[Illustration: SILAS X. FLOYD _AUTHOR_ JOHN HENRY ADAMS _ARTIST_]
FLOYD’S FLOWERS
OR
DUTY AND BEAUTY
FOR
COLORED CHILDREN
BEING ONE HUNDRED SHORT STORIES
GLEANED FROM THE STOREHOUSE OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE AND EXPERIENCE
SIMPLE AMUSING ELEVATING
BY
PROF. SILAS X. FLOYD, A. M., D. D.,
AUTHOR OF “THE GOSPEL OF SERVICE AND OTHER SERMONS,” “LIFE OF CHARLES T.
WALKER, D. D.,” “NATIONAL PERILS,” ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
JOHN HENRY ADAMS
PROFESSOR OF ART AT MORRIS BROWN COLLEGE, ATLANTA
COPYRIGHT 1905
BY
HERTEL, JENKINS & CO.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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.
—JAMES A. GARFIELD.
[Illustration: GEN. SAMUEL C. ARMSTRONG.]
PUBLISHER’S NOTE.
The publishers of this book have spared neither pains nor expense in
trying to make it as nearly perfect as a book of this kind can be. The
typographical appearance and the illustrations will speak for
themselves.
We consider ourselves fortunate in having been able to secure the
services of the Rev. Dr. Silas X. Floyd as the author of this volume.
Mr. Floyd’s life work, aside from his literary training, has made him
the ideal man to speak to the colored boys and girls of the South. Soon
after graduating from Atlanta University in 1891, Mr. Floyd became
Principal of a Public School at Augusta, Ga., and remained in that city
for five years consecutively as a teacher. In June, 1896, he was called
from the school room into the Sunday-school work, having been appointed
by the International Sunday School Convention as one of its Field
Workers throughout the South. He continued in this work for three years,
retiring from it to become Pastor of Tabernacle Baptist Church, Augusta,
Ga., one of the largest churches in the South. After a year and a half
in the pastorate, he returned to the Sunday-school work, becoming
Sunday-school Missionary for Georgia and Alabama under appointment of
the American Baptist Publication Society. Two years ago, he re-entered
the school room, and is now once more Principal of a Public School at
Augusta. His school is one of the largest in the State of Georgia.
Mr. Floyd’s work, as the record shows, has been conspicuously for and in
behalf of the children, and he is known far and wide as a competent
writer and speaker on topics concerning young people. He has contributed
to the Sunday School Times, the International Evangel, the New York
Independent, The World’s Work, Lippincott’s Magazine, and many other
journals and periodicals. He is the author of a volume of sermons
published by the American Baptist Publication Society and listed in
their catalogue as among their standard works, and is also the author of
the Life of the leading colored Baptist preacher in America, published
by the National Baptist Publishing Board. From the beginning of the
Voice of the Negro, Mr. Floyd has had charge of the Wayside Department
as Editor, and his work as a humorist and writer of negro dialect is
known to many through that medium.
In 1894, Atlanta University, his alma mater, conferred upon Mr. Floyd
the degree of Master of Arts, and in 1902, Morris Brown College
conferred upon him the degree of Doctor of Divinity.
THE PICTURES AND WHO MADE THEM
A distinctive feature of this volume is the inclusion of more than half
a hundred of original drawings by a young artist. Every boy and every
girl delights in pictures. There is something in pictures, even though
the subjects be foreign to us, which readily takes hold of our innermost
feelings and becomes companionable to the extent that we find ourselves
loving that _something_ whatever it is:—a man, or an humble dog, or an
old homestead, or what not. We seldom think that some great mind has
been hard at work to produce that picture and that it takes years and
years of application and deep study to prepare even a genius in art.
While you are enjoying the pleasures to be derived from the “rough
sketches” in this book it is hoped that at the same time you will catch
the inspiration of the artist who made them. The negro race has produced
very few artists of note, for very few of them have made a success in
the profession. Of that few, John Henry Adams is second only to Tanner.
Coming up with little in his favor other than a determination to “win”
and the prayerfulness of loving parents, John Adams kept himself in
school until he was thoroughly prepared to enter upon life’s sea as a
thinker for and a master of himself. Acquiring his art education at The
Drexel Institute, Philadelphia, Adams returned to Atlanta and found a
place to utilize his training at the Morris Brown College, where he has
been eminently successful as a teacher, and where he is loved and
honored by all.
The lapse of twenty-six years is a very short time to begin to measure a
man’s success, but Mr. Adams has already succeeded. The demand for his
work is large and plenteous. If there is such a thing as having more
work than one can do, it applies pointedly to him. Besides the many fine
and costly paintings which Mr. Adams makes and sells, his “rough
sketches” are quite popular and “go like hot cakes.” And, with all of
this he is a regular contributor to one daily paper, two weekly papers
and a monthly magazine. This is but a glimpse of the man. His work as
trustee of city charities, his visitations to mission houses and his
liberal pocket-book show the more tender side of the artist. When a
football game is in progress there’s another side of the man—the
enthusiast. But all the way through Mr. Adams is ever the amiable
gentleman, the vigorous thinker and worker, the friend of children and a
constant source of gladness to the poor of Atlanta.
PUBLISHERS.
PREFACE.
Truly the boys and girls of to-day ought to be thankful that they are
alive. There never was such a golden age for childhood and youth as the
present. To say nothing of the rich opportunities for mental and
spiritual development, what a multitude of things have been provided for
the innocent pleasure, the wholesome recreation of the young people of
to-day; inventions that remind one of the magic of the “Arabian Nights”;
tools of sport so perfect that one cannot imagine how they could be
bettered; fascinating games, all unknown in the days gone by; books and
papers upon which science, art and literary skill have lavished modern
resources—all these and many other wonderful things have fallen to the
lot of the favored boys and girls of to-day.
And now enterprising publishers of our grand country are going to put
the boys and girls of America—and especially the colored boys and girls
of America—under obligation to them, because they have decided to add to
the list of good books for children and youths already on the market. I
use the word “good” advisedly; for from the day that I was engaged to
write this book I have had in mind constantly the thought of making it
such a book as would tell for good. It is an old saying that “evil
communications corrupt good manners,” but evil reading does more than
this: for evil reading corrupts good morals.
I have endeavored to put into this book of stories for children only
such things as might be freely admitted into the best homes of the land,
and I have written with the hope that many young minds may be elevated
by means of these stories and many hearts filled with high and holy
aspirations. Our nation has a right to expect that our boys and girls
shall turn out to be good men and good women, and this book is meant to
help in this process.
SILAS X. FLOYD.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. A SPELLING LESSON 19
II. THE TRUTH ABOUT LUCK 22
III. AN EVENING AT HOME 26
IV. THE MAKING OF A MAN 29
V. FALSE PRIDE 33
VI. THANKSGIVING AT PINEY GROVE 37
VII. THE LOUD GIRL 46
VIII. THE ROWDY BOY 51
IX. HONESTY 53
X. UNCLE NED AND THE INSURANCE SOLICITOR 56
XI. THE STRENUOUS LIFE 61
XII. A HUMBUG 64
XIII. A CANDIDATE FOR BAPTISM 66
XIV. GOING WITH THE CROWD 72
XV. MARY AND HER DOLLS 75
XVI. JAKY TOLBERT’S PLAYMATES 79
XVII. A VALENTINE PARTY 83
XVIII. “NO MONEY DOWN” 86
XIX. TOMMY’S BABY BROTHER 90
XX. KEEPING SCHOOL 93
XXI. THE SCHOOL OF THE STREET 96
XXII. THE FOX HUNT 100
XXIII. A BOLD VENTURE 105
XXIV. A HERO IN BLACK 108
XXV. THE ROAD TO SUCCESS 111
XXVI. SAMUEL C. ARMSTRONG 114
XXVII. HOW TO BE HANDSOME 117
XXVIII. PATIENCE 119
XXIX. THE BITER BIT 122
XXX. THE ALPHABET OF SUCCESS 124
XXXI. EASTER MONDAY IN WASHINGTON 125
XXXII. KEEPING ONE’S ENGAGEMENTS 129
XXXIII. A MIDNIGHT MISHAP 131
XXXIV. FREDERICK DOUGLASS 133
XXXV. OUR DUMB ANIMALS 136
XXXVI. A PLUCKY BOY 138
XXXVII. A HEART-TO-HEART TALK 141
XXXVIII. A GHOST STORY 144
XXXIX. GOOD CHEER 149
XL. LIFE A BATTLE 152
XLI. RULED BY PRIMITIVE METHODS 155
XLII. HUNTING AN EASY PLACE 159
XLIII. BURT BANKSTON’S BEQUEST 162
XLIV. THE BIG BLACK BURGLAR 166
XLV. PIN-MONEY MADE WITH THE NEEDLE 169
XLVI. SELF-HELP 173
XLVII. HENRY WARD BEECHER’S TESTIMONY 177
XLVIII. ROUNDING UP A CHICKEN THIEF 180
XLIX. SHIELDS GREEN, THE MARTYR 184
L. AIMING AT SOMETHING 186
LI. THE BLACK SHEEP OF THE REYNOLDS FAMILY 188
LII. THE HOLY BIBLE 196
LIII. ANDREW CARNEGIE’S ADVICE TO YOUNG MEN 198
LIV. DIRECTIONS FOR LITTLE GENTLEMEN 200
LV. THE LETTER OF THE LAW 202
LVI. THE BEST BOOKS FOR CHILDREN 204
LVII. THE RIGHT TO PLAY 207
LVIII. A CHRISTMAS PRESENT 209
LIX. DRINKING AND SMOKING 211
LX. THE NICKEL THAT BURNED IN FRANK’S POCKET 214
LXI. MONUMENT TO A BLACK MAN 217
LXII. THE BAD BOY—WHO HE IS 219
LXIII. THE BAD BOY—HOW TO HELP HIM 221
LXIV. THOMAS GREENE BETHUNE (“BLIND TOM”) 226
LXV. NOT FIT TO KNOW 229
LXVI. THE RIGHT WAY 231
LXVII. KEEPING FRIENDSHIP IN REPAIR 234
LXVIII. LITTLE ANNIE’S CHRISTMAS 236
LXIX. THE VELOCIPEDE RACE 239
LXX. FAULT-FINDING 241
LXXI. THE PURITANS’ SABBATH 244
LXXII. THE DEVIL ON AN EXCURSION 247
LXXIII. RANDOM REMARKS 250
LXXIV. BENJAMIN BANNEKER, THE NEGRO ASTRONOMER 254
LXXV. “A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM” 258
LXXVI. DIRECTIONS FOR LITTLE LADIES 264
LXXVII. THREE WORDS TO YOUNG PEOPLE 266
LXXVIII. “A LAMP UNTO MY FEET” 272
LXXIX. THE THREE BRIGADES 275
LXXX. “HOME, SWEET HOME” 277
LXXXI. EDMUND ASA WARE 280
LXXXII. AN ANTE-BELLUM NEGRO PREACHER 284
LXXXIII. PURITY OF CHARACTER 287
LXXXIV. EACH ONE OF US OF IMPORTANCE 289
LXXXV. THE POETRY OF LIFE 290
LXXXVI. ON BEING IN EARNEST 292
LXXXVII. YOUNG PEOPLE AND LIFE INSURANCE 294
LXXXVIII. THE LITTLE SAILOR CAT 297
LXXXIX. ADVICE TO LITTLE CHRISTIANS 299
XC. A WORD TO PARENTS 301
XCI. A HELPFUL MESSAGE 302
XCII. THE UNSEEN CHARMER 304
XCIII. OUR COUNTRY 307
XCIV. THE “DON’T-CARE” GIRL 309
XCV. NEGRO HEROES 312
XCVI. FREDERICK DOUGLASS TO YOUNG PEOPLE 315
XCVII. TOO HIGH A DAM 318
XCVIII. A GOOD FELLOW 320
XCIX. THE FUTURE OF THE NEGRO 321
C. THE TRAINING OF CHILDREN 323
[Illustration]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
FRONTISPIECE.
A SPELLING CLASS 20
THAT’S A VERY PRETTY WAY TO SPELL “LOVE” 21
“HOW MANY PAPERS HAVE YOU SOLD TO-DAY, TOMMY?” 23
AN EVENING AT HOME 27
BOBBY AND HIS “MAN” 30
“HERE IS THE CARPET, YOUNG MAN; I HOPE I HAVE NOT KEPT YOU
WAITING.” 34
GRACE BEFORE GOING TO SCHOOL 38
GRACE’S GRADUATION 42
BLAB-MOUTHED AND NOISY 47
MODEST AND QUIET 49
HE STUFFS BOTH HANDS IN HIS TROUSERS POCKETS 52
“HOW MUCH FOR THE MELON?” 54
“DAT’S JES’ WHAT MY ’LIGION DOES,” SAID THE OLD MAN 57
“I DON’T BREAK EASY” 62
“O, GET OUT OF THE WAY, CAN’T YOU?” 65
“MOTHER, I’M SO HAPPY. TEACHER FORGAVE ME” 74
MARY AND HER DOLLS 76
“I’M GOING OVER TO JAKY’S, MAMMA” 80
OLD MRS. GRAY 84
“PAPA I AIN’T GOT NO LITTLE BABY BROTHER TO PLAY WITH” 91
TOOTSIE 94
LITTLE JOE 97
UNCLE HAMBRIGHT 101
“YOU ALL WAIT UNTIL I COME BACK AND THEN WE’LL PLAY AT
FOX-HUNTING” 103
“LEND ME FIVE DOLLARS” 106
A HERO IN BLACK 109
THE ROAD TO SUCCESS 112
HOW TO BE HANDSOME 118
PATIENCE 120
A BITER BIT 123
KEEPING ONE’S ENGAGEMENTS 130
A MIDNIGHT MISHAP 132
OUR DUMB ANIMALS 137
“THE BOY MARCHED STRAIGHT UP TO THE COUNTER” 140
A HEART-TO-HEART TALK 142
“HUH! HUH! THERE DON’T SEEM TO BE BUT TWO OF US HERE TO-NIGHT” 145
“CHARGED WITH KISSING A GIRL ON THE STREET” 157
“I HAVE JUST FINISHED MY COURSE IN THE HIGH SCHOOL” 161
THE GAMBLER 163
THE GAMBLER IN OLD AGE 165
THE BIG BLACK BURGLAR 168
PIN-MONEY MADE WITH THE NEEDLE 172
WASHING DOLLIE’S CLOTHES 175
“SON, IT’S A MIGHTY LUCKY THING FOR YOU AND NANNIE THAT I DIDN’T
HAVE MY GUN” 182
AIMING AT SOMETHING 187
“HE CARRIED WITH HIM SOME WILD FLOWERS AND GREEN LEAVES” 190
“WELL, JOHN, I SUPPOSE SISTER IS DEAD” 194
DIRECTIONS FOR LITTLE GENTLEMEN 201
“MAMMA TOLD ME NOT TO ASK FOR ANY MORE CREAM” 203
THE BEST BOOKS FOR CHILDREN 205
“MAMMA, I HEAR OLD SANTA’S BELLS, AND OF COURSE THIS IS THE
PRESENT HE BROUGHT” 210
DRINK AND TOBACCO 212
“A QUARTER, MA’AM” 215
MONUMENT TO A BLACK MAN 217
“PLAY FANTASTIC” ON THE FOURTH OF JULY 220
THE BAD BOY—HOW TO HELP HIM 222
FRANCES 229
“I GOT IN THE HALL LAST NIGHT FOR NOTHING” 232
THE TWO PATHS 235
“SHE PUT OUT HER THIN LITTLE HAND AND FELT IT” 237
THE VELOCIPEDE RACE 240
FAULT-FINDING 242
“GOODNIS GRACIOUS! I SEE DAT OLD CYCLOOM COMIN’ BACK AG’IN. HE
LOOK BLACKAH AND WUSSAH DAN HE DONE BEFO. RUN, ISAAC, RUN!” 248
“I WISH I COULD HAVE MY WAY WITH THOSE BOYS FOR ABOUT TWO MINUTES” 251
DIRECTIONS FOR LITTLE GIRLS 265
“A LAMP UNTO MY FEET” 273
MEMBERS OF THE RAINY-WEATHER BRIGADE 276
HOME, SWEET HOME 278
“SAINT PAUL WAS A MUCH BETTER MAN DAN I IS, AN’ DEY WHUPPED HIM
MOS’ EV’YWHAR HE WENT” 285
EACH ONE OF US OF IMPORTANCE 289
THE POETRY OF LIFE 290
BEING IN EARNEST 293
TAKING OUT A POLICY 295
THE LITTLE SAILOR CAT 298
ADVICE TO LITTLE CHRISTIANS 299
A WORD TO PARENTS 301
“IS—ER—ER—MR. HOPEGOOD IN?” 305
THE “DON’T-CARE” GIRL 310
NEGRO HEROES 313
FREDERICK DOUGLASS 316
[Illustration]
FLOYD’S FLOWERS
I.
A SPELLING LESSON.
The boys and girls of Public School No. 10 were glad to have a new girl,
whose name was Bertha Dent, enter their spelling class. The little
girl’s mother told the teacher that the child could probably keep up
with the First Grade in spelling, because she could spell such words as
“dog” and “hog” and “cat” and “rat” and “bat.”
It was not a great while before the teacher called the spelling class.
She asked Bertha, the new girl, to stand with the class.
“You may spell ‘dog,’ Mary,” said the teacher to one of the girls, “and
tell us what kind of noise little dogs make.”
“D-o-g, dog,” said Mary, “and our little dog says ‘bow-wow-wow!’”
“That was very well done,” said the teacher. “Now, Annie, you may spell
‘cat,’ and tell us what kind of noise little kittens make.”
“C-a-t, cat,” replied Annie, “and the little kitties sometimes say
‘mew-mew,’ and when the little doggies come ’round they bristle up and
hiss at the doggies.”
“That’s very well,” responded the teacher. “Sadie, you may spell ‘bird,’
and tell us what the little birds do.”
“B-i-r-d, bird,” said Sadie. “We have a pretty mocking bird that sings
for us all the time; most birds sing, but mama says there are some birds
which are good to keep bugs and worms off the vegetables and flowers.”
[Illustration: A SPELLING CLASS.]
“That is correct,” the teacher made answer. “Now, Bertha Dent, you may
spell ‘love’ for us, and tell us what love does.”
“Oh,” said the new pupil, “I know very well how to spell ‘love.’” And
then Bertha ran to the teacher, threw her arms around the teacher’s
neck, and gave her a sweet little kiss. “That is the way mama told me to
spell ‘love,’” said Bertha quietly, while the teacher and all the
members of the spelling class smiled.
[Illustration: THAT’S A VERY PRETTY WAY TO SPELL “LOVE.”]
“That is a very pretty way to spell ‘love,’” said the teacher. “But
don’t you know any other way to spell ‘love’?”
“Why, yes,” answered Bertha looking around. “I spell ‘love’ this way,
too.” Then she brushed a fleck of dust from the teacher’s sleeve, picked
up some papers that were scattered around on the platform and arranged
them on the desk. She, also, pulled a tiny bit of thread off the
teacher’s skirt. “I spell ‘love’” said Bertha, “by working for mama and
papa and little brother, and trying to make everybody happy.”
The teacher drew the little girl close to her side, threw one arm around
the child’s neck and said,——
“That is the very best way to spell ‘love’; but can’t you spell ‘love’
the way the book spells it?”
“Oh, yes,” said Bertha. “L-o-v-e, love.”
The teacher hugged Bertha, called her a dear little girl, and then
dismissed the class.
II.
THE TRUTH ABOUT LUCK.
[Illustration: “HOW MANY PAPERS HAVE YOU SOLD TO-DAY, TOMMY?”]
This is a world of order and system. There is nothing haphazard about
it. The sun rises and sets according to a regular and unchanging law.
The tides come in and the tides go out not by accident or chance, but in
accordance with well-defined laws. Winter and Summer, sunshine and rain,
follow each other in well-ordered succession. What is true in the
natural world is also true in the moral and business worlds. A boy reaps
that which he sows and gains the prizes for which he is willing to pay
the price in labor and self-denial. A divine law controls success and
defeat in this life and no strategem or trick can take the place of hard
work.
Some years ago, I happened to find myself near the terminal of the great
East River Bridge in New York City. Two little boys were standing near
one of the large iron posts crying their afternoon papers. I tarried
near them because I was waiting for a particular car. One little fellow
said to the other,——
“How many papers have you sold to-day, Tommie?”
“Nearly one hundred an’ fifty,” was Tommie’s quick reply.
“Honor bright?”
“Yes; honor bright.”
“Whoopee! but ain’t you in big luck, Tommie?”
“Luck!” exclaimed Tommie, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “There
ain’t no luck about it; I’ve just been everlastingly at it since four
o’clock this morning—that’s all!”
And that is the _all_ of real success. Those who achieve success are
“everlastingly at” what they are trying to do. Tommie was right in
declining to have his hard and honest work cheapened by calling the
result of it luck.
“You are the luckiest chap I ever saw,” I once heard a little boy about
sixteen years say to another boy of about the same age.
“Why do you say that?” asked the other.
“Because you have had your salary raised twice in the same year.”
“Well,” was the reply, “you may call it luck; but I don’t. I have always
done my work the very best I knew how. I have never once in the whole
year been a single minute late in getting to the office, nor have I ever
left a single minute before it was time for me to leave. When I have
worked over-time, I have not made any fuss about it. My boss said when
he raised my salary last week that he had taken these things into
account. So, I don’t see where the luck comes in.”
“All the same,” said the first boy, “some bosses wouldn’t have raised
your salary.”
“Then I would have the satisfaction of knowing that I had done my duty.”
Boys, I tell you that’s right. Nine out of ten employers know that it is
to their advantage to show appreciation of faithful work and they show
it. When this appreciation comes luck has had nothing to do with it. The
thing that passes for luck is in nearly all cases the just reward of
honest endeavor.
Do not, therefore, start out in life with the expectation that some
“lucky turn” will bring you sudden honor or wealth or position without
any effort on your part. Substitute that fine old word “_work_” for that
deceitful word “_luck_,” and base your hopes of future success and
usefulness upon the honorable labor that it is a God-given privilege for
every well and strong and right-minded boy to give his heart and hands
to performing.
III.
AN EVENING AT HOME.
Boys and girls between the ages of eleven and seventeen ought to spend
their evenings at home, as much as possible. In these busy, bustling
twentieth century days, there are many families—so much the worse for
them—that scarcely know what it is to spend an evening at home together.
Not only the young people but the older people are “on the go.” The
evenings are crowded with calls and invitations, which come from far and
near. It is nothing to go five or even ten miles to an evening concert
or social gathering, the trolley is so near, so cheap and so universal.
But I tell you, boys and girls, no matter what the pleasure or amusement
afforded—no matter what the instruction or culture received—there are no
social or similar opportunities good enough to displace the home circle.
The sooner young people realize this the happier they will be.
[Illustration: AN EVENING AT HOME.]
Boys and girls ought to plan for some evenings at home. Let other things
have a share, but do not give up all the time to other things. Once a
week the young people ought to arrange for an evening at home. Decline
everything else for that evening, the same as you would for any other
engagement. Gather the family together. Make a special place for grandma
and grandpa. Sing merry songs; play innocent and amusing games; take
time to tell the home folks about some of the things that you do and
that you have seen in the world; get acquainted with the home folks; be
delighted in their delight; by special appointment, spend one or two
cheerful hours with the folks at home each week.
The young folks themselves should take the lead in this matter. A home
is not merely a place with four walls where people meet to eat and drink
and sleep securely beneath a roof. Nay, boys and girls, a house is
reared to be a _home_—the center where a family may gather into one; to
be a serene retreat where the tenderest affections may find rest; where
love may have a dwelling place, and the _amenities_ of life gain ample
scope; where parents and children may press one another heart to heart;
where sorrows and joys may be freely shared in sacred confidence; in a
word, where the great work of training human beings for the duties of
the present life, and the perfection of another, may be begun and
carried on.
There is one special reason for making much of the evenings at home that
young people are not likely to think of. _Inevitably_ the _family_
circle will be broken up very soon. Perhaps not by death, but most
certainly by change. When Fred goes to college that is the beginning of
new ties and new associations, and the home privileges can never be
quite so complete to him again. The years of the complete unity of the
home are very few indeed. While these years are passing, young people
especially should make the most of them. My dear boys and girls, get the
benefit of these years; get their joys; store up memories of home life,
for they will be in future years the most beautiful pictures of the
heart. However some may sneer at it, the memory of home and mother is a
great power for righteousness. It has saved many a person to God and
native land and race.
“Be it ever so humble—
There’s no place like home.”
IV.
THE MAKING OF A MAN.[1]
Mr. Stamps, seated near the table, was glancing over the afternoon
paper. Mrs. Stamps, in an easy chair, was doing some fancy work. Little
Bobby, six years old, more or less, was playing with his toys on the
floor. All at once the precocious little boy stopped short in the middle
of his sport and, looking up at his mother, asked,—
“Mama, who made the world?”
“God,” replied Mrs. Stamps, sweetly.
“Who made the sea?” continued Bobby.
Mrs. Stamps answered, “God.”
“Well,” said Bobby, “did God make everything?”
“Yes, my son; the Lord made everything.”
“And did he make everybody?”
“Yes; the Lord made everybody.”
Bobby was silent for a moment. Presently he looked anxiously at his
father, and then, turning to his mother, he asked,—
“Mama, did God make papa, too?”
“Yes; God made papa also.”
After a lengthy pause Bobby asked,—
[Illustration: BOBBY AND HIS “MAN.”]
“Mama, do you think that I could make a man, if I was to try real hard?”
“You had better run out to play now, Bobby,” said Mrs. Stamps, somewhat
non-plused by her son’s curiosity.
Bobby left the room almost immediately. He went straight to the beach in
front of the house, and labored long and earnestly in piling up some wet
sand. Pretty soon he was joined in his work by two other little boys.
For some time the three little fellows worked vigorously in piling up
the mud. Mrs. Stamps called her husband to the window, so that he might
see what the boys were doing.
“Wife,” said Mr. Stamps, “I believe those little Satans are trying to
make a man.”
Toward sunset Bobby ran into the house and exclaimed with delight,—
“Mama, we’ve got our man almost finished. We didn’t have but one marble,
and we used that for one of his eyes. I came in to ask you to give me a
marble, so that we might put in his other eye.”
“It’s too late to bother now, Bobby,” said Mrs. Stamps. “Wait until
to-morrow morning; then I will give you a marble and let you finish your
man.”
The next morning, bright and early, Bobby went out to look for his man.
Lo and behold! the sea had washed the man away during the night. But,
Bobby, of course, did not suspect that. He thought that the man had gone
away of his own accord. So the little fellow spent the entire morning
looking for his man. He looked under the house; he looked in the stable;
he went up to the garret; he walked up and down the beach; he went into
the woods—looking for his man. But his man was nowhere to be found.
Two or three weeks later an African Methodist Episcopal Conference
assembled in Bobby’s town. Among the ministers present there happened to
be a short, chubby, tan-colored brother with only one eye. When Bobby
spied him he examined the man curiously and cautiously from head to
foot. The examination ended, Bobby concluded that that was his man. At
once the little fellow left his mother and went over and took a seat
beside the man. Bobby’s mother was somewhat embarrassed. The man was
evidently pleased, although, to be sure, he himself was not quite
certain why he should be an object of special interest to the little
boy. The man went to the secretary’s table to have his name
enrolled—Bobby went with him. He went into the vestibule to get a drink
of water—and Bobby followed him there. But all the while the man was
still in doubt as to the cause of the little boy’s apparent affection.
By this time, thoroughly exasperated, Bobby’s mother decided to go home.
She approached the pew in a very ladylike manner and said,—
“Bobby, dear, come; we must be going home now.”
“All right, Mama,” said Bobby in dead earnest, “but you will please let
me take my man home with me—won’t you? I just found him to-day, and you
know I’ve been looking for him for over two weeks!”
Then, for the first time, it suddenly dawned upon Mrs. Stamps what was
the matter with Bobby. In spite of herself she laughed heartily at the
boy’s perversity. Finding that his mother hesitated to reply, Bobby
turned to the man and said,—
“Come on: we’re going home now. Why did you leave before I finished
you?”
V.
FALSE PRIDE.
Once upon a time the head clerk in a carpet store requested one of his
junior clerks to go to a patron’s home to measure a room, and suggested
that he take along a five-yard sample. The junior clerk objected to
“carting” such a big bundle, as he said, “all over town,” and asked that
one of the boys be sent with it. The proprietor of the establishment,
who happened to overhear the remark, privately told the head clerk to
inform the proud young fellow that a boy would be sent on after him with
the roll. Shortly after the young man reached the house, the proprietor
of the establishment covered him with confusion by appearing at the
house in person with the roll of carpet under his arm. Handing the
bundle to the bewildered young man, the proprietor remarked:
“Here is the carpet, young man. I hope I have not kept you waiting for
it. If you have any other orders, I’ll take them now.”
* * * * *
[Illustration: “HERE IS THE CARPET, YOUNG MAN. I HOPE I HAVE NOT KEPT
YOU WAITING.”]
A young woman of my acquaintance refused to carry home a yeast cake,
though it was needed at once for the family baking and she was bound
directly homeward. She said that she wasn’t a delivery wagon, and so the
yeast cake had to be sent to her home.
A great many foolish young people are so absorbingly regardful of their
trim appearance on the street that they will never under any
circumstances carry a basket or bundle, however much inconvenience they
may cause others by refusing to do so.
* * * * *
Now, it is not proper pride or self-respect which prompts people to act
as the young folks acted whom I have just referred to. It is silliness
which prompts them to act so. Any honest work is honorable that is
honorably done, and you will notice that young people of good social
position and strength of character are above such pettiness. Only
inferior people act that way. Superior people do not act so, because
they are well aware that they cannot be compromised by doing
straightforwardly, without fuss or apology, whatever needs to be done.
Yet, I admit, that it seems to be human nature that whatever is
distasteful or supposedly menial should be done by somebody else. When
young people, or old people for that matter, are tempted to be foolish
in such things they should remember the lesson of humility that Christ
taught his disciples, when in that warm Oriental country, where only
sandals are worn, He performed the necessary service of washing the
disciples’ feet. For us to be above our business—for us to think
ourselves too good or too dainty to soil our hands with honest toil—for
us to feel that it is a lowering of our dignity to carry a bundle
through the street, is to prove by our conduct that we are not up to the
level of our business, that we are possessed of a great amount of false
pride, and, in a higher sense, it shows that we have a foolish and
wicked distaste of true service. There is nothing low, nothing
degrading, nothing disgraceful, in honest labor, in honest work of any
kind, whether it be to boil an egg properly, to sweep a floor well, to
carry a bundle or package through the streets, or bring a pail of water.
In fact, if somebody were to say that “chores” done or undone are the
making or the unmaking of boys and girls, it would be a homely way of
putting an important truth. Bringing up coal or bringing in wood,
weeding the garden bed, running errands, washing dishes, sewing seams,
dusting furniture, doing any odd jobs where there is need, cheerfully,
faithfully—these lead to the highway of greater opportunities and are
the usual avenues to the only manhood and womanhood that is worth
having. My young friends, the castle of your noblest dream is built out
of what lies nearest at hand. It is the uncommonly good use of common
things, the everyday opportunities, that makes honored lives, and helps
us, and helps us to help others, along the sun-road. “He that is
faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much.” “Pride goeth
before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.”
VI.
THANKSGIVING AT PINEY GROVE.
The people of the Piney Grove settlement, both white and black, had been
free for nearly a generation. The whites had been freed from the curse
of being slave-holders, and the blacks had been freed from the curse of
being held in bondage. But never in the history of this little town, in
the very heart of the so-called “Black Belt” of Georgia, had the people
known anything about the proper observance of Thanksgiving Day until
189–. And in that year the revolution was brought about by a young
colored woman named Grace Wilkins.
Grace Wilkins was the only daughter of Solomon and Amanda Wilkins.
Solomon and his wife were farmers—plain, simple, ordinary country folk.
Amanda was literally her husband’s helpmeet. She went along with him
every morning to the field, and, in season, chopped as much wood, picked
as much cotton, hoed as much corn, pulled as much fodder, and plowed as
much as her husband did. Up to her fourteenth year Grace had been reared
on a farm, and had learned to do all the things that any farmer’s child
has to do—such as milking cows, feeding hogs and chickens, hoeing cotton
and corn, picking cotton, pulling fodder and the like. In her fourteenth
year, acting upon the advice of an uneducated colored preacher, her
parents sent Grace away from home to attend one of the great normal and
industrial institutes for the training of the black boys and girls of
the South.
[Illustration: GRACE BEFORE GOING TO SCHOOL.]
At first her mother and father were filled with forebodings. It was the
first time that they had ever allowed their daughter to be away from
them, and they missed her so much and longed for her so constantly that
they thought that they had made a mistake in sending her off to
“boardin’ school.” Ignorant and superstitious neighbors, though they
knew as little about such matters as did Solomon and Amanda, were loud
in saying that “Sol” and “Mandy” would live to regret the step they had
taken in sending Grace away from home. The only rays of sunshine that
came in to brighten these periods of mental unrest and gloom on the part
of Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins were found in the letters which they received
regularly from their daughter. Grace invariably informed her parents,
whenever she wrote, that she was “well an’ doin’ well.” Thus reassured
from time to time, Solomon and Amanda managed somehow to undergo the
terrible strain of having their daughter absent from them for eight
months. But meantime they were firmly of the opinion that, once they got
their hands on her again, they would never allow Grace to return to
school.
With glad and thankful hearts Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins joyously embraced
their daughter when she came home at the close of her first year in
school. With keen and genuine interest, they listened to her wonderful
accounts of the great school and of the great man at the head of it.
Grace dressed differently and talked differently; and her mother said,
speaking one day in confidence to her husband shortly after Grace’s
return, “Dat gal’s sho got a new walk on her!”
Grace Wilkins brought back a toothbrush with her from school. That was
something which she had never had before. She used that toothbrush every
morning and night. That was something that she had never done before.
She was now careful to keep her hair well combed every day. That was
something that she had been accustomed to do on Sundays only or on
special occasions. She washed her face two or three times a day now, as
her mother and father noticed. Before she went to school she had been in
the habit of giving her face, as the old people say, “a lick and a
promise” early each morning. Besides, Grace kept the house cleaner than
she had kept it before. She brought home with her a brand-new Bible
which she read regularly at home and always carried to church and Sunday
school. She also had a song book called “Jubilee Songs and Plantation
Melodies,” and it gladdened the hearts of the good “old folks at home”
to hear their daughter sing from a book some of the very songs that they
had sung all their lifetime and which were so dear to them.
All these things and others made a deep and abiding impression upon
Solomon and his wife. And finding that withal their daughter was just as
loving and kind as she had been before, and that she was just as
industrious and faithful as formerly, Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins were not long
in deciding that their daughter should go back to that school another
year, and that they would work hard and stint themselves in order that
they might keep her there until she had finished the normal course.
So back to school Grace Wilkins went—that year, and the next year, and
the next. It was the proudest day in Solomon’s and Amanda’s lives when
they sat in the magnificent chapel of the school and heard their
daughter read her graduation essay on “The Gospel of Service.” Glad
tears welled up in their eyes when they heard the principal call their
daughter’s name, and then saw Grace step up to receive her certificate
of graduation.
Coming back to Piney Grove to live, “Miss Gracie”—everybody called her
that after graduation—established a little school which she called “The
Piney Grove Academy.” It was the first public school for colored
children ever opened within the corporate limits of the little village.
Before that the schools were district schools or county schools, which
were taught about in different places for only three or four months in
the year, mainly during the summer. Miss Gracie began her school the
first day of October. By special arrangement she used the first three
months for the public term allowed by the state, and supplemented that
with a five-months term, for which the pupils were required to pay fifty
cents each per month. The plan worked well, the parents joining in
heartily in the movement, and the Piney Grove Academy soon became the
model school for the surrounding counties.
[Illustration: GRACE’S GRADUATION.]
Among other things Miss Gracie had learned at school what was the import
of our national Thanksgiving Day. At the opening of the second year of
the Piney Grove Academy she decided that she would inaugurate an annual
Thanksgiving service. Accordingly on the opening day of the second year
Miss Gracie informed the pupils of her plan, and told them that she
would begin the very next day to prepare a suitable program for the
exercises. Afterwards Miss Gracie secured the cooperation of the village
pastor—the same man who had been instrumental in having her parents send
her away to school. Through him she was permitted to talk to the people
at the church two or three times about the proposed celebration. She was
careful to tell them that the Thanksgiving festival was meant specially
to be a home festival in addition to being a time for the people to come
together in their accustomed places of worship to thank God for the
blessings of the year. She urged them, therefore, as far as they were
able without going to unnecessary expense, to have family dinners and
bring together at one time and in one place as many members of the
family as possible. She explained to them how this might be done
successfully and economically, and with pleasure and profit to all
concerned. She also urged them to be planning beforehand so that nothing
might prevent their attending church Thanksgiving Day morning. She was
going to hold the exercises in the church, because her little school was
not large enough to furnish an assembly hall for the people who would be
likely to be present.
On Thanksgiving Day nearly everybody in town went to the exercises. Many
white people attended, including the county school commissioner and the
school trustees. It was the first Thanksgiving service that any of them
had ever witnessed.
The program was made up, for the most part, of choice selections from
negro authors, composers, orators, and so forth. A selection from
Frederick Douglass on “Patriotism” was declaimed; one from Booker T.
Washington’s Atlanta Exposition speech was also delivered. Paul Laurence
Dunbar’s poem entitled “Signs of the Times” (a Thanksgiving poem) was
read by one of the pupils, and also “The Party,” another of Dunbar’s
pieces, was rendered. “The Negro National Hymn,” words by James W.
Johnson and music by his brother, Rosamond Johnson, was sung by a chorus
of fifty voices. At the opening of the service the president’s
Thanksgiving proclamation was read and appropriate remarks were made by
Miss Wilkins. The closing remarks were made by the Rev. John Jones, the
village pastor. The remarks of Mr. Jones were in the congratulatory
mood. He was naturally proud of Miss Gracie’s achievements, because he
had had something to do with putting her on the road to an education. He
spoke of the teacher as the leaven that was leavening the whole lump,
and the applause which followed the statement showed plainly the high
esteem in which the teacher was held by all the people. Everyone enjoyed
the service. None of the villagers had ever seen anything like it
before. After singing “America” all of them went away happy, many of
them, in obedience to Miss Gracie’s previous counsel, going home to eat
for the first time, well knowing what they were doing, a Thanksgiving
dinner.
At the home of Miss Wilkins there was an excellent spread of ’possum,
potatoes, rice, chicken, pickles, macaroni, bread, a precious
Thanksgiving turkey, and the inevitable mincemeat pie. Besides Miss
Gracie, there sat at the table that day her parents, Mr. and Mrs.
Solomon Wilkins, John and Joseph Wilkins, brothers of Solomon who had
come from a distance, Mary Andrews, a sister of Mrs. Wilkins, who also
came from a distance, Grandma Wilkins, Grandma and Grandpa Andrews, the
Rev. John Jones, his wife, his daughter, and his only son, Jasper Jones.
Jasper had gone to school at T—— one year after Gracie went, and, of
course, was one year later in finishing the course there. On this
Thanksgiving Day, nevertheless, he had been out of school long enough to
have successfully established himself in the business of poultry raising
and dairying.
Just before the dinner party was dismissed the Rev. Mr. Jones arose and
said:
“There is another little ceremony you’all is invited to witness befo’
you go out to see the baseball game. I am authorized by these
credentials which I hol’ in my hands to unite in the holy bonds of
matrimony Miss Grace Wilkins and Mr. Jasper Jones. If there is no
objection, these two persons will please stan’ up, an’ I’ll tie the
knot.”
Of course there were no objections. The knot was tied. And when the
villagers learned of the occurrence not long afterwards they had
additional reason for believing that they were right when they voted
that Piney Grove had never seen the like of such a Thanksgiving Day, and
that Miss Gracie Wilkins was one of the best women in all the world.
VII.
THE LOUD GIRL.
I do not know of a more sorrowful spectacle than that of a girl who is
loud in her dress, loud in her manners, and loud in her speech. It is a
great mistake for a girl to suppose that this loudness will be mistaken
by her friends and acquaintances for smartness. The desire to be
regarded as bright and witty has led many a girl into the folly of being
loud in her manners. She often cherishes the illusion that the attention
such manners attract is combined with admiration, when the truth is that
those who witness her strange conduct are simply wondering how it is
possible for her to throw to the winds that charm of all
girlhood—modesty.
One afternoon not long ago I saw a group of girls of the loud type. They
came into the street car in which I was sitting. They all wore boys’
hats. One wore a vivid red jacket with brass buttons, and another had on
a brass belt. A third one had on a most conspicuous plaid skirt. This
third one had a box of bonbons, and when the three were seated she
opened the box and offered it to her companions, saying as she did so,
in a voice loud enough and shrill enough to be heard in every part of
the car:
[Illustration: BLAB-MOUTHED AND NOISY.]
“It’s my treat; have some, chums!”
Upon this invitation one of the girls dived down into the box like a
hungry bear, and held up a piece of the candy in triumph and then dashed
it into her mouth with a great guffaw. “O, Mame!” said one of the girls,
“if you ain’t just horrid to go and take the very piece I wanted!”
“Mame” laughed and, taking the candy from her mouth, offered it to the
other girl, saying as she did so:
“Well, here it is, Lulu!”
“Lulu” struck the candy from “Mame’s” hand, and it flew across the aisle
into the lap of a lady sitting opposite the girls. This set all three of
the girls to giggling and tittering, and they seemed in danger of
convulsions when the owner of the box of candy let it fall and a part of
the candy rolled out on the floor.
The conductor came forward and picked up the box and candy and handed
them to the owner. She giggled out her thanks, and “Lulu” said: “Why
didn’t you give him a gumdrop for his trouble?”
This seemed to impress the other girls as a most brilliant witticism,
and they fell to tittering violently over it.
Presently a gentleman came in and stumbled slightly over the feet of one
of the girls thrust out into the aisle.
[Illustration: MODEST AND QUIET.]
“I beg your pardon,” said the gentleman, as he lifted his hat, whereupon
the three girls grinned and giggled and giggled and grinned
immoderately, and one of them said:
“Roxy, you had better ride out on the platform, where there is more room
for your feet!”
“Roxy” then struck “Lulu” for making this speech. “Lulu” pretended to be
much offended and flung herself over to the other side of the car, where
she made a grimace at the other girls.
The conduct of these girls during the half hour that they were on the
car was such as caused every father and mother who saw them to regard
them with pity. The loud girl, my dear readers, is always an object of
pity. She should be a sorry object for her own contemplation. An old
writer has said: “You little know what you have done when you have first
broken the bounds of modesty; you have set open the door of your fancy
to the devil, so that he can represent the same sinful pleasure to you
anew.”
Now, the loud girl may be entirely innocent of any actual wrong-doing,
but she is regarded with dislike, distrust, and even disdain, by the
better class of people. She acquires a reputation for rudeness and
coarseness, and the people of refinement will not associate with her.
Her character suffers, no matter how innocent she may be of any
intention of doing wrong. Delicacy, modesty, is the certain sign of
sweetness, purity and gentleness of character, just as indelicacy is the
certain sign of a lack of these beautiful traits.
VIII.
THE ROWDY BOY.
You can tell him wherever you see him. There are certain marks or
appearances which he carries about with him and which are never absent.
For one thing you will find him with a cigarette stuck in his mouth, and
a cigarette is one of the deadliest poisons in the world for boy or man.
He wears his hat on the side or cocked back on his head. Frequently he
stuffs both hands in his trousers’ pockets. He doesn’t attend school
regularly; sometimes he starts for school and ends at the bathing pond
or the baseball park. He is late at Sunday school, if he goes at all,
and he stands ’round on the outside at church while the service is going
on inside. He steals rides on trains and on trolley cars, and on passing
vehicles of all descriptions. He is saucy and impudent to older people,
and is always ready and willing to quarrel or fight with his mates. He
is what the boys call a “bully.”
The loud girl and the rowdy boy are two things of which we have seen
enough in this world. They are things; they are hardly worth the dignity
of being called human beings.
I saw one of these rowdy boys in his own home not a great while ago. His
mother said to him:
“Johnnie, you must always take off your hat whenever you come into the
house.”
“Good gracious alive,” he said, “I can’t do anything right. What is the
use of grabbing off your hat every time you come into your own house?”
[Illustration: HE STUFFS BOTH HANDS IN HIS TROUSERS POCKETS.]
His mother looked sad, but said nothing. Presently she discovered that
her little boy had brought some mud into the house on his shoes. In her
sweetest tones she said:
“Johnnie, you must go to the door and wipe your feet now. See how you
are tracking up the floor there!”
“Well,” said the rowdy boy with a snarl, “can’t the old floor be
scoured? You must think this old house is gold.”
Now, I am a preacher, boys, and, being a preacher, of course I am what
is called a “man of peace,” but I tell you that that was one time I came
pretty near wishing that I wasn’t a preacher so that I might have given
that boy what he deserved. I was sorry, for the time being, that he
wasn’t my son. No manly little boy will ever talk to his mother in any
such way. I suppose that boy thought it made him appear to be a very
important personage, but he was very much mistaken. Don’t be rowdy,
boys; don’t be rough; don’t be rude. You were made for better things.
IX.
HONESTY.
Early in the morning two little boys came to the market place. They
arranged their little stands and spread out their wares, and sat down to
wait for customers. One sold watermelons and fruit, and the other sold
fish and oysters. The hours passed on and both were doing well.
By-and-by Sammie had only one melon left on his stand. A gentleman came
along and said:
“What a fine, large melon! I think I will buy that one. What do you ask
for it, my boy?”
[Illustration: “HOW MUCH FOR THE MELON?”]
“This is my last melon, sir; and though it looks fair, there is an
unsound spot on the other side,” said the boy, turning the melon over.