Newspaper Page Text
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Summer’s gone and autumn’s here,
Harvest season of the year;
Hogs are haunting apple trees,
Where the grass is ’hove your knees;
Grown is now the partridge flock,
And the corn is in the shock.
Melon time is all but done —
Now and then a lingering one;
Grapes are ripe o’er woodland trails;
Squirrels frisk their plumy tails
Where the chestnut burrs unlock,
And the corn is in the shock.
Chincapins then’ coats have cast,
An the chipmunk stores them fast,
While the farmer from the field
CHAT.
Sounds queer, doesn’t it (like some
pathetic romance) —a little cripple
girl owning a church given her by a
Household club, and mortgaging it to
get to a great specialist, who held out
to her the hope that he could cure her?
There’s material for a story for you
gifted girls—Margaret R : chard, Fineta,
Muda Hetnur, Alice Calhoun, Mary
Pettus Thomas and Happy Girl. The
press syndicates would pay for this
story, just as Mattie Beverage tells it.
They would vow it was fiction, pure
and simple, but it is every w'ord true.
The dear little girl might write it her
self and send it to the Daily Press As
sociation, and maybe get enough
money to lift that little mortgage
which troubled her so until she had
prayed and received assurance that it
would all come right.
Well, the dear child will not need to
worry about the mortgage, for it is in
a fairway to be all paid off, even be
fore the doctor’s verdict has been
passed in her case. More than two
thirds of the money required has
already been given. Mrs. W. D. Up
shaw’s Sunday-school class of splendid
boys gave $3.25. The Baptist Young
People’s Union of the College Park
Church gave several dollars. A friend
of the Upshaws donated 25 cents. Mrs.
Lindsay gave a dollar and I gave a
dollar. No doubt different Household
members and readers will make up
the remainder of the money. Our
dear Happy Girl, who is a trained
nurse, has probably sent her donation.
I would like to know the names of
those two who sent Mattie the twenty
dollars. I think I can guess. I hope
they will consent to their names being
published. Also we would like to have
the name of the specialist of Okla
homa City. Let us have the whole
story, dear Mattie, and if the doctor s
verd’ct is unfavorable, don’t give way
to despair. You have always been so
brave and cheerful. Just go home
(since there is, alas! no institution in
this broad land that will give a com
fortable home and instruction to those
whom God has thus afflicted), and
study the art of writ’ng, for which
you have natural talent, but need
much instruction. You can be taught
through correspondence. You could
not market anything you write unless
it were put in proper shape—rightly
constructed and correctly expressed.
Ben Ivy essays to answer the House
hold’s question as to what is love. He
gives the definition of some poets and
philosophers, but fa’ls to refer us to
the noblest and most complete defini
tion of all—that given by St. Paul:
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression Tor Those Who Teel and Think.
BROWN OCTOBER
(§§§)
m. v.
Wagons home the harvest yield;
To the brim his barn he’ll block
With the corn that’s in the shock.
By the window grandma sits,
Smiling sweetly while she knits,
Through the “specs” upon her nose,
Seeing how the barn o’erflows;
Glad is she for man and stock —
Corn to spare was in the shock.
When the field in stubble stands,
Mocking winter’s begging hands,
Hickory on the hearth will glow;
Bright the farmer’s face will show,
Listening to the mantel clock;
“Corn —to spare—was in—the shock!”
Love suffereth long and is kind; love
seeketh not its own good and pleas
ure; love hopeth all things, endureth
all things, etc. Unselfishness is one
of the chief attributes of love. It
seeks not its own happiness, but the
happiness of the one beloved. Tender
consideration for the loved one, as
opposed to gratification of selfish de
sires, marks true love from animal
passion. Love is, in fact, only ardent
and devoted friendship.
Our wanderer abroad, Mary Pettus
Thomas, has returned to her post at
Bayler College, Texas, full of buoyant
spirits and mind pictures of the won
derful scenes her eyes have feasted
upon. You remember she got together
a congenial party of friends and ar
ranged a fine itinerary for them —all
over Europe. As she went from one
country to another, she kept us in
mind, and sent many messages and
beautiful postal card views. I wish
she would tell us about some of the
grand things she saw, among others
the famous passion play at Oberam
mergau.
A mislaid letter of our Muda Het
nur’s, containing some fine suggestive
thoughts, appears in this issue—or it
may be that press of matter will cause
it to be left for our next meeting.
Meantime I hope to take a flying trip
to the Knoxville Exposition in order
to meet that same delightful band of
journalists and authors, all women, or
“girls”, as they call themselves, and
rightly, for though some of them have
silver threads among the gold and jet,
yet they all have young hearts.
A mistake occurred in last week’s
Household. Two private letters were
published—Slip’s pathetic little note to
Annice, and her letter to me, enclos
ing the one from the sick Household
er of Sunny South days. Quite unin
tentionally these little confidential let
ters got slipped in among the House
hold matter. Dear Annice, who is very
shy and reserved about her sweet
ministerings to her friends, many of
whom (as in the case of Slip) she has
never seen, would never have told
the Household about her kind remem
brance of Slip. I hope she will forgive
my carelessness, and I trust that she
will write the letter in defence of
country people. Mizpah did not hap
pen on the right kind during her vaca
tion stay in the country.
For Impaired Nerve Force
Take Horsford’s Acid Phosphate
It qirets and strengthens the nerves,
relieves exhaustion, headache and im
paired digestion.
The Golden Age for October 6, 1910.
WUtb Our Gorresponbents
WHY SHE MORTGAGED HER
CHURCH.
My Dear Friends: I must write and
tell you how deeply thankful I am for
your goodness to me. I can hardly
realize that you, out in the big, busy
world, could take an interest in a poor
little unfortunate here in the wilds of
Arkansas. When that hope of being
cured came to me like a message from
God, I thought I would apply, through
The Golden Age, for writing work
that might bring me money enough to
go to the Oklahoma City doctor. You
can imagine my joy, my thankfulness,
when the twenty dollars came to me
from two noble, blessed people, who
may not wish me to publish their
names, though I wish I could do this.
I simply cried for joy in dear grand
mother’s arms. We sent to buy the
round trip ticket, when, to my despair,
the agent sent word that it was nearly
twenty dollars for the straight ticket.
I wanted to go any way, and trust to
kind Providence for means to come
back. It seems to me, if I were only
cured, I could work at many things and
earn money. 1 would ask no better
happiness than to have work to do and
be able to do it.
But grandmother would not consent
to my going away off there, with no
means of returning. She said I could
not and must not do it. I racked my
brain night and day thinking how I
could obtain the money. It seemed so
hard to have the door of hope opened
to me and then shut again. I lay
awake at night thinking and asking
God to show me away. All at once,
one night, the thought came to me
like a flash, “You have some prop
erty; you have a church. You can
borrow money by mortgaging your
church.”
The thought seemed sacrilegious,
and I put it away from me, but it
came back again and again. Most of
you know, dear friends, that I do own
a little church, which the dear Sunny
South Household people gave to me.
It happened this way: In a Household
letter to the Sunny South, which is
now Uncle Remus’ Magazine, I said
that I had never heard a religious
service or the sound of a church bell,
for there was no church anywhere
nearer than five miles, and I could
not go that far in a roller chair,
though my dream was to hear the
chime of church bells and the singing
and preaching and prayers.
Well, those blessed Sunny South
Householders went quietly to work
and raised fifty dollars and sent it to
me. This money bought the lumber
to build a little church. My father
gave me a piece of land big enough to
put it on, and he and the neighbors
went to work and built it. There
wasn’t enough lumber to ceil the walls
and overhead, so it can’t be used in
winter time, but we have had beauti
ful services in it in spring and sum
mer, and I do enjoy these so much.
The sound of the bell is such sweet
music to me. We had no money to
buy a bell, and I thought we must do
without one, when, one day, I opened
a letter, and out dropped a ten-dollar
bill and a note that said, “To buy a
bell for the church.” So a bell was
bought.
This is the story of my church. I
sent a picture of it and a picture of
myself to Mrs. Bryan a year ago. I
have a deed to it. I just couldn’t bear
the idea of mortgaging the little
church, but there seemed no other
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way to get the other twenty dollars,
and after I had prayed about it and
asked God if I should do it, a great
peace fell upon my soul, and I have
felt that I had the Father’s consent
that I should do this, and His assu
rance that I would be able to pay back
the money. So, with the consent of
my father and the neighbors, who had
helped build the dear little church,
the name of which is Sunny Land, I
have borrowed the money on it, and I
am going to the doctoi’ very soon —per-
haps before this gets in print.
Just think what a splendid trip I
will have! I have never seen a city,
and I have seen a railroad only once,
and a tiny village, that seemed very
beautiful to me, as there were some
painted houses and a store —maybe
more than one. We live in the back
woods, forty-five miles from a railroad
station or a town. I love to look at
the woods and hills, but I have longed
to see a town and an automobile.
However, the sight of these is nothing
to the hope of being cured, so that I
can walk and use my cramped-up
hands, caring for the best grandmoth
er that ever was, who patiently tended
me through my long years of suffer
ing. Oh, what joy fills me w’hen I
think of being able to stand and walk
and use my hands! Soon I will know,
and then I will write you, deal’ friends,
and tell you what the doctor in Okla
homa City says —whether his answer
is hope—or no hope. If there is no
hope, pray for me to be resigned. If
any one writes to me, address the let
ter to Dabney, Ark., and it will be for
warded to me. I don’t know yet what
my address in Oklahoma City will be.
I shall start in about ten days. Once
more, dear, good friends, I thank you
for your kind interest in me and I shall
pray God’s blessings as lang as I live
on the two generous, noble friends
who sent me the twenty dollars.
MATTIE BEVERAGE.
Dabney, Ark.
