“Here’s a royal trout, Frank. I caught it myself. You may have it for ten cents. Just hand over the money, for I’m in a hurry to buy my firecrackers,” said Ned hurriedly.

The deacon was out, but Frank had made purchases for him before, so the dime spun across to Ned, who was off like a shot. Just then Mrs. Sinclair appeared.

“I want a nice trout for my dinner tomorrow. This one will do; how much is it?” she asked as she carefully examined it.

“A quarter, ma’am,” and the fish was transferred to the lady’s basket and the silver piece to the money drawer.

But here Frank paused.

He thought to himself: “Ten cents was very cheap for that fish. If I tell the deacon it cost fifteen cents he’ll be satisfied, and I shall have five cents to invest in firecrackers.”

The deacon was pleased with Frank’s bargain, and when the market was closed each went his way for the night.

But the nickel buried in Frank’s pocket burned like a coal. He could eat no supper, and was cross and unhappy. At last he could stand it no longer, but, walking rapidly, tapped at the door of Deacon Hepworth’s cottage.

The old man was seated at a table, reading the Bible. Frank’s heart almost failed him, but he told the story and with tears of sorrow laid the coin in the deacon’s hand.

Turning over the leaves of the Bible, the old man read:

“He that covereth his sins shall not prosper, but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy.”

“You have forgiveness, Frank,” he said. “Now go home and confess to the Lord, and remember you must forsake as well as confess. Here, you may keep this coin as long as you live to remind you of your first temptation.”

A MONUMENT TO A BLACK MAN

In the city of Columbus, Georgia, there was erected in the year 1904 a monument to the memory of a colored man named Bragg Smith. Mr. Smith lost his life in the autumn of 1903 in an effort to save the life of the city engineer of Columbus, who had been buried under an excavation in the street. A large crowd of colored men was at work digging deep trenches in which were to be placed pipes for running water about the city. In some way the sides of the narrow trench had not been properly supported by planks or otherwise, and by-and-by a great stretch of dirt caved in. Unfortunately the city engineer, a white man, was caught underneath the falling dirt. Bragg Smith did not stop to say: “Oh, it’s a white man; let him die!” but at once jumped down into the ditch and tried to pull the white man from under the heavy dirt. It was while he was engaged in this work that the dirt fell from both sides a second time, and Bragg Smith, in his effort to save the life of the white man, lost his own life. The Bible says: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man will lay down his life for a friend.”

The city council at its first regular meeting after the accident voted to erect a suitable monument to the memory of Mr. Smith. The monument was dedicated in April, 1904. The monument is of Vermont and Georgia marbles, and bears on one side this inscription:

“Erected by the City of Columbus to mark the last resting place of Bragg Smith, who died on September 30, 1903, in the heroic but fruitless effort to save the life of the city engineer.”

On the other side appears this quotation from Alexander Pope:

THE BAD BOY—WHO HE IS.

My dear children, I am happy to say that all boys who are called bad boys are not bad boys. There is quite a difference between a bad boy and a merely mischievous boy. A boy is not necessarily bad because he makes unearthly noises about the house, or now and then twists the cat’s tail just to hear her mew, or muddies his clothes in an effort to catch crawfish. He is not bad just because he likes to “play fantastic” on the fourth day of July. So many people complain of their boys being bad when they are only mischievous—that is to say, when they are only full of life. Some people think that a good boy is one that has a pale face and looks sickly; one that wears a sanctimonious look and moves along through the world as though he were afraid to put one foot in front of the other. That isn’t my kind of a boy. I do not think that kind of a fellow is a boy at all—he is ’most a girl! A boy who never enjoys a romp in the woods, who never climbs the apple tree before or after the apples are ripe, who never plays ball, who will not shoot marbles, etc.—this sort of a boy usually dies young, or he grows up to be a “male woman.” I mean by that, that he grows up to be a man who acts like a woman; and that kind of man is hardly fit for anything.

But there are some bad boys, I am sorry to say—really bad boys, bad in heart and in deed. I have seen some on the chain gangs; I have seen some hanging around the street corners—especially on Sundays, with no clean clothes on; I have seen them smoking cigarettes—and a cigarette is something which no manly boy will use; I have seen them in saloons, drinking, playing pool and playing cards; I have sometimes seen them shooting dice in the street for money. There are probably one thousand boys in the jails, reformatories and in the penitentiaries in the single state of Georgia. To form anything like an adequate estimate of the total number of bad boys in the South we must add to the above number the boys imprisoned in the other states; and, also, that much larger number who have never been imprisoned because they happen never to have been arrested, or who have been arrested and have had their fines paid in money; and, finally, we must add those who have already served their time and are again at large. So, you see, there are many thousands and thousands of bad boys in the world, and they are very easily found. Are you a bad boy or a good boy? Isn’t it better to be a good boy than to be a bad boy?

THE BAD BOY—HOW TO HELP HIM.

Almost anybody can make something out of a boy who is naturally good, but it takes one of very Christlike power and patience to make anything out of a really bad boy. Yet all boys may be reclaimed, reformed, saved; at least so I believe. And the first step in making a good man out of a bad boy has to do with the boy’s body. The Holy Bible tells us that our bodies are the temples—the dwelling places—of the Holy Ghost, and every boy, and every teacher of every boy, in the home or day school or Sunday school, should give more time and attention to the body in order to make it a fit place for such a holy being. It is as true now as of old that plenty of soap and water will exert a wholesome influence in making bad boys good. Some one has said that cleanliness is next to godliness, and somebody has added that soap is a means of grace. A boy who is taught to bathe regularly and who is taught to keep his clothing neat and clean at all times will in that way learn the great lesson of self-respect quicker than in any other way; and, in my judgment, the shortest way to the purification of a boy’s habits, a boy’s morals, a boy’s character, is to teach him first to keep his body pure. Keep it pure not only by baths and clean clothes, but keep it pure and sweet by keeping it free from whiskey and tobacco in every form. Exercise, regular and systematic exercise, whether as work or play, will go a great way towards keeping the body clean and healthy. Every boy is mistaken, every parent is mistaken, who thinks that labor is unworthy, or that any kind of honest work is degrading. The body needs to be kept alive and vigorous by the frequent use of all its parts, and there is no better way to keep the body vigorous than by doing some kind of work—work that requires the use of the hands and legs and muscles, work that stimulates the blood and makes it flow freely through the body.

Another step in the process of making a good man out of a bad boy has to do with the mind. The body grows not alone by exercise, but the body grows by what we put into it: the food we eat and the water we drink, etc. We might say, I think, that the body grows on what it feeds on. It is the same way with the mind: the mind grows on what it feeds on. If we feed our minds on obscene pictures, on bad books, on vulgar stories, told by ourselves or our associates, we cannot expect to have minds that are keenly alive and active for good. Our thoughts control us, boys and girls, whether we understand the process by which they control or not. Our thoughts control us. If our thoughts are pure and sweet and noble, we will be pure and sweet and noble. If our thoughts are impure, vile and ignoble, we will be impure, vile and ignoble. Our thoughts rule us. So every boy should guard well his thoughts; every boy should guard well what he puts into his mind. Every boy’s mind feeds on what he puts into it, and every boy’s mind grows on what it feeds. It goes without saying, then, that a boy should not read “blood and thunder” detective stories, stories about the “James Brothers” and other outlaws and bandits; nor should a boy read filthy so-called “love stories.” All such literature should be shunned, as a boy would shun deadly poison. A boy who desires to become a good man should read only those things which will give him confidence in himself that he can and may become a good man—good for the service of God and the service of his fellow-men. Bad company must also be left behind if a bad boy wants to become a good boy. Those boys who tell smutty jokes and stories should not be allowed to associate with that boy whose eyes have been opened and who wants to feed his mind on good and wholesome food. Character, boys, in its last analysis depends chiefly on three things: Heredity, environment and will. Now you cannot do much to change your inherited tendencies—the tendencies you receive from mother and father at birth, but you can do much in offsetting, in overcoming these tendencies. You can also do much with the aid of a generous and enlightened public to change your surroundings if they happen to be bad. I confess that your mothers and fathers, your teachers and pastors ought to do much more in this regard than you; but if they will not exert themselves to get you out of evil surroundings, then, as you value your own life and time and possibilities, by the help of God, try to get out yourselves. The will is very largely influenced by your surroundings. Hence you can see the importance of having good books and good associates.

But whatever you do, boys, do not forget Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world. The highest part of your nature is your spiritual nature, and, while you are building up the body and building up the mind, do not forget to build up your soul. If others will not assist you in this greater matter you can help yourselves. The Master said: “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not.”

THOMAS GREENE BETHUNE
(“BLIND TOM”)

I suppose there is not a little colored girl or boy in America who has not heard of the wonderful “Blind Tom,” one of the greatest musicians of the world. I wish that every boy and girl might have seen him and heard him give one of his remarkable performances with the piano. I had that high favor and privilege myself. During his life on the stage, or for more than forty years, “Blind Tom” was seen probably by more people in the world than any one living being. His stage career was closed somewhere in 1900. Everywhere, in this country and Europe, those who observed him most closely, and attempted to understand him, pronounced him a living miracle, unparalleled, incomprehensible, such as had not been seen before in the world, and probably never would be seen again.

Thomas Greene Bethune, better known to the public as “Blind Tom,” was born within a few miles of the city of Columbus, Georgia, on the twenty-fifth day of May, 1849. He was of pure negro blood, and was born blind. He was little less than four years old when a piano was brought to the house of his master, for he was born a slave. As long as any one was playing he was contented to stay in the yard and dance and caper to the music. Sometimes he was permitted to indulge his curiosity by being allowed to run his fingers over the keys. One night the parlor and piano had been left open. Before day the young ladies of the family awoke and were astounded to hear Blind Tom playing one of their pieces. The family gathered around him to witness and wonder at his performance, which they said was marvellously strange. Notwithstanding that this was his first known effort at a tune, he played with both hands and used the black as well as the white keys. Pretty soon he was allowed free access to the piano, and began to play off-hand everything he heard. As young as he was, he soon mastered all of that and began composing for himself. The record of his public life is too long for me to give, but that Blind Tom was known and honored around the world is known to everybody.

But feeling that every colored boy and girl should be justly proud of Blind Tom’s record, I will give some words from the book of Hon. James M. Trotter, himself a colored man. His book is called “Music and Some Highly Musical People.” He says:

“Blind Tom is unquestionably the most wonderful musician the world has ever known. He is an absolute master in the comprehension and retention of all sound. You may sit down to the pianoforte and strike any note or chord or discord, or a great number of them, and he will at once give their proper names, and, taking your place, reproduce them. Complete master of the pianoforte keyboard, he calls to his melodious uses, with most consummate ease, all of its resources that are known to skillful performers, as well as constantly discovers and applies those that are new. Under his magnetic touch this instrument may become, at his will, a music box, a hand organ, a harp, or a bagpipe, a “Scotch fiddle,” a church organ, a guitar, or a banjo; it may imitate the “stump speaker” as he delivers his glowing harangue; or, being brought back to its legitimate tones, it may be made to sing two melodies at once, while the performer, with his voice, delivers a third, all three in different time and keys, all in perfect tune and time, and each one easily distinguishable from the other! He remembers and plays fully seven thousand pieces. Some persons, it is true, have had the temerity to say that Blind Tom is an idiot. Out with the idea! Who ever heard of an idiot possessing such power of memory, such fineness of musical sensibility, such order, such method, as he displays? Let us call him the embodiment of music, the soul of music, and there let our investigations rest, for all else is vain speculation. No one lives, or, so far as we know, has ever lived, that can at all be compared with him.”

NOT FIT TO KNOW.

Susan and Mamie and Lillian and Marjorie were always close friends. They usually went together and played together and it was very unusual to see one of them without the others. At school they always made it a rule to lunch together and play together. One day at recess they were standing in a little group all by themselves when Frances joined them.

“What are you talking about, girls?” asked Frances in cheerful tones.

“I’m telling them a secret,” said Susie, “and we will let you know, too, Frances, if you’ll promise not to tell any one.”

“I’ll promise you not to tell anybody but my mother,” said Frances, “for I have made it a rule to tell my mother everything.”

“No; you can’t even tell your mother,” answered Susie; “you must not tell any one in the world.”

“Well, then, I refuse to hear it,” said Frances, as she walked away, “for what I can’t tell my mother is not fit for me to know.”

Don’t you think Frances was right, girls? I think so. As soon as little boys and girls begin to listen to words and stories which they would be ashamed to repeat to their mothers they are on the road to temptation, and nobody can tell how soon they will reach the end, which is always disgrace and death.

I wish all the boys and girls who will read this book would make the reply of Frances their motto: “What I cannot tell my mother is not fit to know.” Stick to this rule through thick and thin, and you will avoid many of the snares and pitfalls by which many of your companions and playmates sink into shame and sin. Don’t read a note that you would be afraid to have your mother read. Don’t look at a picture that you would be ashamed to have your mother see. Don’t speak any word, and don’t allow any to be spoken to you, that you would not like to have your mother hear. A girl’s best friend is her mother. A boy’s best friend is his mother. And, boys and girls, be very sure that if a thing isn’t fit for your mothers to know it isn’t fit for you to know.

THE RIGHT WAY.

Henry Oliphant always considered himself lucky whenever he was able to get a ride on the street cars without paying for it, or get a glass of soda water or be admitted to some public place, where an admission fee was charged, without paying the price. He was bragging one day to some of his boy friends that he had not paid anything to witness the school exhibition the night before. Frank Sewall was brave enough to chide him for having done so. Frank was a plain-spoken boy, and Henry didn’t like what Frank had said. He thought what he had done was all right, while Frank had said that it was all wrong. Anyhow, Henry decided to get his father’s opinion on the matter.

“Father,” he said, when night had come, “I got in the hall last night for nothing.”

“How was that?”

“I just walked by the doorkeeper and he didn’t ask me for any money.”

“Did the doorkeeper see you?”

“Well, father, that was his business; he was put there for that purpose; he ought to have seen me.”

“But I asked you, Henry, whether the doorkeeper saw you. I want you to answer that question.”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Do you think he saw you?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Well, Henry, if he had seen you, don’t you think he would have asked you for your money or a ticket?”

“I guess so, father; but he didn’t ask me for anything.”

“Well, now, Henry, you know that a charge of ten cents was made at the door, and that no one had a right to enter who had not paid the ten cents. You did go in without paying. Now, whether the doorkeeper saw you or not, do you think that that was quite honest on your part? Was that the right way for you to act?”

“Well, I would have paid him if he asked me. I wasn’t the doorkeeper.”

“I guess the man who stole our wood last week would have paid me if I had seen him and asked him; but we called that stealing.”

“But, father, I did not take anything from the doorkeeper.”

“Who gave you the money with which to pay your admission?”

“Mother.”

“Where is that money now?”

“I have it; but I didn’t take it from the doorkeeper.”

“But you kept it from him, Henry. It belongs to the doorkeeper. He gave you its value. My son, the right way is, whenever you buy anything, whether it be a ride or a glass of soda water or permission to see a concert, whenever you buy anything you ought to pay for it. If you don’t you are no better than a common robber. You must go today and give Mr. Hall that ten cents.”

KEEPING FRIENDSHIP IN REPAIR.

I sometimes think that boys and girls, and even old people, are often careless in the matter of their friendships—not careless in the matter of selecting friends, though I am sure there is room for improvement along that line—but careless in trying to keep the good friendships we have already formed. We ought to keep our friendships in repair. Perhaps you think that our friendships are not things which need to be kept in repair. How foolish it is to think so! Does a garden need to be weeded? Does an old fence need to be kept in repair? Do we paint our houses only once in a century? What about the musician—does he not need to keep in practice? Supposing that you never kept your muscles in repair by constant use or exercise—how long would you be strong or healthy? And do you think that your friendships, because they are in a way intangible—you cannot see them, handle them or taste them—do you think that they grow and thrive of their own accord, and, therefore, do not need to be kept in repair? Slights, snubs, angry words, unpleasant conduct, long continued lack of association, long continued lack of familiar intercourse, and coldness, even where the meetings are periodic—these things, boys and girls, will kill the warmest friendship and choke the tenderest love. So we ought to be careful to keep our friendships in repair. If we had no friends in this world, no playmates and companions, no kindred spirits into whose keenest sorrows and highest joys we entered with deep and full sympathy, and who did not enter into our sorrows and joys in the same way—if we had no friends in this world, with all of its wealth and splendor, we should not desire to live very much longer. But to have friends and to be friendly goes a long way towards making the world a beautiful and blessed place to live in.

How, then, may we keep our friends? Easy enough—by cultivating them; and we cannot keep them in any other way. We should take time to be friendly. Little notes, little presents, little visits, little social entertainments, little kindnesses—these things, and things like them, go a great way in cementing our friendships, in tying people to us, as it were, with hooks of steel. We should not neglect these means of keeping our friendships in repair. Always give your friends a cordial welcome in your homes, and at your little children’s parties; let them feel, make them feel, that their coming adds to your pleasure without increasing your burdens. Don’t be selfish and narrow; be broad-minded and liberal. Keep your friendships in repair, and then see if you do not find your horizon broadened, your life sweetened, and the weary weight of this sad old world lightened.

LITTLE ANNIE’S CHRISTMAS.

Christmas morning came.

Daylight was just peeping into the room.

Poor little Annie, the cripple, awoke and turned her eyes towards the corner where she had hung her stocking the night before.

Surely, she thought, as she watched it, there could not be very much in it, because it didn’t seem to be any larger than it was when she had hung it up. After awhile she crept slowly to where it was.

She did not take her crutches, for fear she would disturb her mother, who slept in the same bed with her. It was hard for her to move around without her crutches, but she persevered and finally she reached her stocking.

She put out her thin little hand and felt it. Yes, there was something in it! Then she put her hand inside and took out something which seemed round and soft. She took it out and looked at it. It was a little cake. Poor little Annie smiled, and put her hand back into the stocking. This time she found something which was done up in paper. She opened the paper and found a whole dozen of gumdrops. How brightly her little eyes flashed! She was only six years old and she had never had so much candy at one time in all her life.

By-and-by her mother awoke. She raised her head and saw Annie’s happy face. “Poor girl,” she thought, “how happy I would have been to have bought something else for her, but I wasn’t able. I hope she will be happy with what she has.”

“See, mother,” cried Annie, “I have twelve gumdrops and a cake. We will eat half of the gumdrops today and save the other half for to-morrow. You’ll eat three and I will eat three.”

“No, Annie,” said her mother, “you must eat every one by yourself.”

Annie smiled, but did not say anything.

Little Annie’s mother was a widow, and she was very, very poor; there were many times when they had only a little dry bread and water for the day’s food. For this bright Christmas season there were many things besides food which she would like to have bought for her poor little crippled child; but she did not have any money to pay for playthings or toys.

After breakfast on this Christmas day Johnny Ray came to see them. He brought with him a good thick shawl for Annie’s mother and four pairs of warm stockings which his mother had sent for Annie, and, also, a large package of nice candy.

Little Annie’s mother cried for joy.

Little Annie was too happy to speak. She had never dreamed of having so much candy at one time!

THE VELOCIPEDE RACE.

One bright day Archibald mounted his velocipede and rode out into the long green lane, where he could ride for a long distance without interruption. He had left his coat in the house because he knew that riding would make him very warm.

When he reached the lane the velocipede moved along so smoothly that Archibald was very happy. By the time he had gone nearly a half mile he was tired and stopped for a rest.

Pretty soon he heard a noise coming from behind, and he wondered what rider it might be on the same track that beautiful spring morning. He looked up and saw John Smith coming, riding a large velocipede and going as fast as he could.

Archibald quickly mounted his wheel and started on a swift run, trying to overtake the flying John. Before they reached the end of the road they saw Clara Hempton, standing by the fence with her little velocipede. Clara watched the boys as they flitted past. She thought that she could keep up with John, but she was not sure that she could ride as fast as Archibald.

While she was meditating Archibald cried out:

“Clara, you wait until we finish this race, and then we three will go back together.”

Archibald reached the end first, but John was not very far behind.

When Clara reached them Archibald said:

“Now we will all have a fair start and see who will reach the other end first.”

So they all started on a line. Archibald knew that he was the largest and could go the fastest, but, as he had won the other race, he did not ride this time as fast as he could. He thought this was the right way to give the others a fair chance.

Clara and John reached the other end of the lane at exactly the same time, with Archibald a short distance behind them.

John and Clara were greatly delighted because they had won the race from the big boy, Archibald. Archibald was pleased because they were pleased. This was not the only time that Archibald had proved that he was a good and kind boy, and that he was thoughtful of little children younger than himself.

From this little story of the velocipede race many other little boys and girls may learn a good lesson, I hope, that will do them good all through life.

FAULT-FINDING.

Faults are the easiest things to find in all this world. A fault is something that can be found without looking for it. And I guess no little boy or girl in all the world knows anything that is easier to find than something that he or she doesn’t have to look for. Well, faults are things that we can find without looking for them; so faults are the easiest things to find in all the world. Yet, boys and girls, the habit of fault-finding, or the habit of finding fault, is one of the worst habits that anybody could form. It stamps the person who is so easy to find fault with everything and everybody as being a mean, low, envious, evil-hearted person. It is better to look for something to praise, than it is to look for something to blame. Yet there are some people who are so constituted that they do not see any good in anything. When it is cold, it is too cold. When it is hot, it is too hot. They don’t like “vici kid” shoes; they want patent leathers. The singing at church or Sunday school last Sunday was just horrid. Old Mary Jones ought to be taken out of the choir. The preacher preaches too long, or the deacon prays too loud. The school teacher isn’t any good. So they go on from day to day, finding fault with everything and everybody. Nothing pleases them; nothing delights them. If by any chance or mischance they should get to heaven they would, I believe, find fault with the way the Lord has arranged things up there. They are miserable people to have around—these good-for-nothing, lazy and trifling fault-finders. If you try real hard, boys and girls, you can find something good in everything and in everybody. That is one reason why we do not always see the good in people or things—we don’t look for it. We can find out what is bad—can find out the bad things without looking for them, but if we want to see the good things we must be on the lookout for them. If we are on the lookout—if we make up our minds that we are going to see the good, and only the good, we are always sure to find it.

There was an old woman once who was noted for being able to say something good about everything and everybody. She was never heard to speak evil of anything or anybody. Once upon a time a gambler died in the city where she lived. He was a miserable sinner, and nobody liked him and nobody had a good word to say for him, even after he was dead. Aunt Maria, the good old lady, went to see him after he had been put into his coffin. The people who were present wondered what good thing Aunt Maria could possibly say about the dead sinner. Aunt Maria entered the room and walked around on tiptoe. After awhile she raised her head and said:

“Friends, I tell you, he makes a mighty nice looking corpse.”

GROSS DECEPTION.

RANDOM REMARKS.

In the olden times parents used to rule their children, but in these days and times there are many people who believe that the children rule their parents. So many misguided parents in these days and times believe in sparing the rod and spoiling the child. Boys don’t get many whippings at home nowadays, and if a boy happens to get a good flogging at school it will cause a big row, and sometimes cause the teacher to be threatened with arrest. Whenever my teacher used to whip me I was always afraid to mention it at home for fear of getting another. I heard a man say the other day: “Never whip a child; raise your boy on love and kindness and reason!” Yes; and when that boy is twelve or thirteen years old somebody will have to go to him and talk to him and try to persuade him not to whip his father or mother.

I was at church the other day and I saw two boys about ten or eleven years old. After service they lit their cigarettes and went marching off as big as Trip. A man of the old school looked at them for awhile, and then, turning away, he said:

“I just wish I could have my way with those boys for about two minutes.”

I didn’t say anything, but deep down in my heart I sympathized with the old man, and felt that both of the youngsters ought to have had a good whipping.

Some girls are almost as bad as some boys. Girls are most too fast in these days. As soon as they get their dresses to their shoetops they are gone. They go crazy over their clothes, for they think that they must keep in the fashion. They read too much trash, for they think that is the way refined and cultured people do. Old-fashioned modesty is at a discount. The girls don’t wait for the boys to come now—that is, many of them don’t; they go after them. I have seen some girls running around in these new-fashioned night gowns, and they call it a Mother Hubbard party. If their mothers don’t allow them to go with the boys they will slip around and meet them somewhere anyhow. And where they are allowed to go with the boys they generally go to extremes. What business has a little girl—ten or twelve or fourteen years old—to be locked-arms with a little stripling of a boy, going home at night from church or some social entertainment. It always disgusts me whenever I see it. Worse than a mannish boy is a womanish girl. What business has a little girl, or a larger one, to allow a man to throw his arm around her waist in the round dance? It is immodest, to say the least, and there is not a good mother in the land who approves it. A girl who goes to a promiscuous ball and waltzes around with promiscuous fellows puts herself in a promiscuous fix to be talked about by the dudes and rakes and fast young fellows who have encircled her waist. Slander is very common, I know, especially slander of young ladies; there are not many young ladies who escape it; but the trouble about it is that it is not all slander—some of it is the truth.

In the olden times when folks got married they stayed married, but nowadays the courts are full of divorce cases. The land is spotted with what are called “grass widows,” and in many a household there is hidden grief over a daughter’s shame. Why is it? What causes it? Lack of proper training and care of the young. Habits are great things—good habits or bad habits. If girls are reared to clean their teeth and keep their fingernails clean they will keep them clean all their lives. If boys are reared to chew tobacco and smoke they will never quit. The same about loving and courting and getting married. Much depends upon training, upon habits. Young flirts make old flirts. Young devils make old devils!

BENJAMIN BANNEKER, THE NEGRO ASTRONOMER.

The little colored boys and girls of America should be proud to know, as I suppose the little white boys and girls will be surprised to learn, that the first clock of which every portion was made in America was made by a colored man.

The colored children will also be glad to know, I think, that among the earliest almanacs prepared for general use in this country were those which were published for several years by this same colored man. His name was Benjamin Banneker. I have found a good and true account of this wonderful man in The Atlantic Monthly for January, 1863. I am going to give a good portion of that account in this book, because I believe every colored person in America should be acquainted with that man’s history. The account says:

“Benjamin Banneker was born in Baltimore County, Maryland, near the village of Ellicott’s Mills, in the year 1732. There was not a drop of white man’s blood in his veins. His father was born in Africa, and his mother’s parents were both natives of Africa. What genius he had, then, must be credited to that race. When he was approaching manhood he went, in the intervals of toil, to an obscure and remote country school. At this school Benjamin acquired a knowledge of reading and writing, and advanced in arithmetic as far as ‘Double position.’ Beyond these rudiments he was his own teacher. Young Banneker had no books at all, but in the midst of labor for a living he so improved upon what he had gained in arithmetic that his intelligence became a matter of general observation. He was such an acute observer of the natural world and had so diligently observed the signs of the times in society that it is very doubtful whether at forty years of age this African had his superior in Maryland.

“Perhaps the first wonder amongst his comparatively illiterate neighbors was excited, when, about the thirtieth year of his age, Benjamin made a clock. It is probable that this was the first clock of which every portion was made in America; it is certain that it was purely his own invention as if none had ever been made before. He had seen a watch, but never a clock, such an article not being within fifty miles of him. He used the watch as a model for his clock. He was a long time at work on the clock,—his chief difficulty, as he used often to relate, being to make the hour, minute, and second hands correspond in their motion. But at last the work was completed, and raised the admiration for Banneker to quite a high pitch among his few neighbors.

“The making of the clock proved to be of great importance in assisting the young man to fulfill his destiny. It attracted the attention of the Ellicott family, who had just begun a settlement at Ellicott’s Mills. They were well-educated men, with much mechanical knowledge, and some of them Quakers. They sought out the ingenious negro, and he could not have fallen into better hands. In 1787 Mr. George Ellicott gave him Mayer’s “Tables,” Ferguson’s “Astronomy,” and Leadbetter’s “Lunar Tables.” From this time astronomy became the great object of Banneker’s life, and in its study he almost disappeared from the sight of his neighbors. He slept much during the day, that he might the more devotedly observe at night the heavenly bodies whose laws he was slowly, but surely, mastering.

“Very soon after the possession of the books already mentioned, Banneker determined to compile an almanac, that being the most familiar use that occurred to him of the information he had acquired. To make an almanac then was a very different thing from what it would be now, when there is an abundance of accurate tables and rules. Banneker had no aid whatever from men or rules; and Mr. George Ellicott, who procured some tables and took them to him, states that he had already advanced very far in the preparation of the logarithms necessary for the purpose.

“The first almanac prepared by Banneker for publication was for the year 1792. By this time his acquirements had become generally known, and among those who were attracted by them was Mr. James McHenry. Mr. McHenry wrote to Goddard and Angell, then the almanac-publishers of Baltimore, and procured the publication of this work, which contained from the pen of Mr. McHenry, a brief notice of Banneker. When his first almanac was published, Banneker was fifty-nine years old, and had received tokens of respect from all the scientific men of the country. Among others, Thomas Jefferson, then Secretary of State under George Washington, wrote him a most flattering and complimentary letter. In his letter Jefferson said, ‘Nobody wishes more than I do to see such proofs as you exhibit, that Nature has given to our black brethren talents equal to those of other colors of men, and that the appearance of a want of them is owing only to the degraded condition of their existence both in Africa and America.’

“Banneker continued to calculate and publish almanacs until 1802.

“Mr. Benjamin H. Ellicott, who was a true friend of Banneker, and collected from various sources all the facts concerning him, wrote in a letter as follows: ‘During the whole of his long life he lived respectably and much esteemed by all who became acquainted with him, but more especially by those who could fully appreciate his genius and the extent of his acquirements.’

“Banneker’s head was covered with a thick mass of white hair, which gave him a very dignified and venerable appearance. His dress was invariably of superfine drab broadcloth, made in the old style of a plain coat, with straight collar and long waistcoat, and a broad-brimmed hat. His color was not jet black, but decidedly negro. In size and personal appearance, the statue of Franklin at the library in Philadelphia, as seen from the street, is a perfect likeness of him.

“Banneker died in the year 1804, beloved and respected by all who knew him. Though no monument marks the spot where he was born and lived a true and high life, and was buried, yet history must record that the most original scientific intellect which the South has yet produced was that of the pure African, Benjamin Banneker.”

The above is the story of that wonderful black man told in splendid terms of high and well-deserved praise by a white man. Every little black boy in America may well be fired with inspiration to do something beyond the ordinary by reading the story of Banneker’s life.

“A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM.”

It is truly astonishing what a boy can do when once he has made up his mind to do his best. Dr. Len. G. Broughton, the famous pastor of the Tabernacle Baptist church, Atlanta, Ga., in a little book, which he calls “The Modern Prodigal,” has told a very pathetic story about a little boy. It is so true to life, and so typical of what a black or white boy may do under similar circumstances, if he only decides for the true and the right, that I have decided to reproduce the little story in this book. It is well worth reading. Dr. Broughton says:

“Not long after I entered the ministry, I went to a certain town to hold a series of meetings. It was one of these good old Southern towns, the inhabitants of which banked on aristocracy and fed their souls upon the glory of departed days. They had never known what it was to be spiritually warm. The first night I was there I preached to a great audience. It was in my early ministry, when I made many propositions. The first one I made that night was for any one to stand who wanted prayers offered for their friends. As soon as I made it a little boy got up and walked out in the aisle, where he stood looking me square in the face. I said, ‘God bless you, little man,’ and he sat down. I then asked any one who wanted the prayers of God’s people to rise. That boy got out in the aisle again and looked me in the face, and again I said, ‘God bless you.’ I asked if there was anybody present who was willing to accept Jesus. That boy stood up again and looked me in the face, and again I said, ‘God bless you.’ Nobody else stood up that night, and I began to think I had struck about the hardest and coldest crowd I had ever run up against.

“The next night I preached as hard as I knew how to sinners, and when I finished, I asked anybody who wanted to be prayed for to stand up. The same little rascal popped out into the aisle, as he had done the night before, and stood looking at me until I saw him and said, ‘God bless you.’ I thought I’d vary the thing a little, so I asked if anybody present was willing to come forward and give me his hand as an indication that he would accept Jesus. That same boy came shuffling out of his seat, straight down the aisle and gave me his hand. I saw smiles on the faces of some in the congregation. Nobody but the boy showed any interest, and I went off somewhat disheartened. The third night I preached, and when I asked all who wanted prayer to rise, that boy popped out into the aisle. The people had begun to regard it as a joke, and they nudged each other with their elbows, while a broad smile flared from one side of the house to the other. When I asked anybody who was willing to accept Jesus to come and give me his hand, that boy came, and the congregation smiled broader than before. After the meeting the deacons came to me and told me that the boy must be stopped, as he was a half-idiot, and was throwing a damper on the meeting. I said: ‘Stop nothing! How are you going to throw a damper on an ice-house?’

“For the whole of that week that boy was the only person in the house who showed any interest in the meeting. Then he wanted to join the church. The pastor was absent, and I was to open the doors of the church. The deacons came to me and said I must not receive that boy, as he didn’t have sense enough to join the church. I said: ‘Look here, brethren, I won’t take this responsibility on my hands. I’m going to put that boy on you, and if you choose to reject him, his blood be upon your hands.’ At the conclusion of the morning service, I invited all who wanted to unite with the church to come forward. That boy came. I asked him if he had accepted Christ for his personal Saviour. That’s all I ever ask. He said he had. ‘Brethren,’ I said, ‘you hear what this boy has to say. What will you do with him?’ An ominous silence fell on the congregation. After a time, from ’way back by the door, I heard a muffled and rather surly, ‘I move he be received.’ Another painful silence followed, and then, from the middle of the church, I heard a muffled, ‘I second the motion.’ When I put the motion, about a half dozen members voted ‘aye’ in a tone so low that it seemed as if they were scared. I gave the boy the right hand of Christian welcome awaiting baptism, and then dismissed the congregation.

“The next day the boy went out to see his old grandfather, a man whose whitened head was blossoming for the grave, and whose feet were taking hold upon the shifting sands of eternity. ‘Grandfather,’ said he, ‘won’t you go to church with me to-night and hear that preacher?’ We always feel kindly towards those who are afflicted, you know, and are willing to please them; so the old man agreed to go.

“That night I saw the boy and the old man sitting away back by the door. When the sermon was finished, one of the members of the church arose and said: ‘I have a request to make. We have with us tonight, Mr. Blank, one of our oldest and most respected citizens, but he is out of Christ. I want special prayer offered for this my special friend.’ With that he laid his hand upon the head of the old man, down whose furrowed cheeks the tears were streaming. The next night I saw the old man sitting about half-way down the aisle. When all who wanted to accept Jesus were invited to come forward and give me their hands, I saw the half-idiot boy coming down the aisle leading the old man by the hand.

“That little boy’s father kept a saloon. The following day the child went there, and climbing up over the high counter, he peeped down upon his father and said: ‘Papa, won’t you go to church with me to-night to hear that preacher?’ ‘You get out of here, child,’ said the father; ‘go out of here; don’t you know you mustn’t come in here?’ Strange, strange, how fathers will keep places where their children cannot go! ‘But, papa,’ continued the boy, ‘won’t you go to church with me to-night?’ ‘Yes; I’ll go, but you get out of here.’

“That night the man came with the half-idiot boy, and sat about where the old man had sat the night before. When I asked all who would accept Jesus to come forward, he walked down the aisle and gave me his hand. He asked if he could make a statement, and when I said ‘Yes,’ he faced the congregation and said: ‘My friends, you all know me, and I want to say that so long as I live I will never sell another drop of whiskey, for I have given my heart to God to-night, and from this day forward I propose to serve him.’

“The meeting warmed up at last, the town was set on fire for God. Every saloon keeper was converted and every saloon was closed. The feeling spread and a saloon seven miles in the country was closed and the keeper was converted to God.

“At the close of the meeting I sat on the front seat and saw the pastor lead three generations into the baptismal waters, the old man in front, his son behind him, and last in line the little half-idiot boy. The only mistake that was made, to my mind, was that the boy who had led the others to Christ should not have been first in line. Where is the little half-idiot boy now? He has grown much brighter within the last few years, and is now going to school. He says he wants to be and will be a missionary.

“What a lesson for the young to-day. Persistent self-surrender, ever doing the best we can, is a never failing way that leads to victory.”

DIRECTIONS FOR LITTLE LADIES.

1. A little lady always says, “I thank you” whenever anybody assists her in any way, and always says, “If you please,” whenever she makes any kind of request.

2. A little lady is never loud and boisterous on the streets, in public places, or at home. Sometimes girls are so rough that they are called “Tom-Boys.” No Tom-Boy ever was a true little lady.

3. A true little lady will always see that her linen is clean and spotless—collars and cuffs, aprons and dresses, handkerchiefs, and all articles of clothing. Every true little lady hates dirt.

4. A little lady will not be guilty of idle gossip. She will not tattle; will not go around hunting all the evil things that are said or known about other little ladies. She closes her ears tight against the slanderers of the town.

5. A little lady will love the Sunday-school and the church. She will love the society of good people and the society of good books. She will have higher notions of life than that life is something to be spent in a merry round of pleasure.

6. A true little lady loves her mother, and she will show that she loves her mother in various ways. She will help her about the housework. She will be fond of going out in company with her mother often. She will not think that anybody else’s mother is or can be better than her own mother.