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EDUCATIONAL.
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ot Che South and Southwest Is the
National Bureau of Education.
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Mrs. Prate's Home School,
282-288 West Peachtree Street,
ATLAWTx, .... GKOXaIA.
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elocution, drawing and painting.
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Manufacture Wire Railings for Cemeter
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DORTCH'S GOSPEL VOICES
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SOUTH WESTERN PUBLISHING HOUSE
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department.
The Resurrection Plant.
Among the pyramids of Egypt,
Lord Lindsay, the English trav
eler, came across a mummy, the
inscription upon which proved to
be two thousand years old. In
examining the mummy after it
was unwrapped, he found in one
of its inclosed hands a small root
He took the little bulb from that
closed hand and planted it in a
sunny soil, allowed the dew and
rains of heaven to descend upon
it, and in a few weeks, to his as
tonishment, the root burst forth
and bloomed into a beautiful
flower.
Two thousand years ago a flower
B oomed lightly In a far off land;
Two thousand veais ago Its seed
Was placed within a dead man's hand.
Before the Saviour came to earth,
The man bad lived and loved and died.
And even in that far off time,
The flower had spread its Terfume wide.
Suns rose and set. years came and went,
The dead hand kept Its treasure well;
Nations were born and turned to dust,
While life was hidden In that shell.
The shriveled hand Is robbed at last,
The seed Is bu led in the earth ;
When lo! the life long hidden tt ere
Into a glorious flower burst forth.
And will not He who watched the seed,
And kept the life within the shell,
When those He loves are laid to rest,
Watch o’er their buried dust as well ?
Just such a face as greets you now,
•lust such as here we bear,
Only more glorious far, will rise.
To meet the Saviour in the air.
Then will I lay me down In peace.
When called to leave this vale of tears.
For. '■ In my flesh shall 1 see God,
Ee'n though I sleep two thousand years .
—Selected
Aunt Jane s Charm.
BY OLIVE THORNE.
“ There's that cat again I” cried Aunt
Jane excitedly. "Go drive her out,
Elizabeth I This minute ! Quick ! ”
A pale, thin child, perhaps ten years
old, rose slowly from a- low seat by the
window where she was sewing, and
started for the door.
“Be lively, now! I believe you’ve
got lead in your feet! I never saw a
child of your age so slow,” went on
Aunt Jane. The child hastened and
disappeared through the back door,
while Aunt Jane resumed her knitting
“ I certainly don't know what I shall
do with that child," she said to herself,
as her needles flew in and out of the
coarse gray yarn she was fashioning
into a sock for the poor of next winter.
“ Such a mope I never saw I—the very
sight of her gives me the.blues. If she
was nice and bright now, she’d be al
most a comfort to me; but she grows
stupid and dumb every day,till now she
scarcelj- opens her lips from morning
tonight I'm sure I don’t know why;
I’ve tried hard enough to do my duty
by her; she wants nothing. But I
wonder why she doesn’t come back ?
she went on after a pause, at the same
time stepping towards the door to look
after her charge. As she opened the
door the child’s voice fell on her ear,
and its tone made her pause. It vas
very different from the dull voi.ee she
knew, and then the words amazed her.
“ Dear Pussy,” she heard in a tender
low tone, “ I'm so sorry, but you must
go home I Aunt Jane hates cats, and I
daren't have you come here. I’m afraid
she'll throw something at you!”
The listener stepped a little nearer to
look through a window, when she saw
the child seated on the step, with an
ugly yellow cat in her arms, and actu
ally hugged to her heart.
"Oh, dear Kitty?” the little voice
went on with a sob, “you remind me so
muchofmyown darling kitty, that I
had to leave at home when papa died;
and I wan t her so ! She loved me
dearly. I wonder if she's forgotten me!”
The little face went down in the yel
low fur, and the affectionate cat purred
and rubbed against her face, trying its
best to console her. In a moment the
child raised her head
“ I daien’t stay any longer, dearest
kitty. I haven’t got my ’stint done, and
Aunt Jane hates idlers Good bye,
darling,” and she kissed the cat, and
carefully lifted her over the low fence,
and dropped her lightly on to her own
steps, while Aunt Jane hastily, slipped
back to her seat, and began to knit fu
riously. When, a moment later, the
child came in with the old weary step,
she saw nothing unusual in her aunt,
and she sat down on her stool again and
took up her work.
But there was something unusual in
Aunt Jane, though it did not show
outside; there was commotion in her
mind; she had received a new idea, and
it was working. Her lips were pursed
up as usual, and her needles flew faster
than ever, but something like this
passed on in her thoughts:
“ Really, the child is unhappy 1 I
wonder why ! I thought I had done
everything for her ! We two are the
last of the family, and ought to be a
comfort to each other. ’ Here she
moved her chair a little, and glanced at
the child. She was bending over her
work, but her hands moved slowly, and
her eyes were heavy and dull
“ I suppose, she’s lonely,” was Aunt
Jane's next thought. “ and perhaps she
misses her old friends,” she went on
slowly. "How she did go on to that
cat! as if she loved it ! —Well. I sup
pose a child needs to love something,
if it is only a cat. I wonder if I've
been too hard with her? I’ve lived alone
so long, maybe I expect too much.
Elizabeth!”—this last aloud.
The child started, and looked up
quickly. “ What makes you start so
when I speak?”said Aunt Jane sharply.
“ I don’t bite.”
“ I —I —never was called Elizabeth,”
stammered the child. “ except when I
was naughty.”
“ What were you called, then?
Elizabeth is your name, I believe.”
“ Yes; but I was always Bessie at
home,’’said she timidly.
“Humph ! ’ said Aunt Jane, “ I
don’t approve of nicknames.”
“ Papa always called me so,” said
Bessie, with a little tremble in her
voice
Aunt Jane rubbed her nose. Bes
sie’s father had been her favorite
brother, and his doing anything used to
be the beet of reasons for her doing it.
But she went on —
‘ What did you do at home?”
Bessie looked up questioningly.
“ Did you sew? or play all the time?
or what did you do?”
“ Ohl—l went to school most al
ways,” said the child, her face bright
ening as thoughts of “ home ” grew on
her, ’ 1 and I sewed some—l made papa
two beautiful handkerchiefs! and I
picked the berries for tea; and—and—l
played a good deal in the yard.”
“ Did you have a nice yard?” 'asked
Aunt Jane.
“ Oh, beautiful I ” cried Bessie en
thusiastically, “ so large and shady—
THE CHRISTIAN INDEX: THURSDAY, JUNE 18 1896
and such green grass —and I had a
swing under the apple tree and—and —’’
she stopped short.
“And what ?” said Aunt Jane.
“ And—l wish I was dead, too!—I do
—I do! ’’ burst out poor Bessie, with a
flood of tears. “ and now I know you’ll
hate me worse than ever!”—and throw
ing down her work, she ran hastily out
of the room, up stairs to her own bed
room.
Aunt Jane sat as if stunned, for a mo
ment.
“ Hate her worse than ever!" she said
at last " What does the child mean ?
Why should she think I hate her ?”
A long time she sat there thinking.
The knitting lay idle on her lap; the
clock rapidly ticked away the minutes
into hours; the fire gradually burned
down; all unnoticed by this most sys
tematic housekeeper. Back to her own
childhood travelled her busy thoughts;
old memories, old hopes stirred in her
heart, and her revery was long and
deep.
" Well, I believe that’s the ‘charm,’
and I'll try it ! ” she said aloud at last,
and coming out of her brown study,
she glanced at the clock.
“ Six o'clock, as I'm alive ! and not a
thing done about tea !' ’ She sprang
from her seat, sending the coarse sock
and its big gray ball across the room,
and upsetting her footstool with a crash
Things were lively for a few minutes
in that pleasant room, while she mended
the fire, put on the kettle, drew out a
small round table, and began to spread
it for tea. In less time than one would
think possible, the kettle was boiling
and the tea put on, the table set, and
all things ready. She then went to the
door and called “ Bessie 1”
The child had cried herself quiet
long before, and was now sitting on
the edge of her bed, alarmed at the
growing darkness, and fearing her
aunt would never forgive her naughty
words. “She must have had tea long
ago," she thought, “ and I don't be
lieve she's going to let me have any; and
how can I live here any longer I”
This thought was interrupted by the
call of “Bessie.” Her heart leaped
within her. She rushed to the door.
“ What, ma'am ?”
“ Come to tea, child,"said Aunt Jane,
pleasantly. Bessie could hardly believe
her ears, but she crept softly down
stairs. The neat kitchen was light and
cheerful, the tea smoked on the table,
and beside the usual snowy bread stood
a dish of marmalade,her favorite sweet
meat, which she had often looked long
ingly at, on Aunt Jane's top shelf.
Now pleasant tones are comforting,
and so is marmalade, each in its own
way and a smile stole to her lips as she
took her seat opposite her aunt.
“ Really ” thought that lady, looking
at the brightening face, "the cat's
charm works quickly.”
" Bessie, will you have some marina
lade ?”
“ Yes; if you please, Aunt Jane,” said
Bessie.
When tea was over, Bessie offered to
help wash the dishes, for—as you have
seen —Aunt Jane was a country-bred,
old fashioned Yankee housekeeper, who
couldn't endure a “shiftless seivant
girl ” about her. Bessie had never
offered to help before, and now she was
very careful as she handled-the dainty old
china, which was an heirloom, and more
precious than gold in Aunt Jane’s eyes
“ You see, Bessie,” said she as she
showed her how to delicately rinse each
frail cup and gently dry it on the soft
old damask, “ this china was your
grandmother’s, and it’ll be yours when
lam dead. None but ladies have ever
washed a piece of it, and not a piece is
broken or lost. It's worth its weight in
gold nearly, now that old things are so
fashionable; but I’d as soon think of
selling my eyes as the dear old china. I
hope you’ll learn to love it as I do. I
can't bear the thoughts of having it
leave the family.”
“ Oh ! I’m sure, Aunt,” said Bessie,
happily, “if it is ever mine, I’ll take
the best care of it.”
After tea was cleared away, Aunt
Jane took her knitting, and Bessie her
school-books, and not a word was
spoken till the clock struck nine, and
the child closed her books to go to bed.
“Bessie,” said Aunt Jane, “didn’t
you ask me when you first came here, to
let you send for your cat ?”
•! Yes’m,” said Bessie, surprised.
“ Well, I've thought of it, and con
cluded to let you have it.”
"Why! —I thought you hated cats,”
burst from the astonished Bessie.
"Well, my dear, I do in general; but
I see you are lonely, and I’m going to
try having a companion for you. I
think a cat will be less trouble than a
child.”
“And so much nicer! ” broke in Bessie.
“O! 111 be so glad, Aunt Jane! and I
most know you'll like her—she’s- so
beautiful! and not a bit of trouble.”
Aunt Jane smiled.
“Well, I ll try it for once.”
That night a letter was written to an
old neighbor, who had promised to send
the cat when Bessie wrote for it. and
next morning a bright-faced girl—quite
different from “ Elizabeth ” —took it to
the post-office herself.
A week rolled by— Aunt Jane’s
“charm” still worked well; and much
to her surprise that good lady found
that it not only made Bessie happy, but
reacted on herself, and created a new
warmth about her heart. Smiles began
to grow common around her mouth,
and altogether—so wonderful is that
"charm” —the whole house seemed to
grow brighter and warmer.
One night something queer happened.
They had gone to bed, and Aunt Jane
was rousfd out of her first doze by a
strange noise. She lifted her head and
listened. It seemed to be coming down
the street, and was like nothing she
ever heard. It grew louder; she sat up
in bed to hear better, and at the same
moment a door softly opened, and a
white, scared face peered in.
“Oh, Auntie! What is that awful
noise?” came trembling from Bessie’s
lips.
“I don’t know, child,” said her Aunt,
“but come in here; we’ll soon see, for
it’s coming nearer ”
Nearer it came. The most hideous
wails and cries, like a crowd of people
in direst agony. Bessie crept into her
Aunt’s bed in terror, while the sounds
came ever nearer, accompanied by the
noise of a wagon, driven frantically
down the street. At last, opposite the
door the wagon seemed to stop, and the
mysterious sounds were deafening Aunt
J ane slipped out of bed and peeped
through the blinds.
“Oh, what is it?” gasped Bessie.
“It seems to be a wagon,” said Aunt
Jane, “with a box! He is taking it out,
and bringing it into my yard! What
in the world —I’ll stop it—l won't have
it! ” And she turned hastily to seize her
wrapper. At that instant came a dread
ful peal of the door-bell, and the wagon
drove furiously off, while the sounds
came with fearful distinctness.
“Oh, what’ll you do?” cried Bessie,
half dead with terror.
“Go and see what it is,” said Aunt
Jane resolutely, hunting about for slip
pers and matches, and everything that
is always out of the way when needed.
"I’m afraid to stay alone,” sobbed
Bessie.
“Then come along," said Aunt Jane,
grimly, as she started down the stairs.
Oat of bed the child sprang and fol-
lowed close at her heals. On the stair
way Aunt Jane lighted the gas. and
then proceeded to draw bolt and bar
which held the door.
"Oh, Aunt Jane, I'm so frightened! ”
whispered Bessie.
"Well, then, stand behind me,” said
Aunt Jane, hurriedly, as she turned the
knob. The door unloosed a little.
“Who's there?” she asked.
For reply came a louder, nearer, more
horrible wail—nothing else.
Bessie screamed, but something famil
iar in the sound seemed to strike Aunt
Jane.
"Why, goodness gracious! it's cats! ”
she cried. “Some bad boys have done
it, knowing that I hate cats."
"But why do they cry so? ” asked Bes
sie, still more than half afraid.
"Must be starved,” said Aunt Jane,
“but what can I do? I can't leave them
here yowling all night.”
“Oh, Auntie! ” exclaimed Bessie, a
thought striking her, "could it be my
cat? but she never made such a noise.”
“Well, well, like enough! ” said Aunt
Jane, “and she hasn’t been fed! But
there must be a dozen in that box. Any
way, we'll see!" and taking hold of a
rope handle, she hastily dragged the
box into the hall and dosed the door.
The top of the box was slats, and be
tween them could be seen a dark, mov
ing mass with many paws grasping the
slats, now and then a lashing tail press
ing through, and fiery eyes glaring
everywhere.
Bessie peered anxiously in.
‘ They’re the same color as mine—
maltese—and there! I see a white nose!
I do believe it's Muff! Muff? Poor Muff!
Poor pussy! ” she went on caressingly.
A face came close to the bars, and a
long, pitiful “mew” replied.
“Oh,it is Muff! You dear old darling!”
she cried. “Oh, let me get her out!"
“But wait,” said Aunt Jane, “we
must get something for them to eat, or
they’ll eat us. They're wild with hun
ger; must be. But why so many? I
can't understand! ”
“Nor I,” said Bessie, "only I know
Muff. What shall we get to eat? ”
“There's nothing in the house,” said
Aunt Jane, reflectively, “except the
steak for breakfast. Oh! and the milk!
but there’s only a quart, and won’t last
a minute; however, we must get what
we have.”
So they hastily rushed to the kitchen,
and brought the quart of milk, and the
pound of porterhouse steak, cut into
bits. Through the bars they fed out the
steak, till the first pangs w«re quieted
and the wailing ceased, and then Aunt
Jane got a hammer and pulled off one
slat. Through the opening leaped in
quick succession seven cats!
Aunt Jane laughed, but she jumped
upon a chair, while the poor creatures
instantly crowded around the pan of
milk. Seeing them quiet. Aunt Jane
stepped down.
“But why seven! ” she continually
repeated.
“Where can they stay tonight?”
asked Bessie, anxiously. ‘ I made a bed
for Muff in the shed —but seven! ”
"They must all go into the shed to
night,” said Aunt Jane, “and in the
morning we'll see.”
In the morning came a letter from
the good-natured farmer who had given
Muff a home since Bessie left. In it he
said: “Since you left, your cat has
brought up a family of kittens, and re
membering how fond you are of kittens,
and not knowing what else to do with
them—for everybody around here is
well supplied with cats—l send them,
too. I thought maybe you could give
them away in the city.”
“Oh, dear! they’re over.y one Muflie’s
own kittens!” shetailed■
“Kittens!” said Aunt Jane.
"Well, they are pretty big,” said Bes
sie, “but they belong to Muff,” she
added, timidly, fearing that seven cats
were really too many for one who
“hated cats.”
“Well, ' said Aunt Jane at last; “I’ll
tell you what I’ll do, Bessie dear. I’ll
keep the cats till we find good homes
for them, for they are choice -as cats
go—but I can’t consent to keep for good,
any but Muff.”
Bessie was obliged to lie contented,
and she ahd Aunt Jane went vigorously
to work to find homes. One by one
they were comfortably settled in life
till but two were left, Muff and the
prettiest of the kits, a pure maltese.
She was an affectionate puss, and had
especially clung to Aunt Jane, rubbing
against her dress when she came near
and jumping up to rub her head against
Aunt Jane’s hand. She even sprang
into her lap, and after gently putting
her down once or twice, Aunt Jane act
ually at last let her stay a little while
“Auntie,” said Bessie, one evening,
“I’ve asked every girl in school, and the
milkman, and the washerwoman, and
the grocery boy, and everybody I can
think of and nobody wants another kit
ten What can we do? ”
“Well, Bessie,” said Aunt Jane,
slowly, “I’ve been thinking. A cat
taught me a charm one day, and it has
worked so well that Ive concluded to
let you keep two cats. ”
“Oh, you dear old Auntie! ” cried Bes
sie, throwing her arms around her
neck, and “you don’t hate cats any
more? ”
“Well, dear,"said Aunt Jane, putting
her arm around the child, “I’m not fond
of them yet, but they're affectionate
little creatures, and I owe the race
something.”
Poinls About Needles.
BY L. G. VANCE.
One needle is a pretty smal 1
item, but the daily consumption
of something like 3,000,0C0 need
les all over the world makes a
pretty big total. Every year the
women of the United States
break, lose and use about 300,000-
000 of these little instruments.
Our needles are the finished prod
ducts of American ingenuity,
skill and workmanship, and yet
how many women, threading a
needle or taking a stitch, have
ever given a thought to the va
rious processes through which
the wire must pass ere it comes
out a needle? Now, the manu
facture of a single needle in
cludes some twenty-one or twen
ty-two different processes, as
follows: Cutting the wire into
lengths; for straightening, by
rubbing while heated; pointing
the ends on grindstones; stamp
ing impression for the eyes by
dies; grooving; eying—the eyes
pierced by screw presses; split
ting, threading the double
needle by the eyes on
short lengths of fine wire;
filing, removing the “cheek”
left on each side of the eye by
stamping; breaking, separating
the two needles on the one
length of wire; heading, heads
filed and smoothed to remove the
burr left by stamping and break
ing; hardening in oil, the needle
is thus made brittle; tempering;
picking, separating those crook
ed in hardening; straightening
the crooked ones; scouring and
polishing; bluing, softening the
eyes by heat; drilling or clean
ing out and smoothing sides of
eye; head grinding; point setting
or final sharpening; final polish
ing; papering; labeling. For
wrapping, purple paper is used,
because it prevents rusting.
Needles are of various sorts and
kinds. First and foremost, there
is the surgeon’s grewsome outfit
—the probing needle, made for
tracking bullets or hidden cavi
ties of pus, the hairlip needle,
the long pins for pinning open
wounds, the post-mortem needles
of curious pattern. Some of
these little instruments are thin,
some thick; others are long and
straight: others, again, curve
once, twice or three times. The
veterinary surgeon has also his
special outfit. The cook’s need
les are wonderfully, fearfully
made. His larding needle is used
to sew large pieces of meat to
gether. The trussing needle is
made on purpose to insert melt
ed butter ox- sauce right into the
vitals of a Christmas turkey. It
is hollow, and has a large open
ing, into which the sauce is
poured. Noi‘ less interesting are
the needles which the upholster
ex- uses. Some are half curved,
and some have round points. He
has needles with curious eyes—
long, round, egg and counter
sunk eyes; the same kinds of
needles are used by collar mak
ers. Then there are the delicate
needles used by wig-makers,
glove-makers and weavers; they
are often as fine as a hair. The
glove needles are splendid speci
mens of skillful workmanship;
the finest of them have three
cornered points.
The great sail needle, which
has to be pushed with a steel
palm, would puzzle most people;
so, too, the broom-maker’s
needle, which must also be push
ed witlx a steel palm. The cu
rious knitting-machine needle,
with its latchet; thearrasene and
crewel needles, and the needle
for shirring machine; the weav
er’s pin for picking up broken
threads, with an open eye in the
hook. The long instrument used
by milliners, the rag-balei s
needle, the knife point ham
needle used in stockyards, the
astrakhan needle—these and
other varieties do not call for
special notice. The needle, as
we see it to-day, is the evolved
product of centuries of invention.
In its primitive form it was made
of bone, ivory or wood. The
making of Spanish needles was
introduced into England during
the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
Point by point the manufacture
has improved, until the little in
strument is one of the highly
finished products of nineteenth
century machinery and skill.
A Mother's Prayers.
Who can pray like a thorough
ly Christian mother? Such a
mother will continue to pray for
her bad boy long after the father
has given him up as hopeless.
Many years ago there was a
mother in Somerville, N. J.,
whose son, a young man, had
begun to lead a dissolute life.
One evening she begged him
not to spend that evening away
from her, but he declared that
he would. He said: “Mother,
I’m not going to be tied to your
apron strings; I am going to go.”
The mother replied: ‘ ‘Please try
and remember every moment to
night that, until you come back,
lam going to be on my knees
asking God to save you.”
The son, with a rude gesture
and muttered oath, rushed from
her presence and spent the night
in a shameful carousal. It was
four o’clock in the morning when
he got home. He had managed
to keep his mother out of his
mind during his revelry.
As he got to the house he saw
a light shining through the
shutters. Turning the blinds
down and looking in, he saw his
mother on her knees, and heard
her pray, “God, save my wan
dering boy.” Going to his room
he threw himself on his bed, but
he could not sleep. After awhile
he arose, then he knelt down,
and it seemed to him as though
Christ’s power proceeded from
the room where his -wrestling
mother was pleading with God,
and it led him to cry out, “God,
be merciful to me a sinner!”
And that very morning he was
saved.
The news of the salvation soon
spread in the neighborhood, and
in three weeks from that time
more than two hundred young
people had been converted. This
young man became the father of
T. De Witt Talmage of Brook
lyn. Could that young man
doubt that God hears and an
swers prayer?— Christian Ad
vacate.
If Your Razor Don’t Cut
send it by mail to C. P. Barnes
& Bro., Louisville, Ky., with
sixty cents inclosed, in money or
stamps, and they will grind it
and put it in shaving order and
return to you by mail. They
have over thirty years’ experi
ence xn work of this kind.])
©hitdren’ft (Corner*
The Punctuation Points.
Six little marks from school are we;
Very Important all agree;
Filled to the brim with myitary—
»ix little n arks f om school.
One little mark Is round and small;
But where it stands the voice must fall.
At the close of a sen.ence all
Place this little mark from tcliool—.
One little mark with gown a-trailing,
Holds up the voice, and, never failing,
Tells you not long to pause when hailing
This little mar< from school—,
If, out of breath, you chance to meet
Two llttledots both round and neat,
Pause, and these tiny guardsmen greet—
These little marks from school—:
When shorter pauses are your pleasure,
One trails his sword—takes half the measure;
Then speeds you on to seek new treasure—
This little mark from school—;
One little mark, ear-shape, Implies,
‘ Keep up the voice—await replies."
To gather Information tries
This little mark from school—?
One 11 tie mark with an exclamation
Presents itself to your observation,
And leaves the voice at an elevation—
This little mark from school—l
Six little marks, be sure to heed us;
Carefully study, write, and read us;
For »ou can never cease to need us—
Six little marks from school !
—St Nicholas
Greshamville, Ga.,
June 8, 1896.
Dear Index:—l see that a
corner has been opened in the
Index for the children, and as
it was empty last week I thought
I would write a letter myself,
and I hope to see others in there
this week. I think it is nice for
the children to have a corner
in the Index, because it is inter
esting for them to write. We
had a general meeting here the
fifth Sunday in May, and Mr.
Walker gave us a talk about
the Sunday school. I like to go
to Sunday-school when the su
perintendent and all the old peo
ple are there; but when the su
perintendent is away like he
was the fifth Sunday, and the
old people do not seem to take
any interest in it, I do not care
very much about going. If you
old people expect us young folks
to go to church and Sunday
school you must go yourselves
and set the example. Some one
please tell us how to get the old
people out to Sunday school and
how to interest them after they
get there. The old people used
to try to think of some way to
interest the children,but now the
children are trying to interest
the old folks. Well I will close
for this time.
George McWhorter.
Thomson, Ga., June s, 1896-
Dear Index:—l am a little
boy eight years old. I go
to Sunday school at Marshall
church. Mr. J. W. Ellington is
our pastor and Mr. Robert Sam
uels is our superintendent. We
have a nice Sunday-school,about
sixty or seventy scholars. The
Sunday-school Convention of
McDuffie county will meet at our
church, Marshall, Friday before
the third Sunday in July. We
expect a big time. Wish Uncle
Jimmie could come down and be
with us. We will have singing,
speeches, recitations, essays,
and a basket dinner.
As this is my first I will be
brief. Mama says she enjoys
reading the Index.
Your little friend,
Freddie A. Smith.
borne years ago, Bros. San
ford, of Mercer University, who
is also the author of a series of
arithmetics, was taking a vaca
tion at Mt. Airy. In the com
pany at the hotel was a gentle
man who had with him his little
boy about twelve years of age.
One day the gentleman, pointing
to Prof. Sanford, asked his son if
he knew who that man was.
“No, sir.” “That is the man
who gets up those hard examples
in your arithmetic.” The little
fellow paused a moment, and as
the memory of hard work over
those examples come to him, he
looked up and said, very earn
estly: “Father, let’s kill him.”
“Let’s kill him.” How often
it is in this world that we want
to get rid of those who give us
hard tasks to perform, not know
ing that the doing of those tasks
is the very best discipline we
could have. Those hard exam
ples that Prof. Sanford gave the
boys and girls to work out, were
the very things to develop strong
mindsand make mathematicians.
Hard tasks are blessings to us,
not enjoyable while we are toil
ing at them, but good for the
effects on us when we have com
pleted tfxem. The teachex- who
gets a student to do his very
best all the time, may seem to be
a very hard master, but in after
years the student will bless him
for having so done. The boy r or
girl that never has any hard
tasks to do will never be fit for
first class work in after years.
So let us remember that those
who give us w’hat may seem to
us at the time to be hard tasks
are not our enemies, to be gotten
rid of, but our friends, to be
loved and honored.
Her Temptation.
Reading over some letters in a
missionary magazine a short
time ago, we came across a little
story —a true one—which we
thought our little friends would
like to see in their “Corner.” So
we copied it. After all it seems
that the little children in far off
lands are very much like those
in our own land. This little girl
was a heathen, from one of the
“South Sea Islands,” where a
few years ago, all the people
were cannibals. Now they are
learning about Jesus and becom
ing Christians.
We can remember, when a boy,
how the peaches and apples that
our parents had forbidden us
picking were great “stumbling
blocks” to us, as these limes (a
small fruit like lemons) were to
this little girl.
The lady who wrote this is a
missionary.
Some of these young people
who come from heathen homes,
if they can be called homes, and
are brought to Kusaie, prove to
be very bright and teachable,
and their teachers become ex
ceedingly attached to them. Mrs.
Garland writes of six little Gil
bert Island girls with whom she
held private meetings, sinje they
seemed to be too>young to get all
the instruction they needed in
the meetings of the older people.
The first meeting yvith these
girls she described as follows:
“They seemed to feel it a very
important occasion, as they sat
before me in a solemn little row,
with their Bibles and hymn
books I told the story of Christ
receiving the children, imagin
ing a Hebrew mother with a sick
child, who went to Jesus and per
suaded her friends to keep her
company with their little ones.
Then we talked over some of the
things that it would please Jesus
to have these girls do, and each
promised to try to overcome one
fault this week, for his sake.
I gave each a slip of paper, and
after meeting they took a little
time to think, and then each
wrote on her paper what she
considered the hardest fault for
her to fight against, and against
which she would tight for this
week. lam the only one to see
the papers. One paper, in its
cramped, childish writing is
quite pathetic. It says ‘I am
Reara, and there is just one
thing which is a stumbling block
to me every day— limes' You
see the limes have been scarce
here, and it has been necessary
to make a strict rule that no
girl shall help herself to any,
but bring into the house any
limes she may find under the
trees. Whenever it is possible,
and when all can share alike, the
girls are allowed to have some.
But the limes are a great source
of temptation, for nearly all the
girls are fond of them, and the
small Reara was so ingenious xl
her confessions that I thought,
‘Dear child, I hardly think you
are the only one that finds the
limes a stumbling-block.’ ”
Sorry is Not ’Nuff.
“Allan! Where is Allan?”
A moment ago he was playing
with his little cart in the yard,
hauling dirt to the currant
bushes. I cannot tell how many
cartfuls he carried. He was busy
as a little man. But Allan has
gone; there is his cart.
“Allan! Allan!”
“I’se here,” at length said a
small voice from the back par
lor.
“What are you there for?”
asked his mother, opening the
door and looking in.
Allan did not answer at first.
He was standing in the corner,
with a very sober look on his
face.
“Come out to youx’ little cart,”
said his mother; “it is waiting
for another run.”
“I’se not here long ’nuff,” said
the little boy.
“What are you doing here, at
all?” asked his mother.
“I’se punishing my own self.
I picked some green currants,
and they went into my mouth,”
said Allan.
“O, when mother told you not
to! Green currants will make
my little boy sick,” said his
mother, in a sorry tone.
“You needn’t punish me,” said
Allan, “I punish my own self.”
His mother often put him in
the back parlor alone when he
had been a naughty boy, and
you see he took the same way
himself.
Perfect Wisdom
Would give us perfect health!
Because men and women are not
perfectly wise, they must take
medicines to keep themselves
perfectly healthy. Pure, rich
blood is the basis of good health
Hood’s Sarsaparilla is the One
True Blood Purifier. It gives
good health because it builds
upon the true foundation —pure
blood.
Hood’s Pills are purely vege
table, perfectly harmless, always
reliable and bereficial.
Dr. Talmage says of the memj
orizing the Scripture by Sabbath
school children: “They should
learn the first chapter of Genesis
that they may know how the
world was made; the third chap
ter, that they may know how it
fell; the first chapter of John,
that they may know how it is to
be redeemed; and the twenty
first chapter of Revelation, that
they may know how it is to ke
reconstructed.”
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CHURCH ORGAN >
Hook & Hastings Co.
Boxton, Mass.
7