Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920, July 10, 1902, Image 6

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Atlanta semi-weekly journal., July 10, 1902, Page 6, Image 6

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Newspaper Page Text6 fHE COUNTRY HOME' II Women, on the Farm Conducted By Mrs. ID. H. Felton. 4> Correspondence on borne topics or ♦ q, subjects of especial Interest to wo- ♦ 4> men Is Invited. Inquiries or letters ♦ q> should be brief and clearly written * a|> in ink on one side of the sheet. ♦ + Write direct to Mrs. W. H. Fel- 4 <• ton. Editor Home Department Semi- ♦ 4> Weekly Journal. Cartersville. Ga. ♦ < No inquiries answered by mail. ♦ ♦ ♦ < H«M»H I » » »♦»»♦ Historic Old Wesley Chapel. The Sunday Journal recently gave a Short history of Wesley chapel before It was renamed First Methodist church, but there was a mistake In the picture of ••Original Wesley chapel.” There were two chimneys in the picture presented in the Issue alluded to. and I have a very good rennon for saying that “Original Wesley chapel” wu’a building without a chlm ney. Soon after the organisation of this Methodist church in Atlanta, Rev. Wil liam Henry Clark, a local preacher and a citizen of DeKalb county, had a regular appointment at Wesley chapel once a month. From his home near Lithonia it was full 16 or IT miles to Atlanta. It was his custom to come as far as Decatur on Saturday night, then travel the six or seven miles to Atlanta, returning home After preaching. I accompanied him and a member of his family to the meeting house on one of these early occasions. I was a bit of a girl, but always ready for a little trip of this sort. Whether it was in the spring or fail of IM7 I am not able to say. but on Saturday night it rained and next morning it was raw and blustering. We were certainly cold enough after that six or seven miles’ ride facing the north wind to seek a Are. There was no place to make a tire in the church, or we would have had one without a doubt. There were half inch cracks in the floor and we simply shivered through the sermon, which was a good one. as I recollect. My feet did not recover from that blizzard day for a year or more. No. there was no flreplace, no stove, nothing to warm by at all. We Dever saw a flreplace or a warm room until we drove back to Decatur (to my home), where we had a warm dinner and a splendid wood fire in s capacious old fashioned chimney place with shining brass andirons to hold the glowing logs. I said to myself “there is no place like home" on a cold day. after all or 14 mile drive to and from a church with no place to warm your freezing feet during the time. Take off the chimneys in that ancient picture for there was no fireplace or stove in “original Wesley chapel, because I had positive experience as to the cold. It was a poor looking fabric that held the first congregations, to be sure, with Its rough slab seats. I remember being in Wesley chapel the id at a Sunday service during the war (or just afterwards, maybe), when I no ticed some household plunder stowed away in one corner, not far from the pul pit. Somebody said a good sister lodged there every night and rolled up her pal let on preaching days. The building at that time was a great barn-like struct ure that faced only one street, and was nearly opposite to the home of Judge Kward my old Decatur friend, who had moved to Atlanta when the town was small, but always ready to expand. Somebody should furnish you a photo of that building, because it was a church where some of the finest preachers in the United States delivered some of the finest sermons ever beard in its limits. Bishop Marvin preached that never-to be-forgotten sermon on "The Church the Bride of Christ.” in that old Wesley Chapel building, at an annual conference. Bishop Pierce gave the Atlanta people some of his finest sermons tn the same place. I remember going to hear Dr. Scott one Sunday night, while he was pas tor. when he drew a Une between nloe theatres and the bad ones. It was my usual habit to stow away in mind the sermons I listened to when from home, and then relate or review them over again to a home audience. I received the sermon of Dr. Scott to the best of my ability after my Atlanta visit, and was brought up standing when this question was put to me: “Did the doctor say you might go to theatres be fore he finishedT” and to save my life I could not answer the question. I am pretty sure, however, that I should not have been afraid of his “discipline” (on account of attending theatres after that sermon) if I had belonged to his congre gation. The beauty, wealth and fashion of At lanta attended Wesley Chapel In those days. There was never a church in At tenta or in Georgia, if my memory serves me right, where the congregation was better loking. better dressed or more in telligent in the days preceding and suc ceeding the civil war. Big preachers liked to fill its pulpit and big folks were glad to sit in its pews. Dr. Scott and Dr. Harrison (we had Dr. Huston, too), would take a holiday once In a while and rusti cate a few days with us in Old Cass, now Bartow. We knew a good deal of the out side of Old Wesley Chapel irt those earlier days, much more than in later days, of church and pastors. Os course, it is understood that a church can be inconveniently crowded when the marts of trade and the noise thereof get too close to the sacred edifice, but It seems a pity that Atlanta must pull down this great big consecrated building and move away to a quieter spot. There are traditions and memories connected with that spot of ground which enter into the homes and lives of thousands of families scattered all over the state and elsewhere. But such is life! It was a long step from that rude cabin in the forties, with rough floor, full of cracks, to the present stately edifice over whose erection Dr. Harrison spent some anxious years of his life, and we may hope the successor to First church on the proposed new site may carry with it the fragrance of sweet memories that will become an everlasting perfume to those who are endeavoring to transmute the old church into the new. I have in mind an experience that befell me In the year 1864. tn front of old Wesley chapel, that I will recall, although I know I shall jump from the sublime to the ridiculous at one bound in telling about it. We were warned that we must vacate Cherokee. Ga.. after the battle at Mis sionary Ridge. General Joe Johnston's officers at Dalton were by no means sure that they could stay there after winter broke and General Sherman began to move southward. So we hunted a refuge place near Macon and also began to move necessaries, to plan for a crop and fix up for a sudden exit from the old home. Some time in February. 1864. I went down to Atlanta to get a car load of household effects transferred from a State road box car to another, as we were unable to pass the cars through for some reason at that time. The winter had been long and severe. Continuous rains and freezes and terrible mud made streets and roads almost im passable. There were brick sidewalks tn Atlanta from the depot until you reached Wesley chapel. As I went, afoot, from ■K ■■ MR tanks WNttt All ELS EMS. O M aas * Covjrti Syrvp. Tmim Good. Va* M tn lime, gold br drjtfg.« pfrf the car shed to my sister’s home on Peachtree (where Hon. Frank Rice now lives) a young army officer, in brand new uniform, volunteered to see me safely, as no hacks were traveling because the streets were so miry and the mud so deep. Just after we started a flood of rain came down on us. When I struck plain dirt, at Wesley chapel’s sidewalk, I mired up. Both overshoes stuck fast, and I had to be fairly lifted to walking posture again. Just in front of the pres ent site of the Grand opera house my gal lant escort slipped down. I went down with him, and we had real difficulty get ting up. And that lovely gray uniform was fairly caked with mud, ruined for all time! The situation was desperate. Un der the slick-moving soft mud there was a strata of frozen ground that was also as slick as glass. A venturesome county official happened to pass along after awhile and we hailed him like ship wrecked people in midocean. He kindly hauled me in his buggy to my stopping place, where I found myself drenched to the skin—face, hands, clothes covered with dirt, and my skirts, shoes and stock ings stiff with the mud of Atlanta's dirty streets. Nothing like that condition of the city had ever been known up to that time. Now, when I And the streets con tinually torn up and in state of never ending excavation, I say to myself, “Any thing is better than a war-time mire.” King Edward’s Health. It would be pathetically sad if King Ed ward should be unable to enjoy the crown he waited for so long, and if death should say to his royal ambition as King Cannte did to the sea: “So far and no farther.” May it not be expected? . _ While the gamblers are betting Immense sums of money that the king will never live through the well-advertised corona tion exercises, it would not be surprising in the least, if somebody should try to pick him off and win a bet. But if paralysis ever seizes him in a natural and very common way the end will come in the near future no matter how well guarded his person may be kept, and the rumor is current that he has had a paralytic attack, perhaps a light one within the last few days, due to un wonted excitement. If the king was not a royal personage his strain of mind under existing circum stances would possibly tend to paralysis, but with the pomp and circumstance add ed there is every reason tn the world to expect him to suffer from undue excite ment. with more or less danger to both mental and physical faculties. Kings de light to glorify their opportunities and it is not to be supposed that King Edward would abate one jot or title of his ex ceptional advantage on this line, but if he was open to well-seasoned advice or counsel he would go it alow, and very steady, when risks are so great and chan ces for miscarriage are many. When “L'nser Frits,” his brother-in-law. was slowly dying with cancer and his aged father. Emperor William the Ist, hung on to life with so much tenacity, it is said that King Edward's sister, the wife of “Unser Fritz.” was in a fair twitter of anxiety and fear lest her husband would die first and never wear the crown of Ger many and it was a pathetic thing to read about, as far removed as we are from the German nation, that the dying man's last days should have been so much min gled with sordid cares and over-strained ambition, as earth was slowly receding and inevitable fate stood beside him in plain view. Doubtless he would have been glad if his mind could have been left free, and at peace, and it was both a farce and a tragedy when his father died and his ambitious wife realized her wishes, pla cing the bauble on a head that was surely marked as death’s own trophy, despite the crown and the coronation, so eagerly schemed for. We may truly congratulate the English sovereign if death steps back for a season and gives him a little playtime with his honors, but the chances are that his reign will be brief and his successor willing to take up his burden and furnish another coronation, for British royalty and par venue Americans with gioney, as soon as death claims him. “Vanity of vanities,” said the preacher, and perhaps there is not a more extreme ly anxious person in the United King dom of Great Britain and Ireland than the man who has his coronation regalia laid out and which he may never put on in life, with possibly his strenuous efforts to glorify his ambition, working his own dis appointment, where he so much expected. But if he dies now he is quite as much in possession of his inheritance as he would be a day or month later; so what’s the use of being concerned in one way or another? One cannot eat his cake and still have it, and if he chooses to run himself to death when he has the chance to rest and be quiet, why fling away your sym pathy? I should not care particularly if our American snobs had their pains for their money, but King Edward may thank his stars if he makes a success of his vain glorious undertaking and gets through crowning himself without an accident of serious proportions. His efforts to mag nify himself would seem to invite disaster. To Be or Not To Be Hatless. The following explains itself: “NEW YORK. May 15.—1 n an address before the diocesan convention of the New Jersey Episcopal church Bishop Scar borough called attention to the growing practice of women appearing hatless in public places. It had been extended to attendances at divine worship, which, he thought,- was not a consistent practice, and he hoped it would be discontinued.” Now what are the women to do? Shall they wear hats or sit in the public places of worship or amusement without hats on their heads? Will it be possible to please all their critics? A few evenings since in a large and crowded convention assemblage a cry was heard “hats off! hats off.” . • Directly these hats were resting quietly on the owner's laps and the audience seem ed to be satisfied as no further appeals were heard. Indeed the present style of hats should be changed if the bishop is sustained in his present contention. They are immense and growing more so. One fashionable hat in front of you will effectually shut of the speaker's form as well as his face on the platform unless one is tall enough to overlook the major ity and look over heads also/ Men take off their hats in church, why should not women do likewise? Ah! but some stickler rises up to say St. Paul says: "Women, cover your heads.” And St. Paul said a good many other things which fitted the times he lived in and which fail to fit in the present times. I would like to ask the bishop if he ap proves of foot-washing in his church? The Master himself set a foot-washing ex ample and declined to pass judgment on hats or bonnets. I think foot-washing should be explain ed away properly if it is out of date to wash your church brother's feet, as a church ordinance. Women's hats are not to be ranked along with foot-washing exercises, and common sense says do as you like about the hat business especially as the bishop does the same way about foot-washing. Dawson News: While we wuz up to At lanta the other day a helping to nominate Joe Terre!!, the office boy slipped In a para graph endorsing th* Kansas City platform. We desire to say that It has been some two years sine* we endorsed the Kansas City plat form or touched a drop. I * t THE SEMI-WEEKLY JOURNAL, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, THURSDAY, JULY 10, 1903. ■The Leonard’s Soots” Chapter Xl.—Continued. Legree, Perkins and Haley cheered his wild utterances and urged him to greater flights. He paused as though about to stop when Legree, evidently surprised and delighted at his powers, said: “Go on! Go on!” “Yes, go on,” shouted Perkins. “We are done with race and color lines.” A dreamy look came to Tim's eyes as he continued: “Our proud white aristocrats of the south ara In a panic It seems. They fear the coming power of the negro. They fear their Desdemonas may be fascinated again by an Othello! Well, Othello's day has come at last. If he has dreamed dreams in the past his tongue dared not speak, the day is fast coming when he will put these dreams into deeds, not words. “The south has not paid the penalties of her crimes. The work of the conqueror ha* not yet been done in this land. Our work now is to bring the proud low and exalt the lowly. This is the first duty of conqueror. “The French revolutionists established a tanney, where they tanned the hides the of dead aristocrats into leather with which they shod the common people. This was France in the eighteenth century with a thousand years of Christian cul ture. “When the English army conquered Scotland they hunted and killed every fu gitive to a man, tore from the homes of their fallen foes their wives, stripped them naked, and made them follow‘the army begging bread, the laughing stock and sport of every soldier and camp follower! This was England in the meridian of An glo-Saxon Intellectual glory, the Eng land of Shakespeare, who was writing Othello to please the warlike populace. “I say to my peolpe now in the lan guage of the inspired world, “All things are yours!’ I have been drilling and teach ing them through the Union league, the young and the old. I have told the old men that they will be Just as useful as the young. If they can't carry a musket they can apply the torch when the time comes. And they are ready now to an swer the call of the Lord!” They crowded around Tim and wrung bls hand. • ••••• Early in 1867, two years after the war, Thaddeus Stevens passed through con gress his famous bill destroying the gov ernments of the southern states and di viding them into military districts, en franchising the whole negro race and dis franchising one-fourth of the whites. The army was sent back to the south to en force these decrees at the point of the bayonet. The authority of the supreme court was destroyed by a suplementary act and the south denied the right of ap peal. Mr. Stevens then introduced his bill to confiscate the property of the white people of the south. The negroes laid down their hoes and plows and began to gather in excited meetings. Crimes of violence Increased daily. Not a night pass ed but that a burning barn or home wrote its message of aparchy on the black sky. The negroes refused to sign any con tracts to work, to pay rents or vacate their houses on notice even from the Freedman's bureau. The negroes on General Worth’s planta tion not only refused to work or move, but organized to prevent any white man from putting his foot on the land. General Worth procured a special order from the headquarters of the Freedman’s bureau for the district located at Inde pendence. When tlje officer appeared and attempted to serve this notice the negroes mobbed him. A company of troops were ordered to Hambright and the notice served again by the bureau official, accompanied by the captain of this company. The negroes asked for time to hold a meeting and discuss the question. They held their meeting and gathered fully five hundred men from the neighborhood, all armed with revolvers or muskets. They asked Legree and Tim Shelby to tell them what they should do. There was no un certain sound in what Legree said. He looked over the crowd of eager faces with pride and conscious power. “Gentlemen, your duty is plain. Hold your land! It's yours. You’ve worked it for a lifetime. These officers here tell you that old Andy Johnson has pardoned General Wprth and that you have no rights on the land without his contract. I tell you old Andy Johnson has no right to pardon a rebel, and that he will be hanged before another year. Thaddeus Stevens, Charles Sumner and B. F. But ler are running this country. Mr. Stevens has never failed yet on anything he has set his hand. He has promised to give you the land. Stick to it! Shake your fist in old Andy Johnson’s face and the face of this bureau and tell them so!” "Dat we will!” shouted a negro woman, as Tim Shelby rose to speak. “You have suffered,” said Tim. “Now let the white man suffer. Times have changed. In the old days the white man said: “ 'John, come black my boots!’ “And the poor negro had to black his boots. I expect to see the day when I will say to a white man: 'Black my boots!’ And the white man will tip his hat and hurry to do what I tell him!” “Yes, Lawd! Glory to God! Hear dat now!” “We will drive the white men out of this country. That is the purpose of our friends at Washington. If white men want to live in the south they can become our ser vants. If they don’t like their Job they can move to a more congenial climate. You have congress on your side, backed by a million bayonets. There is no presi dent. The supreme court is chained. In San Domingo no white man is allowed to vote, hold office, or hold a foot of land. We will make this mighty south a more glorious San Domingo!” A frenzied shout rent the air. Tim and Legree were carried on the shoulders of stalwart men In triumphant procession with five hundred crazy negroes yelling and screaming at their heels. The officers made their escape in the confusion and beat a hasty retreat to town. They reported the situation to headquarters and asked for instructions. CHAPTER XII RED SNOWDROPS. Thfe spirit of anarchy was in the taint ed air. The bonds that held sociey were loosened. Government threatened to be come organized crime Instead of the or ganized virtue of the community. The report of crimes of unusual horror among the ignorant and the vicious began now to startle the world. The Rev John Durham on his rounds among the poor discovered a little negro boy whom the parents had abandoned to starve. His father had become a drunken loafer at Independence and the Freed man’s bureau delivered the child to his mother and her sister, who lived in a cabin about two miles from Hambright. and ordered them to care for the boy. A few days later the child had disap peared. A search was instituted, and the charred bones were found in an old ash heap in the woods near this cabin. The mother had knocked him in the head and burned the body in a drunken orgie with dissolute companions. The sense of impending disaster crush ed the hearts of thoughtful and serious people. One of the last acts of Governor Macon whose office was now under the control of the military commandant at Charleston, S. C„ was to issue a procla mation, appointing a day of fasting and prayer to God for deliverance from the ruin that threatened the state under the dominion of Legree and the negroes. It was a memorable day in the history of the people. In many places they met in the churches the night before, and held all-night watches and prayer meetings. They felt that a pestilence worse than the black death of the middle ages threaten ed to extinguish civilisation. The Baptist church at Hambright was crowded to the doors with white faced women and sorrowful men. About 10 o’clock in the morning, pale and haggard from a sleepless night of prayer and thought, the preacher arose to address the people. The hush of death fell as he gazed silently over the audience for a moment. How pale his face! They had never seen him so moved with pas sions that stirred his utmost soul. His first words were addressed to God. He did not seem to see the people before him. "Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. “Before the mountains were brought forth or ever Thou hadst formed the eat th and the world, even from everlast ing to everlasting. Thou art God!” The people instinctively bowed their heads, fired by the subtle quality of in tense emotion the tones of his voice com municated and many of the people were already in tears. "Thou turneat man to destruction, and sayest, return, ye children of men. "Who knowest the power of thine an ger? "Return, O Lord, how long? and let it repent Thee concerning Thy servants. "Beloved,” he continued, “it was per mitted unto your fathers and brothers and children to die for their country. You must live for her in the black hour of despair. There will be no roar of guns, no long lines of gleaming bayonets, no flash of pageantry or martial music to stir your souls. “You are called t<* go down, man by man, alone, naked and unarmed in the blackness of night and fight with the powers of hell for your civilization. “You must look this question squarely in the face. You are to be put to the supreme test. You are to stand at the Judgment bar of the ages and make good your right to life. The attempt is to be deliberately made to blot out Anglo-Saxon society and substitute African barbarism. "A few years ago a southern represent ative in a stupid rage knocked Charles Sumner down with a cane and cracked his skull. Now it is this poor cracked brain, mad with hate and revenge, that is at tempting to blot the southern states from the map of the world and build negro ter ritories on their ruins. In the madness of party passions, for the first time in his tory, an anarchist, Thaddeus Stevens, has obtained the dictatorship of a great con stitutional government, hauled down its flag and nailed the black flag of confisca tion and revenge to its masthead. "The excuse given for this, that the law makers of the south attempted to rein slave the negro by their enactments against vagrants and provisions for ap prenticeship, is so weak a lie it will not deserve the notice of a future historian. Every law passed on these subjects since the abolition of slavery was simply copied from the codes of the northern states where free labor was the basis of society. "Lincoln alone, with his great human heart and broad statesmanship, could have saved us. But the south had no luck. Again and again in the war victory was within her grasp and an unseen hand snatched It away. In the hour of her defeat the bullet of a madman strikes down the great president, her last refuge in ruin! “God alone is our help. Let us hold fast to our faith in Him. We can only cry with MR. DOOLEY Writes ON POVERTY (Copyright, 1902.) ELL, sir,” said Mr. Doo ley. “ye ought to be glad ye’re not sick an’ lllus threes at th’ same time.” “W “How’s that?” Mr. Hennessy de manded. "Well, ye see,” said Mr. Dooley, “suppose anny thing happens to ye now; a fellow counthryman dhrops a hammer on ye th’ day afther th’ picnic or ye’er di-gestlon listens to a walkin’ dillygate fr’m th’ Union iv Mlckrobes an* goes out on sthrlke. Th’ polisman on th’ corner has th’ usual suspicions among gintlemen an’ hits ye over th’ head an’ calls th’ wagon an* sinds ye home. Th’ good woman wrings her hands an’ calls Hlven to witness that if ye have a toothache ye wake th’ neighborhood, an’ slaps a mustard plasther on»ye. If she comes back later an’ finds ye haven’t put th’ sheet be tween ye an’ th’ plasther an’ gone to sleep, she knows 'tls seeryous an’ sinds f’r th’ doctor. We contlnyoo to have doctors in what th’ pa-apers call th’ outlyln’ wards. They live above th’ dhrug-store an’ practice midlcine on us. Th' physicians an’ surgeons are all down town editin’ th' pa-apers. Well, dock comes to ye afther awhile in a buggy. On th’ way up he sets a broken leg, removes an arm, does a little something tr th’ city directhry, takes a thrlnk, talks polyticks with th' un happy parent an' fln’lly lands at ye’er dure with th’ burglar's tools. Afther he’s closed that dure th’ secrets iv th* Inner man is know non’y to him. No wan hears or wants to hear annythlng about it. Th’ nex’ time we see ye, ye come out lookin’ pale an’ emacyated an’ much younger an’ better lookin’ thin annywan iver raymimbers seein’ ye, an' afther awhile ye obsarve that whin ye start to tell how manny stitch es it took an' what ye see whin ye smelled th’ dizzy sponge, ye’er friends begin to sprint away. An’ ye go back reluctantly to wurruk. Ye niver hear annywan say: ‘Hinnissy is great com p'ny whin he begins to talk about his sickness.’ I’ve seen men turn fr’m a poor, helpless, enthusyastlc invalid to listen to a man talkin’ about th’ Nica ragooan canal. “But with th’ great ’tls far diff’rent. I’ve often thanked th’ Lord that I didn’t contlnyoo in polytlcs whin I was cap’n iv me precinct f’r with th’ eyes iv all th' wurruld focussed, as Hogan says, on me, I cud niver injye th’ pleasure iv a moment's sickness with out people in far-off Boolgahrya know in’ whether me liver was on sthraight. Sickness is wan iv th’ privileges iv th’ poor man that he shares with no wan. Whin it comes kindly to him, th’ four walls iv his room closes in on him like a tent, folks goes by on th’ other side tv th’ sthreet, th’ rollin’ mill disappears, an’ with th’ mornin’ comes no honest day’s tile. He lies there in blessld idle ness an’ no matther what’s th’ mat ther with him he don’t suffer half as much pain as he wud in pursoot iv two dollars a day. I knowed a man wanst who used to take his vacations that way. Whin others wint off f’r to hunt what Hogan calls th’ finny monsthes iv th’ he become seeryously ill an’ took to bed. It made him very sthrong. “But suppose I hadn’t resigned fr’m cap’n iv me preclnt whin I was de feated. If annything had happened to me. ye’d pick up th’ pa-apers an’ see: ‘Seeryous news about th’ Cap’n iv th’ twinty-sicond preclnt iv th’ sixth ward. He has brain fever. He hat. not. He got into a fight with a Swede an’ had his ribs stove in. He fell out iv th’ window iv a Joolry store he was t>ur- Bu REV. THOMAS DIXON, JR. CoDurioht 1902 Bu Doubfedau, Page & Co aching hearts in the language of the psalmist of old, ‘How long, O Lord, how long?’ “The voices of three men now fill the world with their bluster—Charles Sumner, a crack-brained theorist; Thaddeus Stev ens, a clubfooted misanthrope, and B. F. Butler, a triumvirate of physical and mental deformity. Yet they are but the cracked reeds of a great organ that peals forth the discord of a nation’s blind rage. When the storm is past and reason rules passion they will be flung into oblivion. We must bend to the storm. It is God's will.” The people left the church with heavy hearts. They were hopelessly depressed. In the afternoon as the churches were be ing slowly emptied groups of negroes stood on the corners talking loudly and discussing the meaning of this new Sun day so strangely observed. It began to snow. It was late in March and this was an unusual phenomenon in the south. The next morning the earth was cover ed with four inches of snow that glistened in the sun with a strange redish hue. On examination It was found that every snowdrop had In it a tiny red spot that looked like a drop of blood. Nothing of the kind had ever been seen before in the history of the world, so far as any one knew. This freak of nature seemed a harbinger of sure and terrible calamity. Even the most cultured and thoughtful could not shake off the impression it made. The preacher did his best to cheer the people in his daily intercourse with them. His Sunday sermons seemed in these dark est rays unusually tender and hopeful. It was a marvel to those who heard his bit ter and sorrowful speech on the day of fasting and prayer that he could preach such sermons as those which followed. Occasionally old Uncle Joshua Miller would ask him to preach for the negroes in their new church on Sunday afternoons. He always went, hoping to keep some sort of helpful influence over them in spite of their new leaders and teachers. It was strange to watch this man shake hands with these negroes, call them fa miliarly by their names, ask kindly after their families and yet carry in his heart the presage of a coming Irreconcilable conflict. For no one knew more clearly than he that the issues were being Join ed from the deadly grip of that conflict of races that would determine whether this republic would be mulatto or Anglo- Saxon. Yet at heart he had only the kind liest feelings for these familiar dusky faces now rising a black storm above the horizon, threatening the existence of civ ilized society, under the leadership of Si mon Legree and Mr. Stevens. It seemed a Joke sometimes as he thought of it, a huge, preposterous Joke, this actual attempt to reverse the order of nature, turn society upside down and make a thicklipped, flat-nosed negro but yesterday taken from the jungle, the ruler of the proudest and strongest race of men evolved in two thousand years of his tory. Yet when he remembered ‘ the fierce passions in the hearts of the demagogues who were experimenting with this social dynamite, it was a joke that took on a hellish, sinister meaning. (TO BE CONTINUED.) You are liable to a sudden attack of Summer sickness and should keep in your house a bottle of Dr. SETH ARNOLD’S BALSAM, the best known Remedy. War ranted to give satisfaction or money re funded by Brannen & Anthony, Atlanta. glarizln’ an’ broke th’ left junction iv th’ sizjymoid cartilage. Th’ trouble with th’ Cap’n is he dhrinks too much. A man iv his age who has been a soak all his life always succumbs to anny throuble like hyperthrooplly iv th’ cranium. Docthor Muggers, dean iv th’ Post Gradyate Vethrinary School iv Osteopathy, says he had a similar case las’ year in Mr. Hinnery Haltch Clohessy, wan iv th' best known citi zens iv this city. Like th’ Cap, Mr. Chohessy was a high liver, a heavy dhrinker, a gambler an’ a flirt. Th’ cases are almost identical. Owin’ to th’ code iv pro-fessional eethics Dr. Mug gers cud not tell th’ bereaved fam’ly what ailed Misthor Clohessy. but it was undoubtedly his Past Life.’ “Thin come th’ doctors. Not wan doctor, Hinnissy, to give ye a whiff out iv a towel an’ make ye sleep f’r an hour an’ wake up an’ say ‘I fooled ye. Whin do ye begin?’ No, but al iv thlm. They escort th’ prisoner up th’ sthreet in a chariot an’ th’ little newsboys runs alongside sellin’ exthry papers. ‘Our night edition will print th’ inside facts about Cap Dooley’s condition, an’ th’ Cap himsllf with a cinemato graph iv’ th’ jolly proceedin’* by Dock Laparatonny.’ What happens to th’ crim'nal at first is th’ same as if he was a daclnt, wurrukln’ man. But whin that is done, an’ ’tls getin’ so aisy they tell me they'se not much diff’rence between a good clam-sales man an’ a first-class surgeon, th’ lithry wurruk begins. Ye think 'tls all over whin ye say: ‘Dock, put ye’er hand undher th’ pillow an’ take what’s there.' But not so. Th’ asslmbled docks adjourn to a large hall an’ prepare th’ story iv ‘Cap Dooley; a Stormy Career, Be Wan Who Knows.’ “ ‘Upon seein’ th’ Cap, we at once diagnosed th’ case as peritclipaliticki pantilitisitis, or chicken bone in th’ throat. Dr., Pincers operated. Dr. Smothers administered th’ annysthet -Ic, Dr. Hygeen opened th’ window. Dr. Anodyne turned on th’ gas. Dr. Alu ompalne turned th’ pitchers to th’ wall, Dr. Rambo looked out th’ window, Drs. Peroxide, Gycal, Cephalgern, Antlpy reen an’ Coletar took a walk in th’ park, and Dr. Saliclate figured up th’ bill. As we have said, we diagnosed th’ case as above. We can’t raymimber th’ name. It depinds on how th’ syllables came out iv th’ hat. We were wrong, although what we see whin we got in more thin made up f’r th’ error. We made a long incision fr’m th’ chin down and another acrost, an’ not find in what we explcted, but many things that ought to be kept fr’m th’ fam ’ly, we put th’ Cap back an’ wint on. Th’ op’ratlon was a complete success. Th’ wretch is restin’ an’ swearin’ easi ly. We have given him a light meal iv pickles an’ anti-septic oats, an’ surgi cal science havin’ done its duty, mus’ lave th’ rest to Nature, which was not in th’ consultation, bein’ consid ered be some iv us slightly Irregular. (Signed) Look at our names: “ ‘Pincers, Smothers, Muffins, Hy geen, Anodyne, Allcompane, Rambo; Peroxide, Antipyreen, Coltar, Gycal, Saliclate.* “But that’s nawthln*. If ye think they’se annything ye wud like to keep up ye’er sleeve, look f’r it in th’ pa apers. ’Th’ followin’ facts is stated on th’ authority iv wan iv th’ attlndin’ surgeons: Cap Dooley cut up terribly undher th’ chloroform, singin’ songs, swearin’ an’ askin’ f’r Lucy. His wife’s name is Annamariar. She was in th’ adjinin’ room. It seems they have had throuble. Th’ room was poorly furnish ed. The Cap’s clothes was much worn, as was most iv him. He must have led a shockin’ life. It is doubtful if he will iver raycover, f’r he is very, very old. He has been concealin’ his age f’r manny years. He is a natoryous profli gate, as was well shown be th’ view we had. Th’ flash light pitcher iv th’ Cap will appeal to all who know his inner histhry.’ “An’ there ye ar-re. Think iv a man cornin’ in th’ light iv day afther all that. He can’t get on clothes enough to cover him. He may bear himself with a haughty manner, but he feels that ivry man he meets knows more about him than he knows himsllf. Th’ A New Jersey Town That Is Under Petticoat Domination Atlantic Highlands, N. J., is an attrac tive seaside resort, but its chief claim to notoriety at present is that it is under “petticoat domination,” the municipal af fairs being managed by women. Two of the most Important public offices of the borough are filled with distin guished ability by mere slips of girls. Miss Louise M. Snyder is the postmistress and Miss Mary D. Hart is the town clerk. They are both under 25 and pretty, viva cious and attractive. Moreover, the whole town, from the mayor to the man who drives the water cart, are unanimous in saying that never in all the history of the town has Atlantic Highlands been better served, and rarely ever so well served as under the present rule, says a writer in the Kansas City Star. The board of public improvements is likewise composed entirely of women. It really seems as though in this beautiful seaside town woman had at last come into her own. In the words of one of the lead ing citizens of the place. "The women run the town.” And it is even being hinted that the next mayor shall be a woman. It is all the more remarkable from the fact that never has Atlantic Highlands boasted of a so-called female suffrage as sociation, nor a woman’s civic federation. Indeed, the ambitious woman’s club and the equally innocuous "mothers’ meetings” have been sadly ignored In’ the social sys tem of the village. The maids and ma trons have been, until a few months ago, Just nice, easy going, comfortable sort of women, quite content with their native place and the administration of its affairs on the part of their fathers, husbands and brothers. x There is no saying how long this state of apparent apathy on the part of the women might have continued had not two things happened. The postmaster died and his daughter. Miss Snyder, was appointed his successor. Almost simultaneous with the installation of Miss Snyder the town clerk Adam C. Hart, died, and his daughter. Miss Mary C. Hart, was unanimously elected to succeed him. ORGANIZED AT A EUCHRE PARTY. This was early in March, and the very next week, at a fashionable euchre party given at the residence of Mrs. Peter 8. Conover, Jr., wife of ex-Mayor Conover, the leading society women of the town to the number of thirty-five, organized themselves into what is now known as the Atlantic Highlands Improvement society. It was pointed out that the men of the town had not availed themselves of their political privileges—that the town needed, and had long needed, many innovations and improvements. They elected a board of officers and di vided themselves into committees. Mrs. Charles R. Snyder was made president; Mrs. Spencer Morris, vice president; Mrs. George L. Barrett, treasurer; Mrs. F. E. Price, corresponding secretary; Mrs. F. E. Morehouse, recording secretary, and Mrs. Peter S. Conover, Jr., chairman of finance committee. Among the committees delegated to spe cial work was formed the back yard com mittee, whose duty it is to Inspect the back yards of every house in town and see that the sanitary conditions are irre proachable. It is the duty of this commit tee to see that careless housewives ape de terred from throwing paper and garbage about. Then, there is the front yard committee, which has for its aim the beautifying of the little plots of ground on which nearly every house in the town is built. It has among other objects the abolishment of the beauty destroying fence, which it hopes to accomplish by persuasion. It al so urges and is trying to foster a taste for landscape gardening. Next in importance is the nuisance committee, which will keep its eye on all public nuisances in general. The rights of citizens to built a stable or other more or less obnoxious structure in a place where it might offend the public taste or endanger the public health or mar an otherwise beautiful view will be vigor ously protested against. The various committees of the Improve ment society are kept extremely busy just now, in view of the coming opening of the summer season. Every day they are to be seen in groups of four or five, driving or walking through the Atlantic Highlands streets. They wear pretty shirt waists, golf skirts and outing hats, and for aught the casual observer might knew they are fellow on th’ sthreet has been within th’ walls. He’s sayin’ to himsllf: ‘Ye're a hollow sham composed akelly iv im paired organs an’ antiseptic gauze.* To the end iv his life, he’ll niver be an nything more thin an annytomlcal chart to his frinds. His privacy is over f river, ,f r what good can it do annywan, Hinnissy, tl pull down th’ blinds iv his bed room if ivrybody knows th’ size, shape an’ location iv his spleen? “No, sir, if I’ve got to be sick, give me th’ ordhn’ry decencies iv poverty. I don’t want anny man to know anny more about me thin he can lam fr’m th’ handiwork iv Marks, th’ tailor, an’ Schmitt, th’ shoemaker, an’ fr’m the’ deceitful expression iv me face. If I have a bad heart, let him know it be me eyes. On me vest is written: ’Thus far an’ no farther.’ They’se manny a man on intimate terms with th’ Im pror iv Rooshya that don’t know anny more about me thin that I'm broad cloth on Sundah an serge on week days. An’ I don’t intind they shall. I hide behind th’ privileges iv me position an’ say: ‘Fellow citizens, docks an’ jour nalists. I cannot inthrajooce ye to th’ Inner Man. He’s a reecloose an’ averse to s’ciety. He's modest an’ shy an’ objects to callers. Ye can guess what kind iv man I am but I wudden’t have ye know.’ An’ I can do that as long as I stay poor.” “I’m glad I’m poor,” said Mr. Hen nessy. "It gives ye less to talk about but more to think about,” said Mr. Dooley. MIDSUMMER COMFORT. Simple Little Remedy for the July Pantry Peat. The troublesome little red ants that appear as if by magic about midsum mer, and take complete control of the pantry at the time when summer heat makes other trials hard to endure, may now be routed by a very simple remedy. A practical housewife made the discov ery by accident, and it has been found satisfactory in every instance in which it has since been tried. Simply mix five cents worth of tartar emetic in an jqual amount of white sugar, make it quite moist with cold water, put it into small dishes and set it on the shelves where the ants art troublesome. The ants wiU disappear quite as mysteriously as they came, and there will be no dead ones lying around on shelves and floor. Do not throw the mixture away, but save it for further attacks, as it can easily be moistened and used again when we go to the pantry some warm, moist morning and find sugar bowl, cookies and all sorts of sweets and cereals, swarm ing with the troublesome summer pests. He Won the Pot. Tit-Bits. A comedian who had been enraged to enter tain a family party proposed, at the conclusion of the performance a little game of his own. Each of the company, himself included, was to stake a shilling, and the pool would be taken by the person who possessed the most of ths articles which he (the comedian) would in quire for. On his assurance that he would take no mean advantage, but run the same risk as the rest, all the members of the party consented, and between 20 and 30 shillings were soon laid on the table. The cotfiedian added his shilling to the pile with a cunning smile, and then said: "Now. which of you ladies and gentlemen have the greatest number of false teeth?” Deathlike stillness for the space of one min ute, then a burst of laughter, both hearty and In some cases forced. "I have six,” continued ths comedian, “who has got more?" The comedian took the pool. simply so many women and girls out for an afternoon’s shopping or a pleasure Jaunt into the country. They are laugh ing and talking in excellent spirits, when suddenly the carriages are stopped. Their clear, far-seeing eyes are ever on the look out for things that need attention. REMOVAL OF AN EYESORE. One of the specific objects which the so ciety has in view is the removal of an old burned dock on the water’s edge, in front of the town. “It has been there so long that we are simply tired of looking at it,” one of the women dald, during a recent tour of in spection, “and if something isn't soon done we’ll have to come down ourselves and clear it away surreptitiously." There is indeed no eyesore or nuisance too grave or unromantic for these wide awake new women vigorously to protest against and take active measures in re moving. It is through Miss Hart, in the capacity of town clerk, that the measures of the Improvement society are brought before the town council. * t Miss Hart, the town clerk, is in the early twenties. She is a high school and, in addition to her borough duties, is private secretary to President Coleman of the bicycle trust. Miss Hart spends from 9 till 4 o’clock every day—except Saturday, when she leaves at 12—in her employer’s office in a Park Row skyscraper. Her duties as a town officer are attended to in the evenings and on Saturday after noon. On one of these Saturday afternoons I found Miss Hart in her office, which is a pleasant little room overlooking the main street of the town. She had Just returned from her morning’s work in the city, and although she was tired and hungry—for she had had no luncheon—she very bravely slipped Into a drawer of her roll-top desk the box of chocolate and package of "5 o’clock teas” which she carried under her arm and proceeded directly to business. Three men were awaiting the services of the pretty town clerk, who hastily un pinned her veil, took the pins out of her neat black hat and deposited it on a shelf behind her desk. Then she got right down to work. First, there was a man with a budget of garbage bids. Miss Hart tool; the documents, examined them carefully one by one. handling them as daintily and evincing as much interest in their abstruse contents as though she wers matching ribbons. When the mysterious papers were all inspected Miss Hart stamped each of them and attached the seal of the borough of Atlantic Highlands. The next man reported a defective side walk. a broken down culvert and an ob noxious stable—all duly set forth in ths legal looking documents which he handed the town clerk. To the next man Miss Hart had to administer the oath, as his business related to something or other about public funds. And when his busi ness had been properly attended to he, too, passed out, and then the girl official lean ed back in her swival chair and laughed. At all times attractive the town clerk of Atlantic Highlands is doubly so when she laughs. “Now, please don’t say that I am pretty and have dimples,” she said earnestly. “You don’t know how annoyed both Miss Snyder and I have been over all the no toriety and absurd compliments we have received since coming into office." Miss Hart now leaned forward and dip ped her pen into the inkwell and began to sign vouchers. 1“ must get at this* work while I talk, for these vouchers must be gotten ready in time for the meeting of the town council tonight. Now, as a matter of fact, there is scarcely anything to say, except that I am Just an ordinary, every day sort of a girl who happened to be ap pointed to office. My father was town clerk for seven years, and at his death our mayor, Dr. John H. Van Mater, appointed me to the vacancy.” I looked about the bare, businesslike little office. "What are you looking for?” laughs Miss Hart, “for fancy work and art flowers? Isn’t it abeurd to get out such reports? It was the men of the town who did it as a Joke. They said that the walls of this place and the postoffice were filled with pretty pictures and bric-a-brac, and that Miss Snyder and I worked in rooms strewn with flowers. Such statements are really too absurd to merit even a denial.” THOUGHT BALLOON GIFT FROM HEAVEN Philadelphia North American. Lincoln Smith, citizen of color, who Ilves near Hashagen’s park, in South St. Louis, holds the theory that what drops direct from heaven Into his premises Is his. This theory caused some delay Monday night In the balloon ascension at Hashagen’s park, for Mr. Smith claimed ownership of the balloon when It dropped into his yard aafter ecaping from its attendants. The aeronaut was in his pinky pajamas, ready for the ascension. The big balloon, chuck full of hot air, was beating about the grounifa, tugging at Its rope like a chained tiger avid for liberty. Suddenly there was a snap, the rope gave way, and the hot-air bag rose gracefully into cooler airways. The balloon had escaped. The fugitive sailed around above the city roofs Until Its Interior air cooled off sufficiently to permit Its descent. Then it came down In the front yard of Mr. Smith’s domain, fright ening three or four playful pickaninnies out of three weeks’ watermelon appetite. “Lordy me. Clartndy,” called Lincoln Smith to his wife. “Come out hyah an' see dis present from de good Lawd!" The balloon was whipping among the garden truck In the yard, a thing of surpassing won der. All the neighbors crowded around to see it. Presently the aeronaut, pink pajamas and all, appeared. With him was one of the park officials. The private watchman in ths neigh borhood also came up. The three men entered the yard to take ths balloon away. “Git outer dis yahd, white folks!” shouted Mr. Smith. “Git right outen hyah, or Ah'll hab yo’ 'rested fo' trespassin'. Ah will.” "I want my balloon,” said the Santos of the party. “Go 'way somewhah, den, an' git yo’ bal loon,” returned Mr. Smith. “Ah don* see yo* balloon hyah.” "This Is my balloon, you ” “What yo’ mean, white man?” asked Mr. Smith. "Dis balloon fell into my yahd right out o* hebben. Hit’s wuth 325 to me. Ah’H sell yo* my balloon fo’ 323." No argument would avail. Mr. Smith de clared that he owned the balloon by right of discovery, and that there was no proof that his visitors had ever owned it. ' “Yo’ got to show me,” said Mr. Smith. The aeronaut worked off some more verbal fireworks, which were so hot that the air In the balloon became heated and the big bag was about to make another ascension. Mr. Smith caught it by the dangling rope with one hand and held firmly to a stake with the other. He did not propose to be kidnaped by his own balloon, or hoist by his petard, so to speak. . The upshot was that a policeman in uniform was called to the scene. Mr. Smith has more respect for a blue uni form and a nickel star than for a pink pajama. He capitulated, and the aeronaut sailed away in his aerial car. • "Jis’ ouh luck, Clarlndy," said Mr. Smith, mournfully. "What de Lawd gibs, de white trash takes away.” The Honest Thing To Do. Manchester Union. The honest thing to do is to do a thing for the sake of the thing itself—because we love it, because we believe in it, be cause we want to do it, because we feel that it is the one thing of all other things that we feel we can do and would like to do. Then we bring mind and heart together, and that is a combination that nothing can withstand in its highest and best results. Then we bring an honesty of purpose and a power of energy that al ways make for success to a cause and an ennobling Influence to ourselves. For that one thing every woman should search herself to find. What Is the one thing, above and beyond all things, that I would like to do and feel that I can do it? is the question she should ask herself. When we become honest with ourselves we be come effective, says the Pittsburg Press. We need have no fear that this confine ment to one narrowing influence. There is no way of knowledge that does not open to us all other ways. The study of any single life leads to the history of the world.