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“Why?” they asked.
“That bell reminds me of something that is worth
mor6 to my life than anything else in this world.
I am a Christian, and that bell reminds me of the
fact that Jesus lotes me and that He is with me.
though I am disgracing Him. j *
They, of course, tried to persuade him, but he said,
“You iieedii’t try to persuade me, I am going to
church/’ and to church he went. The consciousness
of the fact that JeSus loved him and that Jesus was
with Him outweighed the love of His mother, out
weighed the respect he had for her. The love of
Jesus was dearer to Him than the love of His moth
er, and it saved him, perhaps, from a life of wreck
and ruin.
I am here to bring a personal testimony that these
two things are responsible for my presence in the
pulpit today. ever would I have been able to
stand there b for the fact that I wanted the abid
ing consciou 'S’ of Jesus’ presence and His love
ever with r . They have come to me in the hours
of my terr ation. Often when I have felt myself
almost wi .in the grip of the tempter, then and there
somehow Jie consciousness of the love of Jesus has
envelop I my soul and imparted strength to with
stand. ft was the love of Jesus which won me and
it is 'ds love that has held me. It is His love that
hold me today.
th, to have Him with us in our daily lif- ! Oh,
tc have Him with us in our ups and downs! Oh, to
1 ave Him with us at last when we come to pass
through the stream that separates the short life
that we are now living from the endless eternity!
St St
The Quid High Hat.
0! ye needn’t be so sly,
All ye lads, when I go by,
Wid yo’ winkin’ o’ the eve
An’ your smirkin’ an’ all that.
Shore, I’m wise enough to see
That the cause of all your glee
Is the ancient cut o’ me
An’ me ould high hat.
Arrah! lads must have their play,
So I’ve not a word to say;
’Tis mesel’ wance was gay
As the gayest wan o’ you.
Shure, there wasn't many men
That would joke about me then,
When me blood was young an’ when
This ould hat w r as new.
It w’as wid me an’ me bride
When the blessid knot was tied;
An’ it followed, when she died,
Where they soon will lay me, too.
It has served me all these years,
Shared me laughter an’ me tears,
As it’s sharin’ now the jeers
0’ the likes o’ you.
Now we’re worn an’ ould an’ sick,
But there’s joy to think, avic,
That ye niver held a brick,
An’ there’s some that can’t say that.
So they needn’t be so sly
When they smile an’ cock their eye,
All thim lads, when we go by,
You an’ me, ould hat.
—Exchange.
Little Mary wanted to learn her Sunday school
lesson. It was Saturday afternoon, and the time
was passing; but she had been busy with her doll’s
dress, and the lesson was yet unlearned. At length
her older sister took a Bible from the table and
said, “Come, Mary, I will help you to learn your
lesson, and you can go back to your play.’’
Mary came to her sister’s side ready to begin
her lesson, when she suddenly said, “Sister, let
us study it out of grandpa’s Bible?”
“But what difference can it make?”
“Why, grandpa’s Bible is so much more interest
ing than yours.”
“Ob. no. Mary, they are just the same exactly!”
“Well,” replied the observing child, “I really
think grandpa’s must be more interesting thap
yours; he reads it so much more.”
The Golden Age for July 28, 1908.
The Heroines of the Confederacy
Some Expressions on the Subject Called Forth by Our 'Recent Editorial
Dear Brother Upshaw:
I second the motion. What motion? Why, the
motion to build a monument to the war-time wom
en of the South. I take the position that the women
of the South suffered more anguish, more heart
burning, endured more hardships and privations
than the soldiers in the army of the South.
I make this statement from a full knowledge of
the facts. The soldiers always had something to
divert their thoughts from home and loved oncv.
If they were off duty they were playing games,
having stag dances or singing songs. If they were
on the march they were guying citizens, telling an
ecdotes, or scaring “niggers” to see them run. If
they were hungry they were planning to get some
thing to eat. If in battle they were intent on gain
ing the victory, without any thought as to what
would be the result to themselves. (The fighting
“reb” never did believe but what he could hold
his own with a half dozen “yanks.”)
What about the mothers, wives, sisters or “the
girl I left behind me” at home? Their thoughts
were constantly with their loved ones. Many a no
ble, true Southern woman has gone to her grave
because of her g*rief over the death of some one
who was dearer to her than life itself.
Years ago I advocated the building of a monu
ment to these heroic women of the South. Really,
the Southern soldier needs no monument. His
b a very, his wonderful achievements under the most
unfavorable circumstances, are known of all men.
Keep the ball you have started to roll, rolling.
Agitat., agitate. Appoint committees in every city
and county in the South to secure contributions,
and as soon as sufficient funds are secured select
a suitable site and erect thereon a monument more
durable, more beautiful and more artistic than any
this or any other country has ever known.
I enjoyed reading your tribute to General Long
street. It is a shame that the South has been so
indifferent to one of its ablest coni’ landers and
most heroic defenders. I am prou i of the fact
that I was a soldier in Longstreet’s corps, and
know something of his generalship and bravery.
But I will not speak of that n >w. Perhaps at
some future time I may furnish some newspaper
some incidents in his career.
Health and happiness to you,
D. M. Russell.
Cedartown, Ga.
Mr. W. D. Upshaw.
Dear Sir and Brother: lam just a plain country
man, a piney woods preacher, uneducated pastor of
a group of small country Baptist churches down in
southeastern North Carolina; but I just want to
drop you a few lines expressing my appreciation of
you and your work, both as lecturer and editor of
The Golden Age, which paper I have been reading
for some time. You may put me down as a lifetime
subscriber to your paper. My children as well as
myself enjoy reading it very much. The world has
long been in need of the work you are doing.
I am not a recluse, but for fifteen years or more I
have been a great sufferer from nervous indigestion,
which came well nigh wrecking all of my hopes and
plans for life. But I am not cast down nor despond
ent. My faith is in Christ. “My hope lays hold
upon that that is within the veil,” and I am happy.
Then too my life is not altogether a blank, though
I say it modestly. My wife and I have eleven chil
dren born to us, six girls and five boys, bright, frol
icsome kids, the oldest just seventeen years old, that
we are planning to educate, and though poor, some
how I have a sort of presentiment that by God’s
help we will succeed. It is the one aspiration of
my life. Perhaps after all it is given unto me to
give to the world children for a blessing, even
though the plans of my life were thwarted by dis
ease.
Sometimes I wonder if a “constrained” preacher
that resembles yourself, could spare the time in the
midst of those stormy prohibition campaigns, to as
sist a one-horse preacher in a ten-days’ meeting, at
a country church in the piney woods of North Car
olina, some time in September or October? He might
have to make a sacrifice to do so, as my people are
poor in this world’s goods, but rich in grace. If
such inducement would be possible, and said “con
strained” preacher will in some way indicate it r
I am sure that in due time the formal invitation will
be forthcoming.
Pardon the length of this epistle. Out of a full
heart I have given expression to the above for n.o»
other reason than that I wanted to.
Yours in Him, J. D. Hocutt..
Ashton, N. C.
P. S. —I have just mailed you a letter this a. m..
and at the same time got from the postoffice my
Golden Age, which never fails to kindle within me
a flame of inspiration. In perusing its pages my
eyes fell upon the head lines, “A monument to the
Heroines of the Confederacy,” and reading your
article under the above caption, I note this para
graph :
“And God forgive our recreant, tardy souls! If
we men have ever built a monument to them, I know
not where it is.”
Well, I can tell you where it is. Not to the hero
ines of the Confederacy,- to be sure, but to a her
oine of the revolution, and one of the most beautiful
shafts ever erected in honor of heroism, and I be
lieve it is said the only one ever erected to a woman
in this country. It is at the historic battleground
of Morris Creek, about twenty miles from Wilming
ton, N. C. I will not give you the particulars in
this letter, as I am not thoroughly familiar with
them, but will get up the facts at once, together with
the speeches delivered at the unveiling of said mon
ument and send to you. I drove through those
grounds yesterday but didn’t have time to get out
of the buggy. By the way, if you could comply
with the suggestion I made in the letter I mailed
you this a. m., and be with me in the meeting sug
gested, I would take the greatest pleasure in driving
you over to said battleground, which is only a few
miles away. Look out for said facts in a few days.
•A
The Golden Age Publishing Co., Atlanta, Ga.
In The Golden Age for July 9 is an article headed
“A Monument to the Heroines of the Confeder
acy,” in which the author, Mr. D. H. Parker, of
Boston, Ga., credits Mrs. Mary Ann Williams of
Glumbus. Ga.. with the honor of being the origi
nator of our memorial day. It is true it was a Co
lumbus lady, but not Mrs. Williams. It was her
cousin, Mrs. Lizzie Rutherford Ellis, wife of Capt.
Roswell Ellis.
Thera was unveiled in Columbus a beautiful mon
ument of Italian marble erected either in the year
1901 or 1902, to the memory of Mrs. Lizzie Ruther
ford Ellis by the Lizzie Rutherford Chapter of the
U. D. C., on which is inscribed, “Lizzie Rutherfoid
Ellis, the Soldier’s Friend, in whose patriotic
heart sprang the thought of our memorial day.”
For further reference I refer you tu the Lizzie
Rutherford Chapter of the U. D. C., Columbus, G >.
This is a matter that has been discussed much of
recent years and it seems that there are some that
are yet unwilling to “Render unto Caesar the things
that are Caesar’s.” I thought surely that all doubt,
or rather uncertainty, was at an end, since the erec
tion of a monument over the grave of the true orig
inator of our memorial day.
I know whereof I speak, as my mother was a mem
ber of Mrs. Ellis’ Sunday school class at the First
Baptist Church, Columbus, Ga. I hope you will
see that this explanation is made public as soon as
possible for, as a lifelong friend of the Rutherford
family, I feel it my duty to correct such a serious
mistake on the part of our friend, Mr. Parker.
Very respectfully,
Miss Elvie Nelson Myhand.
Society Hill, Ala.
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