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department,
|The following poem was read
by Dr. F. W. Tyler, on the oc
casion of his baptism in Albany,
Ga , some weeks ago. Dr. Tyler
had been an Episcopal minister,
and on a change of views as to
baptism, united with the Albany
church. At the conclusion of a
statement to the church and just
before his baptism, he read this
poem.—Ed. |
As o'er the dark and restless sea
The good ship rli es triumphantly,
Her pilot guided by the star
That s' eds its radiance from afar,
So Jesus. Savior. Thon shaltbo
A pilot and a star to me.
As up ’ he craggy mountain's side
The weary pilgrim and his guide
Press on. ttil at the mountain's crest,
They shelter find and welcome rest,
So J -sus Savior. Thou mu-t be
A guide and thelter both to me.
As in the night the helpless child
Is lost amid Ihe tempest wild.
And brave hearts venture in a storm
And strong arms shield the I abe from
harm.
So Jesus, Savior. Thou bast drived
The tempest, and my soul hast saved.
Oh. Savor, Christ,Thy sympathy
Isd arer far than life to me
Thy matchless love no tongue can fell,
'Tis high as h« aven: 'tls deep as hell,
Oh Jesus, Savtor. Brother. Friend,
Keep Thou my heart till life shall end.
My heart In blessed bondage hold.
Bind me to Thee with chains of gold,
Captive of love, here on Thy breai t,
1 find such perfect, perfect rest,
Touch Thou my lips that I may tell
Thy love,immense, uns< archuble.
The Beauties of the Bible.
Perhaps you have not been down into
the depths of the book of God to see its
beauties yet. A few years ago, in pass
ing through Virginia. I spent a day in
the beautiful little town of Luray. Os
course I wished to see its caverns. I
ventured with my guide through an
opening in the earth and parsed down
into darkness, the guide leading the
way. “It is very dark.’’ said I. "Fear
nothing and follow me.” he replied. In
a moment more he had reached up and
pressed the e'ectric button and the
whole cavern was flooded with brilliant
light. Stalagmite flashed to stalactite,
while rocky wall and vaulted dome
shone out in brilliant corruscating scin
filiations. “Grand! grand! grand!” I
was forced to exclaim, “Come on,”
said he, and I followed on. At length
we came to a little hollow in the cav
ern’s floor that was filled with water.
“Reach in your hand.” said my guide,
“and see what you find.” ‘A flat
stone ’ said I “Move it,” said he. I
moved the stone and found within my
grasp a pebble, white.and fashioned like
an egg. "It is the bird's nest,” said he,
“and when originally discovered held
two pebble eggs instead of one.”
“Wonderful formation!” aa’d I.
We then passed on and sion the sound
of rippling, gushing water could le
heard. Again we stopped, and reach
ing b ick behin<| the r< cky ledge, the
guide procured ’ a cup that I migl t
drink, and pleasant was the draught.
We journeyed ou and then he pointed
down behind a rock andarked me what
I saw. “A human bone.” I said - there
in the limestone floor, secured as by the
hand of ages. And again we passed on.
Then blocking ,up our path two
mighty pillars lay. The one beneath
had been at some time a giant stalactite,*
depending from the roof, but falling
through some convulsion of nature, it
lay helpless and supine, while from its
place another, large as itself, had
formed, lengthened, touched its prede
cessor, split, and clasped it in a close
but cold embrace When the earth was
without form and void, that work was
going on
And filled yet with the awe these
sights had wrought within my soul, we
passed a little further on. “Stand
there,” said he, and going to another
spot he reached behind a shelving rock
and found a wand. Before him
stretched a graded scale of stalactites.
He struck one with the wand, and then
another, and the notes of a good old
hymn rolled up the cavern's mouth,
clear as an organ peal.
And often since I have thought how
like that cavern is the Word of God!
At first it seems all darkness and all
doubt, but a gentle voice soon says, ‘‘l
am the way,” and the Divine Guide,
searcher and revealer of the truths of
God, touches the electric button, and
the “light shineth in da-kness.” God
puts no premium on laziness. “If thou
seekest her as silver, and searchest for
her as for hidden treasures, then shalt
thou understand the fear of ths Lord
and find the knowledge of God.” (Prov.
2:4.)
In it are many strange and wonder
ful things. “The bird's nest and its
eggs called to my mind the words of the
Hero of the book. “ The birds of the air
have nests, but the Son of Man has not
where to lay his head.” As I drank the
gushing water I thought of the Water of
Life, which should be a well of water
springing up within the caverns of the
heart, of which, if a man drink, he
shall thirst no more. As I stooped and
gazed at the bones of some poor travel
ler of ages past, I thought of the bones
of those th it strewed the wilderness —
because of unbelief. As 1 gazed on those
grand, stupendous pillars. I thought
again, “How are the mighty fallen,”
and of Saul and his sons, taller by an
head and shoulders than those about
him, and yet laid low because he turned
from God. And when I heard the
notes of music pealing forth as from an
organ; then I said, “How like the book! "
The spirit takes the wand, and from
the very rocks such sweet, celestial
music bursts upon the enraptured ear
as only those attuned to heavenly song
can know.
Have you been down in this cavern of
beauty, this mine of wealth?
“ There's many a nugget hidden there,
Os silver and of gold,
There’s many a jewel rich and rare,
The half has never been told. ”
Who is so wise he can say, “ There is
nothing in the Bible for me?” The
wisest men of earth have lingered among
its sacred pages and delighted in its
study. Its history is valuable, its biog
raphy instructive and entertaining, its
characters as varied as the heart of man.
Its poetry is unsurpassed, its morality
unexcelled.
What is it you love—the study of lit
erature? The Bible is filled with beau
tiful literature, passages of wild and
burning eloquence, or sweet, like
mothers’ lullaby to still her restless babe.
’Tis here the business man finds the
sweetest counsel. ’Tis here the geologist
may study the Rock of Ages; the natural
ist may find “ The Lion of the Tribe of
Judah,” or the dove that abode upon
him. Here for the astronomer shines
the “Bright and Morning Star,” while
all things centre and revolve about the
“Sun of Righteousness.” Music here
holds her sway from the plantive,
dirge like wail of Jeremiah, “the weep
ing prophet,” to the grand, impassioned
strains of Isaiah, till it seems as if every
pipe and reed in God’s great organ re
sponds to the soft notes of David’s tune
ful harp.
Is it mot strangel that man should be
THE CHRISTIAN INDEX: THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 21,1896.
uninterested in this book and fail to be
j eve its teachings?
opportunity.
Miss Abigail Meektr wa’ktti up the
graveled path to the porch with the
western expo-ure, on which was seat
ed her friend, Mrs. Brewster.
“How d’ do? ” she called as she drew
near, “I don’t wonder you like to be
outdoors. I thought there was a real
chill in the house, which is no more’n’s
to be looktd lor late in September,
But when you get out in this uieLow
sunshine—my!’’
She panted as she seated herself,
givh g a pleased glance about her.
“Well, I’ve siid it time and again,
and I say it yet, that if there’s one
p ace that seems to get more o' the real
fall tints than another, it’s them
maples o’your’n. Look a’ them reds
and purples! Solomon in all his glory,
sure enough. ’
“Abigail,’' said her friend—and the
tone brought Miss Abigail’s eyes at
once to her face to meet a look which
caused a sudden cloud to fall on her
own.
“What’s the matter, Jane?”
“ Has there been anything heard
from Susan Pettit?”
“Not as I know of. I didn’t know
anybody expected to hear from her.’’
“No, that’s it, ’
Mrs Brewster set her lips, and shook
her head.
“What is a troublin’ you, Jane?’’
“Do you know when she was expect
ed home?’’
“Why. no, I don’t know as anybody
knew. Did they?”
“Is’f osenot. That’s it.”
“ What on eaith’s the matter, Jane ?
You fairly make me creep, Icokiu’ so
woebegone. What is it? Anything
wrong about Susan Pettit? 1 didn’t
know you knew hir well enough to
take it hard if there wa«.”
"Yes there 'tis again— I didn’t,” said
Mrs. Brewster, in a deeply pained
voice. “Ab gail, wasn’t her iuitia sB.
J.?”
“Like enough they was. Let me
see—yes—l remember wonderin’ what
the J. stood for when she put down
her name for a quarter on the sub
scription paper to send Jerry Day to
the hospital. Susan Pettit never did
give much, but what she did give she
always give willin’. But what—”
1 Have you seen this?”
Mrs. Brewster held up a copy of the
weekly edition of a newspaper in the
nearest large city.
“ No!’’
“An awful railroad accident. One
car jumped right into anoth r, and
crushed people’s lives out. A dozen
killed, and plenty more wounded.
Now listen: ‘Killed, 8. J. Pettit.’ ”
The two neighbors gazed into each
other’s eyes.
“Couldn’t it be a mistake ? ”
“It ain’t a comm n name. ’Twas a
train see —’’ Mrs Brewster leaned
over with the paper, and (.ointed to
some lines in the short chapter of the
tragedy, “cornin’ this way. This was
why I wanted to know if you knew
she was a coniin.’ But —” Mrs. Brew
ster’s voice broke into a sob, “nobody
knew.”
“You don’t mean it!” said Miss
Abigail, taking the paper with a little
air of desperation. “I can’t believe it.
Dead I I can’t seem to sense it. Such
a chipper little creature she was, in
spite ot herlimeuess. Always had a
pleasant word and a smile for folks,
and all the children loved her. Well,”
with a tremble in her voice, “if I had
it to do over again, I’m free to confess
I’d do different by Susan Pettit.’’
With another huge sob Mrs. Brew
ster covered her face with her hands,
anti cried
“AIL the time that woman’s lived
here amongst us,” she presently be
gan, ‘l’ve bad it on my.mind that
when I got round to it I’d try to make
things a little easier and pleasanter for
her. How long is it since she came?”
“Six or seven years, 1 guess—”
“Ye*. And there was s< me of us
that felt to lay it up agin her that she
was niece to old Jacob Hart, that was
always suspected of that mortgage
fraud. And when she came here to
takecareol him when he wasdying,and
then lived on in that little mite of a
house he’d left her, why—if 1 haven’t
done a neighbor’s part by her, which I
haven’t—may the Lord forgive me!”
“You needn't talk,” said Miss Abi
gail. “Many and many’s the time I’ve
went by there, and see ber sittin’alone,
loosin’out in such a kind of a pitiful
way—like she was longing for some
one to come in and be a little sociable
with her. I thought I hadn’t time,
and I hadn’t—much—but I might’a’
made time, and been none the worse
for it. Oine! It was an opportunity,
and now it’s gone from me! She was a
stranger, and I didn’t take her in ! ’’
Left to herself an hour later, Mrs.
Brewster sat face to face with her lost
opportunity, and with every thought
the sting of self-reproach grew deeper.
“ She was so poor, and 1 didn’t hold
out a band to her. I might have
stopped for her as I drove by tochuicb,
when I knew she was often kept at
home by her lameness. I meant to
send her apples and things and I
didn’t. 1 thought sometimes of send
ing her my religious paper when I’d
done reading it—and I let the time
slip.”
There was a shiver of excitement as
Miss Abigail Meeker pressed through
the village on her way home, telling
her startling news.
Does any life go out among us—poor,
careless procrastinators that we are—
without leaving behind its train of
bitter thoughts of what we might have
done, and did not do? Os the words
which might have been spoken to ears
now closed, of acts which might have
brought, comfort and cheer? May
we be pitied in our aching for a sound
from dumb lips in acknowledgement
of blessing which should have been be
stowed —in our craving for time, time
in which to do the thousand and one
things which never now can be done.
More than one turned with dim
ming eyes toward the window from
which the patient face had looked out.
“ I meant to carry some o’ them
flower-seeds to her. She’d a’ liked
’em—she set such store by flowers.”
“ I could ’a’ stopped and plowed up
her bit of a garden just as well as not.”
“ Why didn’t I invite her to my
quiltin’?”
“ I might—” “ I could have—” “I
meant to— ’’ “I wish I had—” “Why
didn’t I-?”
Miss Susan Pettit was brought home
to the little house for the funeral.
Crushed and broken—the plain, sealed
coffin borne reverently among those to
whom the awful thing came as the
excitement of a lifetime. Hysterical
sobs and wailing were heard as flowers
were piled over the still form.
“I didn’t bring one of ’em, ’ said
Mrs. Brewster, pointing to them in
half-indignant agitation. “No, I
didn’t. I’ve read a piece of poetry
about layin’ flowers on folkses graves
—and —” Mrs. Brewster choked—
“ never layin’ deeds of loving kindness
onto their lives. And have you read
the piece about her in the paper ? All
about the sweetness and loveliness?
Queer,hain’t it?”with a gasping laugh,
“ that nobody never seemed to find it
out till—ro-you don’t c tch meesr
ryin' flowers to her grave. Th y might
’«*’ e miforted her livin’. ”
The house wa« shut and locked after
the funeral, its dosed blinds bearing a
mournful look to those who passed.
It was said that it had fallen to a dis
tant connection of Miss Susan, but no
one knew certainly.
Three weeks later an unpre'entious,
shabby-neat little figure left the after
noon train and walked with limping
steps up the street of the small village,
followed by wide, staring, wondering
eyes.
“ H-y?”
“ That ain’t Susan Pettit! ”
“ Well, if she wa’n’t dead I'd say
’twaa.”
“ But she is dead—”
“ I don’t care—its her anyways.”
Miss Susan went quietly upto the
door of the little house, still dreary
with its closer! windows, took the key
from her pocket, and opened it.
“ It was all a mistake,’’ she said, her
face beaming in appreciation of the
cordiality with which the amazed
neighbors crowded about her.
“ I wasn’t hurt a mite, but they got
names mixed up. And 1 didn't try to
set things right, because, you see,
there wasn’t anybody it would make
any difference to, except the folks be
longin’ to the poor soul that was dead.
And they don’t know yet who It was
in that—ah me !”
Miss Susan shuddered at the dreadful
memory.
“ O Susan, it does—it did make a
difference,’’ cried Abigail Meeker
wiping her ey> s. “Where have you
been all this time?—as it seems pretty
sure you aint been in heaven.”
“ I've be n with a lady that got
hurt. I took care of her that nigh',”
Miss Susan closed htr eyes with an
other nervous shudder, “ and the next,
day, when she came to, nothing would
do' but I must go with her. She’s
gettin* well, now; so I come home.”
Sidney Dayre.
A Blind Singer’s Hymn. The
famous temperance orator, John B.
Gough, used to relate his personal ex
perience. He says: “I was in a church
in a strange city once, and the usher
conducted into the same pew with me
ape son whose looks impressed me
very unfavorably. The stranger had a
face like mottled soap, which twitched
as if a sheet of lightning had run ail
over it, and every now a'd then his
lips would twist and give utterance to
a strange spasmodic sound. 1 got as
far away from him as I could. Pres
ently the congregation sang the hymn:
“ ‘Just as I am, without one p'ea,
But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that thou hid’st me come to thee,
O Lamb of God, I come.’
“I saw that the man knew the hymn,
and said to myself, ‘He can’t be so dis
agreeable, after all.’ I got nearer He
would sing. It was awful, positively
awful! I never heard anything like it.
Occasionally he would make that
strange noise with his lips. Then he
would commence again and sing faster,
to catch up with the other singers, and
perhaps he would run ahead. They
came to the nsxt verse. He had for
gotten the first line; and while the
organist was performing the interlude,
hr leaned toward ms and whispered,
‘Would you be kind enough to give me
the first line of the next ver.-e? ’ I did
so:
“ ‘Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind.’
“ ‘ That’s it,’sa d he; ‘I am blind—
God help me ! ’ and the tears came run
ning down his cheeks and the eyelids
quivend; ‘and I am wretched, and I
am paralytic.’ Then he tried to sing:
“'Justas lam, poor, kretched, blicd.’
“At that moment it seemed to me I
had never heard in my life a Beethoven
symphony with as much music jn it as
in that hymn sung by that poor man,
whom Christ had made happy in his
lot.”
“If ” —lt is easy to persuade our
selves that we would serve God better
if we were in better circumstances
Every man feels that he is capable of
gratitude, and he does not see how he
could be indifferent to heaven if God
would bless him as he did Job. And
most of ns are sure that if our minds
were free from financial care, religious
duties would be a delight. But experi
ence has not shown that the rich are
more grateful than the poor, or that the
rich find it easier to serve God than
the poor, or that those who have no
burdens think more upon the name of
the Lord than those who have hardly a
moment they can call their own The
mistake is in supposing that religion is
the creature of one’s surroundings
Multitudes have gotten the idea into
their heads that if they are lost it will
be because of their surroundings, and
are anxiously looking for better sur
roundings as their only hope of being
made better. We are not saved by our
surroundings, but by Christ. It is the
glory of Christianity that it saves wen
in spite of their surroundings, and then
sets them to work to better their sur
roundings It is the duty of a Chris
tian to seek to improve his circuin
stances in life; but it is worth remem
bering that men in the best circum
stances have been lost, and that men in
the worst circumstances have been
saved. Not even the almost ideal situ
ation suggested by the prayer. “ Give
me neither poverty nor riches,” insures
a man’s salvation, — Riclinwnd Advocate.
Wheat and Chaff—The way in
which a boy uses his leisure often de
termines what sort of a man he will be.
Two men stood at the same table in a
large factory in Philadelphia, working
at the same trade. Having an hour for
nooning every day, each undertook to
use it in accomplishing a definite pur
pose. Each persevered for about the
same number of months, and each won
success at last. One of these two me
chanics used his daily leisure hour in
working out the invention of a machine
for sawing a block of wood into almost
any desired shape When his invention
was completed he sold the patent for a
fortune, changed his workman’s apron
for a broadcloth suit, and mowed out of
a tenement house into a brownstone
mansion. The other man —what did he
do? Well, he spent an hour each day
daring most of a year in the very diffi
cult undertaking of teaching a little
dog to stand on his hind feet and dance
a jig while he played the tune. At last
account he was working ten hours a
day at the same trade and at his old
wages, and finding fault with the fate
that madehisfellow-workman rich while
leaving him poor. Leisure minutes may
bring golden grain to mind as well as
purse, if one harvests wheat instead of
chaff. Wide Awake.
These men who insist that the
world must be turned upside
down before they will have a
fair chance at the good things of
life, do not begin to realize how
many pleasures they are missing.
If they could only be persuaded
to taste the sweetness of toil and
the delight of telling the truth,
they would be thankful for the
privilege of living in the world
as it is.— Ex.
©ftiltlmt’e (Corner,
'VWSAA.WVWXAA/WVWWKZvSA.
THE LITTLE MISSIOXAhY.
If I was only big enough,and n amina would
go, too,
I’d like to visit India, and tell the poor
Hindu
That It Is very, very wrong to rent the ba
bies so,
And throw them to the crocodiles; and then
they'd stop, 1 know.
Thon next I'd go to Chinn land, and 1 would
make them take
Those bindings ot? the children's feet, and
stop that pain and ache;
If they did not, I'd run so quick,oh, wouldn't
It be fun!
To catch them ad and bring them homo,
most ev. ry single one.
Then 1 would go to that dark land, the place
they make folks s'eves,
I'd break the chains righ t oIT their feet, and
tell them Jesus saves,
And that lie loves them all, and died for
them as well as me,
But they must be, uh, very good, If Jesus
they would see!
It almost maki s me cry sometimes, to think
these things are so,
And see big people stay nt home; why don't
they want to go ?
When 1 ask mamma, she Just says, “Oh,
you're the oddest fairy!"
But don’t ?ou think I’m big enough to be a
missionary ?
We are sure that out little friends in
the Corner will be glad to read the story
that we havechjseu for them this week
It is one little incident in the busy life of
a busy missionary in Japan. She is doing
there just what faithful Sunday school
teachers are doing in this country—try
ing to lead the children to Christ.
Doesn't the way that poor, starved lit
tle girl came to the teacher illustrate
very beautifully the way a poor sinner
comes to Jesus? He invites, we listen:
he says "Come.” We feel our need and
believe he can satisfy it, and we trust
him and look up into his eyes with that
trust, and 10l we are saved. But here
the is story:
It was a Monday afternoon. I was
very weary and was going to our regu
lar “Rai Motsu” Sunday school to teach
of the Lord Jesus who said, “Come ’.into
me all ye that are weary and heavy
laden and I will give you rest.” I gath
ered the children and was telling them
of Jesus who said, “Suffer little children
to come unto me.”
They were poor little children of a
fishing village, with smaller children on
their backs. My attention was drawn
to perhaps the most hungry and miser
able one among them, who was looking
at me most searchingly out of her big
eyes. I smiled to her and invited her
to “come.” She did nit do so at once,
but continued to listen and finally got
up from the floor, crowded her way to
where I sat, pushed aside the children
who were sitting by me, and, leaning
over on my lap. looked up into my eyes
in the most loving confidence
I do not know when any little thing
has so cheered me It must have pleased
Christ that a little starving soul should
come and be satisfied.
Thank God. the children of Japan are
coming out of the darkness of heathen
ism.
“The morning light is breaking,
The darkness disappears •’
Olive M. Blunt.
Bless the precious children! Hiw it
rejoiced my heart to know that my
poor words “impressed them very
much.” A warm welcome to Grand
mother and Aunt Laura. Look in
“Gems from my Casket" (do yon know
now where those gems are?) and you'll
find something wholesome from Aunt
Laura
Nonna Jones, I was very pleasantly
struck with the ring of your letter. To
Joe Lee and others of you who have
read Pilgrim’s Progress 1 would say, the
farther you progress on the pilgrim’s
road, the dearer that book will grow to
you, for then Bunyan’s Christ an expe
rience will seem to have bpen written
right out of your own heart. I trust all
of you have read or will read, “Mary
Bunyan, a beautiful, pathetic story of
John Bunyan’s little blind girl. Bettie
H. and Bessie Reynolds, you dear little
book worms, I do hope you'll get every
good book you want and that no Index
boy or girl will ever read literary
slop;” that is a fearful throwing away
of time. “Humming Bird” says “we do
not know the good we do by kind words
and deeds.” They are incalculable and
the moment 1 read your letter, Ella
Wheeler Wilcox e glorious verses, ‘ Love
Thyself Last,” came into my mind and
I wondered if you had read them. Again
you “enjoy reading of so many good
meetings” Why, what a child you are
to write so! Right here, I'd like to say
that in reading letters from the different
churches last week, in one paper they
reported over 500 conversions, and my
heart warmly echoed Bro. Harville—
“The Lord be praised for all these revi
vivalsand conversions.” Some otyou “do
love the Index,” and others “do love
the Sunday schools,” and others, the Bi
ble, and I note especially ho w all of you
love your pastors
An inestimable blessing indeed is the
Index to every Christian home, and if
you're not clipping from it weekly to
make you an Index scrap book, pleate
all of you begin at once; it will be an
unspeakable and never ending delight
when you are old. “Love the Bible!”
what a sweet and rare thing in those so
young. I want to give you a whole let
ter about that some time.
Love the Sunday school. lam .so glad
to hear you say so and trust you may
never feel inclined or be compelled to
give it up The Corner has scarcely
contained a letter that did not tell us
“we love our pastor- very much.” I
had a delightful talk with one of the
sweetest girls not many days ago (and
she can never know how her words en
couraged me I could fill one of these
columns repeating her interesting expe
rience to you), and she told me she
“used to run from the preachers, but
now she had rather see them come and
hear them talk than anybody.” She is
a Christian now, but was not when she
wanted to “run.”
I believe it was the Standard that
said, “The good Christian is the one
who sees the good in the pastor’s work
and magnifies the good that is evident
in the pastor’s life. ” So I naturally con
clude you are good children.
The editor says “the Corner belongs
to you little folks and it will not do to
arowd you out,” but I simply don’t
know how to quit. See? I read your
little letters with genuine thankfulness,
approval, pride and delight, and it I
were to write as much as I wish and as
often, instead of a Corner, ’twould be
the Children’s Page.
May God direct your every word and
deed and thought.
Gray haired Mother.
Hartwell. Ga., Sept. 12, 1896.
Dear Index:—l am so glad that you
have given us our Corner again. As all
the other girls and b?ys have been writ
ing about their churches and Sunday
schools, I’ll write about ours. Rev. Mc-
Mullen is our beloved pastor. Prof. D.
C. Alford is our superintendent, and we
all love him, especially the children.
lam fourteen years old. I joined the
church last September. If this, my
first letter, goes in print, I will write
again. Asa Teasley.
Phienix City, Ala , Sept. 8,189(1.
Dear Index:—For some time I have
been flitting around your happy Corner.
1 felt as if I would be an impostor, as
my home is not in Georgia, but since I
have seen a letter from Kansas and one
from South Carolina, I have taken the
courage to write. My father has bean
taking the Index for some time, so per
haps you will like to heir from our
very small city, if it is not in your
State. We have several well attended
churches
I am a member of the First Baptist
church Have been a year. Am fifteen
years of age.
We have a nice Sunday school. Bro.
A N. White is our supeiintendent.
I certainly enj >y Humming Bird’s
letters. Do not desert us, Humming
Bird.
Grandmother’s was splendid Well,
my wings are tired, with so much long
flitting.and the dread of the waste bask
et puts me to flight. lam yours in
friendship. Mocking Bird.
Moxley, Ga., Sept. 10, 1896,
Dear Index:—l am a little girl nine
years old, and would you like to hear
from me ? lam a motherless and fath
erless girl. My mamma died in Jan
uary, and papa in February. I have
four sisters and two brothers, and we
are all separated. I'live with my grand
ma
Before we were separated I went to
Sunday-school at old Bethel. Mr. A.
Walden was our superintendent, and
Miss Lizzie McKay wak my teacher.
We had fifty-six scholars.
Rev J A. Mobley isour pastor. We
had a glorious meeting in July; received
seventeen additions
Oh! I do enjoy it so much to go back
there to church.
If it were not for a little pet pig we
have, I would be very lonely. If my
letter escapes the waste basket, 1 will
write again. Your little friend,
Mamie Belle Davis.
Hartwell, Ga . Sept. 12,1896.
Dear Index:—Would a few words
from me be acceptable in the Children’s
Corner?
I think it so nice for them to have a
plaie in your excellent paper and each
one try to write interesting letters. I
enjoy reading the Index. It is always
a welcome visitor in our home.
We have preaching every fourth Sun
day, and Saturday before. Our pastor
is papa, who I think is an earnest, faith
ful and beloved minister. We had our
protracted meeting in July at Shady
Grove. lam glad to say that the Lord
was with us and the church was greatly
revived and several were baptized.
1 have two brothers and one sister
members there. I joined two years
ago and was baptized by my papa. I
am thirteen years old.
lam with my uncle and aunt now. I
enjoy staying with them very much, as
they are Christians,and 1 know they can
make me a better Christian if I will only
try. Your little friend,
Maud Oliver.
Smyrna, Ga , Sept. 10, 1896
Dear Index;—l will say a word in
regard to the series of meetings which
we had at our church. It began August
19th. and continued for twelve days and
nights. We had a gracious meeting.
Our esteemed pastor never preached
with “more eamesiness” (to my knowl
edge), than during the time of this revi
val. Bros. R iberson and Y. R Mor
gan assisted him in the services. We
feel that God's spirit was with us.
The congregations were large and
much interest was manifested There
were seven additions to the church, five
by experience, two by letter. The
church membars were revived. We had
many good, interesting talks from the
brethren during these meetings.
There were quite a number of anxious
souls inquiring the way of salvation.
May God help them, bless them, and
save them, is the desire of one who feels
a great interest in their soul-salvation.
With bast wishes to the editors and
all who read the Index. I am very tru
ly, Your friend.
Humming Bird
I am ju t n from cotton picl ing, tired
aid sleej y Now if any of you have
ever been all that, I hope you are sorry
for me, but mamma says I muss answer
you, Bassie Reynolds, this night, though
I cannot tell you where to get “Mother,
Houae and Heaven,” as she got hers
from an agent ten years ago. But try
the American Baptist Publication So
ciety You know they have nearly
everything taat’s good.
I wish you lived near me, so we could
read some together and exchange
books.
I have read Talmage’s “Beautiful
Story” since I wrote last. It is such a
big book I thought it would take me a
dreadful time to get through it; but it
didn’t.
Please tell us if you get the book
“Mother, Home and Heaven.” You
asked the price. Our’s cost $2 25.
Your interested friend,
Lee Emma Morris.
Hartwell, Ga., Sept. 12, 1896.
Dear Index:—l have been reading
the Children’s Corner, and thought I
would write. lam on a visit to Hart
well, Ga., with my aunt.
My papa is a Baptist preacher and
lives at Brewton, Ga He has the care
of four churches and is away from home
a great deal. My aunt and my papa
take the Index, and I have the privi
lege of reading the Children's Corner.
I am a member of the Baptist church.
I joined last July a year ago, and was
baptized by my papa. My papa and
mamma are both gojd Christians and
expect to see their Savior some day.
If this letter escapes the waste basket,
probably I will write again while on
my visit to Hartwell. I will close for
this time. Love to the Index.
Your friend,
Avice Oliver.
Moxley, Ga., Sept. 9, 1896.
Dear Index: —I am glad that you
have given the little children a Corner
in this paper. I have been reading the
letters, and 1 got very interested in
them. So 1 will write one. lam a lit
tie motherless girl, twelve years old,
and I live with my grandmother. lam
a member of the Moxley Baptist church.
Rev. M. R. Little is our pastor. We
have between forty and fifty members.
We have a nice Sunday school, and our
superintendent is Mr. B. S. Carswell.
We have thirty five members. My uncle
is my teacher. I must close. Oh! I
will be so disappointed if I do not see
my letter in the Index.
Your little friend,
Lillie May Smith.
Parrott, Ga , Sept. 12, 1896.
Dear Index:—As I have never writ
ten before, or seen a letter from this
place, I thought I would write a short
one. lam a little boy nearly ten years
old. We have Sunday-school every Sun
day. Our protracted meeting was in
August. We got five members. Rev.
J. Howard Carpenter is our pastor. We
all like him very much.
My grandpa takes the Index. He
says it is the best paper he can find any
where
I will close for fear my letter might
reach the waste basket.
With love to the Index.
G. T. Lee.
Camilla, Ga., Sept, 8,1896.
Dear Index:—This is my first at
tempt to write a letter to any paper.
1 love so much to read the letters from
the children that I thought I would
write one. The Corner was vacant at
first, but now many are taking an in
terest in it.
Oh! how glad we are that we live in a
land of Bibles We are glad we are so
richly blessed with everything we need.
Early in the spring we organized our
Sunday school. We had a large at
tendance at first, but now only a few;
but while we are a few in number, the
Lord is with us. We have a nice
church near us, with a membership of
about two hundred. We have preach
ing every first Sunday and Saturday be
fore. We also have a prayer-meeting
that is conducted by the young men
every Friday night. We are glad so
many are taking an interest in it. We
hope it will be a great help to all that
attend it We had our protiacted meet
ing the first of July. There were large
congregations at every service. The
Lord was certainly with us all the time,
and blessed ns. The meeting was very
interesting all the time. Each service
seemed better than the other. The
Lord has blessed us very much this
year in everything, and we trust will
continue to bless us. Bro J. B Alli
good is our pastor. He is a faithful and
earnest worker for the Master. We
feel there has been much good done for
the Lord this year. We all love the
dear old Index, and wish you all much
success in doing much good for the
Master’s cause. May God bless this
“Corner” of the Index and all the read
ers. Yours sincerely,
M. H.
Milledgeville, Ga , Sept. 12,1896.
Dear Index: —Will you admit a lit
tle stranger into your Corner? As no
one else has written from here, I
thought I would write. I could not af
ford to see Milledgeville left out.
We have a nice church here of about
three hundred members, of which num
ber I am happy to say, I am one.
Our earnest and faithful pastor, Rev.
J. A Wray, is much loved by all who
know him. He has certainly fought
valiantly against whisky. If every pas
tor and church member in Georgia
would do their duty there would not be
a barroom in Georgia. I hope the day
will soon come when our land will be
free from that abominable stuff. I
think it the great evil of evils.
We have a Sunday school, though not
a very flourishing one. Our superin
tendent is Bro. C. W. Ennis We have
preaching on Sunday and Sunday night,
prayer meeting on Tuesday night and
Sunday school on Sunday morning.
I enjoy reading the Index very much
indeed. It has been a member of our
family ever since I can remember.
Isn’t the Corner getting to be a bright
place? That s right, cousins, come up
and let's have a real nice little chat every
Thursday.
For fear of detaining you too long, or
rather for fear of the waste basket, I’ll
close.
| The writer of this nice little letter
failed to put in page 4, and so we have
to print a letter without a name. We
hope for another soon, with the name.
-Ed.)
Fort Gaines, Ga , Sept. 12, 1896.
Dear Index:—We are only “two
now,” for God took our darling baby
brother from us just five weeks ago to
night. He was only fourteen months
oil and had twelve pearly white teeth,
large blue eyes and lovely golden curls.
O, he was a beautiful baby and we loved
him so much. We helped nurse him
I would ride him in his carriage, and
brother would ride him in his little wag
on He was just dimpled all over. When
mamma read “Grandma’s” letter in the
Index to us, I asked her to please let
me tell the little folks about “our
baby.” We know he is “safe in the
arms of Jesus,” and we are trying very
hard to live like little Christians so that
we can go to heaven when we die to see
him. We hope he will be just like he
was when he left us Mamma is teach
ing us the 23d Psalm. That is the one
Bro. Crumbley read at little “John
Hendrick’s” funeral, and mamma says
it has been her favorite one for a long
time. “Jesus loves the little children,
for the Bible tells us so; ’ and we used to
sing the song to our little brother, and
he would try to sing with us. We miss
him so much at the table, and every
where.
We will tell you about our church and
Sunday-school in our next letter, if we
are admitted into the Children’s Corner
in “aMmma’sdear Indi x ”
Lovingly,
Jimmie and DeWitt McLendon.
There is more Catarrh In this section of the
country tn an all other diseases put together,
and until the last few years wts supposed to
be Incurable. For a great many years doc
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failing to cure with local treatment, pro
nounced It Incurable. Science has proven
catarrh to be a constitutional disease, and
therefore requires constitutional treatment-.
Hall s Catarrh Cure, manufactured by F. J.
Cheney & Co., Toledo, Ohio, is the only con
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Internally In doses from 10 drops to a tea
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one hundred dollars for any case it falls to
cure Send for circulars and testimonials.
Address F. J. CHENEY &CO., Toledo, O.
Sold by Druggists, 75c.
Hall’s Family Pills are the best.
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