a little thing, but “he that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much.” With Correspondents. Dear Editor Young Southerner: I have been very much interested in the letters from the young correspondents, especially those that tell about the lives of great men. I like also to hear of what the boys and girls are doing and learn ing. I think we might help each other a good deal by writing about what we see and learn. I saw some beautiful stained glass windows in a new house recently and as they were so beautiful I thought I would like to find out something about the way they are made, so I have been reading in an encyclopaedia about their manufacture, and I read also about the uses of glass in general. It is wonderful how many uses are now made of glass and it is very interesting to learn of the different processes by which the various articles are made. Stained glass windows are made in a different way from art glass windows, and “painted glass” and “flashed glass” are also different. The reason that “cut glass” article® are so muon more expensive than those of pressed glass is the difference in the way of making them. The glass industry in its many varieties is now one of the most important in the worl I. Just think of the hundreds of things that are made of glass and you will see what a loss it would be the world if there were none manufactured. I send greeting to all the boys and girls who have helped to make the Young Southerner so interest ing. Your true friend, Aurelius Jus’in Canby. Dear Editor Young Southerner: I like all the letters in the Young Southerner very pinch, but I liked Albert Sidney Blackman’s es pecially because he was named after a great man and so was I. I also liked Margaret Ellen Moore’s letter because she wanted some one to write about the great men of South Carolina. I am a native of South Carolina and was named for a South Caro linian, Willim Henry Drayton. He was a great man, but he lived many years ago and was a patriot of the American Revolution. He was born at “Dray ton Hall” on the Ashley River, and was educated in England, but returned home and studied law. He was at one time Chief Justice of the state and held other important positions. He began writing a history of the Revolution but died before it was finished. He was the father of John Drayton who was governor of South Carolina from 1800 to 1802. I hope you will publish my letter as I think it will be nice to see my name in print and I would like for my grandmother in Charleston to see it. Very truly your friend, Henry Drayton Camp. Dear Editor Young Southerner: I wrote to you some time since when I was ati The Golden Age for September 13, 1906. Wrightsville Beach and you published my letter, sa I will write again. I enjoyed my vacation very much but I am glad that school has opened again, and I am going to« study hard and learn all I cau this year. I am glad to see my schoolmates again, and I know we shall have nice times this winter. I gathered a great many beautiful shells while I was at the seashore and I shall divide them among my little friends. Some of the large shells stiJ sing the “song of the sea.” I found most of pret tiest ones on shell island. I have a beautiful pet dog and a pony and they both seemed glad to see me when I came home. I think they missed me while I was away, and I miss ed them some although I was having such a good time. With best wishes and thanks to you for publish ing my first letter, I am still Your friend, Mamie L. “Temse” and “Thames.” Sometimes, when a person wants to make an un pleasant remark in a pleasant sort of way about a dull boy, he will say: “That boy will never set the river on fire.” Now that is all very true, for even the smartest man in the world could never set a stream of water on fire; and so perhaps many of you, who have heard this expression, have wondered what is meant by “setting the river on fire.” In England, many years ago, before the millers had machinery for sifting flour, each family was obliged to sift its own flour. For doing this it was necessary to use a sieve called a “temse,” which was so fixed that it could be turned round and round m the top of a barrel. If it was turned too fast, the friction would sometimes cause it to catch fire; and as it was only the smart, hard-working boys who could make it go so fast, the people got into the way of pointing out a lazy boy by saying that he would never set the temse on fire. After awhile these sieves went out of use, but as there were still plenty of stupid boys in the world, people kept on saying that they would never set the temse on fire. Now, the name of the river Thames is pro nounced exactly like the word temse, and so, after many years, those persons who had never seen or heard of the old-fashioned sieve thought that “set ting the temse on fire” meant setting the river Thames on fire. This expression became very popu lar, and traveled far and wide, until the people liv-i mg near other streams did not see why it was any harder for a slothful boy to set the Thames on fire than any other river, and so the name of the river was dropped, and everybody after that simply said ‘the river,” meaning the river of his particular town or city. And that is how it is that to this day people talk of setting the river on fire. —The Boys’ World. The Children’s Pledge. O dear little babies far over the sea, In ( hina or India, where’er you may be, In Africa, Burmah, Korea, Japan, e re going to help you as fast as we can I A our little brown faces are looking this way, Your little brown hands reach for ours today, And this is the secret we’ll tell far and wide; ith you oui best thing's we are going to divide! Ye 11 send you our Jesus—he’s your Jesus, too; We wish all your nmmmas knew how he loves you. Y e’ll send you o r Bible, then, when vou are grown, A on never will worship those idols of stone. The Light that shines here you will see by and by, If to send it, in earnest we little folks try; So we’re saving our pennies and praying each night, That we may help make your lives happy and bright. —Southern Presbyterian.