Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

6 The Message of Christmas. The following, by Mr. M. B. Morton, in the mam moth Christmas edition of the Nashville (Tenn.) Banner, typifies so fully what should be the mes sage of all real Christianity, as well as that of the yuletide season, that we are glad to be able to pre sent it to our readers: “What is the message of Christmas? “I once knew a man, the proprietor of the prin cipal hotel in a Southern city where T then lived. On Christmas morning I received a printed invita tion to eat my Christmas dinner at his hotel. Hav ing no other invitation, and knowing I would get a good dinner, I accepted. In the hotel dining-room there were one hundred or more young fellows about my age among the guests, and I was told that all had been invited by the proprietor, Major Blank. “After dinner I walked over to a little table in the corner where the Major was eating a simple meal, to make my acknowledgments and remarked: “ ‘You seem to have all the boys in town as your guests today?’ “ ‘No, not all, but all whom I could find who are away from home. I was once a boy away from home on Christmas, and since I have been a man all the boys away from home in the town where I happen to live have a chance to be my guests for Christmas dinner, if I can find them.’ “That is what Christmas means. “Had you asked Major Blank if he were a Christian, he would have told you no, and any of his acquaintances would have agreed with him. In some respects he might have been considered a godless man, for he was what is commonly known as ‘a man of the world,’ and he eared little for churches and religious observance. And yet Christ died for Major Blank and He did not die in vain; the Christian spirit dominated him even when he did not know it. “The late Rev. Joseph B. Cottrell, one of the most eminent divines in the Southern Methodist Church, and one of the most companionable and lovable of men. was once sitting in a store by a stove talking to a brother preacher about a certain Jewish rabbi of whom both were very fond. “ ‘He is a good man,’ said the other minister, ‘a moral man in every way, one of the most eodly and spiritual men I ever knew, and yet, according to our belief, he is lost.’ “ ‘No, he is not,’ quickly responded the uncon ventional Cottrell; ‘he’s a Christian, and God will take care of him.’ “ ‘I wish I could look at it that way,’ said the first speaker, ‘for his case has troubled me no lit tle, but he even rejects Christ.’ “ ‘From where you are sitting.’ came the reply, ‘you can see the light from the fire in that stove. I cannot see the fire, but the stove warms me just the same as it does you. I feel the heat.’ “That is what Christmas means. “How many, oh, how many feel the heat who cannot see the light! There is, perhaps, not a civilized being on earth today who does not. in some measure, feel the heat, and there are millions of the uncivilized who also feel it. The Nazarene, born in a manger and crucified on a Roman cross, did not live and die in vain. “This is the message of Christmas. “What did this Nazarene peasant teach to a handful of fishermen that has revolutionized the world? Love, humanity, charity, duty, though it lead to death and seeming ignominy—‘faith, hope and charity.’ The world was eager for the message and did not know it. “We think of miracles in a far-away, hazy fash ion. We discuss old miracles, when the miracle of miracles is before our faces, dazzling our eyes and ringing in our ears: ‘Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my word shall not pass away.’ “Truth once spoken is immortal; in the mouth of the ignorant it is intelligible; trasnlated into strange tongues it is plain; it cannot be destroyed by emasculation, neither can it be covered up by mountains of verbosity. “Christ spoke and brought a great light into the world: ‘Heaven and earth shall pass away, but my word shall not pass away.’ “This is the glad message of Christmas.” The Golden Age for December 27, 1906. One of Our Prize Winners. Os the many young men and women who worked for The Golden Age premiums during the past sum mer, none was more deserving of our highest com mendation as well as of our sincere appreciation than was Miss Margaret Richard, formerly of Co lumbia. but now of Newberry, S. C. It will be remembered that we offered special premiums in addition to the regular agent’s com mission for all persons securing for us a specified number of new subscribers; the largest number to be reached on this list was a hundred, and this amount Miss Richard attained. Unlike the brave young student, whose story was told by herself last week, Miss Richard was unable to canvass the country for new subscribers. Because of feeble health she was often unable to leave her own room, and even short journeys were denied her. But she is gifted with a brilliant and facile pen, and almost exclusively through its me dium did she solicit subscribers. If we may judge from the hopeful and helpful letters which reached the editor of The Golden Age from time to time we can easily understand the charm conveyed in a written request from Miss Richard, hence her success in this work. We were more than delighted when she reached the desired goal, and she was one of the very first recipients of our largest cash prize. Not content with this victory, however, this < 'wx. . XX-XX /XXX>?'XX X. X; , X / xxxxx cxx/x:■ / W ■ /■- Im Mk x ’•• • . / * SUP 8 i W- I ' - > wHk • • ■ B ■ '■ ■ - -' X.... ■■ \ —X- ’ ; XX:.’;X. .:. x X- '■;/ \ ' XX ■.. xx: - ; x.\ z :■ / X' X.... ‘ ‘ ‘ * > X .. \ ; X . .. : - MISS MARGARET RICHARD. brave young woman desires to go even farther in this work, and she is still striving to reach new persons in order to interest them in The Golden Age. She has been our ardent and earnest friend from the very beginning of our enterprise, and we value her accordingly. As a writer of growing distinction, Miss Richard has already won for herself a place in the world of letters, and she has also shown that she combines rare business ability with her literary talents. We are pleased to present her very attractive picture to our readers, and, at the same time, to wish her continued success in all her undertakings. From a Bad Speller. By J. L. D. Hillyer. The late lamented spelling reform was hounded to a premature grave by the ridicule, abuse and ram pant protests of some authors, editors, and some so-called educators. If any serious argument has been presented to sustain a solitary objection to the proposed re form, it has escaped my notice. If one single good reason has been produced in defence of the outra geous, unreasonable spelling of many English words, that reason has not come to mollify my harassed and protesting feelings. My grief, therefore, at the untimely death of the deceased remains unas have been safely put away to await the resurrec suaged. The obsequies are passed. The remains tion of the just. At the funeral Mr. Roosevelt was the chief mourner, and I sat next on the bench of sorrow. I do not know the motives of the president, but frankly, the reason why I want the spelling of English words changed, is because I have never been able to learn the prevailing method, and almost any change would be an improvement. I was an ever faithful, unvarying ornament of “the foot-of-the-class. ” I was rarely turned down, for the simple and obvious reason that I was al ready at the bottom. I do recall one time, how ever, when I was turned down, sixteen times in two days. It was this very way: Hines Smith was at the head of the class, Miss Della Brown was next. There were sixteen in the class ahead of me. I stood No. 17, and foot. Some long, hard word was given to Himes, and he missed it. I had learned the letters in that word just as I had learned my A, B, C,’s. I knew how to spell it. When Hines missed, it rattled Miss Della, and she missed, and that stampeded the whole class. Every one of the sixteen missed, and my father, who was teaching, passed the word on to me with a sigh. To the utter astonishment of everybody, from father down, I spelled it. Father said, with a little catch in his voice, “Well, that is right, go head.” The lesson ended. I studied the next lesson harder than usual but it did not work. Hines turned me down, and Miss Della quickly followed with a like treatment. Then another and another, and when the lesson ended I was about the middle of the class. The next day I went on down to my place of safe repose, “at the foot.” Was I a fool? Not quite. About the same time, I was reading Caesar and studying Latin grammar. In two review lessons, in two successive days. I re cited every word in every definition, paradiem, rule of syntax and the exceptions thereto, in Bul livar Latin Grammar, and with a little rubbinng up, I believe I could do it again. My weak point was spelling. That always gave me trouble. I have been whipped, ridiculed, abused -and laughed at by three generations about my spell ing. My parents scolded, threatened, thrashed and wept over my defect. My brothers, sisters and cousins have been ridiculing me about it for fifty years, and my children have risen up and laughed at me because I could not spell some common word that everybody ought to know. But in those stud ies where accuracy in spelling did not stand as an element, my works were among the best. The class recorder of Mercer University will show this. I limped in all the languages because I could not spell. I learned mathematics, the sciences, moral philosophy and Logic and all kindred subjects with little trouble. Seeing, therefore, that I have had such an expe rience in overcoming the difficulties of our English spelling, I shall claim the indulgence of the critics if I look with favor toward any reform that prom ises to diminish or remove those difficulties from the pathway of younger people who will be wanting to master the mysteries of English spelling all along down the coming years. All the Same. Pat’s wife was very ill and the doctor, who was about to leave the house, was giving Pat implicit directions as to the way of giving some medicine that he was leaving. “Now,” he said, as a final injunction, “you must be very careful in giving the medicine, be cause it is very dangerous, and an over quantity is liable to kill her. You must not give her a par ticle more than will go on a dime. Do you see?” After being satisfied that Pat unnderstood, he left the house. In a few hours he returned to find the woman dead. Much astonished, he asked Pat what sud den change had taken place. Imagine his feelin<rs when the Irishman said calmly: “Sure, I didn’t have a doime, so I took two foives, ”