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HIS MYSTERIOUS WAY.
Sometimes our skies are dark and
drear; /
No star of hope is shining there.
And then about us all is clear,
No fateful clouds is hovering near.
Why this should be we can not say—
God moves in a mysterious way.
All that we hope or crave for most
Sometimes eludes us like a ghost;
Life lures us vainly with its whirl,
Its tide engulfs our cherished pearl.
Again we thrill with hopeful cheer;
And feel a guiding hand is near.
Vainly beyond time’s purple rim.
We try to send our prayers to Him,
To earth our aspirations eling,
Or rise upon a broken wing;
And then upon another day,
It seems an easy thing to pray.
And heaven seems near and hope and
love
Spread radiant wings and soar above.
But why this difference there should
be, <
Our finite eyes can never see.
We can but pray and trusting say,
God moves in His mysterious way.
Ivy, Ala. BEN R IV V.
ft
CHAT.
Nothing for a long time nas pleased
me so well as to know that Tom Lock
hart has seen a baseball game and
tue circus. Though he has been af
flicted since his childhood not only a
shut-in but confined without power of
moving a limb to one position in bed,
yet Tom has never lost his happy
spirit—his joy in living, his keen in
terest in people and affairs, his delight
in the beautiful world of which, ne
can only get stray glimpses now and
then. The Sunny South Household
some years ago gave him a roller
chair and encouraged him to write
not only letters but sketches, and hu
morous sketches, too, with a good
laugh in every one of them. Think
of an ossified boy being able to laugh
and to make otners laugh, while many
of us who have a measure of health
and the use of our limbs are more
disposed to groan or growl than to
laugh, and inflict our grievances on
our friends instead of telling them
cheerful things. Tom wrote me once
that in order to fight off the “blue
devils,’’ he would persistently think of
all the amusing things he had ever
heard or had seen when he was a
small boy, would picture them out in
to himself of th« funny panorama
the camera of his fancy and chuckle
passed before his mental vision. Many
of these humorous pictures he has
given in h;s book, “Plain Talks and
Tales,’’ and others he has incorporated
in his novel, “His Mysterious Way,”
whose dramatic and tragic incidents
are lighted up by humorous interludes.
And he has seen the circus! I am
sure nobody under the tent enjoyed
it more, for it was a brand new, deli
cious experience to one who has and
will always have a boy’s heart. Wen,
do I remember my own first circus.
I had never seen a wild animal other
than our native “coon,” and “’pos
sum," deer and squirrel. I had been
brought up on a large isolated Florida
plantation, where I had seen plenty
of bareback riding on the part of our
dusky retainers aud had ridden my
own pony bareback many times, but
the gorgeous red and yellow placard
pictures of the daring ring riders in
tinsel and spangles, standing tiptoe
on the backs of tneir flying steeds and
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression For Those Who Feel and Think.
ft
The Golden Age for August 5, 1909.
jumping through b lazing hoops, so
thrilled my imagination that 1 could
not sleep. I counted the very hours
until the eventful day when the circus
should arrive and spread its tent at
the cross road store six miles from
my home. But when the day came,
a message nad arrived from Tallahas
see that friends wished to visit my
mother that day, and the carriage had
to be sent to bring them. My father
had to use the barouche to look after
the machinery on his sawmill that
had got out of order, and a bitter dis
appointment seemed inevitable, when
the overseer came to the rescue and
persuaded my mother to let me ride
behind him on his big gray horse,
wnich he proved to her would “tote
double.” I had always been afraid
of the overseer’s big charger and
oeard, but this aversion gave way
before the eager desire to see the cir
cus, and my only fear, as the gray
nag ambled along the sandy road, was
that we would not arrive in time for
the grand entree of which 1 had been
told. When a turn in the road brought
the scene of the wonderful exhibition
in view and I saw the big tent like
an immense mushroom, and heard the
roar of the lions inside, thrills of Wild
delight ran through my veins, and I
slid without assistance from the back
of the overseer’s big charges and
stood ready to enter the circus fairy
land.
So it is, that I can sympathize with
you, Tom, in your first sight of the
circus. The joy of that long ago day
has left a lingering glamour that
makes me still have a weakness for
the circus, and occasionally glad of
the excuse of “taking the children to
see the animals” to renewA my ac
quaintance with the elephant and the
knights of the sawdust ring.
We have an old friend, Sue Albrit
ton, with us today, telling how one
dear old lady who had none of this
world’s goods to bestow, contrived to
gratify her own generous heart and
give a series of happy surprises to
her neighbors. Just how many such
pleasant surprises can be contained in
a package of flower seed I never knew
until this summer. In the spring, too
late for the planting of roses and lil
ies, we moved to our little farm home
for the summer. I had only two small
flower beds prepared and In these 1
sowed two papers of “mixed flower
seed.” They came up finely and I
transplanted a number of the little
plants to other beds. When blooming
time came, there was a surprise for
me nearly every morning, for some
flower I had not expected to see was
in bloom. A number of the flowers
were new to me but there were pop
ples, black eyed susans, Chinese pinks,
mignonette, phlox, sweet alyssoms and
a variegated four-o’clock, dear old
fashioned flower that I used to string
Into red and white chains in the late
summer afternoons. Every one should
plant as many annuals, as they have
space for. The flowers seem more
cheerful than mere pretentious bloom,
and they give so much pleasure to
children.
Dear Frieta: I am glad that you
have had a Chautauqua of your own
this summer vacation, in wh'ch you
have had the happiness of learning
many things while you taught the
mill children the mystery of sweet
music. Let us have another letter
soon telling of your entertainment
and the progress of the vacation story.
Ben Ivy: Your sensations co-incide
with those of all the others who hav?
written of similar experiences, the
calmness and indifference to the life
they were leaving, the drifting into
dim wide space, with a sense of reach
ing something beautiful beyond, the
feeling of disappointment ana bodily
plain that came with the return to life.
With Our dorresponOents
HOW AN OSSIFIED MAN SAW THE
CIRCUS.
It Won’t be long now until the sum
mer of 1909 wil be numbered with tne
past. I will be both sorry and glad
to see it go. Glad, because of the in
tense heat I have had to endure, and
sorry, because winter means shut m
from the beautiful outdoors that we
helpless ones enjoy so much, though
we seldom get further away than Our
verandahs and yards. I have been
fortunate this summer, however; inas
much as I have been invited tb dine
out several times, gone to church
twice, attended a bail game and last;
have actually gone to a small cifcuS;
NOW, laugh if yoii like. 1 don’t care.
1 am still boy enough to enjoy a cir
cus. In fact, I think a shut-in who
has lain in one position in the house
for twenty-three years would enjoy al
most any old thing that took him out
of his prison. The tumbling, slack
wire walking, trained monkeys, goats
and dogs, the clowns, and trick mule,
were all a delight to me. They cer
tainly had one appreciative onlooker.
I laughed till my sides fairly ached
at those fool clowns and the little
mule. Lying there on my back under
the great tent I spent two of the
most enjoyable hours since childhood.
It Was only a small show, and doubt
less you well people would have turn
ed up your noses at it, but I am in a
position to appreciate any little diver
sion that comes my way. I am not
surfeited on the pleasures of life by
overindulgence. Those who can are
so apt to partake too freely of the
good things of the world and thus be
come disgusted with the very things
we were meant to enjoy. Self-denial
is the very best thing for us if we
would only practice it, and shut-ins are
compelled to do so, hence can appre
ciate their few enjoyments.
There is one great pleasure in th.s
world, however, that I will never en
joy, one that is thought so little of
by those who can indulge in it at wl’l,
and that is to be able to walk once
more. You will never learn to appre
ciate this till you become helpless.
There must be fuiiy one hundred
thousand of us in the United States
who are entirely helpless. Nearly all
of these poor unfortunates are unable
to ear ntheir own living, and 1 claim
that where this is proven to be e_ e
case, the government should pension
them. Surely no one needs it more
taan this class of people; nor any
more deserving. I have concluded tnat
Hon. Champ Clark, of Missouri, leader
of t. s e lower house of congress, would
be a good man to introduce the bill
to pension shut-ins, so when congress
meets again I would advise all the
shut-ins to write him in regard to this
matter. His address at that time will
be Hon. Champ Clark, M. C., Wash
ington, D. C. If shut-ins and their
sympathizers everywhere will only put
their shoulders to the wheel I am sure
we can win out, but so far i am about
the only one who is trying to do any
thing in this wc.K.
Doubtless, some of you noticed the
ad in The Golden Age sometime back
from the “Rural Georgian,” announc
ing that 1 was going to edit a Sun
saine department in that splendid lit
tle monthly. Well, such was its edi
tor’s intention, but for some cause his
plans miscarried, and the probabilities
are now that I won’t have any depart
ment in that paper, much to my re
gret. As I was in hopes of doing some
good for the shut-in cause. Possibly
as many as twenty-five of my friends
subscribed to tne paper through me,
saying they did so solely to read my
department. 1 returned all of these
subscriptions, and wish to thank them
all for their kindness. This has been
a long, dull, hot summer,- and my
books are selling very slowly indeed..
Won’t you gladden my heart with an
order? I have four and the prices are
20, 30, 40 and 50 cents. .
With good wishes to all, and hearty
thanks to our dear M. E. B. for all
her past kindness, I anl.
tom Lockhart.
Wellington, Mb;
' ft
WAS IT DEATH?
A year ago I had a mysterious ex
perience. Sunday morning I was feel
ing as well as usual, and was sitting
near a window, enjoying the fair pros
pect and reading a chapter in tne
Bible. Suddenly without the slightest
warning I fell forward and lay prone
on the floor, utterly unable to move
or speak. For a moment I was con
scious. I heard my mother cry out
and then call a servant, but I heard
her as one hears in a dream, and im
mediately afterwards 1 drifted away
into utter unconsciousness. The last
thing I remember was some one say
ing, “He is dead.” This I understood
without wonder or terror. “Yes, I am
dead,” I thought; “I am in a strange
dim land, yet I feel no pain, no fear,
1 am at peace.” I continued in this
state, without pulsation or apparent
breathing for some time, then came
a sensation of pain—of disappoint
ment —a tingling through all my body
and the thought, “I am coming back to
life ” I did return to life—from the
dim borderland of death. The strange
seizure prostrated me for some time.
It was due, my physician said, to an
overplus of blood on the brain. 1
look back on the experience wiht in
tense interest, asking myself the ques
tion: “Was it death? Do the dead ex
perience such sensations?” Truly
there are many things in the complex
nature of man which psychologists
have never been able to explain. Per
haps in the future all will be made
clear, and yet I doubt if science or
philosophy will ever lift the black cur
tain of death and peer into what lies
beyond. Only the rays of faith can
penetrate the valley of the shadow.
Ivy, Ala. BEN IVY.
ft
FRIETA’S SUMMER.
You tell me in your letter that a
number of my old Household friends
inquire about me and wonder what I
am doing. I am writing another novel
or enjoying the good old summer time
in a lazy, dolciente manner. Well, I
am not doing either, though later I
shall write a story i think. I find
plenty of material all around me. 1
fully expected that mother, sister and
1 would again attend the Chautauqua
meeting which we had found so de
lightful and inspiring, but before we
had fully decided, I received the offer
of a music school in Florence, Ala
bama.. My sister, who had been away
