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VOICES OF YOUTH
A Savannah Heroine.
While last week we commemorated the brave he
roism of a young Tennesseean who gave his life
rather than betray his friend, and while each one of
us must have felt the force and beauty of that sac
rifice, this week there is a very different story for
you to hear. This time the story is not of dying
but of living which is sometimes a harder thing to
do, and just as Sam Davis would be startled to learn
that his act was remembered through all the years,
so would the girl of whom you are to learn nov,
be equally surprised. Hers is a simple story and
she would recognize in it no single claim to the he
roic, but the chief element is there for she lives a
brave life from day to day, bearing small troubles
and small crosses, until their weight has ceased to
burden her and they have slowly formed themselves
into a beautiful record of well-spent helpful hours.
Years ago, when life seemed to hold much for the
young woman in question, she met with an accident
in the city of Savannah where she was making a
fairly good living and enjoying life as girls should.
Her family, it seems, consisted only of a fast aging
mother and a brother who was the keeper of one of
the smaller light houses in the Savannah river. This
river, you may remember, is what is called a “deep
water channel” and all sea-going steamers coming
into Savannah reach the city itself by sailing up the
eighteen miles of this river to the city docks. Our
heroine’s brother had a family of his own and when
his sister was stricken by affliction he could only of
fer her and the mother a home. Think of it, chil
dren, a home on a tiny island alfmost at the mouth
of a great river with the open sea on one side and
the river flowing swiftly on the other. The onlv
diversion of the sick girl in this lonely island was
to watch the passing ships which used the river as
a sort of highway. And the ships were many and of
all sorts; schooners bearing fruit and produce from
tropical lands, stately passenger and freight vessels
sailing to northern ports; fussy little tugs bent on
many missions; when the tide was out —sometimes
towing a big ship and again carrying a freight of
pleasure seekers; even big lumbering government
barges with their hideous steam plows keeping the
river current free of mud, were numbered in the
endless procession which passed the sick girl’s win
dow. At first she took scant interest in this ever
changing line of vessels coming and going, day and
night, night and day, through the slow hours that
dragged most woefully. Finally one bright summer
afternoon the invalid was able to walk to the minia
ture porch of the little white house on the green
island, and just as she glanced out at the river a
friendly sea captain looking down the coast line
through his glass saw very plainly the wan little
face and smiled as he saw it. Instantly, as though
some unseen wave of kindly thought had touched
the sad little soul, the girl on the porch waved a white
handkerchief at the passing ship and just as in
stantly the good captain responded by blowing a
salute from the steam whistle at his hand. This was
the beginning of a little romance which all ships
entering the port of Savannah now know, for begin
ning with that summer afternoon, now a good many
years ago, no vessel ever passes the small light house
without being greeted by a waving of a white hand
kerchief by day or the swinging of a bright lantern
by night. Each captain knows of this custom and
new ones are told by old seamen until now passen
gers, sailors and officers all watch for the friendly
signal. It is a pretty thought, too, for the “girl’’
(who is now a middle aged woman) says she loves
to give a friendly farewell to out-going vessels and
a cordial welcome to those coming into port. This
little incident has given her life a meaning and a pur
pose; she cannot walk rapidly or without the aid
of a crutch even now, but she is always on time
and ready to send out to the world her brave mes
sage of cheer which is always answered by the
salute of the steam whistle or some other signal
of acknowledgement from the passing ship. Pas
sengers always ask the reason of this sudden and
apparently meaningless sound on the water where
every sound from the ship itself means some sort of
message, and the answer to the questions asked is
given in this story.
Now, children, isn’t this the life of a real heroine
who turned her affliction into a beautiful incident
which whispers of brotherly love, hope, cheer and
friendly greeting to those outside of her little world
and whom she never sees clearly and never can ex
pect to know? We think it is a story which tells many
things besides those covered by the mere recital of
these facts.
The Golden Age for February 7, 1907.
A Student Poet.
The following very creditable little poem was writ
ten by a bright young student of Raleigh, N. C., and
it is so full of pure sentiment and helpful thoughts
that it will make good readin 0 , for the young people
of The Golden Age circle. The editor is glad to be
able to present it.
THE NEW YEAR,
Arise I and let us hail with joy
The year of nineteen-seven;
So let us live that when it ends,
We shall be nearer Heaven.
Shirk not the problems that it brings,
But meet them face to face;
Go at them with the help of God,
And he will give you grace.
Each day the Evil One will try
Our hearts from God to win;
He’ll try to draw us from the fold,
And lead us into sin.
But let us always keep within
The strait and narrow way,
And follow where our Lord doth lead,
For then we cannot stray.
The hand of God may come and pluck
The choicest of earth’s flowers,
But let us say with loving trust,
“Thy will be done, not ours.”
Then let us go with strength renewed,
The coming year to meet,
And if we lean on Him for help,
We shall not know defeat.
—Wiliam H. Richardson.
With Our Correspondents.
Steep Hills and Chinese Babies as Seen By a Little
Traveler.
Dear “Brother Willie”: —I have been so anxious
to see how this title looks when written that I could
scarcely wait to see if you would really let me use
that name for you! Your answer to my request was
very kind and I thank you so much for it—l thank
you, too, for asking me to write again and as you
published my last letter I am hoping you will publish
this one also. You said you would like to hear
about my travels, and I like to tell about them too.
I felt quite like a “distinguished person” last spring
when the terrible earthquake occurred in dear San
Francisco, for I had lived out in that beautiful citv
a whole year and could tell a lot about it. I hate
to think it is all destroyed now for it was so fine
and grand and stately. The hills, you know, made
the city look so unlike other cities; when you stood
at a street corner in the evening you could see the
street lamps shining down in long, long rows, seem
ing to stand one above the other because of the
slope of the streets. This made the big buildings look
ever so much bigger, too, and just like one was set
above the other. I had always lived in a flat coun
try and as I was three years younger then than I
am now I was always looking at the hills. But just
to think of it’s all being a ruin now. Next to the
hills the thing that interested me a great deal was
China town and the Chinese children. The little
tots even in arms had the cutest little clothes just
like big people, and as soon as a baby’s hair was
long enough to catch up and tie it was hung with
long ribbons of every color plaited together to look
like a pig tail. I always tried to talk to the little
ones but they usually ran away and hid in the back
of the dark little shops. If your readers want me to
tell you more of what I used to do in San Francisco,
will you let me send you another letter, Brother
Willie? But if I don’t stop soon you won’t even
publish this one, so good bye for this time. Your
friend, DAISY DEAN.
Now there isn’t an editor anywhere who wouldn’t
be proud to be a sister to a bright little girl like that!
I tell you what, “Sister Daisy,” I find myself so
much pleased with your letter and mighty glad to be
a brother to such a bright little girl. Yes indeed,
every one of us wants to hear more about San Fran
cisco and the Chinese part of it especially. Did you
ever go to one of the mission schools in that city?
I had a friend who was a minister and who once
visited China town and did much good work among
those poor heathen children. It was a rare chance,
too, and I never tired of hearing about his good worK
there. Do write again, and let us hear a lot more
about your experiences, Daisy Dean —Your letter has
made me forget I was an editor and I have written
you just as I hope to talk to you if we ever meet!
Greeting the Golden Age as Friend.
Dear “Golden Age:”—l hope you won’t think it very
queer to get a letter beginning this way but I live
so far out in the country and have no friend or play
mate near so I have grown to look on The Golden
Age as a friend and when it comes each week I
give it as warm a greeting as I would a real live
friend. Mamma said I should write and tell the edit
or how much good the paper does us all for father
reads it every week and we all do. I only wish
I had another child near me to enjoy the Voices
of Youth with me; I love to read the Itters, and I
wish I could get some subscribers. I am going to
send a letter to three friends any way and ask them
to subscribe for I do want that pin. Will you please
tell me what it will cost if bought from you and not
won? But I would so much rather win it and I mean
to try. I am your grateful little friend
MARJORIE WARD.
The Golden Age wants to return little Marjorie’s
greetings, for we know she must be little as the pa
per she wrote on is “double ruled”! But her letter
is a nice one and gives us much pleasure—especially
the editor who writes this answer. That she makes a
friend of The Golden Age is good news and we want
her to make other friends for us also. The pins, we
would much rather not sell at all —we want our young
friends to earn them so that they may have a spe
cial meaning and may thus be beyond price. We
want Marjorie to have one and are sure she can
easily earn it by just a little bit of effort —say a let
ter or two to her absent friends or a few words
with them when she goes to visit friends or even af
ter church on Sundays. To talk to friends about The
Golden Age then would not be “work” you know,
for we hope and believe every one will be helped
by becoming a subscriber to our paper.
Wishing to See The Golden Age in Every Home.
Dear Editor: —I have never written to The Golden
Age before. I like to read the letters. I have signed
the pledge and by God’s help I am going to do all
I can to make the world better. My papa is a Bap
tist preacher. I am a member of the Baptist church
at Jesup, Ga. We take The Golden Age and wish
every home here took one too. I will try to get 5
new subscribers. Well I will close for this time with
best wishes to The Golden Age I remain, yours
truly. MARIE KINBELL.
Jesup, Ga.
We are very glad indeed to know that Marie real
ly enjoys The Golden Age and she will be pleased to
see that she need get only three new subscribers to
secure one of our pretty solid gold pins. It will show
that she is a member of The Order of The Golden
Age and will be a reminder of her good resolutions
which we think are most commendable.
Why?
Why are two buttons always sewed at the back of
men’s coats?
Because when every gentleman carried a sword,
the sword belt was partly supported by two buttons
in this position.
Why do we speak of giving a person the “cold
shoulder”?
Because of the custom once prevalent in France of
serving to a guest who had outstayed his welcome a
cold shoulder of mutton instead of a hot roast, as a
hint for him to go.
Why do we wear heels on our shoes?
Because the sandal like footgear of olden times
was not adapted to riding, and when the high boots
were introduced heels were put on for the purpose
of giving the foot a good hold on the stirrup.
Why do soldiers fire a volley over the grave of a
dead comrade?
Because it was generally believed that mak
ing a noise kept away evil spirits, and the pass
ing bell came into vogue for that reason. When fire
arms were invented, volley firing was substituted
for the passing bell, the belief being that the sound
of battle would be more efficacious in the case of a,
soldier.