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Ol
Disease Does Not
Stand Still.
Every one is either growing better
or worse.
How is it with you ?
You are suffering from
KIDNEY, LIVER
or URINARY TROUBLES.
Have tried doctors and medicine with
out avail, and have become distrusted.
DON’T GIVE UPI
ftafeGire
■ WILL CURE YOU.
Thousands now well, but once like you,
say so. Give au honest medicine an non
est chance.
large bottle or new style smaller one
at your druggist's. Write for free treat
ment blank to-day. Warner’s Safe Cure
Co., Rochester, N. Y.
EDUCATIONAL.
The leading School and Teachers Bureau
f the South and Southwest is the
National Bureau of Education.
MIM CnoßTHwaiTand J.W. BLAia.Prop'rs
Wilcox Building, Nashville, Tenn
Bend stamp for informal .on, ISmchly
Boscobel College
FOR YOUNG LADIES.
Dr. J B. Hawthornk. Pres B< ard Trustees
Situated in a beautiful g.ove often acres
of native woodland on an emlne' ce over
looking the city of Nashville. Handsome
buildings, steam beat, hot and cold water.
Excellent advantages in Art and Music.
Native teachers < f French and German.
Twenty-five teachers aid officers. Fifteen
minutes from the centre of the city by elec
tric car Address for catalogue
Rer.J.O Rust Regent or I Nashville,
Miss Eliza CROBTHWAIT, Prln. | Tenn.
kseplgt
Classical School at Rome, Ga.
On the first Monday of September, 1896 the nnder
•iffDed will open a school for the prep, ration of boys
for the University. The Fall term will continue four
months. The Spring term will begin on the first
Monday of January, 1897 ai d continue six months.
Tuition in Classica and Higher Mathematics, |6 per
month. English studies M per month. Number of
to twenty. For other informatk n,
PALEMON J. KINO, Prin.
Notice to Teachers!
WE WANT the name and ad tires o
every enterprising Kacher in the
Uonth. Bend stamp for Teacher’s
Hand Book.
CHARLES J. PARKER, Manager,
Teachers' Aid Association.
Kaprtm * alelgh, N. C.
The Atlanta Business College,
C WHITEHALL ST. NEAR TRINITY AVE.
Is the only College ot Actual Bjslhm Training
and Bunn Pitman ih. rthiind in A'lan'a. It was
swan ed the Hadal aud Flrat Prire by the Jury of
Awards of the Cotton Blates and Internal! >ual
Exposition, auar all eompa lit" a. for “ Methods of
Instruction.” Send for caul.•gues.
MUSIC
The most practical instrnctkm to Music, Elocution,
Modem Language*, from the elementary grades to the
highest artiatic requirements, taught by recognised
maatera in each department, BtudeuU received at any
tone. Prospectus and calendar free.
NEW ENGLAND
CONSERVATORY OF MUSIC,
Franklin Square, BOSTON, MASS.
Atlanta Medical College
(OPPOeiTZ GKAt>Y HOSPITAL,)
ATLANTA, . GEORGIA.
The Thirty-ninth Annual Course of
Lectures will commence on
Wednesday, Oct. 7, 1896.
To sny one desiring a midlcsl education, the
advsnugis i’lTi r. d areumqusled in the South,
and the reputation of over thirty jears will be
fully maintained. The best talent, most ap
proved facilities and favorable environments all
blend toward the per ic ness of medical science
here. More Information can be obtained by ad
dressing W. 8. KENDRICK. M. D.,
Dean Atlanta Medical l ollege, Atlanta, Ga.
Haggard’s Specific s Tablets.
Act on the nerves, brain and secretory
organa,correcting all abnormal condi
tions; cure all kidney and urinary
troubles; giving vitality and health to
the entire system; take the place of
whisky and tobacco stimulants, and
cure these pernicious habits. 1 Box |1:
t Boxes »2 60. Sent by mall on receipt
of price.
Address
HAGGARD SPECIFIC CO.,
Atlanta, Ga.
JJulyly
Do You
Burn Coal?
If so, see us or write for
prices before placing your
order Dealers and man
ufacturers furnished at
strictly mine prices
We handle everything
desirable in COAL
STOCKS coal
COMPAWY;
ATLANTA, GA.
department.
For the In:>bx.
HILLTOP AXD VALLEY.
Dear Lord, I feel to-day that I am thine;
That I have given up the will once mine
And It Is lost In thy great will divine.
I feel that I am walking close by thee,
My band la clatped in thine,by faith I see,
And thou, oh God, art gently leading me.
If I might always feel Just aa to day.
My life all taken up by Christ's full away,
I'd never mind how rough or ateep the way.
But sometimes through the valleys I must
go.
And light arounC me may not always glow;
That lh< u art with me then, God, let me
know.
When darkness prows so dark 1 cannot ate,
Still let me feel thy band is leading me,
Ana fear shall flee, for thou my guide shijl
be.
Still lead me when life's valleys all are
passed
And earthly scrnea are slipping by me fast,
Till heaven's heights, wlih thee,are ieached
at last.
—Octavia B. Phillips.
Chattanooga, Tenn.
Character Building.
A little boy watched day by day the
building of a house across the street.
His father, noticing it, said to him
one day:
‘‘My son, are you going to be a brick
layer?”
‘‘No, father,” he answered; ‘‘l have
been thinking what a little thing a
brick is, and yet what a great house
they make of it.”
What a summing up this is Os a
great fact in life! It is not great
things, but very small things that
make up the sum ot life. It is out of
the daily thoughts and deeds, insignifi
cant as many of them may appear,
that a beautiful and strong character
is built.
Sometimes there will come a great
strain or test of a man's character.
This will show of what materials it is
constructed, and how the materials
are put together.
Character-building proceeds slowly,
but goes on all the time. Every day
some of the work is done; for every
day’s thoughts, words, impulses, pas
sions and deeds enter into the build
ing.
Every young person should see that
the materials entering into his struc
ture and the construction itself be
of the best, so as to be capable of sus
taining any strain that may be put
upon it in life. —Exchange.
Charge It to the Children.
Wisest charity is that which gives in
such away that the recipient will not
feel under obligation to the giver, and,
if that cannot be done, to give in a
way to embarrass as little as possible.
A coal dealer in the suburbs of Bos
ton was called upon at his office by a
poor, hard-working woman, and re
quested to send a basket of coal to
her home.
"We do not deliver so small a quan
tity,” was the merchant’s reply. “It
is our invariable rule never to deliver
less than a quarter of a ton.’
"But I cannot pay for so much,”
was the pitiful confession, "and I
have left my children at home in a
fireless room. What am I to do?”
“Well,” replied the dealer, a kindlier
light beaming in his eye, "I cannot
depart from my rules as to quantity.”
Then, turning to his clerk, he con
tinued: “John, have a quarter of a
ton of coal sent to the woman’s ad
dress as soon as possible.”
“But I cannot pay tor so much,”
she expostulated.
“I already understand that you can’t,
so I will charge it to the children.
Give yourself no more uneasiness
about the debt than they will be lia
ble to do. Good morning!’’—Golden
Rule.
Coxmunljn W tb God.
For ourselves, and for all that we
do for God, living communion with
him is the means of power and peace,
of security and success. It was never
more needful than now. Feverish ac
tivity rules in all spheres of life. The
iron wheels of the car which bears
the modern idol of material progress
whirl fast, and crush remorselessly
all who cannot keep up the pace.
Christian effort is multiplied, system
atized, beyond all precedent. And all
these things make calm fellowship
with God hard to compass. The
measure of the difficulty is the meas
ure of the need. I, for my part, be
lieve that there are few Christian du
ties more neglected than that of medi
tation, the very name or which has
fallen of late into comparative disuse;
that argues ill for the frequency of
the thing.
We are so busy thinking, discuss
ing, defending, inquiring, or preaching
and teaching and working, that we
have no time and no leisure of heart
for quiet contemplation, without which
the exercise of the intellect upon
Christ’s truth will not feed, and busy
activity in Christ’s cause may starve
the soul. There are a few things
which the church of this day, in all
its parts, needs more than to obey
the invitation, “Come ye yourselves
apart into a lonely place, and rest
awhile.”—Exchange.
A Conversation.
“The Bible is a failure; for there
are only a few that will be saved.”
Answer.—lnfidelity is a much great
er failure; for by it nobody at all will
be saved.
"According to the Bible account of
things, the devil is more powerful than
God.”
Ans.—Better wait until the fight is
over before you decide who whips.
"If the Bible is true, it would be
better not to have been created.”
Ans. —But you have been created;
so you had better make the best of it.
“None but the friends of Jesus tes
tified to his resurrection.”
Ans. —Os course not; for honest men
could not testify to his resurrection
till they knew it to be a fact, and
that knowledge made them his friends.
“The witnesses of the resurrection
were all interested witnesses.”
Ans.—Yes; they were interested to
the extent of receiving imprisonment,
scourging and death for testifying.
Exchange.
A Dense Population
Mr. Jacob Riis, who has made care
ful and special study of the tenement
house question in the city of New
York, says that that portion of tjie
city below Harlem river—that is, on
the “island of Manhattan”—has a
greater density of population than
any other city of the world. Berlin
has 113.6 to an acre; Paris has 125.2;
while New York city, in the part des
ignated, has 143.2 per acre. This gen
eral average, however, is largely ex
ceeded in the more crowded portions
of the city; for instance, in the tenth
ward the population amounts to 626.26
per acre, and in one part of the elev
enth ward the density reaches even
to 985.40 persons to every acre! To
think of nearly one thousand people
THE CHRISTIAN INDEX : THU AY. NOVEMBER 5,1896.
living on an acre of ground is enough
to make one shudder, and, as this dis
trict includes thirty-two acres, we
have in this small space a population
of over 31,000 souls! This is said to
exceed by far the densest small sec
tion of Europe, which is in the city of
Prague and has an average of 485.4
to an acre. Mr. Riis further reports
that more than one-half of the city’s
population live in tenements, some of
them of the vilest description. It may
be seen at a glance that there is little
opportunity for cleanliness or moral
ity in such crowded districts.
Sense ot Insects.
Concerning the ordinary senses of
insects comparatively little is known.
Most of them certainly see well, the
eyes of many species being far more
elaborate than those of human be
ings. The eyes of common house-flies
and dragon-flies are believed to be
better fitted than the human eye for
observing objects in motion, though
these creatures are short-sighted.
It may be reasonably supposed that
insects possess taste, judging from the
discrimination that they exercise in
the choice of their food. That they
have smell is a matter of common ob
servation, and has been experiment
ally proved by Sir John Lubbock and
others. Most insects seem to be deaf
to the sounds which are heard by hu
man beings.
At the same time, there is no ques
tion that they produce sounds and
hear sounds that are entirely beyond
our own range of auditory perception.
Sir John Lubbock has said that we
can no more form an idea of these
sounds than we should have been able
to conceive a notion of red or green
if the human race had been blind.
The air is doubtless often vocal with
the sounds made by insects of so high
a pitch as to be entirely out of range
of man’s power to hear.
Certain senses in insects appear to
be beyond comprehension. The neu
ters among the ants known as “term
ites” are blind, and can have no sense
of light in their burrowings; yet they
will reduce a beam of wood «r an
elaborate piece of furniture to a mere
shell without once gnawing through
the surface.
An analogy is found among mam
mals. A bat in a lighted room, though
blinded as to sight, will fly in all di
rections with great swiftness and with
infallible certainty of avoiding concus
sion or contact with any object. It
seems to be able to feel at a distance.
—Washington Star.
The Missing Pages.
“Have a paper, sir? Something to
read in the cars, ma’am! Harper’s!
Atlantic! Scribner! All the maga
zines!”
But the people hurried past John’s
little stand into the station, as they
had done all the morning. Only a
Post and a Journal sold, and here was
noon! Profit, 3 cents! On sunny days
his sales were pretty brisk, but it
was drizzling. The thick Pittsburg air
was full of falling soot, and nobody
cared to stop to buy.
“No wonder they want to hurry out
of this horrible place!” mutter.;! John,
looking about the wet, dingy houses,
the pools of black mud through which
the horses tramped, and the clouds of
smoke tolling through the streets. He
thought of the sunny Ohio farm on
which he was born, and flit that he
never would grow used to this place.
Three cents profit! Not enough to
buy a leaf of bread.
John thought of his mother, a;,d of
the scanty breakfast which they had
eaten together in their bare gavict,
with its windows opening on the sooty
roofs. It he could but have had good
trade be might have carried a niie
little treat home for her. But the
crowd hurried past, and nobody stop
led.
“Magazine, ma’am? Something to
read on” —
The lady stopped. “Gadey? Ah
your books are dirty!" dropping the
sooty magazine with a shrug.
As if he could help that! But he
began blowing away the soot for the
twentieth time that day. It was four
years since his father died, and he
and his mother had come down to
town, and in that lime he had done
nothing but fight weakly against spot
and starvation.
He opened one of the story papers
for boys. There was a sea story in
it; a boy goes off in the first chapter
as a stowaway; in the third “the gal
lant lad leaped upon the deck, and the
commodore clasped him in his
arms!”
On the next page was an account of
a boy going home from work, who
arrived just in time to scale the walls
of a burning house, and rescue a
child, for which daring act he was
the next day taken into partnership by
the child’s father, a millionaire.
"Some fellows have such splendid
chances!” said John, laying down the
book with a sigh. “Now, I’ve been
here for years, and nothing grand or
noble ever turns up for me to do. Buy
ten Posts, fifteen Journals, dally; sell
them—if I can. On Saturdays, buy
the weeklies. Once a month, the
magazines. That’s the heft of it, year
in and year out. HoW’s a fellow to
make a ten-strike at that sort of
work?”
An old gentleman who had missed
the train sauntered up and began idly
looking over the boy’s stock.
John watched him anxiously. If he
should buy one of the six bound
books! Profit on each was 25 cents.
If he should buy one of those, he could
take home a little treat to his mother
after all.
The boy’s eyes fairly glistened, for,
besides being fond of his mother, he
was hungry; and the smell of fried
oysters and coffee from the restaurant
near was almost more than he could
! bear.
The old gentleman took up one of
the books. John thought he was cer-
I tainly going to buy. What should the
treat be? A bit of fresh meat? A
mince pie? He decided that steak
would be best.
“Ah! here is a book which I have
wanted for a long time,” said the gen
tleman.
“What’s the price of this, my boy?
"Those are one dollar, each, sir.”
“I’ll take this. No, you needn’t
wrap it up. I’ll read it on the cars.”
He laid down a bright trade dol
lar.
John could almost smell the de
licious steak, and he thought of his
mother’s thin, starved face. They
had not tasted meat for days. But
a glance at the book, as the gentle
man dropped it into his satchel,
caused him to say, faintly:
“Stop, sir! I did not see which
one you had taken. That is an im
perfect copy. There are four leaves
1 missing in the middle.”
“Too bad!” —throwing it down. “The
dollar, please.”
“Will none of the others suit? said
John. , , M
“No. I have wanted this book for
I some time.”
“You can have it for 75 cents,” said
John, eagerly.
“I don’t want a mutilated copy at
all.”
John handed him back the dollar,
and closing his satchel, the man
walked on a few steps, and sat down
in an open doorway to wait for his
train. He was a ruddy, fat old gentle
man, with a kindly, shrewd blue eye.
Having nothing to do, he thought the
occurrence over leisurely.
“That’s an honest lad,” he said to
the proprietor of the shop in which he
stood. “He might have cheated me
just now, but he did not.”
"Who? John McTavish? As honest
as steel. He’s been under my eye now
for four years, and I know him to be
as truthful a lad as ever was born of
Scotch blood.”
"Um, um," said the gentleman.
But he put on his spectacles and eyed
John from head to foot
The next day he stopped tu the same
shop, and walked up to the proprietor.
“How’s he for intelligence, now?”
he began, as if the conversation had
stopped the moment before. "Stupid,
probably?”
“I don’t think he’s very sharp in
trade,” was the reply; "but he’s a
very handy boy. He has made a good
many convenient knickknacks for the
neighbors—that bookshelf, for in
stance.”
“Why, that’s the very thing I want
in a boy! Well, there’s my train.
Good day, sir."
“He’ll be back again. Odd old fel
low,” said the merchant, laughing.
The next day he was back, and he
came at the same hour.
“I like that boy’s looks, sir. I’ve
been watching him. But of course
he has a dozen relations —drunken fa
ther —rag-tag of brothers—who would
follow him?”
“No. He has only a mother, and
she is a decent, God-fearing Scotch
woman —a good seamstress, John tells
me, but can get no work. Times are
dull here just now. Pity the country
folks will pour into the cities. Mrs.
McTavish has nothing but what the
boy earns at his stand yonder.”
The old gentleman made no reply.
But the next day he went up to the
boy's stand. John was looking pale
and anxious. Some of his regular cus
tomers had refused to take their mag
azines—times being so hard. They
would be a dead loss on his hands.
“Paper? Magazines, sir?” he asked.
“No. A word with you, my lad.
My name is Bohnn. I am the owner
of the Bordale nurseries, about thirty
miles from here. I want a young man
to act as clerk and salesman on the
grounds, at a salary of S4O a month,
and a woman who will lie strict and
orderly to oversee the girls who pack
flower seeds, at S2O a month. I offer
the position to you ami your mother,
and I give you until to-morrow to
think it over.”
“But you—you —don’t know me, sir!”
gasped John.
“I know you very well. I generally
know what I am about. To-morrow
be ready to give your answer. I will
take you four weeks on trial. If lam
satisfied the engagement will be re
newed for a year.”
All the rest of the day John felt
like one in a dream. Everybody had
heard of the Bordale nurseries, and
of good old Isaac Bohnn, their owner.
But what had he done, that this earth
ly paradise should be opened to
him?
“You’ll come, eh?” said Mr. Bohnn
the next day. “Thought you would.
When can you begin work?”
“At once, sir.”
“Good! By a va-
cant house on the grOTmus, which your
mother can have, rent free, if she re
mains with me. A mere box, but big
enough. There’s my team. Suppose
you come out, McTavish, and look
about you? You can come back at
night.”
John locked up the stand, sent a
message to his mother, and went with
Mr. Bohnn. He had not yet told his
mother of this change in their af
fairs.
He was very silent when he came
home that evening, but oddly tender
with his mother; and she noticed
that he remained a long time on his
knees at prayer that night.
They had only a little bread and
milk for breakfast the next morning,
and John scarcely tasted it.
“You look as if you could not bear
this much longer, mother,” he said,
coming up to her and putting his
hands on her shoulder. “You need
good, wholesome meals and the fresh
air, and the hills and the trees instead
of this!”—looking out at the piled
stacks of chimneys belching forth the
black smoke of an iron foundry.
“Don’t talk of them, John, lad!”
“Well, I won’t;” and he put on his
hat and went out.
An hour later he came back.
“What is wrong? Why have you
left the stand?” asked his mother in
alarm.
“We are going to have an outing,
mother. Don’t say a word. I can af
ford it”
She never had seen the boy so full of
excitement. He hurried her to the
station, and soon they were gliding
among beautiful rolling hills, and
across lovely meadows, that were
sweet with the odor of new-mown
hay. At noon, they came to stretches
of rising ground, covered with nurse
ries of young trees of delicate green,
and with vineyards, and field after
field of roses, mignonette, and all
kinds of sweet-smelling flowers.
“Why, John, this is fairyland! What
is this place?”
“The Bordale nurseries. We will
get off here, mother. I want to show
you a house that” —
He trembled with agitation. His
face was pale as he led her down
to the side of the broad, glancing river,
near which was nestled in the woods
a cozy little cottage, covered with a
red trumpet creeper. There was a
garden, a well, and a paddock for a
cow. Inside the rooms were clean and
ready for furnishing. The river rip
pled drowsily against its pebbly shore;
the birds darted through the blue,
sunny air; the scent of roses came in
upon the breeze.
“Mother,” said John, "this, I hope,
will be your home now.” And with
that he began to laugh and caper
about her like a boy; but the tears
rolled down his thin cheeks.
John McTavish is now foreman of
the Bordale nurseries, and a man of
high standing in the country. Not
long ago he said to old Mr. Bohnn:
“I owe this all to the friend who
said a good word for me that day in
Pittsburg.”
“No, John,” said the old man, you
owe it to the book with the missing
pages. The chance came to you, as it
comes to every boy, to be honest.
Honesty and industry, John, are what
did it, and I am inclined to think they
never fail to command success in the
end.”—Youth’s Companion.
Baldness is often preceded or accom
panied by gravness of the hair. To
prevent both baldness and grayness, use
Hall’s Hair Renewer, an honest remedy.
dThtldren’ (Corner.
JAPAN!SF MOTHER AM) CHILD.
“Gon e,little pigeon, nil w ary tilth play,
Come and thy pinions furl."
Thai's wbata Japanese mother would say
To her dear Utile Japanese ulrl.
“Cease to flutt r thy while, while wings,
Now that the day 1> dead;
LtstoD and dream while the mother bird
sings."
That means, “It is time for bed."
“Stay, little sunb-am and cherish tne here,
My heart Is so cold when you roam."
That is the Japanese “No, my dear!
I’d rather you play al home I"
''Roues and lilies shall strew hy way;
The sun goddess now has smiled.”
That's what a Japanese mother would say
Toa good little Japanese child.
—Julibt Wilbok Tompkins.
We are sure our young friends of
the Corner, and the old ones, as well,
have never heard of so strange a thing
as dogs eating up the roof of a church,
of which the little extract given be
low tells. Some queer experiences
missionaries have as they go into the
dark places of the earth to carry the
light of the knowledge of the glory
of God. But wherever they go, they
are sure to find one thing—sin in
human hearts—and to those in sin
they carry the only salvation, Jesus
Christ and him crucified. Do we pray
for the missionaries?
When this mission at Blacklead, in
British America, was first opened, in
the utter absence of even a fragment
of wood, a church was built of whale
bones for the frame, and covered with
sealskins. One cold night last Feb
ruary a pack of starving dogs fell
upon this little church and tore it
down in order to get the sealskins,
which they greedily devoured.
Loco, Ga., Oct. 24, 1896.
Dear Index:—As I have seen all my
other letters in print, I will write
again. I cannot resist the temptation
to write when 1 see so many beautiful
letters that have been written by the
dear boys and girls of our State.
I was at a Sunday-school mission
ary day at Rehoboth church last
first Saturday, and enjoyed myself ex
ceedingly. There were several recita
tions before dinner and brother J. L.
Gross preached an excellent missionary
sermon. I don’t think there was any
one present that had any money that
could have refused to give for God’s
cause. After dinner there was one
more recitation and one essay on mis
sions.
The singing of the choir was very
good, indeed. Miss Butler was the
organist. There was a large attend
ance and perfect order.
Brother J. Hogan is pastor of this
church and has been ever since I can
recollect. I think all regard him
a good and strong man. He is large
spiritually and mentally; indeed, there
is nothing small in him.
Brother Hogan has done a great
work at that church. But his race
will soon be run. I believe he will
literally die in the harness. He is not
pastor of Rehoboth any longer than
Christmas, when his son, brother W.
A. Hogan, will take charge of this
church.
Now, dear boys and girls, how
many of you are missionary workers?
I hope you all are.
Let us pray that God will bless our
missionaries.
Brother J. Hogan has been unani
i,mously re-elected pastor of Hephzibah
church.
Every Saturday night we have a
prayer meeting here and are delighted
at the interest shown in the attend
ance, especially by our younger breth
ren.
DELILA M. ROSS.
Hazlehurst, Ga., Oct. 27, 1896.
Dear Cousins: —You are not looking
for a letter from me this week, so I
will take you by surprise. I have been
helping grandpa dig potatoes and I
am very tired. This is my first lesson
in potato digging. I don’t want any
more of it. I had rather help mamma
cook. Grandma is very sick, and the
loss of her last sister makes it worse
for her. You saw her death in last
week’s paper. It looks like all of our
sorrows come at once. My aunt is
dead, Miss Susie is gone, and grandma
is sick. But the cloud will pass over
and joy will come again.
Tomorrow is my birthday. I will be
nine years old. Mamma says I can
have my little friends to dine with
me. I will answer Minnie Jossey’s
question. David was Ruth’s great
grandson. Love to the cousins!
ESTELLE SANDFORD.
Base, Ga., Oct. 25, 1896.
Dear Index: —1 have been thinking
for some time I would write a letter to
the dear old Index, but have not writ
ten until now. Papa takes the Index
and says he has been taking it about
thirty years. I don’t think we could
do without it.
We have a nice church four miles
from us. We have preaching every
second Sunday.
Rev. J. A. Jackson is our pastor.
The protracted meeting came off in
August, and we received twenty mem
bers.
Macedonia has about 280 members.
My father and mother and seven of
their children are members of the
church. •
I have seven sisters and six broth
ers, all living. I will close, with much
love to the Index.
ALLIE MAY THOMAS.
Mayfield, Ga., Oct. 23, 1896.
Dear Index: —I thought I would
write a little letter to tell you about
our Sunday-school. It is not very
large, but the few attend regularly.
Our teacher is Mrs. Jessie Stevens and
all the class like her very much. Mr.
W. B. Mapp is our superintendent.
Our church is Horeb, near Maysville.
Neither has it a large membership.
Our pastor is Dr. J. H. Kilpatrick, and
every one is so much attached to
him.
I think it is so niee to have a corner
in so good a paper, but let me beg
the children not to say one word
about the waste basket, for I am sure
if we write our letters as nicely as we
can they will be published. lam thir
teen years old. If I am welcome, will
write again.
Your little friend,
SPURGEON ALLEN.
Noonday, Ga., Oct. 24, 1896.
Dear Index: —As there has not been
any one writing from our church, I
will try to write, as I think it is a
great privilege you have given us in
allowing us space in your paper to
write to each other. I enjoy reading
the cousins’ tetters. My papa takes
the Index. We have a good Sunday
school. Mr. G. W. York has been our
superintendent for eight or nine years
and a better one would be hard to
find. Rev. J. W. H. Roberson is our
pastor, and we like him very much.
A protracted meeting began here in
August, on the second Sunday, and
continued ten days. There were sev
enteen added to the church, all by ex
perience. We were all made to re
joice by the outpouring of
the Holy Spirit, but were made
sad because there were others
out of the ark of safety. Cous
ins, suppose we go to asking Bible
questions? I think that it will be in
teresting as well as instructive. I will
begin by asking a few questions:
What verse in the New Testament
contains six of the ten command
ments?
What is the longest word in the Bi
ble?
Who climbed a tree to see Jesus, and
what was the result?
What woman prepared a meal for
three angels?
1 will close, with best wishes to the
Index and all the cousins.
Your friend,
G. M. B.
Oct. 25, 1896.
Dear Index: —Once I came and you
were kind enough to admit me into
your circle. I have stayed away until
I guess you have forgotten me.
I am away from home going to
school, and I fully realize that there
is no place like home.
I will tell you of our summer meet
ing. Our pastor, Rev. J. M. Barnett,
was assisted by Rev. J. W. Durham,
of Rome, our former pastor. Many
were the heartfelt welcomes he re
ceived, and many hearts were filled
with memories of the past as he again
stood in their midst. No one rejoiced
more at his return than myself, al
though my recollection of him was
very dim. But the first impressions
an always the sweetest. We had a
good meeting and four were added to
the church.
A few weeks ago I went to see one
of my school friends immersed. As I
stood and saw her buried beneath the
water, another picture rose before my
mind. It was the picture of a ten
year-old girl as she was immersed by
her pastor. That girl was myself and
her pastor. Rev. J. W. Smith, of States
boro, and an unspeakable longing
filled my heart, a longing to once
more grasp the hand of that beloved
pastor and hear him say as of old,
“God bless you, my child!” Hoping
that the waste basket has gone en
tirely out of fashion, I will say good
bye. HOPE.
Mayfield, Ga., Oct. 24, 1896.
Dear Index: —I am glad the children
have a Corner in the Index.
As all the other girls and boys have
been writing about their churches
and Sunday-schools, I'll write about
ours. Horeb is the name of our
church, situated two miles from May
field.
Rev. J. H. Kilpatrick is our beloved
pastor. He is one of the best pastors
in Georgia. Our Sunday-school is not
large. We have an average of thirty
scholars.
Mr. W. B. Mapp is our superintend
ent.
Mrs. Jessie Stevens is my teacher.
I think all of her scholars like her very
much.
Mrs. Ella Whaley, my sister, is our
organist.
I like to go to Sunday-school, and
am sorry when I cannot go.
With best wishes to the Index and
Children’s Corner.
CLAUDIA REYNOLDS.
LaGrange, Ga., Oct. 21, 1896.
Dear Index:—Will you spare me a
little space in your paper? The In
dex is a welcome visitor to our fam
ily. I always read the children’s let
ters first of all.
Our Sunday-school teacher appoint
ed me to write to you and tell you
about our Sunday-school.
Mr. Reeves is our superintendent. I
never knew a more faithful superin
tendent than Mr. Reeves.
Mrs. Whitfield is my teacher. We
have 175 members in our school.
Twelve in my class come regularly.
Our pastor is Rev. Dr. G. A. Nunnally.
We all love him very much. lam not
a member of the church, but expect to
be. I am a little girl nearly twelve
years old. I will write again and
tell you about our Sunbeam Society.
Your faithful reader,
BERNICE JENKINS.
Cora, Ga.
Dear Index:—l see many letters
from the little folks, so I thought 1
would write a short letter, as you
have been so kind as to give us a
Corner in your nice paper.
I am a little girl eleven years old.
1 go to Sabbath-school every Sun
day. My sister is my teacher. Our
superintendent is Mr. W. J. Kinnett.
Rev. T. J. Swanson is our pastor. He
is a good preacher. We have preach
ing on the second Sunday and the
Saturday before.
My sister and my grandmamma take
the Index and we like it very much.
We protracted the meeting at Zion
the second Sunday in October. We
ordained two deacons —Mr. W. J. Kin
nett and Mr. Eli Hull.
I close with best wishes for the In
dex and love for the cousins.
Lovingly,
VIRGIL ESTER.
Oglesby, Ga., Oct. 26, 1896.
Dear Index:—l am a little boy ten
years old. I have one brother seven
teen years old.
We live in the country, close to
Dove’s Creek church.
Mr. R. F. Chenny is our pastor at
present. Mr. O. P. Harris is called
for another year. Papa says he hopes
he will serve, though a stranger to us
all. We have a nice Sunday-school.
Cousin J. D. Thornton is superin
tendent. Miss Ellen Fortson is my
teacher. She is such a nice lady. Un
cle Joe Deadwyler is the oldest mem
ber. Grandma Almond lives with us,
and some good friend sends her the
Index. She loves it so dearly. She
can read it well, because the print is
so coarse, and through it she can hear
sometimes from friends of long ago.
She is seventy-nine years old. My
brother and I are not members now,
but hope to be some day.
SYDNEY GAINES.
Belton, Ga., Oct. 26, 1896.
Dear Index: —I am a little girl ten
years old, and do enjoy reading the
Children’s Corner so much; and as I
have not noticed any letters from Bel
ton, I thought I would write. We have
a very good Sunday-school, which
meets every Sunday afternoon at 3
o’clock. Mr. J. J. Cape is our superin
tendent. Miss Ida Coggins is our or
ganist, and Miss Dora Coggins is my
teacher. We all love her so much.
I am sorry to say we do not observe
any day as missionary day, neither
have we any Sunbeam Society. I
thiak we are behind other Sunday
schools in this respect. As this is my
first letter I will not write much, and
if I see it in print will try to write
again. Love to the Index.
Yours truly,
ONO POUNCEY.
Jonesboro, Ga., Oct. 26, 1896.
Dear Index: —We have been reading
the Children’s Corner in your paper,
and as we have seen no letter from the
Jonesboro Baptist church, the “Little
Workers’ ” Missionary Society have
appointed a committee to write a let
ter. Our society is composed of forty
one members, twelve of whom are
members of the church. Onr leader
is Mrs. W. B. Stewart, who is a splen
did manager and very devoted worker
for Christ.
Rev. Elam Culpepper is our pastor,
and we love him very much.
We have about four hundred mem
bers in our church, and have services
two Sundays in every month.
We will close, hoping you will pray
for us to do much work for the Mas
ter. Respectfuly,
CHAIRMAN,
SECRETARY.
Parrott, Ga., Oct. 24, 1896.
Dear Index:—As I saw my other let
ter in the paper, I thought I would
write again. Our pastor, Rev. J. How
ard Carpenter, preaches every third
Saturday and Friday night before.
He baptized papa and mamma last
Saturday. He carried on a few days’
meeting this week. He was assisted
by Rev. J. A. McMurray.
My little sister, seven years old. and
I are going to school to Professor Cro
well. I like him very much. We
have about sixty scholars.
Now I’ll tell you some of my studies
—grammar, history, second arithmetic,
geography and word book.
I will close for this time, with love
to the Index.
GEORGE THORNTON LEE.
Milledgeville, Ga., Oct. 22, 1896.
Dear Index: —As I have not seen but
one letter from Milledgeville, I
thought I would write. I am a girl
of twelve years old and am a member
of the Baptist Sunday-school. Our
pastor is Mr. J. A. Wray, who is loved
by every one. Our superintendent is
Mr. C. U. Ennis, who is loved by every
one. Miss Mary Thomas is my Sun
day.school teacher. She is the sweet
est teacher that I ever saw. I like to
read the Index very much. If my
letter escapes the waste basket I will
write again. Yours truly,
NANNIE SEAL.
Carrollton, Ga., Oct. 26. 1896.
Dear Index:—l am a little girl eight
years old. I want to write a letter to
the little cousins, too.
I went to see my sister Claudie, who
lives in Newnan, this summer. I had
a nice time while I was there. I went
to hear Dr. Hall preach. Dr. J. C.
Wingo is our pastor. We like him
very much. My papa does not take
the Index. My little friend, Jessie
Butler, is writing, ana as I am at her
house, I thought I would write, too.
Your little friend,
MARY JESSIE BLALOCK.
Springfield, Ga., Oct. 26.
Dear Index: —I have been reading
some of your nice little letters and I
thought I would write one.
I am a little girl of eleven years
old, and I have no mother. She died
August 10, 1894. My papa takes the
Index and has been taking it for many
years, and I like to read it. Well, for
fear It will go to the waste basket I
will close. Your little friend,
GEORGIA HINELY.
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