Directions for Little Girls.
7. Every true little lady will be a Christian. She will early give herself to Jesus. She will delight to help the poor; to visit the sick, carrying the cheer and comfort and something good to eat and flowers and many other things. She will love everybody. Do you?
The first word is, Be true. The second word is, Be trustworthy. The third word is, Dare to do right.
First: Be true! Be what you seem to be or what you pretend to be; do not be a hypocrite; be firm and steady in adhering to friends, promises or principles. Be a true boy; be a true girl.
Secondly: Be trustworthy! Be worthy of trust; be reliable; make your word your bond. Conduct yourself in such a way that people can depend on you.
Thirdly: Dare to do right! Whatever comes or doesn’t come, stand by what you believe to be right, even if you have to stand alone. Be honest, upright, faithful, sincere, abhor that which is evil, cleave to that which is good.
True boys and girls are scarce; they are not easily found; they do not grow on trees. But, to tell you the truth, we need good boys and girls, true boys and girls, much more than we do educated boys and girls. All education without character is a dead weight!
Let me give you one or two reasons why you should be true, trustworthy, and brave for the right. In the first place, for the sake of your influence. Every boy and girl in this world has some influence. Every boy in this world, white or black, rich or poor, high or low, is helping his friends and playmates to grow better or worse, higher or lower in the scale of being. Every girl in this world is likewise helping or hindering others. If we are harsh and unkind, cruel and unjust—in every wrong, every baseness, meanness, selfishness, we are harming not ourselves alone but the whole great family of man. On the other hand, when we speak fearlessly a brave, true word, when we perform cheerfully a hard and trying task, whenever we are faithful, honest, earnest, patient, pure, trustworthy, whether we know it or not, we are strengthening the unseen impulses which make for nobility and higher manhood and womanhood throughout the world. In the economy of God, by his infinite wisdom, the humblest life reaches forward to the highest and the highest life reaches backward to the lowest.
But perhaps you are saying that I am taking too much for granted. Perhaps you think that it is not true that there is not one of the very least of the great human family who is not every day exercising some personal influence for good or evil upon the world. If you think so, boys and girls, or older people, you are mistaken. No human being can escape from the world’s atmosphere. Though you fly to the uttermost parts of the sea or hide in the depths of the dense city, some life is affected by your life. Not only some life is affected by your life, but many lives are affected by your life. It is a thought of this kind that Charles Dickens beautifully expresses in his story called “David Copperfield.” He says:
“There is nothing—no, nothing—beautiful and good that dies and is forgotten. An infant, a prattling child, dying in his cradle, will live again in the better thoughts of those who loved it, and plays its part, though its body be burned to ashes or drowned in the deepest sea. There is not an angel added to the hosts of heaven but does its blessed work on earth in those who loved it here. Dead! Oh, if the good deeds of human creatures could be traced to their source, how beautiful would even death appear. For how much charity, mercy, and purified affection would be seen to have their growth in dusty graves!”
No, children, it is no idle dream, no fancy story that I tell when I say that the humblest member of the human family, as well as the highest, is exercising daily, whether he is conscious of it or not, some influence for good or evil upon the world. Viewed in this light who can measure the possibilities—the divine possibilities—that are wrapped up in little boys and girls? Viewed in this light, how the slightest action, the smallest of our little duties, takes on new importance! It was with this thought in mind that James A. Garfield said: “I feel a profounder reverence for a boy than a man. I never meet a ragged boy on the street without feeling that I owe him a salute, for I know not what possibilities may be buttoned up under his shabby coat.” Yes, boys and girls, by every brave and cheerful effort that we put forth we are reforming, uplifting, renewing, inspiring, hearts and souls we never heard of, never knew, the whole world becoming stronger for every bit of moral courage we create, sweeter for every kindly look we give, and holier for every good deed we do. And, of course, the contrary is true. When we fail, when we come short, when we sin, the consequences are not ours alone—they extend to all humanity. We are all, white and black, rich and poor, old and young, male and female, children of one family. Just as the quivering circles from a pebble thrown into a lake stretch on and on from shore to shore, so the silent impulse of a single life thrills from heart to heart until the very edges of humanity are touched.
There is another reason still why we should be true, trustworthy, brave. That reason is that somebody else takes us as his ideal—his standard. Poor as we are, weak as we are, as unworthy as we are, somebody else is looking up to us—especially those of us who have been favored with educational advantages and opportunities. And you know that the failure of one who is invested in another’s mind with ideal qualities is a failure beyond the actual. That is one reason why people say that, as a rule, a preacher’s children are the worst children in the world. As a matter of fact, they are not the worst children in the world; but, being the children of preachers, everybody expects more of them than of others,—they are taken as ideals, as standards—that’s all. And what might be excused in others will not be excused in one who is taken as an ideal. Nathaniel Hawthorne, one of America’s greatest writers, in speaking of this truth says in his story called “The Marble Faun:”
“The character of an individual beloved one having invested itself with all the attributes of right—that one friend being to us the symbol and representative of whatever is good and true,—when he falls, the effect is almost as if the sky fell with him, bringing down in chaotic ruin the columns that upheld our faith. We struggle forth again, no doubt bruised and bewildered. We stare wildly about us, and discover—or it may be we never make the discovery—that it was not actually the sky that has tumbled down but merely a frail structure of our own rearing, which never rose higher than the housetops, and has fallen because we founded it on nothing. But the crash, and the affright and trouble are as overwhelming, for the time, as if the catastrophe involved the whole moral world. Remembering these things, let them suggest one generous motive for walking heedfully amid the defilement of earthly ways. Let us reflect that the highest path is pointed out by the pure ideal of those who look up to us, and who, if we tread less loftily, may never look so high again.”
Now, I have said my three words. You see they have stretched themselves out to a great length, but I hope the boys and girls who read this book may profit by them. Strive to be true, strive to be trustworthy, strive to be brave. In the long run the prizes of this world, and of that which is to come, are won by boys and girls of strong moral character, not by those who are merely learned or rich. But, of course, I believe in education and I believe in money. I think you ought to strive to obtain both—both are useful, and both are necessary; but, with all your getting, boys and girls, be sure to get those things which will reach beyond this world and which will count for more than money or good looks or education or any such thing when the world is on fire, when the moon shall be turned into blood, when the trumpet sounds, and all must go to stand before the Great King to give an account of the deeds done in the body.
Once upon a time, so it is said, a little ragged boy was carefully printing these words with a stick upon the ground, “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet.”
On looking up from his work, the little fellow was surprised to find a kind-looking old man watching him.
“Where did you learn that, my boy?” asked the man.
“At Sunday-school, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“Crawford.”
“So, Crawford, you learned that text at Sunday-school. Do you know what it means?”
“No, sir.”
“What is a lamp?”
“A lamp? Why, sir, a lamp is a thing that gives light!”
“That’s correct. Well, what is the word that the text speaks of?”
“The Bible, sir.”
“That’s right. Now, how can the Bible be a lamp and give light?”
“I don’t know,” said the boy, “unless you light it and set it on fire.”
“There’s a better way than that, my lad. Suppose you were going down some lonely lane on a dark night with an unlighted lantern in your hand, and a box of matches in your pocket, what would you do?”
“Why, I’d light the lantern.”
“Why would you light it?”
“To show me the road, sir.”
“A Lamp Unto My Feet.”
“Very well. Now, suppose you were walking behind me some day, and saw me drop a quarter; what would you do?”
“Pick it up and give it to you, sir.”
“Wouldn’t you want to keep it yourself?”
Crawford hesitated; but he saw a smile on the old gentleman’s face, and, smiling himself, he finally said:
“I should want to, sir; but I shouldn’t do it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would be stealing.”
“How do you know?”
“It would be taking what wasn’t my own, and the Bible says we are not to steal.”
“Ah!” said the old man, “so it’s the Bible that makes you honest, is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you had not heard of the Bible you would steal, I suppose?”
“Lots of boys do,” said Crawford, hanging his head.
“The Bible, then,” continued the old man, “shows you the right and safe path—the path of honesty, does it?”
“Like the lamp!” exclaimed Crawford, seeing now what all the old man’s questions meant. “Is that what the text means?”
“Yes, my boy,” the man answered, “there is always light in the Bible to show us where to go and what to do. Don’t you think it would be a good thing to take the Bible, the good old lamp, and let it light you right through life?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you think you will be safer with it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why?”
“Because if I’m honest I will never go to prison.”
“And what else?” asked the man.
Crawford thought awhile. By-and-by he said,—
“If I mind the Bible I shall go to heaven when I die.”
“Yes, and that’s the best reason for taking the lamp. It will light you right into heaven.”
There are three brigades, or three little companies, which I think ought to be organized among the boys and girls in every Sunday-school in America. Can’t you form them in your Sunday-school? It is a very simple matter. It will not cost any money: only a little time and forethought, and a will to do. One brigade is called the Rainy-Weather Brigade, and all the little boys and girls who join this company pledge themselves to go to Sunday-school every Sunday, when they are not sick, even if it is raining. The second brigade is called the Front Seat Brigade, and all the members of this company pledge themselves to occupy front seats in the Sunday school during the opening exercises before they pass to their classes. The third brigade is called the On-Timers’ Brigade, and the children in this brigade pledge themselves to be present on time at the opening hour.
Members of the Rainy-Weather Brigade.
You can see at once how helpful these little brigades are in every Sunday school (where they exist) to the officers and teachers. Some children will not go to Sunday school when it is raining or when it threatens to rain; some will not go forward and occupy front seats when they do go; and there are others who are always tardy. What a blessing it would be if all the little children would organize these brigades at once in their schools, and try to get every scholar to join each one of them.
Go with me, boys and girls, to the gay streets and gilded saloons of the great city of Paris far across the sea. Here is said to be the centre of all the world’s follies and pleasures. It is at night.
An American, who has left his home and native land to view the splendors of the wicked city, is passing along the street. He has beheld with delight its paintings, its sculpture, and the grand and graceful proportions of its buildings. In the midst of his keenest happiness, when he was rejoicing most over the privileges which he possessed, temptation assailed him. Sin was presented to him in one of its most bewitching garbs, and he yielded to the voice of the siren. He drank wildly and deeply of the intoxicating cup, and his draught brought madness. Reason was overthrown and he rushed out, all his scruples overcome, careless of what he did or how deeply he became immersed in the hitherto unknown sea of guilt.
The cool night air settled damp and heavy upon his heated brow. Walking on and on, not knowing or caring where he went, by-and-by strains of music from a distance met his ear. Pretty soon, following in the direction from which the sounds came, he was able to distinguish the words and air of the piece. The song was well remembered. It was “Home, Sweet Home.” Clear and sweet the voice of some singer, using his native tongue, rose and fell on the air; and the poor wild man stopped and listened to the soft cadences of that beloved melody.
Home, Sweet Home.
Motionless he stood until the last note floated away, and he could hear nothing but the ceaseless murmur of the great city. Then he turned away slowly, with no feeling that his manhood was shamed by the tear which fell as a bright evidence of the power of song, and also as an evidence that he, the guilty sinner, was not yet absolutely lost beyond recall.
The demon of the wine cup had fled, and reason once more asserted her right to control. As the soft strains of “Home, Sweet Home” had floated to his ear, memory brought up before him the picture of his own “sweet home.” He saw his gentle mother and heard her speak, while honest pride beamed from her eye; she seemed to speak again of her son, in whose nobleness and honor she could always trust. His heart smote him as he thought how little he deserved such confidence. He remembered her last words of love and counsel, and the tearful farewell of all those dear ones who gladdened that far-away home with their presence. The tide of remorse swept over his soul as he thought of what the sorrow of those at home would have been could they have seen him but an hour before. Subdued and penitent he retraced his steps, and with his vow never to taste of the terrible stuff that could so excite him to madness there was mingled a deep sense of thankfulness for his escape from further degradation. The influence of home had protected and shielded him, although the sea rolled between.
How strong such memories are to prevent the commission of crime! How powerful is the spell of home! How important, then, is it to make home pleasant and lovable! Many a time a cheerful home and smiling face will do more to make good men and good women than all the learning and eloquence that can be used. It has been said that the sweetest words in our language are “Mother, Home and Heaven”; and one might almost say that the word “Home” included the others. Who can think of home without remembering the gentle mother who sanctified it by her presence? And is not “Home” the dearest name for heaven? Oh, then, may our homes on earth be as green spots in the desert, to which we can retire when weary of the cares of life and drink the clear waters of a love which we know to be sincere and always unfailing.
Little Soldier Boys.
Never think yourself, whoever you are, of small importance. Never think that it is of little account whether you are good or bad, or what your example is to others. Each mere particle of dust, every tiny grain of sand, the minutest atom, is an active agent in the whole universe. So each one of us is of importance in our sphere, however isolated and insignificant that sphere may appear to be.
A few particles of dust in a watch will stop its motion; small barnacles on a ship’s bottom will hinder its journey; and a little shifting sand in the great river will change its current. So, little boys and girls exercise their influence for weal or woe upon the world. Don’t you believe for once that the world is moved only by the great forces, the great men and the great enterprises. Little folks and little things likewise help to move the world along. Great generals are necessary; but what would they be without the soldiers behind them?
Every boy has his part to do in the great work of the world, and every girl has her part to do. Every boy and girl is of importance; how important nobody knows, and perhaps never shall know until eternity reveals it. There ought to be in this truth great encouragement and great comfort to all who think that they are insignificant and have no work to do in this busy world. Perhaps in the distant future many a man who estimated himself great shall be found to have been insignificant, because of unfaithfulness to his trust; and many another man who perhaps thought himself of little worth will find himself glorified because he did what he could.
Poetry is more than verse-making, more than the jingle of words, more than the sing-song of meter.
Sunshine and flowers, brightness and joyousness, the harmonies of the passions and the inspiration of love-these are the poetry of life.
Without poetry, life is a tread-mill; a veil of tears; a dreary waste. Even religion is only a crucifixion—a death to sin—if we have not the resurrection into the new life of joy.
Many of us make hard work of life by bending our backs too much. We get dirt in our eyes by keeping them too near the dust, and we get narrow-minded and selfish by our narrow radius of vision.
To become truly rich we must stand in the dignity of our manhood; walk in the integrity of our calling; and run in the rhythm of a poetic nature. Out of harmony is out of sphere. The dignity, integrity and poetry of life are all lost by inharmony; only the ashes of disappointment are left; but with these we can dance at our work, and turn irksome duties into joyous privileges. Instead of moping in the valley of the shadow of death, we may live in the sunshine, where beautiful flowers and luscious fruits and delicious sweets grow.
Yes; yes; we might as well live in light as in darkness; make life a joyful song as a funeral dirge; live amid glory as shame. With a radiant countenance, a beaming eye, and a loving hand, we can do more work and have more to do; we can get more out of life and have more life to enjoy; we can scatter more sunshine and have more left for ourselves.
Christ came to bring to every toiler, heaven. Let us get into it quickly. It is here—and here only—that we find the poetry of life.
Being in Earnest.
Being in Earnest.
Of ten men who fail in life, nine men fail for want of zeal, earnestness, courage, where one man fails for want of ability. This half-heartedness, this lack of zeal, this timidity, this shrinking from duty and hard tasks is seen on all sides and among all classes. But I tell you, boys and girls, that the least enviable people in all the world are those who think that nothing is particularly worth while, that it does not matter much how a thing is done if it is only done with; who dwaddle along in a shabby sort of a way, considering only their own ease, with little sense of responsibility, and with no shame in being shirks. Every boy should make up his mind to live a round, full, earnest, intense life. Every girl should do the same. Don’t be satisfied, boys and girls, to be jellyfishes, with only a capacity for drawing in nourishment and lingering on until your time comes to die. Be vertebrates, people of backbone, purpose, aim, enthusiasm, earnestness.
At a public dinner President Roosevelt asked Governor Odell of New York if he knew anything worth doing that was not hard in the doing, and the governor could think of nothing. As a rule perhaps there is nothing, and yet things once hard in the doing become easy as skill is gained by repetition. Be in earnest, be faithful and resolute, and it will act like a tonic, giving light to the eyes, springiness to the step, and buoyancy to the heart.
Don’t be overcome by your circumstances. No matter how distracting a man’s surroundings may be, he may yet be able to focus his powers completely and to marshal them with certainty if he makes up his mind to do it. If things go hard with the self-mastered man or boy, he will be able to trample upon difficulties and to use his stumbling-blocks as stepping-stones. If a great misfortune overtake him he will simply use it as a starting point for a new departure, a turning point for more determined effort. He may be weighed down with sorrow and suffering, but he always starts anew with redoubled determination to do the thing he has set his heart upon doing. He will not be discouraged; he will not give up; he will fight it out to the end. Put him in prison, and he will write the “Pilgrim’s Progress.” Deprive him of his eyesight and he will write the “Paradise Lost.”
It was the spirit of earnestness which fired the soul of Martin Luther at the Diet of Worms, who, after being urged to recant, said: “Here I stand; I can do no other; God help me!” It was this spirit which characterized William Lloyd Garrison, the champion of the abolition of slavery, who, when he was urged to stop fighting slavery, exclaimed: “I will not equivocate, I will not retract, I will not be moved one inch, and I will be heard.” So be in earnest, boys and girls, at home, at school, at work and at play. It will help you a thousand-fold.
Every little boy and girl, and, of course, every man and woman, of the colored race in America should carry a life insurance policy of some kind in some reliable company. In this matter the old people, as in some other things, ought to set the example for the young, but there are some reasons, growing chiefly out of their previous condition of slavery, why our mothers and fathers have not, as a rule, taken very largely to the business of having their lives insured. But because our parents have been negligent in this matter there is no reason why the younger generation should be. Life insurance is a good thing, boys and girls—one of the best things in the world. American life insurance companies alone pay to policy-holders or estates of policy-holders over one hundred million dollars annually. Only a very small and almost insignificant portion of this vast sum goes into the hands of colored people, and for the reason that very few colored people carry life insurance policies.
Taking Out a Policy.
Now use a little common sense about this matter. Whatever is good in life insurance for other races is good for our race; whatever in life insurance benefits other races will benefit our race. In business as in education, whatever is good for a white man is good for a black man. I would, therefore, urge every boy and girl to join a life insurance company, and where your mothers and fathers are not insured I would urge you to do your utmost to persuade them to join at once.
For one reason, a life insurance policy is not expensive. You might as well talk of the expense of buying bank stock, or the expense of putting your money into a savings bank or any other safe place as to speak of the expense of keeping up a life insurance policy. It is accumulation and not expense. Every dollar put into life insurance is a dollar saved to yourself or your estate.
For another reason life insurance is a good business investment. Carefully collected statistics on file in Washington City prove that investments in life insurance are much safer and yield much larger returns than money placed in a savings bank. When you are older you will perhaps be able to make these comparisons for yourself. For the present you can take my word for it.
A third reason, life insurance is cheap. You can in an instant create a capital of $1,000, though you may be ever so poor, by laying aside only a few cents a week. Young people chew up and drink up and smoke up and frolic up more money every week than would be sufficient to protect them against the rainy days that must come to everybody.
And, then, life insurance has a character value. It makes a young man a better man; it makes a young woman a better woman; that is to say, it makes them more economical, more business-like, happier, and, I believe, it will make them live longer.
It is high time that black boys and girls were learning these things and acting upon them. When God commanded us not to serve money as a false god He did not say that money could not serve us, and I beseech the boys and girls, and the old people too, to exercise the same foresight and the same good sense about life insurance that other races exercise.
In September, 1893, grouped on the Fall River Line pier at the foot of Warren Street, New York, there stood a party of twenty-three sailors waiting for the Puritan to take them on to Boston. The central figure in the group—a short, thickset man, with bronzed and grizzled moustache—stood erect with arms folded over his chest. Upon the solid foundation thus made nestled a little white kitten. The man and the kitten were the Boston contingent of the crew of the steamship City of Savannah, which had been wrecked the week before on Hunting Island, off the South Carolina coast.
The Little Sailor Cat.
The story of the beaching of the steamship and of the taking off of her crew by the City of Birmingham had been told in all the newspapers, but nothing had been said about the cat, so the Boston Herald said. Before the shipwreck the cat was nothing more than an ordinary ship’s cat, and the captain had named him Mascot; but that was the end of his distinction. After the disaster, nevertheless, all the sailors swore that the kitten was as good a sailor as any of them.
“He’s a wonder,” said the short, thickset man, surveying the cat proudly; “nobody thought of him in the rush, but he got there just the same. He climbed the rigging in that gale like an old tar and held on for hours. He wasn’t a bit frightened either. Only he would ‘caterwaul’ when he got hungry. We were on board of the boat fifty hours after she struck before the sea was such that we could be taken off in boats. At night the captain ordered all the crew into the rigging and made us stay there. We each took a piece of rope and lashed ourselves on, so as to keep from falling off when asleep. That’s what the captain said the string was for, but I never slept at all. I don’t think many others did. The cat got along without any rope, and she was there in the morning all right. When we got away at last, nearly crazy with thirst and so faint that we could hardly climb down the ‘Jacob’s ladder’ into the Birmingham’s boats, that little fellow climbed out of his nest in the rigging and wanted to go too. We were glad to take him.”
1. Be punctual and regular at all the services of your church.
2. Give close attention to the pastor in the public service. Good hearers make good preachers.
3. Whenever you are aided by a sermon tell the pastor about it. In this way you will help him more than you think possible.
4. Do not neglect morning and evening prayer at home. Pray daily for God’s blessing upon the preaching and other labors of the pastor.
5. In the world let your light so shine before others that they may be led to glorify your Father which is in heaven. Let your light shine.
6. Invite your friends to attend divine services. A drawing congregation is as good as a drawing preacher. Call for your friends often.
7. Remember day by day that you are not your own, but have been “bought with a price,” and that you are Christ’s servant. Watch and pray.
8. If any service is required of you in the church or in the Sunday school, do not shirk it; always say: “I will try for Jesus’ sake.”
9. In the prayer meeting speak briefly and to the point. If you pray, ask only for what you want. Be short and direct. “Ask and ye shall receive.”
10. Never subscribe more than you are able to pay, and be sure to pay whatever you promise. Whether much or little, give it cheerfully. “God loveth a cheerful giver.”
11. Having found eternal life, use all appropriate means to develop Christian character. Prayer, reading the Bible, attending church and Sunday school, reading good books and Christian newspapers, keeping the best company—all these will help you.
“The Drummer Boy and His Dog.”
Children are a gift from God. Children are a heritage from the Lord. It depends largely on parents whether they become a heritage of honor and delight or of sorrow and shame. It is not simply incumbent upon parents that their children be well cared for, fed and clothed, properly educated and so forth; but more than this, they are to be brought up “in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.” This being true, then, the highest aim of rearing children is not simply that they may win success and command respect in the world. Respect and success are greatly to be desired and sought, but beyond them and beyond everything else is the highest and chiefest aim of parental love and care; that their children may honor and command the righteousness of God in the life that now is and magnify the glory of God in the life that is to be. This is the mark and prize of their high calling.
Admitting this, then, the early conversion of children is all-important. But if they are to be early converted, is it not wise—nay, absolutely essential—that mothers and fathers prepare the way by restricting their natural impulses by which they are led to desire indulgence in the gay vanities of life? Is it not positively wrong for parents to indulge that pernicious and destructive delusion, which some allow, of permitting their children to have their own evil way in the hope that in due time they will in some way see their error and turn to the right path of their own accord? Father, you are a Christian. Mother, you are a Christian. Now, in your home, in the management of your children, are you doing the best you can to show what a Christian family should be? How is it, my friends? I leave that question with you.
Carl Brickermann, a collection clerk in an uptown bank, in his accustomed daily routine found it necessary, among other things, to call by telephone the downtown brokerage firm of Hopegood & Co. One day he missed the familiar feminine voice which had usually responded to his calls. But the new voice seemed sweeter and much more passionately penetrating. For two or three days Brickermann was puzzled, not only because of the change at the other end of the ’phone, but also because of the strange and unaccountable fascination which the new voice possessed for him. At length one day, almost in desperation, he turned aside from his regular business inquiries to ask:
“Where’s the other girl?”
“Which other girl?” asked the mellifluous voice over the articulate wire.
“The one who used to answer the ’phone for the Hopegoods,” explained Brickermann.
“Promoted,” came the response, with a merry little laugh.
“And you have her old place?” asked Brickermann, somewhat encouraged.
“Yes; for awhile,” said the same still, small voice at the other end, and it sounded more and more sweetly to the would-be masher.
“Well,” said Brickermann, laughing the while, “I used to know her quite well, and I should like to meet you face to face, if you don’t mind, I am so charmed with the music of your voice I am sure I should be perfectly entranced with the magic of your face.”
“Is Er-Er-Mr. Hopegood In?”
A merry peal of laughter from the other end greeted this sally. The young man continued:
“I used to come down some days about four o’clock to see Margie. Will you, my Unseen Charmer, grant me the same high favor?”
“Why, certainly! Come any day,” answered the sweet voice which had so strangely bewitched the young man. In ecstasy Brickermann shouted back:
“I’ll be down this afternoon.”
Brickermann hung up the receiver, and, chuckling with delight, he turned to his other duties with the alacrity that a young spring chicken displays when it suddenly discovers a big fat worm.
By three-thirty o’clock he had arranged his toilet, and stood before the mirror giving the finishing twirl to his budding moustache. He brushed his clothing the second time, brushed his hat, and, figuratively speaking, arrayed in purple and fine linen, he sallied forth. He boarded an elevated train bound for the downtown district. On his way down he tried to picture to himself the kind of a girl he should meet at the Hopegoods. Would she be tall or short of stature? Blonde or brunette? Above twenty-one years of age or only sweet sixteen? The quick arrival of the train at Park Place put a period to Brickermann’s reverie. He went tripping across a few blocks to the place where all of his hopes had been centered during the past few hours—in fact, days. Arrived there, he stepped into the front office where “Margie” had formerly presided. It was the same snug and cosy room, but he failed to behold there the eagerly expected young lady. Instead he ran amuck a chubby little boy, with a ruddy face and curly hair, and perhaps not more than fourteen or fifteen years old, sitting in “Margie’s” place.
Brickermann was visibly embarrassed. He did not know where to begin or what to say. He twitched nervously at the glove which he carried in his hand, and finally he stammered:
“Is—er—Mr. Hopegood in?”
“No, sir,” said the boy. “Can I be of any service to you?”
Brickermann’s face turned blood red, and great drops of perspiration stood out upon his forehead. The accents of the little boy startled him, for they were the same that had been wafted to him almost daily along the wire and with which he thought he had been enamored. In the midst of his confusion he managed to say, hoping almost against hope that his identity had not been discovered:
“Well, er—er—I’ll call again.”
And, without waiting to hear the Unseen Charmer speak again, he hastily retired with as good grace as was possible under the circumstances.
Boys and girls, we are all American citizens, the last one of us. This is our country, as much as it is the country of any other race, and we should love it and fight for it as our fathers have loved, fought and died for it on many a battlefield. We may be the descendants of Africans, but we are citizens of the United States. This is our home—our country. Let us believe it, in spite of what some foolish people say. Therefore I am going to give you one or two sentiments which you should learn early in life in order to stimulate your patriotism.
1. May the honor of our country be without stain.
2. May the glory of America never cease to shine.
3. May every American manfully withstand corruption.
4. May reverence for the laws ever predominate in the hearts of the American people.
5. The sons and daughters of America, may their union be cemented by love and affection, and their offspring adorn the stations they are destined to fill.
6. May the growth of the American union never be prevented by party spirit.
7. The boys of America, may they be strong and virtuous, manly and brave.
8. The girls of America, may they prove to be such in heart and life as will make them worthy mothers of a strong and noble race.
9. Health to our president, prosperity to our people, and may Congress direct its endeavors to the public good.
10.—
About the worst girl in all this world is the girl who doesn’t care what people think or say about her conduct; the girl who goes to every “hop,” to every party, who stays out late at night with the boys, who hangs over the gate and talks to them, and who cuts a number of foolish capers, and then when any one speaks to her, shoots her head ’way up in the air, and turns up her nose, if she can, and says boldly: “Oh, I don’t care; nobody has anything to do with me!” She is the worst girl in the world, and she will never come to any good end. Every girl who is a law unto herself in regard to all that she says or does is certain not only to bring upon herself the condemnation of those whose good opinion it is worth while to have, but she will most certainly incur the punishment of a just God. And sometimes, I am sorry to say, I think that when a girl proudly declares that she doesn’t care for the good opinion of others she does so because she knows that she has already lost all right to that good opinion.