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1.10 E. SOLOMON STREET
PIDNE No. 210
BIBLE THOUGHT.
The disciple is not above his master,
but every one that is perfect shall be as
his master.-—Luke 6:40.
We must serve those we appear to com
mand.—Fenelon.
THE “SACRED HARP. »I
(By Wightman F. Melton.)
Recently, when the Griffin Sacred Harp
Association was formed, with I lajor Quimby
Melton, editor of I he News, presiding at the
first session, I wonder if lie knew that 1 have in
my possession lus grandfathers Sacred Harp
song books. I say books, because I have
two copies—one round notes and the other
"shape notes, I his "shape note book is the
one from vv hich the elder Quimby Melton
and the neighbors sang, down at "Aunt Sin
dy" Brandon’s, near ( ropvvell, on the Coosa
river. in Alabama, way back in the seventies.
Some years ago 1 published, in Mr. Stan
ton s column, in the Constitution, some lines
on the Sacred Harp. These lines give an
intimate and faithful picture of Major Mel
ton's gra ndfather and grandmother. As a
poem the lines may not rank high, but they
were copied more widely, throughout the
s< ,uth. than any thing else 1 have written. I
saw tue lines in a Richmond, Va„ paper; am
the Kansas C ity Star, in addition to using the
lines, had their staff artist make a beautiful
picture as an i Uustration.
I he lines are as follows:
Gran pa pine bed his tuning-fork, "a many
years ago.
And then he ran his shape note scale of
"fa so la ti do,
Of Do-re-mi. and so la," and* "Fa
so la-ti do.
11,s songbook was the "Sacred Harp"-—it
opene< I at the end—
And Gran ma sang the ' Tribble, for to
make their voices blend.
In "Do re mi. and l a so la. to make
then voices blend.
"Ama/in Grace, am Jordan’s Banks,"
mu 1 "Gobi' Home to Stay.
They sang w ithout an organ, and they
just that a way ;
A "do re mi. am 1 "Fa-sol-la," they sang
just that away
The ,, Id folks loked to heaven as a l>lace of
endless song.
And hoped the angels used shape notes. or
else they might go wrong;
A "Do re mi , am a so a,- or else they
might go wrong.
"Children of the 1 leaven ly King," journey
ed they along;
They left their book and tuning fork, but
took to heaven their song.
Of Do re mi. and "Fa so la. they took
to heaven their song.
A our editor will please pardon me for us
ing his name in this story. He kfiows and
I know and you know that 1 have not told the
story or republished the lines for his glory or
my pleasure, but lor the gratification of those
readers of TI IF. M AVS whose dear old par
ents and grandparents—like ours—found sol
ace in the "Sacred Harp," while traveling
here below, and. wh o, for all we know, are.
this day. singing from the "Sacred I larp’
around the throne of God.
Invest In and \round t'ri'Tin
One )f the most enjoyable f'Mtur:v '{ a
spring picnic is anttTarc not so urge as t.le
p hunts.
----- Invest_ In atul .'round Griffin
When th :y want a divorce i in China th rv‘
break two chopsticks, butt in America they
break a few heads.
i HE HOUSE O. DESPAIR.
If youth could see the end or the crimi
nal's road; could visit for a day the house of
despair and sorrow that is the last station
on the route of the transgressor!
1 wo Kansas City boys were given the
chance the other day. The judge sad sen
fenced them to 30 days in jail for motor car
thefts. It was a police captain's idea that one
day in the penitentiary, where they could see
close ups of the result of crime, would help
them more,.
So for a day they went to the earthly hell
where men are caged. On the way they pass
ed green fields where birds were singing. Oth
er men had gone that same way, years before,
tea rd the birds and reveled in the gorgeous
beauties of field and stream, for the last time.
In the house of despair and silence, a train
robber gave them the best advice a man can
give.
Boys, I rri telling you the truth said Bill
,H Trasse. "crime doesri t pay.
The boys looked out over tj»e,barren prison
enclosure, where men broke rodks and rocks
bioke men. I hey saw others toiling in the
summer heat in a coal mine, hopeless men,
automatons, machines, human picks and shov
els. They saw others sitting in cells, the
light of sanity gone from their dull eyes.
They have learned that bandit Bill La
Trasse was right. Their eyes have been open
ed.
Invest In and Around Griffin
ENEMIES.
(By George Matthew Adams.)
Many a. great man has liked to be known
by the enemies he has made. In fact, some
one has said that the truest history or biogra
phy of a man may be found in the lives of
his enemies.
But I often think that a man is best known
by the enemies he harbors within himeslf.
The strong man is he who has the, largest
number of able allies within his own makeup.
It was William James who once wrote that
"The great thing, then, in all education, is
'll 111 ike our nervous system our ally instead o!
our enemy.
We all know that people let their nervous
ystems dictate their entire lives. And there
>.re those who surrender to a liver, or a stom
ach or an imagined „pain, of some sort or
other.
My father used to take me into the conn
try with him as he called upon his parishion
ers 1 remember an old lady, who, when asked
.
how she was, a lways had the habit of saying:
"Oh 1 am quite miserable, Pastor—quite mis
( ruble, thank you!"
And now I recall, after all these years, that
that lady certainly looked the part. Whal i i
trained crew of enemies she carried around
w ith her. 111 wager that they still dance
a hov'e her grave.
God put a billion friends here to keep us
company w hen He placed us in our cradles.
And we ou ght to keep a goodly portion of
th“in through life.
It’s a hard world at the best, and we need
friends and not enemies. Enemies like atten
tion. The minute (hey are neglected they
hunt up new soil and new camping ground.
Neglect kills them.
Keep honest tab on your good feeling",
> our finest impulses, and remember that on:
friend outweighs a billion enemies.
—--Invest In and Around Griffin-
SUMMER DESIRES.
I he city dweller dreams, and says, wish
i had a farm. I m longing for the open parts
where' nature spreads its charm. Somewhere
U P°0 a hillside, where my weary mind could
shirk. I d like tp rest rny mental power, an i
put mv brawn to work.
•
Hie tanned and rugged ruralite is sore on
t ountry strife. Says he. "I crave the city
"here there's something real to life. I d like a
monstrous dwelling in a town with action,
blest, where I could rear about a bit and
get a needed rest.
Whichever place a man may be, he'd like
to make a change. It seems we re all dissatis
fied—and yet, it isn't strange. The play
man wants to work a hit; the work man wants
to play. I he sunshine of the summer makes a
fellow feel that way.
Invest In and Around Griffin
DISILLUSIONED.
A Cleveland bride, seeking divorce,
ried a bookmaker, thinking in her trusting
way , that he was a writer and manufacturer
of hooks that we read.
When he "put the bug" on $1200 of her
money, she got suspicious, and then found out
that friend hubby was engaged in the hazard
ous pastime of betting that people who bet
on horse races were wrong.
Her next husband, one ventures to predict,
vill not he so literary.
- - Invest In and Vround Griffin---
Knitrs make most m n Del like a nin •
.....Id and I ink like a ninety year-old.
Ml' S V mil that ends well.
I , in and xreioH C iffin
nol'ticu n must feel somethin
ute •1 ticket to last ni ;ht's performance.
a
Invest la and A round Griffin--->—
Garbage men worked harder before salad •
were invented.
GKH'HN DAILY NLW>
THE ROMANCE OF
Nathan Hale BY
IgA) TO
If i/Sn 1
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« He inherited a thirst
" It Vvas in the picturesque county of Toland, Connecticut, on Jur.c knowledge and proved an j
■ 6, 1755, that Nathan Hale was bom. Frail in his infant days, his ^ apt enough pupil to of enter I
life wa^ at times despaired of, but at the age of two he began to Yale College at the age 16,
develop, mentally and physically, into a robust youth. Early in his one of the youngest students
school days he turned to outdoor sports and was a fine marksman, ever to enter the institution.
swimmer and skater, and the swiftest runner in Toland county. J ^ Two years later he gradu ated. J
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’ /The •allowing T Ha!e*N pupils this school bliss Alice Adams and anT
winter One of his at was a resulted
went to East Haddam, Con- ' attachment between them soon sprang up. 1 his soon 111
nert cut, and taught school. , an engagement, the fulfillment of which,' however, greatly de- •
, success there led to many pended upon the outcome of the Revolutionary War. Hile had
..er ter.chnig offers and he decided that he was going to enlist in the Or
wentuallv v.e.T to a small ! Miss Adams agreed with hurt that mav
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’ ^ He stopped New Lon;
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/ The w ; at trumpet had not yet sounded when Hale formed his don long enough to tell of T
srliool hoys into a company arid started drilling them during in- : . V >the wonderful ride of Paul
termissto'ns. No attempt was made to conceal this warlike spirit / R evere, and of the fights
and. in fact, it began to spread through the colonies. The ol'd and at Lexington and Concord.
■ young alike looked upon it with pride Late on the afternoon ot I hat night a patriotic meet
j j Anri! 21 1775 a messenger traveled from Boston to N* ew ) ork ing was Held in the court
yvi'h wat news V house
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N .v <, A- first
U Hal e made one of the \ There much excitement and a company 1 was immediately
public demands for tnde- was
pcndence. He called formed with the name of Nathan Hale second on the roll. Alter
upon writing to the proprietors of the grammar sc 1 jol, apologizing
(he citizens to “organize and for having to quit Ins position, and bidding hi: scholars goodby,
drill anil never lay down our Male, with his company marched away to Cambridge. He re
arms until we have obtained turned to New London Mav, With tiie rank of lieutenant.
V independence, v u tn
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01926 BY NEA SERVICE. INC
CHAPTER 40.
“But daddy, you can’t go with
your nose that way. Audrey
gasped, coming into the room and
closing the door.
i 'And what will I do with the
girls ?”
j Parrish had been eyeing his cm
ployer’s reddened feature>”I no-
1 ticed your face, sir,” he inter
rupted. "Is it a boil?”
Morton put his hand to nis nose.
i It’s just those fool girls. They
daubed a lot ot lipstick on me,
and it won’t come off.”
Parrish stared, and then his
face expanded in a laugh. "What
a qutn r prank! He continued to
chuckle,
’’Glad to see you break loose
and laugh about something,’ com
men ted the older man. tou are
so infernally solemn.”
Turning to Audrey, he contin
ued. “i'll have to go with thi il
■ -a i i ti.e u,.y it is. And
you're not going. The girls can
... i . ... .1 Parrish will looK
, i r y
• . “v -. \s fa. e 'suddenly ft II,
“1 can’t stand those girls!” ho
1 m.i sted.
“ out daddy, I want to go
along," wailed Audrey.
Morton ruled atrai" t them. “I
can’t take Audrey for various
reasons, he told Parrish, a nd
Vou -j| u ;l . ’0 to stick around and
] 00 k after her. Those girls won t
do any more than kill you. And
Audrey—” the girl, woefully, had
<. un k into Morton’s armchair-
“T'm sorry. I'd like to take you.
p u t ] can’t. You must stay
here and keep house. Let the
girls stay—you won’t have any
dull times then.”
He tossed his mail to Parrish,
who stowed it in his • brief case.
“Get me a drawing room to
night, and a ticket through to
Yuma,” Morton directed.
lie went to the door, and open
ed it. The girls were clustered
in the hall outside, bare-legged,
their brief dancing costumes moist
with perspiration. Parrish mov
e< into a corner of th* study
"here he could not he observed.
“I've got to leave Audrey alone
here," Morten told the girls. "You
are to stay and bo her guests,
The house is yours hut don’t
take it entirely to pieces.”
He paused, and smiled. “Mr.
Parrish will lie in every day.
There was a squeal of delight,
“Is he the boy who danced with
us upstairs? cried the litlte
blond girl.
Morton nodded.
* • Happy days,” sho caroled.
_
The study door behind
was shut, abruptly, from
He jerked his thumb rearward.
“That’s Parrish inside
now,” he informed them.
As they danced around the
and pounded upon it, he went
stairs. His clothing was
ed among all the rooms and
was patiently gathering it
er when Audrey joined him.
Mr Parrish *>( lira .ad
h dh , '. .7 Klr
In those costumes?”
,
fclht Qtio noddtli A «T* 11 looked , 1 . as if .. ,
‘
cntlr< ‘ ne >Khborhood turned out
see,” she told him.
Well, we’re disgraced
now - I hope you have a nice
whilt ' rm K° ne - Audrey.
He went ahead, packing
bags, the girl helping him.
dal not ask him why he was
away. His long habit of
about his affairs, had
ed her to accept without
any movement he chose to moke.
When he returned to the low
floor, Audrey herded the (nr.
back to their rums, to bathe ;
resume their normal clothing.
Nona, in the music room,
softly strumming on the
Morton entered, and quietly
Saturd-y. June 5. 1926
_..t in the corner.
-se go on playing,” lie said
complied. Her mood wa
, and she played old, simple
‘‘Juanita, : The Last Bose
.
. ..miner, 1 he Spanish Cava
'
■Then' she sA’ept into the strains
,,'f “Lead Kindly Light, it
a hymn,
“Where did you learn that ? IT
Morton asked her, as she finished.
“1 wasn’t always a jazz baby,
she responded, a sorrowful twist
to her mouth.
She began the strain again.
ringing the words, softly.
“Harry, m sorry you’re go
mg she said, turning from tha
piano. "I'll have to, go back to
Cincinnati, I guess.’
•Can t you move over to the
house and stay with Audrey?” he
asked.
She shook her head. ‘‘They’re
just playing here,” she said, “and
1 think I'd better go back )
town. I'm trying for a career,
now, you know.
She c rosst id to where he was
sitting, and laid her hand on the
back of his chair.
“Do you know what makes me
want to work, and accomplish
something ? she asked. It’s the
that it will please you. yy
She sat down, her hands eross
in her lap. “I want you to see
me dance really dance, and I
want you to hear the people ap
plaud, and to have you come back
stage and say: ‘Nona, you were
good tonight!’
Tears came to her eves, ani
r, - Vied unnoticed down her cheeks.
“I've just been nothing, all my
life, she went on.. “Maybe I can
be something now. Harry, you
won't j away, and forget me, will
?”
Ile''shookrus head, and looked
kindly at the girl whose dark
eyes wistfully searched his own.
Twc of the guests were clar
ter'inp down the stairs. “I can’t
ever forget you, Nona,’ he said
hurriedly, as the girls appeared
- at the door,
j Audrey. Nona and Parrish saw
Morton to his train that night.
There were stares o f curiosity at
nose, from the little group
\ station.
' that waited a: the
‘ “Th chorus going
)St’ men are
: back to Cincinnati this evening,’
I Parrish said.
i "Because l‘m leaving?" Morton
asked.
i “I don’t think they know it,”
responded ParrCh. ‘They just came
and got some money and said they
I going home. They seemed
were
■ very unhappy here.”
said Audrey,
j “The girls tease them, and the
! men <1 n’t talk to them. I'd hate
I to In • a chorus Thari.”
I She kissed Morton, a she turn
ed t the train.. Nona offered her
i hand and then, on impulse, kiss
led him t OO, i hey waver:
mounted the steps f h:- car, and
disappeared'inside,
An unwinking sun. ncamed down
[upon Yuma as Morton alighted
I from his train. The porter de
posited his - bags on the platform,
and beamed as he inspected the
; tip that Mor‘,..n had left in his
hand.
! The man glanced curiously i.t
The Indian wumen w> ■ siiua'ted on
; 1 the platform, an array of beads
i and } them for sale,
! ' Wi Di haw, - over .their heads,
i h< y v ill pare Ty for trade’.
•iviii/.ed dress,
leaned behind one
I *f the \\ men, talking to her in
S\\ I gilt (’HI woman re
mm time to time, witli
Tut turnjng her head.
M‘‘t't«n listened a moment, an 1
then julned the conversation, in
the woman’s own tongue, Sudden
|sponded. animation lit her face, and she re
j “Still chattering Choctaw, said
a voice behind him.
I Morion turned, to face a tall,
solem-faoed man. in overalls and
n ‘ K ^ knots, who had come up be
hind them.
I , ‘‘And I tell you again that isn’t.
Choctaw,” said Morton, as if con
tinuing a casual conversation, i. I
should think that • after 30 years
in the desert, you’d learn the dif
ference.”
. _.
up Morton's
h to a
automobile that „
! t)n Clmhed ^ ln an<i A the overalled M ° r "
‘
man sat beside him, at the driver’s
wheel.
‘‘Eighteen or nineteen years
since you've been over this road, tt
sri ifl the driver. < • But you’ll recop:
nize all the bump s. I wish it
would rain here sometimes and
as!l 'the i
V s ™f of old ones
and oiake away,
new ones.”
“How are you, anyhpw,. Eli?”
inquired Morton.
"Can't complain. Y ou haven’t
changed much, Harry. Little
Kray on the temples. How’s the
< . bnbv?”
“Young lady, now, " Morton
told .him.
‘And pretty ns a picture, I
. (Continued Cn Page 8 )