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VOICES OF YOUTH
MARYE HAS A LITTLE DOG.
Marye has a little dog,
His hair is black as night;
To sit up in his mistress’ lap
Is his supreme delight.
Nello is the doggie’s name,
A Shepherd dog is he,
Some amusing tricks he does
With doggish joy and glee.
Will whirl around when Marye holds
A bone just out of reach;
No smarter dog can ere be found
Or biddable to teach.
«
By her bed when she was sick
He patiently did lie,
To show his love for her he
Did evidently try. NITA.
*
OUR ESSAY CONTEST.
I want to say just a word in regard to our essay
contest. We have an interesting description of east
Tennessee by T. H. Campbell. The picture Mr.
Campbell paints of his native state will make those
of our band who have never had the opportunity
of visiting Tennessee, long to see that lovely state.
Nannie Pigg comes from Madison, North Carolina,
with an essay on Sentimentalism in School Girls,
which she rightly says is the fruitful source of many
imprudent acts and unwise marriages. Our Southern
girls are accused of being over sentimental, while it
is said of our Northern sisters that they are often
too hard and practical. Wholesome sentiment sweet
ens life, and is an essential trait of a true womanly
nature. Ola Johnson also sends us an essay which
will be published next week.
Our essayists do not consider how much space in
print their manuscript takes up. We have been
obliged to condense several of these though reluc
tant to do so. It would be well if our young writ
ers would try to learn the art of saying much in
little.
There is lots I would like to say but I prefer to give
the space to my young folks and their interesting
letters. Yours.
EARNEST WILLIE.
With ®ur Correspondents
EAST TENNESSEE.
There is no place on earth more beautiful or
picturesque than East Tennessee. Stand on the
mountain peaks and look into the fertile valleys,
watch the winding rivers as they hasten to our
Southern gulf, cast a look at the grain waving in
the breezes, or catch a glimpse of the herds grazing
in the meadows below; look to the right or left and
see the forests with their massive trees towering
toward the clouds. Here you breathe the purest at
mosphere found in our sunny clime; hear the sweet
est songs sung by God’s feathered creatures. While
you marvel at God’s handiwork, the most delicate
odors are wafted to you from the flowers on the
mountain side. Wadsworth has never pictured a
scene from the Scotch Highlands that showed nature
to be more truly alive than a mountain scene of
East Tennessee. From the mountains come into the
valley and see the good natured mountaineer gath
ering his golden grain with a new patent machine
where his father once swung the old hand reaper.
Se his modern labor saving plow take the place of
the old out of date one. The people who inhabit
this lovely region may not only boast of their wealth
their fame and their scenery, but they boast of hav
ing the most healthful climate between the gulf
of Mexico and the great lakes. It was among
the snow capped hills and grassy valleys that some
of the noblest statesmen and the greatest orators of
America have been reared, those barefoot boys who
once waded in the mud puddles or followed the plow
grew into giants of intellect and will power. And
why not we, as the sons of those heroes, place
our aim high and have our names go down in the
annals of history? We have the same mountain
peaks to climb, the same fair valleys in which to
wander. We are descendants of the same patriotic
people, who were made illustrious by the baptism of
revolutionary blood on Kings mountain. And now
it is left to us to rise above the “silk derby dudes’’
of the cities and set our mark at the top notch of
The Golden Age for July 4, 1907.
nobility. May our boys of today walk in the foot
prints of their forefathers, with honor and moral
courage as their guiding star, and when the Creator
calls them from earth may their happy spirits be
borne on the Old Ship of Zion across the sea of
death safely into the haven of eternal rest.
Tazewell, Tenn. T. H. CAMPBELL.
at
OUR LITTLE BLONDE.
Dear Editor: May I come in for a few minutes’
talk with the young folks? Nothing gives me more
pleasure than reading their letters. I love to read
books and magazines, but best of all I like The
Golden Age which is always brim full of good things
to read. Brother Willie, you are a wonderful man.
and you are doing a great work. It can be truly
said of you, “Nature hath lent thee smiles of light
and sunshine of the mind.” I am just a little girl
eleven years old, with blue eyes, golden hair and
fair complexion. I have made application for mem
bership in the American Order of The Golden Age
and I fully intend to try to live up to the promise it
requires of us. LILLIAN SEWELL.
Grantville, Ga.
K
A SURE ENOUGH PUZZLE.
Sister Annie has been good enough to send some
more good things, dipped from that magical rose
jar of hers. I hope she will always hold its charm.
She gives us a little allegory embodied in the quota
tion given below. It impressed me as being so full
of true meaning that I am going to convert it into
a puzzle and make you dear young folks think about
it awhile. It is printed just as she has written it,
with the exception of one word being left out. Now.
can you guess what that word is? Can’t you tell
what comes to most of us in a lifetime, and which
we do not always grasp or make the most of? There.
I’ve almost told you the answer.
Cut the quotation out, fill in the blank space with
your word and send it to,me. To the one first send
ing in the correct answer I will gladly mail a favorite
book of mine. Remember, the first correct answer
gets the book. BROTHER WILLIE.
“A sculptor once showed a visitor his studio. It
was full of statues. One was very curious. The face
was hidden by the long streaming hair, and there
were wings on each foot.
“What is his name?” said the spectator.
“ -,” was the reply.
“Why is his face hidden?”
“Because men seldom know him when he comes
to them.”
“Why has he wings on his feet?”
“Because he is soon gone, and once gone, can
never be overtaken.”
tt
SENTIMENTALISM IN GIRLS.
What is sentimentalism? It may be defined as
sentiment carried to excess —and unrestrained by
judgment and will. The action of the feelings with
out the will, is like that of a ship without a rudder —
a frog minus his cerebrum. On the other hand, a
person who is devoid of sentiment is hard and un
lovable, lacking human sympathy. The great met
aphysical sage, Immanuel Kant, was said to be
without sentiment; but he certainly possessed a
sense of duty —so strong it amounted to a passion.
School girls are said to be “dreadfully sentimental”;
no doubt some of them are, and no doubt, too, that
this inclination often results in heartache and dis
appointment. Nearly always the excess of sentiment
may be traced to the girl’s home training. She has
not had the practical side of life impressed upon her
She has been spoiled by too much petting and indul
gence. Her feelings have been tenderly consider
ed, while the culture of her will power and judgment
has been neglected. A faithful source of nurturing
the germ of sentimentalism is the reading of weak
fiction —fiction the sole theme of which is love and
passion. Such novels stimulate youthful sentiment to
an unhealthy growth. After a girl has read and
dreamed over a few dozen of these stories, she be
comes intoxicated with the love elixir —saturated
with it in fact, and she spends her time imagining
herself the object of adoration by her favorite heroes.
She despises as commonplace the persons about her,
and she scorns such unideal duties as dish washing
and biscuit making. Such a girl may be counted on
to fall in love unwisely—to idealize the first young
fellow who pays attention to her and endow him
with all the qualities of her novel hero. When did
sentimentalism make its appearance in America?
Did it sail over from the mother country in that
ship full of damsels who came to be exchanged, each
for ninety pounds of tobacco? Perhaps so, though
some of these maidens were no doubt adventurous,
others were verging into elderly spinsterhood —and
some no doubt wanted to lend a helping hand to
the grand new nation. We will not say that the
germs of sentimentalism were transmitted through
them, but it is not impossible. After this period
however, the girls and women of the new land held
their own. These pioneer girls evinced sturdy prac
tical sense, though there was no discount on their
love and devotion. It was only as the nation became
more prosperous and girls had more leisure to
dream and imagine, that sentiment grew and flung
off the morbid offshoot we call sentimentalism. One
can’t imagine Martha Washington as mooning sen
timentally and letting her feelings run away with
her judgment. No, when she fell in love with George,
she fell deeply, and married him at the earliest op
portunity. But now, come to think of it, she was
a widow when George married her. She might have
had her sentimental days before his advent. Any
how, her married life exhibited no taint of it.
I wo.ild like to give you some types of the sentimen
tal girl ,of today, but this little essay is already
too long, I fear. I will, with our editor’s permis
sion, give these in a future letter.
Madison, N. C. NANNIE PIGG.
A PENMADE FRIEND OF LONG AGO.
(The following letter is personal—almost too per
sonal to publish—but it breathes such a beautiful
spirit of grateful friendship and gives such a happy
echo of some of the things which 1 have tried to
put into hearts and lives through my pen that I feel
constrained to share my thankful joy with my young
friends. —Ed.)
Dear Brother Willie: Often in my childhood did
I dream of the day when I would write to “Earnest
Willie.” I never wrote. But at last I have decided
to write even if you have no time to answer. For
you know all prominent men and women receive
hundreds of letters they never see, much less an
swer. In those good old “Sunny South” days, when
you were an invalid boy, sending out those beau
tiful letters through the medium of another pen.
how many, many lives you helped and blessed you
will never know. Among them was the writer.
Over sixteen years ago, Brother Willie, through the
medium of the dear old “Sunny South,” your beau
tiful letters came into our home, inspiring me to
a nobler, higher aim in life. To my young mind you
were the embodiment of all that was good, pure, and
true; the standard of manhood was thus raised to
its highest. Through all these years that standard
has been the one by which I have measured all
men. Let me quote from one of my favorite poems.
“We rise by the things that are under our feet,
By what we have mastered of greed and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain.
And the vanquished ills that We hourly meet.”
I am so glad I had the pleasure of meeting you in
Meridian Female College, just a little over a year
ago, and listening to your words of inspiration. And
oh, how glad we were, when we knew you were com
ing to Oxford to lecture to the Summer Normal!
What a pleasure it was to sit once more as a part
of your audience, and catch inspiration from your
stirring words and your noble life! Oh! Brother
Willie, you will never know how much people love
you, and what a blessing you have been to this
world. How often to my own life do these words
come:
‘Turn from thyself each inward grief,
Each vain desire repulsing
And learn, in blessing other lives,
To find thine own life’s blessing.”
My highest aim in life, is to live so close to the
Lord Jesus that others may find my life a blessing.
May our heavenly Father guide, bless and keep
you, is the heartfelt prayer of LUCILE LEAK.
Oxford, Miss.
HIS ESCAPE.
The honeymoon was over, and the husband, re
turning from business, was grieved to find his little
wife crying bitterly.
"Oh, George,” she sobbed, “such a dreadful thing
has happened! I had made a beautiful pie all my
self, and Fido went and ate it!”
“Well, never mind, my dear,” he said cheerfully.
“We can easily buy another dog.”
Conducted by
the Editor.