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VOICES OF YOUTH
Tlvo Words.
By J. McGinnis Nicholson.
When the tender flowers were springing
On the dimpled breast of May,
And each gentle breeze was bringing
Fragrance from out the far-away,
A CARELESS WORD was spoken
Which marred the scene so bright,
And altho’ ’twas morn at springtime,
To me it was a winter’s night.
Now the autumn winds are sighing
That they, too, soon must bring
Snows of winter —o’er the dying,
Dead, and withered flowers of spring.
Now a GENTLE WORD is spoken,
Which stays a tear, removes frown,
And in my heart ’tis sunny summer,
Tho’ all the world is bare and brown.
Buren, Ga.
* *
With Our Correspondents.
K FRIEND OF OTHER DAYS.
Dear Boys and Girls:
Here is a private letter which I have enjoyed
so much myself, that I feel constrained to let you
share it with me. It comes from a bright Mississippi
girl who, when she w’as a little maiden, used to write
to me years ago while I was on bed. It -was in
the days when I used to dictate my letters from my
bedside and send them out to the world in the
columns of The Sunny South. A beautiful young
lady, who is now in heaven, gave me the name of
“Earnest Willie,” when I began to write, because she
said I was in “earnest” about what I did. And “Net
tie” did not think of me then as “Mr. Upshaw,” but
as “Earnest Willie,” and thus she poured out her
heart to me, telling of her singing hopes and rosy
dreams.
I had not heard from her in years until my recent
visit to Meridian, when I had the great pleasure of
meeting face to face Miss Annie Inge, who has been
an invalid for many years, but whose strong mind
and happy Christian faith make her truly an in
spiring character. Os course, she must tell me a
great deal about “Nettie,” the dear little girl, whose
sunbeam life brought so much gladness into the inva
lid’s room.
Some of the generous personal words in Nettie’s
letter might be omitted, but that would rob the
message of its personality, its individuality, and
its “Nettie-like” sweetness.
Nettie’s words about her ambitions carry a whole
some lesson for all ambitious boys and girls. I re
joice that she has learned the beautiful lesson that
selfish ambition alone will bring sorrow and disap
pointment, and that it is only the unselfish life pur
pose of the Christian that brings peace of heart here
and hereafter.
My Dear Mr. Upshaw:—For some time I have wanted
to write and thank you for the copies of your splen
did paper that you have so kindly sent me. I am
a stenographer. I was extremely gratified to know
that you hadn’t entirely forgotten the little girl who
used to write to you so long ago, and who “bored”
you dreadfully, I am sure, with her lengthy epistles.
It makes me smile, now, when I think of how sure
I always felt of your interest and sympathy; indeed,
I felt so sure of it that I believe I even went so
far as to pour out all of my childish aspirations and
longings into your sympathetic ear. I blush to say
it, but I actually hoped and believed then, that I was
destined for great things; that I would play a leading
part in the great drama of life. My aspirations then
were all for the center of the stage—in full view
of the applauding world; while now, I am content to
be on the stage at all. Strange how the years and
circumstances change us. We start out eager and
strong, and so confident that we feel we have but to
stretch out our hands for anything we want. Then,
when the iconoclast, “Time,” has shattered all our
idols and pull down the fair “dream castles,” and
we have found that the things we want are always
just beyond our reach, we give up the chase, turn
our eyes earthward, and busying our hands with
homely tasks, find that which is better than fame,
glory or happiness—content! But, dear me, if I
keep on in this strain, you will vote the woman
The Golden Age for April 11, 1907.
just one degree more tiresome than the child; but
when I get hold of a pen it always runs away with
me. Some days ago I received a long letter from
my dear friend, Miss Annie Inge, in which she told
me of your visit to her while you were in Meridian.
I sha’n’t tell you all she said of you, however, I
might have told it to “Earnest Willie,” but never to
“Mr. Upshaw.” I used to read to Miss Annie every
thing of yours that I could get, and when I got a
copy of “Echoes from a Recluse,” and read it to her,
her admiration of the brave boy who penned those
pages of sunshine and cheer, knew no bounds, and
your noble example has always been a help to her
in her own affliction, I think, and so I am glad that
you called on her, for I have always earnestly desired
that you two should meet, and I had hoped that I
might have the pleasure of making you known to
each other. My father and I were greatly disappoint
ed that we were not in Meridian at the time of your
visit there. It looks as though the fates had decreed
that we shall never meet, for we miss you on all oc
casions; the first time you were in Meridian we
were not even aware of the fact until we saw an ac
count of your address delivered at the college. I
can’t understand to this day how it happened that
we didn’t hear or see something of your coming. It
was just one of those inexplainable things that some
times occur. I missed you again last spring in New
ton. I arrived there the day you left, and so it
seems to me that it isn’t intended that we meet.
My father and I have been here in Jackson since
October. We are very pleasantly situated, and it
is delightful to be near my brother, but sometimes
we get woefully homesick for Meridian and the dear
friends there, and I think we will be compelled to
run over for a week or so this summer to renew the.
old friendships. I am especially anxious to see Miss
Annie. It is the first time I have been separated
from her for so long a time, and I need to come under
her gentle influence. I sometimes call her my “good
angel,” for she has a wonderful effect on me; when
ever I would get my usual “rose colored spectacles”
exchanged for a pair of blue “goggles,” through which
the world appeared altogether undesirable, I would
go to her, and she seldom failed to help and cheer
me. She is like a strain of calm and beautiful music,
soothing and comforting. And now, before I exhaust
even your wonderful fund of patience, I am going to
stop. I know that you must have so much to occupy
your time, that I am ashamed of having monopolized
so much of it. Again thanking you for the paper,
from which I have derived much pleasure and bene
fit, and with old time greetings from my fathei’ and
myself, I am, very sincerely, your little friend,
Jackson, Miss. NETTIE.
SHE REMEMBERS.
Mr. W. D. Upshaw, Atlanta, Ga.: Dear “Brother
Willie”: Every week since the twenty-second day of
May, 1906, I have received The Golden Age. I think
it is a fine paper and I enjoy so much reading the
interesting stories which it sends out. I enjoyed
very much your talk on education before the Acker
man school, and feel that it has done me a great
deal of good. When I heard that you would soon
be back to Ackerman again I could hardly wait for
the hours to pass away, but now the time has come
and gone. That time was not lost, for a great les
son was to be learned by every one who listened
The words that you spoke are stamped indelibly
upon my heart and I shall never forget them. I
well remember the first time you came here. It
was on Tuesday, the twenty-second day of May, 1906,
and also the great motto, “Let nothing discourage
you—never give up.” As I am afraid this letter
will grow too long, I will close. Your sincere friend,
Ackerman, Miss. LOTTIE SHUMAKER.
Thank you, Lottie, for your kind words. My visit
to Ackerman will ever be a delightful memory.
•5 I?
Some 'Belated Pioneers.
By Mrs. M. S. McDaniel.
Within a mile of my home lives a family whose
mode of life is almost an exact reproduction of
pioneer times. Their liouse, which is built of hewed
logs, consists of two large rooms with an open pass
age between them, and shed rooms at the rear, while
a piazza, which they call pyizzer, extends the entire
length of the front. The front rooms are both lighted
by a wooden window, two and a half by three feet
in size, while doors open on the piazza and hallway.
The roof is covered with boards, and there is neither
overhead ceiling nor loft; the huge joists serving the
place of wardrobe for numerous articles of wearing
appparel.
The furniture consists of two cheap bedsteads,
three or four chairs, and a paper covered trunk in
each of the front rooms, while the shed rooms
are used, one for a bed room, and the other for a din
ing room. At either end of the house stand large
stick and mud chimneys, with fire places big enough
to hold a cord of wood; in one of these cooking is
done in pots, ovens, spiders and skillets, for they
are not sufficiently modernized to care to own a
stove. They eat breakfast before daybreak, dinner
at 11 o’clock, and supper at sunset. The family con
sists of five sons and three daughters, all nearly
grown, and not one among them can even read. They
sent the two oldest children to school for a few
weeks, and as the mother expressed it, “They didn’t
larn nothin’,” so she considered it time wasted to
try to educate them, and the remaining six have
never been in school a day in their lives. Time and
again the teachers have tried to prevail on their
parents to send them, but could not interest them
enough to even talk about such things. The family
is considered respectable, they own their farm of
125 acres, run two plows, make good crops, kill their
own meat, and own quite a nice stock of cows.
They are scrupulously nice about their housekeep
ing, so far as cleanliness goes, but are utterly de
void of taste in the arrangement of their few scanty
pieces of furniture. There is not the slightest at
tempt at ornamentation, the bare walls being hung
with coats, hats, trousers, petticoats, etc., interspers
ed here and there with strings of red pepper and
little white bags of various kinds of garden seeds.
A tiny mirror hung above a very high mantel,
a white horn comb, serves the entire family for toilet
purposes; while they do not own suuch a thing as
a wash basin, the water shelf at the back door, con
taining a bucket, tin dipper, and wash pan, fills their
simple requirements. The girls work in the fields
almost as regularly as the boys, besides doing the
washing and scrubbing. They do not hire any help
at all; no darkey could be cleanly enough to suit
them. Neither of the parents is a member of any
church; they very seldom attend religious services.
The mother was highly incensed because two of the
girls united with the church. After a little reflection
L am convinced that I am due all pioneers an apology
for comparing this family with them, for I believe the
former did the best they could under the circum
stances, and many of them were pious people, which
is more than one can truthfully say of the latter.
They have a wholesome contempt for anything like
style, and their utter disregard of appearances is evi
denced by the fact that they keep “the buggy” stand
ing in the hallway of their dwellilng. The above
mentioned buggy is kept carefully wrapped up in a
white sheet when not in use.
We thank Mrs. McDaniel for her decidedly inter
esting story about the “pioneers.” A glimpse at log
cabins and plain living helps us to understand some
thing of what our fathers and mothers passed
through in the days when they were felling the for
est and making way for advancing civilization. Prog
ress is commendable and inspiring, of course, but
we must be careful that our hearts progress in
goodness and trueness, with all of our other marks
of progress; and remember, boys and girls, after
all, it is far more important that the jewel called
Soul shall be right and bright before its Maker than
that the house we live in be beautiful and the soul
be neglected.
The Snolv Man.
h. Story by Junius W. Millard, Jr., Aged 5 Years.
Once a little boy and his brother were making a
snow man, when his little brother said: “I want to
make one too.”
“Do you think you could make one too?” he ques
tioned.
“Yes,” was the answer.
“Well, you may try,” he said.
“I want to make a big one,” he said.
“You can’t make a very big one,” the biggest boy
said.
Well, they started to work to make it, and when
they had finished it, it was the funniest snow man
I ever saw. Itwas a big, white thing, with black
eyes, nose and mouth, which looked like a big
ghost.
Conducted by
the 'Editor.