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CHAT.
The Household talkers this week are so charming
and so sure to entertain that I am loath to take up
any of the limited space. In her own sweet way,
Italy Hemperly echoes the sentiment that home is
not what money builds and garnishes, but what kind
hearts and fine spirits may make out of the simplest
four w’alls.
Margaret Richard replies to Mr. Orton’s poetic
fling at Cupid, reproaching the little blind god for
not knowing the psychological moment in which to
“do his ministering.’’ Some wives have told me that
the opportune time in which to approach “me lord”
is when he has partaken of a nicely cooked, well
enjoyed meal, and sits in his easy chair, with slip
pered feet elevated as high as his head, and a lighted
roll of the magic weed between his lips.
Eugenia urges the return of many of those long
absent, bright spirits, whose talks and stories made
the old Sunny South ousehold so loved and re
gretted. Where, she asks, is jovial Ike Heartsail;
gallant Pierre Le Beau; witty Bachelor Parson;
versatile Lomacita, Ellys, Mizpah and the host of
friends we had learned to know and love most ear
nestly. I hope to hear from all these well remem
bered old friends. Eugenia writes me that Lomacita
is married —the news coming from Geraldine. Both
these fine writers, together with Ellys and Ike, should
feel it a personal compliment that the Golden Age
has been moved to their state.
No reader of the Golden Age will fail to welcome
Rev. Nath Thompson as a contributor to the House
hold. and all will endorse the tribute he has paid in
his own hearty way to the heroes who make their
lives beautiful and useful, despite the handicap of
physical afflictions. All Georgians and many Texans
know Rev. Nath Thompson, the popular, magnetic
preacher who uses homespun reasoning and every
day illustration to enforce his preaching. He is a
born humorist, and he uses the God given talent to
enliven his sermons and catch the attention of his
audience. He can be eloquent, and even rhetorical,
when he chooses, but he wisely adopts, as his general
style, the plain, conversational method of the apos
tles. He would rather strike straight out, though
he smash a little grammar, than seek to soar above
the heads of his congregation, or stupefy them with
argumentative theology, after the manner of some of
the old divines. You will remember the sister who
declared that the new preacher “couldn’t be much,”
because she understood everything he said, and the
other Georgia sister, who, after listening through
her one good ear to a lengthy, learned discourse,
could only comprehend that the preacher said the
“common taters” (commentators) didn’t agree -with
him, so, out of the goodness of her heart, she brought
him a mess of “North Calliny taters that warn’t com
mon in these parts.”
Mr. Thompson is one of the ministers who preaches
because he feels himself surely called to the work.
Being well educated and magnetic, he could excel in
other professions, and instead of it Inerating, could
live on his own acres near his father’s palatial home,
but he prefers to work for the uplifting of his
brother men.
XKHitb ®ur Correspondents
MARRIAGES THAT HOLD FAST.
(Also a call for the old times.)
It seems I can not quite get my mind set
tled just where we are, whether in Georgia or
Texas. By the time I try to think we are
all around a cozy little fire over in Texas here comes
The Golden Age, and says “not yet but soon,” then
I get all flustrated, for I am just like “tabby”—l love
to sit over in the corner and once in awhile look up
and wink at you all. But I don’t like to be upset
and not know what minute I’ll have to find a new
corner. So I’ll be truly glad when the moving busi
ness is all over and things are in ship-shape once
more. Guess the editors will be, too. One thing
I am looking forward to with great expectations,
that is, we will be sure to find some new members
of the H. H., and the old ones of the Sunny South
regime will drop in for a chat about old times.
Now, Mother Meb, you have actually seen our
gifted Mr. Orton? Does he really look like a man
who would be so unpolite to poor little “Dan Cupid?”
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of 'Expression 'For Those Who Feel and Think.
The Golden Age for October 22, 1908.
It is evident, in his recent poem in answer to me,
that he didn’t even wish to risk much conversation
with the sly little love god. So he hustled him off
“on the next train South.” When you come to think
of it, Mr. Orton, isn’t it strange that the very per
sons who seem to have been most unhappy in their
married state are the ones to seek that relation again
soon after being released from it? It is my opinion
that lots of people do not know when they are happy,
and alas, find it out too late! Much of the unhappi
ness is caused by expecting entirely too much, and
not giving allowance for plain humanity, with all its
vagaries. I have always had my doubts about the
men and women who are so very ardent in their
courtship time. Let marriage be seasoned with plen
ty of love, of course; but let it be tempered with
reason. These are the marriages that generally turn
out well. I have pictured (in a day dream, of course)
just what I would say to a man who would sit down
by me, and put on a dreamy look, and tell me he
thought I was an angel, that my eyes were stars to
guide him to a haven of happiness, etc. I am sure I
would want to vanish into tir before he found out
that my eyes are just plain brown orbs, and tnat
sometimes they become very red from a fit of crying,
because things did not turn out just as I had planned
and hoped for. Angels do not cry often, do they,
little mother? It is their business to rejoice, isn’t
it?
Now, I would like to know what has become of so
many of our old time charmers —Peirre Le Beau,' Ike
Heartsell, Bachelor Parson, Lomacna, Mizpah, and a
number of others whom it would take me too long
to name over. But can’t we have more space when
once we get to Texas, and can’t we once more stir
up these old time friends to come back to the fold
again? Our old “Sunny” people did a world
of good by their charming letters. I, for one, would
have almost given up in despair If it had not
been for their weekly visits, for I was shut up then
with an invalid mother and had few pleasures. But.
oh, when the “Sunny” came, I was happy, for they
seemed all personal friends writing to me.
With my best love to everybody and a big share
for M. E. B„ “EUGENIA.”
Milam, Tenn.
“LIFE, IN ALL ITS RELATIONS, IS SACRED.”
Dear Meb and Householders:
The day is clouded and I will slip into the cozy
corner of the Household, if you please.
First thing I wish to say to the company present,
concerns Mother Meb’s “Summer Camp,” as she
pleases to call it. Now, this camp is a pretty six
room cottage, all fresh and new, with an open fire
place that would delight the eyes of any one who has
ever known the charm of an oak-wood fire. And my
companion and 1 looked at the autumn woods on the
surrounding hills, and declared it all beautiful in the
summer twilight.
Then it. is such a pleasure to enter a house where
only good and beautiful vibrations sweep across your
sensibilities. And in this summer home where Meb
is, these things are clearly felt before you enter the
door.
Saying that, reminds me of the remarks in the
Household, concerning “sham politeness.” And truly,
it is from the home life such things emanate. There
are so many parents, who, although well-bred them
selves, allow their children to be unpardonably rude
to servants. I have heard small children speak
to servants as if they owned them soul and body,
and considered them burdensome possessions.
No sham of any iknd should be allowed in the
home, and children should be reared in an atmos
phere of sincerity and unfailing gentleness. If I were
the wife of the man who says, “Yes, sweetheart,” with
that gleam in his eyes, I would calmly expose him
a few times and if this failed to have the desired
effect, I would have a little talk with him about the
divorce courts. “Awful,” you say. Yes, but not so
awful as a whole life of shams.
The central truth of the whole matter is, we should
teach ourselves to kind “from the heart out,” just the
sweet, simple law of being kind.
Tennesseean, your ideas are fine. The time is coming
when young people, and mayber older ones, too, will
be taught the science of home-making. It is positive
ly criminal for people who know nothing of the laws
of pre-natal influence, suggestion, etc., to assume the
duties and responsibilities of motherhood and father-
hood; and the world is slowly but surely awakening
to this fact.
Dear Meb, in reading your remarks on Socrates,
I am reminded of the assertion of a friend, who de
clared that if Socrates had had a happy home, he
would never have become the great philosopher and
teacher he was. But, be that as it may, I do hope
the poor man was happily married to some sweet
tempered woman after he was re-incarnated. He
certainly deserved - good wife after his experience
wtih the unfortunate Xantippe.
We are all wishing and believing in a glorious fu
ture for The Golden Age in the great state of
Texas. I have met some of the Texas people, and
always there was that something about them that was
as big and wholesome as the pure breezes that sweep
across their native sun-kissed prairies.
ITALY HEMPERLY.
P. S. Have just read Dr. Broughton’s “Tabernacle
sermon” in the Golden Age, of October 8, and I hope
every mother and father will read it, in fact, it will
be good for everybody. It is both wise and beau
tiful.
HEROES OF EVERY DAY.
As we were swinging corners on a Marietta and
Knoxville train, I saw a crippled youth come out from
a mountain store and gather up the mail bag. He
was bent in body, and weak of limb, but he helped
a leg with an arm and hobbled off with his load, as
true a soldier to duty as ever trod the earth.
T alk about the stuff of which heroes are made,
there is your article, and it won’t need sifting—a
hero through every day, acts not merely through a
bold dash, made upon the spur of some inspired mom
ent.
If Mr. Carnegie wants to find one worthy to wear
his medals for heroism, let him send one to that
brave mountaineer, frail of body but strong of soul.
Passing along the street one day in Stone Moun
tain, I saw a negro cutting wood; he would feel along
the log with his hand, then come down with his axe
on the place he had been cutting. On inquiry, I
found ho was blind, but instead of becoming a de
pendent or a street beggar, he supported himself by
cutting wood, making baskets, bottoming chairs,
etc. I saw him buying something one day
on credit. I said to the merchant, “Is he good
pay?” “Wish all my customers were as prompt to
nay up,” was the reply. All honor to the blind hero
in black, who, unwilling to be a burden on others,
feels out in the darkness to find a living.
Oxford, Ga., can furnish Mr. Carnegie one who is
well worthy to wear his medal of pure gold. Blind
from boyhood, yet a graduate of Emory college.
Broom maker, farmer, preacher. Always interesting,
helpful. Though deafness has been added to blind
ness, yet he cheerfully works on.
There is another who has walked in darkness for
many years, yet has brought light to many shadowed
souls through the melody, and the hopeful, tuneful
spirit of his Gospel songs, the wonderful pathos and
power of which has turned frivolous thoughts to rever
ent ones. With no home of his own, he has more
comforts offered him than he can accept. Friends
quarrel as who shall entertain him; old people love
him almost, as heartily as do the little children—a
friend maker and a friend keeper; he is a benedic
tion wherever he goes. His favorite song is, “Bless
me Lord and a blessing.” What’s the use of putting
a medal on such a man? He is already a jewel.
Now, Brother Will Upshaw, you print what I write
about you? Couldn’t we get up a fine funeral over
you if you were to die? But I hope that time is a
long way off, and that the preacher who shall write
your obituary is yet unborn. If you were to die pret
ty soon, every one of the Atlanta dallies would write
an editorial about your wonderful grit, your fine
courage, your splendid spirit. When I think about
how much you have accomplished on your crutches,
and in your chair, and how little many of the rest of
us have done, I am tempted to pray, “Ixird, cripple
another.”
If Mr. Carnegie will furnish the medals, I will pin
one on your breast and one on your back, so it can
be seen whether you are coming or going, because
every time I have met you or you have passed me,
you have been “a cornin’ or a gwine,” at double quick
time, and always bent on fighting for the right. Hur
rah for the heroes, who are heroes in despite of fate.
NATH THOMPSON.
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