Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,
Yet wanting sensibility, the man
Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm."
Boys and girls should be willing to pledge themselves to be kind to all
harmless living creatures, and every boy and girl should strive to
protect such creatures from cruel usage on the part of others. It is
noble, boys and girls, for us to speak for those that cannot speak for
themselves, and it is noble, also, for us to protect those that cannot
protect themselves.
A LEGEND OF THE BLUE JAY
RUTH ANNA FISHER
It was a hot, sultry day in May and the children in the little school in
Virginia were wearily waiting for the gong to free them from lessons for
the day. Furtive glances were directed towards the clock. The call of
the birds and fields was becoming more and more insistent. Would the
hour never strike!
"The Planting of the Apple-tree" had no interest for them. Little
attention was given the boy as he read in a sing-song, spiritless
manner:
"What plant we in this apple-tree?
Buds, which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,
Shall haunt and sing and hide her nest."
The teacher, who had long since stopped trying to make the lesson
interesting, found herself saying mechanically, "What other birds have
their nests in the apple-tree?"
The boy shifted lazily from one foot to the other as he began, "The
sparrow, the robin, and wrens, and--the snow-birds and blue-jays--"
"No, they don't, blue-jays don't have nests," came the excited outburst
from some of the children, much to the surprise of the teacher.
When order was restored some of these brown-skinned children, who came
from the heart of the Virginian mountains, told this legend of the
blue-jay.
Long, long years ago, the devil came to buy the blue-jay's soul, for
which he first offered a beautiful golden ear of corn. This the blue-jay
liked and wanted badly, but said, "No, I cannot take it in exchange for
my soul." Then the devil came again, this time with a bright red ear of
corn which was even more lovely than the golden one.
This, too, the blue-jay refused. At last the devil came to offer him a
wonderful blue ear. This one the blue-jay liked best of all, but still
was unwilling to part with his soul. Then the devil hung it up in the
nest, and the blue-jay found that it exactly matched his own brilliant
feathers, and knew at once that he must have it. The bargain was quickly
made. And now in payment for that one blue ear of corn each Friday the
blue-jay must carry one grain of sand to the devil, and sometimes he
gets back on Sunday, but oftener not until Monday.
Very seriously the children added, "And all the bad people are going to
burn until the blue-jays have carried all the grains of sand in the
ocean to the devil."
The teacher must have smiled a little at the legend, for the children
cried out again, "It is so. 'Deed it is, for doesn't the black spot on
the blue-jay come because he gets his wings scorched, and he doesn't
have a nest like other birds."
Then, to dispel any further doubts the teacher might have, they asked
triumphantly, "You never saw a blue-jay on Friday, did you?"
There was no need to answer, for just then the gong sounded and the
children trooped happily out to play.
DAVID LIVINGSTONE
BENJAMIN BRAWLEY
When Livingstone began his work of exploration in 1849, practically all
of Africa between the Sahara and the Dutch settlements in the extreme
South was unknown territory. By the time of his death in 1873 he had
brought this entire region within the view of civilization. On his first
journey, or series of journeys (1849-1856,) starting from Cape Town, he
made his way northward for a thousand miles to Lake Ngami; then pushing
on to Linyanti, he undertook one of the most perilous excursions of his
entire career, his objective for more than a thousand miles being Loanda
on the West Coast, which point he reached after six months in the
wilderness.
Coming back to Linyanti, he turned his face eastward, discovered
Victoria Falls on the Zambesi, and finally arrived at Cuilimane on the
coast. On his second series of journeys (1858-1864) he explored the
Zambesi, the Shire, and the Rovuma rivers in the East, and discovered
Lake Nyasa. On his final expedition (1866-1873), in hunting for the
upper courses of the Nile, he discovered Lakes Tanganyika, Mweru, and
Bangweolo, and the Lualaba River. His achievement as an explorer was as
distinct as it was unparalleled. His work as a missionary and his worth
as a man it is not quite so easy to express concretely; but in these
capacities he was no less distinguished and his accomplishment no less
signal.
There had been missionaries, and great ones, in Africa before
Livingstone. The difference between Livingstone and consecrated men was
not so much in devotion as in the conception of the task. He himself
felt that a missionary in the Africa of his day was to be more than a
mere preacher of the word--that he would have also to be a Christian
statesman, and even a director of exploration and commerce if need be.
This was his title to greatness; to him "the end of the geographical
feat was only the beginning of the enterprise." Knowing, however, that
many honest persons did not sympathize with him in this conception of
his mission, after 1856 he declined longer to accept salary from the
missionary society that originally sent him out, working afterwards
under the patronage of the British Government and the Royal
Geographical Society.
His sympathy and his courtesy were unfailing, even when he himself was
placed in the greatest danger. Said Henry Drummond of him: "Wherever
David Livingstone's footsteps are crossed in Africa the fragrance of his
memory seems to remain." On one occasion a hunter was impaled on the
horn of a rhinoceros, and a messenger ran eight miles for the physician.
Although he himself had been wounded for life by a lion and his friends
insisted that he should not ride at night through a wood infested with
wild beasts, Livingstone insisted on his Christian duty to go, only to
find that the man had died and to have to retrace his footsteps.
Again and again his party would have been destroyed by some savage
chieftain if it had not been for his own unbounded tact and courage. To
the devoted men who helped him he gave the assurance that he would die
before he would permit them to be taken; and after his death at
Chitambo's village Susi and Chuma journeyed for nine months and over
eight hundred miles of dangerous country to take his body to the coast.
Livingstone was a man of tremendous faith, in his mission, in his
country, in humanity, in God. He wrote on one occasion: "This age
presents one great fact in the Providence of God; missions are sent
forth to all quarters of the world,--missions not of one section of the
Church, but from all sections, and from nearly all Christian nations. It
seems very unfair to judge of the success of these by the number of the
conversions that have followed. These are rather proofs of the missions
being of the right sort. The fact which ought to stimulate us above all
others is, not that we have contributed to the conversion of a few
souls, however valuable these may be, but that we are diffusing a
knowledge of Christianity throughout the world. Future missionaries will
see conversions follow every sermon. We prepare the way for them. We
work for a glorious future which we are not destined to see--the golden
age which has not been, but will yet be. We are only morning-stars
shining in the dark, but the glorious morn will break, the good time
coming yet. For this time we work; may God accept our imperfect
service."
Of such quality was David Livingstone--Missionary, Explorer,
Philanthropist. "For thirty years his life was spent in an unwearied
effort to evangelize the native races, to explore the undiscovered
secrets, and abolish the desolating slave trade of Central Africa." To
what extent after sixty years have we advanced toward his ideals? With
what justice are we the inheritors of his renown?
IRA ALDRIDGE
WILLIAM J. SIMMONS
The name of Aldridge has always been placed at the head of the list of
Negro actors. He has indeed become the most noted of them, and his name
is cited as standing first in his calling among all colored persons who
have ever appeared on the stage. He was born at Belaire, near Baltimore,
in 1804. In complexion he was dark brown, and with heavy whiskers;
standing six feet in height, with heavy frame, African features, and yet
with due proportions; he was graceful in his attitudes, highly polished
in manners.
In his early days he was apprenticed to a ship carpenter, and had his
association with the Germans on the western shores of Maryland. Here he
became familiar with the German language and spoke it not only with ease
but with fluency. He was brought in contact with Edmund Kean, the great
actor, in 1826, whom he accompanied in his trip through Europe. His
ambition to become an actor was encouraged by Kean, and receiving his
assistance in the preparation, he made his appearance first at the
Royalty Theatre in London, in the character of Othello. Public applause
greeted him of such an extraordinary nature, that he was billed to
appear at the Covent Garden Theatre April 10, 1839, in the same
character.
After many years' successful appearances in many of the metropolitan
cities, he appeared in the Provinces with still greater success. In
Ireland he performed Othello, with Edmund Kean as Iago. In 1852 he
appeared in Germany in Shakespearean characters. He was pronounced
excellent, and though a stranger and a foreigner, he undertook the very
difficult task of playing in English, while his whole support was
rendered in the language of the country. It is said that until this
time, such an experiment was not considered susceptible of a successful
end, but nevertheless, with his impersonations he succeeded admirably.
It is said that the King of Prussia was so deeply moved with his
appearance in the character of Othello, at Berlin, that he spent him a
congratulatory letter, and conferred upon him the title of chevalier, in
recognition of his dramatic genius, and informed him that the lady who
took the part of Desdemona was so much affected at the manner in which
he played his part that she was made ill from fright on account of the
reality with which he acted his part.
Some idea of the character of his acting might be gained from the fact
that the lady who played Desdemona in St. Petersburg, became very much
alarmed at what appeared real passion on his part, in acting Othello;
though he was never rough or indelicate in any of his acting with
ladies, yet she was so frightened that she used to scream with real
fear.
It is said that on another occasion in St. Petersburg, that in the midst
of his acting in scene two, act five, when he was quoting these words,
"It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul;
Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!
It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood,
Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow,
And smooth as monumental alabaster.
Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men.
Put out the light, and then--put out the light!
If I quench thee, thou flaming minister,
I can again thy former light restore,
Should I repent me: But once put out thy light,
Thou cunning'st pattern of excelling nature;
I know not where is that Promethean heat,
That can thy light relume. When I have plucked thy rose,
I cannot give it vital growth again;
It needs must wither:--I'll smell it on the tree--
(_kissing her_)
O balmy breath, that dost almost persuade
Justice to break her sword:--One more, one more:--
Be thus when thou art dead, and I will kill thee,
And love thee after:--One more--and this the last:
So sweet was ne'er so fatal. I must weep.
But they are cruel tears:
This sorrow's heavenly:
It strikes where it doth love."
the house was so carried away with the manner in which he rendered it,
that a young man stood up and exclaimed with the greatest earnestness:
"She is innocent, Othello, she is innocent," and yet so interested was
he in the acting himself that he never moved a muscle but continued as
if nothing had been said to embarrass him. The next day he learned,
while dining with a Russian prince, that a young man who had been
present had been so affected by the play that he had been seized with a
sudden illness and died the next day.
Mr. Aldridge was a welcome guest in the ranks of the cultured and
wealthy, and was often in the "salons" of the haughty aristocrats of St.
Petersburg and Moscow. Titled ladies wove, knitted and stitched their
pleasing emotions into various memorials of friendship. In his palatial
residence at Sydenham, near London, were collected many presents of
intrinsic value, rendered almost sacred by association. Prominent among
these tokens of regard was an autographic letter from the King of
Prussia, transmitting the first medal of art and sciences; the Cross of
Leopold, from the Emperor of Russia, and a Maltese cross received at
Berne.
In all his triumphs he never lost interest in the condition of his race.
He always took an interest in everything touching their welfare, and
though exalted to the companionship of those who ranked high in every
department of life, yet he never in any way forgot the humble race with
which he was identified, and was always solicitous for their welfare and
promotion. He was an associate of the most prominent men of Paris, among
whom was Alexander Dumas. When the great tragedian and great writer met
they always kissed each other, and Dumas always greeted Aldridge with
the words Mon Confrere. He died at Lodes, in Poland, August 7, 1867.
FIFTY YEARS
1863-1913
JAMES WELDON JOHNSON
O brothers mine, to-day we stand
Where half a century sweeps our ken,
Since God, through Lincoln's ready hand,
Struck off our bonds and made us men.
Just fifty years--a winter's day--
As runs the history of a race;
Yet, as we look back o'er the way,
How distant seems our starting place!
Look farther back! Three centuries!
To where a naked, shivering score,
Snatched from their haunts across the seas,
Stood wild-eyed, on Virginia's shore.
Far, far the way that we have trod,
From heathen kraals and jungle dens,
To freedmen, freemen, sons of God,
Americans and Citizens.
A part of His unknown design,
We've lived within a mighty age;
And we have helped to write a line
On history's most wondrous page.
A few black bondmen strewn along
The borders of our eastern coast,
Now grown a race, ten million strong,
An upward, onward marching host.
Then let us here erect a stone,
To mark the place, to mark the time;
A witness to God's mercies shown,
A pledge to hold this day sublime.
And let that stone an altar be,
Whereon thanksgivings we may lay,
Where we, in deep humility,
For faith and strength renewed may pray.
With open hearts ask from above
New zeal, new courage and new pow'rs,
That we may grow more worthy of
This country and this land of ours.
For never let the thought arise
That we are here on sufferance bare;
Outcasts, asylumed 'neath these skies
And aliens without part or share.
This land is ours by right of birth,
This land is ours by right of toil;
We helped to turn its virgin earth,
Our sweat is in its fruitful soil.
Where once the tangled forest stood,--
Where flourished once rank weed and thorn,--
Behold the path-traced, peaceful wood,
The cotton white, the yellow corn.
To gain these fruits that have been earned,
To hold these fields that have been won,
Our arms have strained, our backs have burned,
Bent bare beneath a ruthless sun.
That Banner which is now the type
Of victory on field and flood--
Remember, its first crimson stripe
Was dyed by Attucks' willing blood.
And never yet has come the cry--
When that fair flag has been assailed--
For men to do, for men to die,
That have we faltered or have failed.
We've helped to bear it, rent and torn,
Through many a hot-breath'd battle breeze;
Held in our hands, it has been borne
And planted far across the seas.
And never yet--O haughty Land,
Let us, at least, for this be praised--
Has one black, treason-guided hand
Ever against that flag been raised.
Then should we speak but servile words,
Or shall we hang our heads in shame?
Stand back of new-come foreign hordes,
And fear our heritage to claim?
No! stand erect and without fear,
And for our foes let this suffice--
We've bought a rightful sonship here,
And we have more than paid the price.
And yet, my brothers, well I know
The tethered feet, the pinioned wings,
The spirit bowed beneath the blow,
The heart grown faint from wounds and stings;
The staggering force of brutish might,
That strikes and leaves us stunned and dazed;
The long, vain waiting through the night
To hear some voice for justice raised.
Full well I know the hour when hope
Sinks dead, and 'round us everywhere
Hangs stifling darkness, and we grope
With hands uplifted in despair.
Courage! Look out, beyond, and see
The far horizon's beckoning span!
Faith in your God-known destiny!
We are a part of some great plan.
Because the tongues of Garrison
And Phillips now are cold in death,
Think you their work can be undone?
Or quenched the fires lit by their breath?
Think you that John Brown's spirit stops?
That Lovejoy was but idly slain?
Or do you think those precious drops
From Lincoln's heart were shed in vain?
That for which millions prayed and sighed,
That for which tens of thousands fought,
For which so many freely died,
God cannot let it come to naught.
A GREAT KINGDOM IN THE CONGO
WILLIAM HENRY SHEPPARD
I had studied the new dialect of the Bakuba and had made every
preparation for our expedition into the "Forbidden Land" of King
Lukenga. I had met their people, a far interior tribe, and was
interested in their apparent superiority in physique, manners, dress and
dialect. I asked to be allowed to accompany them to their country and
king, but they said it was impossible, their king would never allow a
foreigner to come into the interior. Nevertheless I determined to seek
them out and after some weeks had elapsed, I called our station natives
together and laid plainly before them the perils of the journey. I told
them, from the information which I had, that the trails which had been
made by elephant, buffalo, antelope and Bakuba natives were many and
they led over long, hot, sandy plains through deep dark forests, across
streams without bridges, and through swamps infested with wild animals
and poisonous serpents. And above all, the king had sent word throughout
the land that we could not enter his country. Not a man's muscle moved,
and there was not a dissenting voice.
I had picked up the Bakuba dialect from some of the king's traders and
tax collectors who journeyed our way. I received from them much
information of the general direction leading north toward the capital,
the names of large towns on the way, of the market towns, the
approximate distances apart, the streams to be crossed, and their names;
of the leopard, buffalo and elephant zones, and the names of some of the
chiefs of the market towns, etc.
Two days later, when all was in readiness, tents loaded, cooking
utensils, a bag of money (cowrie shells), some salt, etc., we left
Luebo, led by the Master's hand.
The trail lay northeast by north with a gradual ascent. The country was
well wooded and watered. No stones could be seen anywhere, and the soil
was sandy. There were many extensive plains with magnificent palm trees,
hundreds and thousands of them ranging from a foot high, which the
elephants fed upon, to those fifty and sixty feet high. The forest
everywhere was ever green. Trees blossomed and bloomed, sending out upon
the gentle breeze their fragrance, so acceptable to the traveler.
Festoons of moss and running vines made the forest look like a
beautifully painted theatre or an enormous swinging garden.
In the meantime word had come to the king of Lukenga of our presence
and, as we neared his kingdom, we were met by a party of fighting men.
My caravan had been resting in the village of a chief named Kueta, who
had repeatedly urged me to turn back, and, as the righting men of King
Lukenga appeared, the chief's men fled to the forest. I sat quietly,
however, in my seat in front of my tent and my people began to gather
around my chair, the youngest of the caravan nestling on his knees very
close to me. The king's people drew near and the leading man, spear in
hand, called to Chief Kueta in a voice that rang through the village:
"Now hear the words of King Lukenga: Because you have entertained a
foreigner in your village, we have come to take you to the capital for
trial."
I knew things were now serious, so rising from my seat I called to the
head man to meet me half way. He paid no attention. I called a second
time and walked up to him and began to plead for Chief Kueta.
"I understand you are sent by your king to arrest these people."
"It is the word of the king," said he.
I continued, "The chief of this village is not guilty; he gave me
warning and told me to go away, to return the way I had come, and I did
not. It is my fault and not Kueta's."
The leader, leaning on his spear, replied,
"You speak our language?"
"I do," was my quick answer.
"That is strange," said he.
The leader and his men moved off some distance and talked between
themselves. In a little while he came back to me saying, "I will return
to the capital and report these things to the king."
I said to him, "Tell your king I am not a bad man; I do not steal or
kill; I have a message for him. Wait a moment," said I. Taking from one
of my boxes a very large cowrie shell, near the size of one's fist, and
holding it up, I said, "This we call the father of cowries; present it
to the king as a token of friendship."
The men were soon off for the capital and we settled down, hoping and
praying for the best. Kueta told me that the head man was King Lukenga's
son and his name was N'Toinzide.
N'Toinzide stood more than six feet, of bronze color, blind in one eye,
determined set lips, and seemed a man fearless of any foe--man or beast.
The villagers told me many things of the king's son, both good and bad.
After some days the messengers reached the capital and reported to King
Lukenga. "We saw the foreigner; he speaks our language, he knows all the
trails of the country."
The king was astonished and called a council and laid the matter before
them. They deliberated over the affair and finally told the king that
they knew who I was.
"The foreigner who is at Bixibing," said they, "who has come these long
trails and who speaks our language is a Makuba, one of the early
settlers who died, and whose spirit went to a foreign country and now he
has returned."
The messengers hastened to return and accompany me to the capital.
We had been longing and praying for days for the best. With the king's
special envoy were many more men who had come through mere curiosity, as
was their custom.
N'Toinzide stood in the center of the town and called with his loud
voice saying who I was and giving briefly my history.
The villagers were indeed happy. They flocked around as the king's son
drew near and extended their hands to me.
I arose from my chair and made these remarks: "I have heard distinctly
all that you have said, but I am not a Makuba; I have never been here
before."
N'Toinzide insisted that they were right, and said that his father, the
king, wanted me to come on at once to the capital. The people were
mighty happy, Kueta, our host, the townspeople, and my people, too.
Their appetites came back, and so did mine.
With a hasty good-bye, "Gala hola," to Kueta, we were off.
On the last morning our trail grew larger, the country more open, and
the ascent greater, until we stood upon an extensive plain and had a
beautiful view in every direction of all the land as far as we could
see.