The Tar Baby and the Tomahawk: Race and Ethnic Images in American Children's Literature, 1880-1939

The Brownies' Book
March, 1920
One Dollar and a Half a Year
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This is
The Brownies' Book

A Monthly Magazine For the Children of the Sun


It aims to be a thing of Joy and Beauty, dealing in Happiness, Laughter and Emulation, and designed especially for Kiddies from Six to Sixteen.

It will seek to teach Universal Love and Brotherhood for all little folk--black and brown and yellow and white.

Of course, pictures, stories, letters from little ones, games and oh—everything!

One Dollar and a Half a Year
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W.E.B. DuBois Editor
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Published Monthly and Copyrighted by DuBois and Dill, Publishers, at 2 West 13th Street, New York, N. Y. Conducted by W. E. Burghardt DuBois; Jessie Redmon Fauset, Literary Editor; Augustus Granville Dill, Business Manager

VOL. 1. JANUARY, 1920 No.1


COVER DRAWING. Albert Smith.
FRONTISPIECE—Thelma Ray Meacham 66
THE STORY OF PRINCE JALMA. Translated by Mary Cook. Illustrated by Laura Wheeler 67
BOBBY PIG. A Story. Augusta E. Bird Illustrated by Hilda Wilkinson 71
E. PLURIBUS UNUM. A Poem. Yetta Kay Stoddard 73
ANNANCY AN' TIGER RIDIN' HORSE. A Folk Tale. Illustrated by Albert Smith 78
LUCINDA BROWN. A Poem. Madeline G Allison 79
OLD MAN AND THE BULLBERRIES. A Story. Grey Wolf. Illustrated by Gwenyth Waugh 80
IDLE HOURS. A Poem. Lillian B. Witten 80
NINE OF "THE JURY." A Picture. 84
AT THE ZOO. Verses. Jessie Fauset. Illustrated by Hilda Wilkinson 85
A STRANGE COUNTRY. Illustrated by Laura Wheeler 87
PLAYTIME: "ALL IN THE FAMILY." A Game. Dora Cole Norman. Illustrated 90
A COMMUNITY "SING." A Picture 91
KATY FERGUSON. A True Story 27
A STUDENTS' PLAY. A Picture 94
A STORY OF A FORMER SLAVE BOY. Arthur Huff Fauset. Illustrated 95


  • RENEWALS: The date of expiration of each subscription Is printed on the wrapper. When subscription is due a yellow renewal blank is enclosed.
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  • MANUSCRIPTS and drawings relating to colored children are desired. They must be accompanied by return postage. If found unavailable they will be returned.
  • Application pending for entry as second class matter at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., under the Act of March 3, 1879.

[illustration - Thelma Ray Meacham, Detroit, Mich. Age: Six Months ]


The Brownies' Book

Vol 1. March 26, 1920 No.3



Once upon a time,—long, long ago, there lived an old man who had a very beautiful daughter. He was quite ignorant, and knew not gold from silver. Every day he went into the thick forest to cut firewood, which he carried to the city and exchanged for food. In this way, he supported his wife and daughter. One day, while he was cutting the trunk of a large tree, he heard painful lamentations within. Then an ugly man appeared, and said:

"You have wounded me, and shall die for this."

The old man excused himself, saying:

"Sir, pardon me. I am very poor, and have to search for firewood to support my wife and daughter."

"And is your daughter beautiful?"

"Oh, yes sir, very much so."

"Very well, I will grant you your life if you will allow your daughter to become my wife; if not, I must kill you. Within eight days, bring me her reply,—whether or not she will do as I desire. And. now, open the trunk of the tree, and you will find much gold. You may take it to your wife and daughter."

The old man cut the trunk of the tree, and within found much gold. He loaded his ass with it and returned to the house. When he arrived, his wife and daughter asked him why he was so late. He explained the case to them, and the young girl said that she would consent to the marriage, to save her father. Then he gave them the gold which he had brought. They had never seen gold coins, and did not know that they were money.

"What is this?" they asked: "What beautiful medals are these?"

"It would be good, father, to sell them in the city, if it is possible," said the daughter.

The old man went to the city, carrying his gold. He desired to sell it, but they told him that he had found gold coins, and that with them he could buy many things. He bought food and clothes for his family and returned at once to the house.

At the end of the eight days, he took his axe and mule and went into the forest. He knocked on the trunk of the tree, and the same ugly man appeared.

"What reply do you bring me?" he asked

"My daughter consents to the marriage." the old man replied.

"Good; but there is one condition, and that is that the wedding be celebrated in the dark, and that she never try to see me until I give her permission."

The old man said that it should be as he wished.

And so the wedding was celebrated in the dark, and the young girl lived very happily. Her husband left very early each morning and returned for the night.

One day an old woman came to visit the young girl and asked how she liked her married life. The young girl responded that she liked it very much. Then the old woman wanted to know If her husband was young or old, ugly or handsome, tall or short. The young girl responded that she did not know, because she had never seen him.

"What!" cried the old woman "You have
[illustration - "No one shall be my wife but you!"]
never seen your husband! It is not possible."

"But, you see, he asked it before we were married."

"My child, you do not know whether your husband is a dog. or Satan. You must see him. Take this match and when he falls asleep, light it, and you will be able to tell what he is."

So the girl did as the woman told her. When her husband arrived in the middle of the night, she lit the match and looked at him. She saw that he was very handsome, but forgot the match, and a piece of it fell on her husband's face. He awoke at once.

"Ungrateful wretch, you have not kept your word! Now you must know that I am an enchanted prince. I am the Prince Jalma. My enchantment was almost broken, but now it is impossible for a long time. If you ever wish to see me again, you must wear iron shoes and search over the whole world. Good-bye."

The prince disappeared, and the girl began to weep and regret having taken the advice of the old woman.

The next day she bought the iron shoes and went to search for her husband. She visited many cities, asking for the Prince Jalma, but no one had seen him. At last she came to the end of the world, and seeing the mother of the North Wind, asked:

"How are you, good woman?"

"Very well, but what brings you here? Not even birds dare come so far. My son will eat you."

"Madam, I come in search of my husband, the Prince Jalma. I am compelled to wear iron shoes until I find him."

"I do not know him, child, but it is probable that my son does. Hide yourself under this pot and when he arrives. I will ask him."

When the wind arrived, he began to roar:

"Hu-u-u-u-u! I smell human flesh here."

"What?" cried his mother, "You smell human flesh here, when not even the birds can come so far?"

But the wind continued:

"Hu-u-u-u! I smell human flesh here."

His mother set the table and after they had eaten, she said, "Will you grant me a favor!"

"Speak, mother."

"There is a girl here, in search of her husband, the Prince Jalma. Do you know him?"

"No, but it is probable my friend, the South Wind, knows him. I will take her there, if she wishes."

The mother of the North Wind gave the girl a golden hen and some golden wheat, and the North Wind took her in his arms and carried her to the other end of the world. There she saw the mother of the South Wind, who cried:

"My child, what brings you here, when not even the birds come so far? My son will eat you."

"I am in search of my husband, the Prince Jalma. The North Wind said that your son might know him. Is it true?"

"Hide yourself behind this pot and when he comes, I will ask him."

When the South Wind arrived, he began to growl:

"Hu-u-u-u! I smell human flesh here."

"What! You smell human flesh here, when not even the birds come so far? Come, eat your dinner and we will talk."

After they had eaten, the mother asked:

"Will you grant me a favor?"

"Speak. I will grant it."

"A little girl has come here, looking for her husband, the Prince Jalma. Do you know him?"

"No, but my friend the East Wind must know him. I will take her there."

The mother of the South Wind gave the girl a cross of gold, and her son carried her off to the East Wind. He had not heard of Prince Jalma either, but offered to take her to his friend, the West Wind. The mother of the East Wind gave the girl a comb, to sell in case of necessity.

When the East Wind arrived with her, they met the West Wind's mother sitting on the steps, and the young girl asked her the same question which she had asked the others, and the woman replied:

"It is more than likely that my son knows him. Hide yourself behind this pot."

When the West Wind came, he was very angry, but after he had eaten, the mother brought out the girl who asked, at once, for the Prince Jalma.

"Yes, I know your husband, my child, and I know where he is; I will take you there. He is imprisoned in a palace, with an old witch and her daughter. The daughter desires to marry him. No one can see him and he can see no one. He sleeps under seven keys."


The mother of the West Wind gave her a cup of gold, to sell in case of necessity.

Finally she arrived at the palace, where they told her that within four days, the prince must marry the Witch's daughter. So she sat down in the garden and tried to make herself appear as a fool. She washed her face with clay and, taking out the golden hen, attempted to feed it with the wheat. In this way she attracted much attention. Very soon the witch's daughter came up to her.

"Will you give me your hen!" she asked.

"No, no," replied the girl.

"Sell it to me, then. What do you wish for it?"

"If you will allow me to sleep in the prince's room for one night, you shall have it for nothing."

"Very well, you may sleep there."

They turned the seven keys, and the girl entered the prince's room; but before she came, they had put something in his wine to make him sleep, and she could not wake him, although she cried very loudly:

"Prince, awake! I am your wife. I have worn the iron shoes and have at last found you, but if you do not recognize me, you must marry another."

But the prince did not awake, and the next morning they took her away, and she went back into the garden. She brought out her comb and began to comb her hair. Soon the Witch's daughter appeared and bought it under the same condition: but the same thing happened with the prince. The third day she brought out the cross of gold, and the witch's daughter bought this also; but the girl was not able to awake her husband.

The fourth day the girl brought out the golden cup, and the witch's daughter bought that too. But this time the prince had begun to suspect Something and did not drink the wine. The poor girl entered his room and began anew her lamentations:

"If you do not recognize me tonight, I am lost forever. I have not another thing with which to gain my entrance to your room. The witch's daughter has the hen, the wheat, the comb, the cross, and the cup. Besides, tomorrow you must marry her."

At this moment, the prince awoke. He beheld his wife, and with great joy clasped her in his arms:

"No one shall be my wife but you!"

The next day they celebrated the wedding all over again, and the wicked witch and her daughter were burned.

[This story, "El Principe Jalma" is taken from "La biblioteca de las tradiciones popularas espagnolas," (Madrid, 1886). The name of the author is not given. Mary Cook, the translator is fifteen years old and a pupil in the Dunbar High School, Washington, D. C. Her teacher in Spanish is Miss Julia E. Brooks]



I have your recent note about material for the children's magazine. Of course I should have sent anything I thought would be interesting, even without a request, for I think we are all very fond of this newcomer in the periodical world. I sincerely hope it will succeed. I have told a great many aspiring young folks about it.

LET me say that I think THE BROWNIES' BOOK is tremendously interesting..... Everyone is a child, now and then, and the little book is very appealing. All at Cheyney were much interested in it.

THE BROWNIES' BOOK is indeed a little gem, and should lend much toward inspiring the young folks to express their thoughts in writing. Enclosed find check for two subscriptions. Please start them by return mail.

THE Editors of the BROWNIES' BOOK would like pictures, and accounts of the deeds of colored children. If parents are going to the trouble and expense of having new pictures made, we should like to inform them, that a black and white, shiny print reproduces best.

And letters! Do have your children write and tell us about their schools, their ambitions, their views of life, in general. A great deal of wisdom comes from the mouth of babes.


Bobby Pig

In a little red house, upon a high hill, lived a Mamma Pig and her three little pigs. The oldest little pig was named Annie Pig, and the next in size was named Bobby Pig, and then came the Baby Pig, who had no name. Mamma Pig had to go to work early every morning and was away all day. Each day she would call her children and tell them what she wanted them to do.

"Annie Pig," she would say, "you wash the dishes and take care of Baby Pig. Bobby Pig, you pick up chips for Annie to keep the fire burning." Then Mamma Pig was off to her work.

Annie Pig washed up the dishes and then took Baby Pig out to get the fresh air. Bobby Pig went out to the woodpile and sat down on a huge piece of wood.

"Oh, how I hate to pick up chips," he said, "I believe I'll take a little walk first." Then he walked and walked and walked until he came across a peanut field.

"Oh, what a nice guber field!" he exclaimed, and began to root his little pink snout in the rich, loose soil until the white shells of the peanuts were in sight. He ate and ate and ate until his little stomach was full, and then he began to think about the folks at home. He knew they would like some nice gubers for supper, so he filled all his pockets brimful and ran home.

After supper had been eaten and the dishes cleared away, Mamma Pig got a needle and thread and sewed up all of Bobby Pig's pockets.

"Oh, Bobby Pig," she said, "fresh roasted peanuts are very nice, but I am so afraid, for fear something will happen to my little Bobby Pig. Promise me that you will not run off to morrow, but will stay and pick up chips and keep the fire burning." Bobby promised.

The next morning, Mamma Pig went to work again; Annie Pig went about her work at once and finished very quickly and took Baby Pig out in the fresh air. Bobby Pig went out to the wood-pile and sat down.

"Oh, why do I have to pick up these old chips!" he said, and turned up his nose in disgust.

"I think I'll take a little walk,—I won't go far," and away he walked until he came to a very large sweet potato patch.

"Oh, look what I have found!" he exclaimed. "What a nice potato patch!" After he had eaten his little stomach full of potatoes, he began to think about the people at home.

"Oo-oo, if Mamma Pig had only not sewed up my pockets," he moaned; "what shall I do?" After a moment's thought, he said;

"I know what I shall do." Then he unearthed a very large potato and scraped a hole in one end of it, large enough to fit on his head like a hat, and ran home as fast as he could.

That night, after they all had eaten of nice fried potatoes, Mamma Pig sighed:

"Oh, Bobby Pig, fried potatoes are very nice, but someday Man is going to catch my little Bobby Pig." Mamma Pig's tears began to flow. This made Bobby Pig feel very sad, and he promised faithfully that he would not run off again.

The next day, Annie Pig, as usual, hurried through her tasks and took Baby Pig out to get the fresh air. Bobby took his basket and went out to the wood-pile. After sitting on the huge piece of wood for a long time, he said:

"I am surely not going very far today; I am just going to take a little walk to see what there
is down in that fence corner." Away he went across the field. There in the corner, on the other side of the fence, he found a nice little cherry tree laden down with ripe cherries. Bobby Pig ran against the tree and down came the cherries, and he ate cherries and ate cherries until his little stomach was full. Then he began to think about Mamma Pig and Annie Pig and Baby Pig.

"How am I going to take some of these nice cherries home?" he asked himself. Then he had an idea, and began to tie the cherry stems together until he had made several wreaths. He hung the wreaths around his neck and went home. His mother, returning from work, saw him turning in at the gate, and cried:

"Oh, Bobby Pig, you promised me that you [illustration - W.R.W. ] were not going to run away today. Oo-oo, you break your promise every time." And Mamma Pig began to cry, Bobby Pig felt very sad, for he never liked to make his Mamma cry.

"Don't Cry, Mamma Pig, I won't break my promise again, but just think what a nice cherry pie Annie Pig can make for our supper,"

"'Tis true, cherry pie is very good; but some day Man is going to catch my little Bobby Pig getting his cherries," lamented the poor Mamma Pig, "and then I won't have any more little Bobby Pig," Mamma Pig continued to weep bitterly.

"Mamma Pig, Mamma Pig, please do not cry any more," pleaded Bobby Pig. "never, never will I run away again."


On the next morning, before going to work, Mamma Pig cautioned Bobby Pig and reminded him of his promise to her. Bobby Pig fully resolved to keep his promise, took his basket and went out to the wood-pile.

"Oh, I just hate to pick up these old chips," he muttered, beginning slowly to pick them up. He had not many chips in his basket when he sat down on the huge piece of wood to rest.

"I wonder what is at the bottom of that little woodland," he thought, "I'll take a little walk and see, and then I will come right back and fill my basket full of chips." When he arrived at the bottom of the small strip of trees, he spied the grassiest little spot right by a small running brook.

"I'll just sit down here for a little while, because I must hurry back and fill my basket with chips," he reminded himself. He did not mean to, but he fell fast asleep right there by the brook, with his tiny tail wriggling in the cool water. All of a sudden, Bobby Pig jumped up with a scream: a big fish had mistaken his tail, wriggling in the water, for a worm, and bit it so hard that it hurt him very much. Bobby Pig was frightened nearly to death and he ran as fast as he could to his Mamma and told her that he was not doing anything but lying beside a little brook, in a nice mossy nook, and some old horrid something had bitten his tail off,

"Oo-oo, oo-oo, my poor tail," he sobbed, "ooooo, what am I going to do? It hurts, oh, so very much."

Mamma Pig tied his tail up in a little cloth. She did not scold him, but said to him in a motherly way:

"You see, little Bobby Pig, if you had kept your promise to your Mamma Pig, and stayed home and picked up the chips and kept the fire burning, your beautiful little tail would not have been bitten off."

"Oo-oo, my po-oor tail," he sobbed harder; "it will never be beautiful again."

It was not very long before Bobby Pig's tail was well and curled just as beautifully as ever, but this was a great lesson to Bobby; from that day on, he never again broke his promise to his mother.


E Pluribus Unum

My small, eight-year grandson, Jim,
Trembling here beside my knee,
Stood with tearful, wide eyes dim, fixed hard on me,
Asking, "Gran, am I not American,
Like you?
The boys say I'm just Irish. Is it true?"
"Not true, my little man. You are all American !"
I soothed him till his patriotic pain
Was eased, and he could smile again.
"But how shall I explain!"
He questioned. "I want to tell Bim Winthrop and the rest,
My folks are just as good as theirs,—the best!"
"What was Washington, dear lad?"
"English, wasn't he? At least, his dad?"
"And what were Jefferson, the Adamses, Monroe,
Lincoln, Garfield, Roosevelt?"
"I know!"
He shouted. "They were all mixed up, like me,
Dutch and Irish, Scotch and French. What is it, Gran, to be
Plain American? Can I, Flynn's Jim,
Be that?"
I could not answer him
At once. I was thinking of my Jim,
Best American I ever saw,
To whom this nation's sacred principles were holy law,
This boy's grandsire, whose desire
To protect his dusky brothers was a fire—
Purest fire of heart's devotion; whose high pride
Carried him on War's red tide
Into Gettysburg's white flame, leaving me a widowed bride.
I was thinking of Young Jim,
Late man-grown, high-headed, slim,
Gone to war, as his Father Jim had done.
Of the two-and-twenty thousand who fell in and near Argonne,

One of those who now is sleeping in Romagne.
(News from Argonne snapped the slender thread of life
Of his fragile English-Dutch young wife.)
And his little English-Dutch, Irish-Jew American,
His own son,
Had not known
He could call this land his own!
Had not realized his heritage, his right.
"Light!" and "Light!"
I whispered, praying. "Light to make him certain, sure,
That his lineage is pure."
"Dear," I said aloud, "You must be so nobly proud,
You must so love Liberty that to this land of the free
Naught of wrong through you shall be.
In your veins is a mixed tide:
Irish, English, Dutch, beside
Just a little touch of Jew, to teach ancient pain to you.
I, old Gran, am indeed American,
For I came of a long line pure as Alden's wife's. (Fine,
Stern, clean, firm; unyielding as the rocks,
Were our old New England stocks;
Yet what a shut-in land 'twould be,
Made up but of such as we!)
I was honored, blest, to win
This name that Grandpa gave me, Mrs. Flynn.
My Flynn's Jim!
Would America had millions like to him!
He was big and he was true. He was true because he knew
Truth's deep roots, where'er they grew,
He taught me, as I, Young Jim— and you:
Truth is many, Truth is one;
And he showed me how alone this America has grown
Fairest champion of Truth the world has known;
How the peoples of all lands
Have fared forth from many strands,
Black, brown, palefaced sons and daughters,
Dared the Seven Seas' threatening waters;
Have Come here with strength, fire, youth,
Understanding, loving Truth;
Have wrought here with hearts, brains, hands;
Fought to plant Truth here.
Now, Flynn's Jim,
You go back to Winthrop's Bim,
Show the other boys and him,
You are all Americans as you fit in with old plans
To set Truth so firmly here,
It shall grow from year to year,
Age to age, until so high, it shall touch the starry sky,
And all folk beneath the sun shall be sheltered, everyone.
That is what it means to be
Of America, the free!"
"Thanks, dear Gran. My, it certainly feels good
To know I'm that,—American!"
And so, I knew Jim partly understood.

[illustration - "And then the whining school boy, with his satchel "And shining morning face, creeping like snail "Unwittingly to school." —"As You Like It" ]


Don't you think that Human folks are just the funniest ever? Sometimes I just quit flying and hold my sides and laugh. "Haw, haw —caw, caw!" I gurgle with delight, because the Earth Folks are so passing queer. I've just returned from Russia and the East. Gracious, goodness me, but —

  • The Allies have asked Holland to surrender the former German Kaiser, for trial and punishment. Holland has refused, on the plea that there are no legal grounds upon which she has a right to arrest the Kaiser and deliver him to the Allies.
  • The Allies have, also, asked Germany for over 800 other persons, including the Crown Prince and Hindenburg, whom they wish to try for war crimes.
  • All nations, except the United States, have formally declared peace with Germany. The ceremony took place in Paris, January 10.
  • The Russian Bolsheviki have conquered most of their domestic enemies and are making peace with some of the Baltic States. The Allies have proposed to trade with them, but the Russians want peace, first.
  • The situation of the people between and beyond the Caspian and Black Seas, is causing some uneasiness. Some fear Turkish reaction there, and others fear the Russians. Meantime, some new republics have been established there.
  • A conference of the Nations of the World has been called, to discuss the industrial situation following the war. The chief difficulties arise from the fact that money has fallen in value and, at the same time, reconstruction of ruined Europe makes countries try to buy more than they have goods to pay in return.
  • The shocks of war—hunger, wounds, death, and the stopping of work—have made it difficult to reorganize work since the war, and, consequently, fewer goods are being produced. There is also much dissatisfaction. disappointment and unrest among working people, at the high prices, low wages, and broken promises. Such is ever the mad fruit of fighting.
  • Colored people of Haiti have rebelled against the tyranny of the United States, which seized the Island several years ago. One hundred and fifty rebels and some Americans were killed, wounded, and captured.
  • Elections have been held in Irish cities. The Sinn Fein Party, which wants an Irish republic, separate from England, elected nearly three-fourths of the officials.
  • Georges Clemenceau, Premier of France, has resigned, and Alexandre Millerand has become Prime Minister and real ruler of France. The position of the President, Paul Deschanel, is one of honor, rather than power.
  • The German Reichstag has passed a law establishing committees of employers and workingmen in industrial plants, to settle disputes. The measure was not radical enough for the extremists, and they started a riot in Berlin, in which 42 of them were killed and 105 wounded.
  • According to the Peace Treaty, Schleswig-Holstein, which is between Denmark and Germany, was to be divided into three horizontal pieces. Each one of these was to have the right to vote on the question as to whether they would remain with Germany or be a part of Denmark. This was done because originally this whole country belonged to Denmark and was stolen by Germany. The first northern piece voted recently, and the vote was 75,000 for return to Denmark and 25,000 for staying with Germany.
  • The miners of England are threatening a great strike unless the government is willing to take over the mines and run them.

What I cannot see is why these Human Folk do not watch us Crow Folk more, and learn how to be happy and free, high up in these wide spaces. Seems to me that the World People live too much cooped up in little dark holes. That's
enough to make anybody act funny. When I flew back from Russia and Europe, this is what I saw!

  • John Barton Payne of Virginia has been chosen by the President as Secretary of the Interior, to succeed Franklin K. Lane. The Secretary of the Interior has charge of the public lands. Indian affairs, patents, pensions, the census, and educational information.
  • The New York Herald, one of the oldest daily papers, has been sold and combined with the New York Sun.
  • Congress is trying to frame a bill to keep people from advocating violence and riot. So far, the bills proposed, would stop folks from thinking.
  • On January 16, the Eighteenth Amendment to the Constitution of the United States, went into effect, and prohibited the manufacture and sale of alcoholic drinks. While this interferes with some people's pleasure, it is a great and wise step to protect boys and girls from the curse of drunkenness.
  • Sir Oliver Lodge, a great English Scientist, is lecturing in this country, on "Immortality."
  • The amendment to give the vote to women, has been passed by thirty-three states. It requires three more states, to pass, and these will vote favorably soon. Then the greatest discrimination against women will disappear.
  • United States officials have deported to Russia. 249 foreigners, most of whom have lived in the United States a long time. They were accused of agitating for a change in the government. Most wise people think this is a poor way to answer their arguments.
  • Admiral Sims says that the United States Navy was not properly conducted during the war, and the Senate is investigating his charges. Perhaps, we would have done better with more colored sailors.
  • The Assembly of the State of New York is trying to expel five of its members, because they belong to the Socialist Party. This is a dangerous and un-American effort.
  • The steel strike has been declared off. It was unsuccessful largely because colored men replaced the white workers. This is too bad, but as long as white workers are unjust to Negroes, the Negroes must get work wherever they can. The strike cost nearly 350 million dollars, of which nearly 50 millions represent lost wages.
  • John D. Rockefeller has given one hundred million dollars to raise the salaries of teachers in colleges, and for other philanthropic enterprises.
  • There are 450 colored students in northern colleges.
  • Colored people have built a beautiful new theatre, the "Dunbar," on Broad Street, Philadelphia, Pa.
  • Colonel Charles Young and three other colored officers have gone to Liberia, to help in the reconstruction of that republic.
  • The American Federation of Labor is going to try to elect as many Congressmen favorable to the workingmen as possible.
  • The President has asked Mr. Lansing, the Secretary of State, to resign. He said it was because, while he was sick, Mr. Lansing called the Cabinet together from time to time, and that he should not have done this without the President's order. Most people think it due to the fact that the President and Mr. Lansing have disagreed often concerning the Peace Treaty and our attitude toward Mexico.
  • The fifty-first annual convention of the National American Woman Suffrage Association was held in Chicago. Over 2,000 women were present. This will be the last convention, as the object of the Association will soon be accomplished, namely, the giving of the vote to women. Frederick Douglass spoke at many of the early conventions of this Association.
  • The members of the great railway unions have been threatening to strike for higher wages. At a recent conference with President Wilson, he promised that if they would not strike now, he would have a careful investigation made into these matters and see that they got better wages or lower costs of living.
  • In Washington city, there are 100,000 persons, outside of the Army and Navy, who work for the government. Congress is considering a bill to make a new set of classes and salaries for all these employees.
  • Jackson Barnett, a rich Indian, has given one million and a half dollars to charity, chiefly in Oklahoma. This includes a hospital at Henrietta.
  • At a meeting of 1,000 Boy Scouts in New York City, the story was told of a sixteen year old Roumanian girl, Ecatrina Teodoroiu. She fought through the war in boy's clothes, had both legs shot off, was made a Lieutenant, and finally died in battle.



THIS Folk Tale is one of the famous Annancy stories, which come from the West Indies, particularly from Jamaica, St. Kitts, Antigua, Trinidad, and Barbadoes. Annancy is a fantastic character, usually the hero of the tale. This story is taken from the collection by Pamela Colman Smith, but all the versions are practically the same.

[illustration - "Breda Tiger is not'ing else dan an ole ridin' horse" ALBERT ALEX SMITH '20 ]

In a long before time, Annancy an' Tiger was both cortin' de same young lady. An' dey was bery jealous ob each oder. So one day Annancy, him go to de young lady house, an' him say:

"You know Breda Tiger is not'ing else dan an ole ridin' horse?"

An' de young lady was bex. (vexed)

An' so de nex' time Tiger come fe see her, she say:

"Go away wid you! How you can come cortin' me, when you know you is not'ing but an old ridin' horse!"

An' Tiger, him bawl out:

"Who tell you dis one great big lie?"

An' she say Annancy tell her, an' she didn' tink it was a lie at all! So Tiger, him say him would bring Annancy to prove it! An' him hurry go Annancy house. But Annancy see him comin', out ob de window, An' him run an' get 'pon de bed an' play him was sick. An' Tiger come to de door, an' knock, an' say bery sof'ly:

"Breda Annancy, is you in?" An' Annancy say, as dough him was bery sick:

"Yes, me Breda, I is in,"

An' Tiger, him go in, An' Annancy say:

"Oh, me Breda, I so sick wid feaver!"

An' Tiger say:


"You tell de young lady dis one great big lie, dat I is not'ing but you fada's old jackass ridin' horse? Now you is to come an' prove dat I is not a ridin' horse!"

An' den Annancy say:

"Oh, me Breda! How you tink I can come wid you! I just tek de doctor medecine an' two pill! How you tink I can come to de young lady house tonight?"

An' Tiger say:

"You mus' come! I tell you what I wi' do, Breda; I will carry you 'pon me back!"

So Annancy say, all yite! An' him get up, an' tek him saddle down from de rafter, an' put it 'pon Tiger back, an' Tiger say;

"Wha' dat for!"

An' Annancy say:

"Dat is so I can go sof'ly 'pon you' back, fe me head hurt me so!" An' den him go an' tek down him bridle an' rein, an' put dem 'pon Breda Tiger,

An' Tiger say:

"Wha' dat for?"

An' Annancy say:

"Dat is so when you walk too fas', I will pull you back, me head hurt me so!"

Den Annancy, him go and tek down him spur an' ridin' whip: an' den him mount up 'pon de table, an' den 'pon Breda Tiger, an' say:

"Now, me Breda Tiger, you mus'n' walk too fas'."

An' Tiger walk off, An' when dey get a mile an' a little, Annancy tek him ridin' whip an' give Tiger a lash! An' Tiger jump an' say;

"Warra! Wa'dat?"

An' den Annancy say;

"Oh, me Breda, de flies, dey boder you so, I is lickin' dem off!"

And den Tiger say:

"Nex' time doan lick so hot!"

So dey go anoder mile an' a little; an' den Annancy tek him ridin' whip an' lash Tiger 'pon de ear! An' Tiger say:

"Warra! Wa' dat?"

An' Annancy say:

"De flies, dey boder you so, Breda Tiger!"

An' Tiger say:

"Nex' time you mus'n' lick so hot, Breda Annancy!"

An' den dey go anoder mile an' a little, an' at las' dey get to de young lady house, far as de yard mouth.

An' when dey get dere, Annancy see de young lady standin' in de door mouth, an' him stan' up in him stirrup, like how jockey do, a' Kin'ston race cou'se. An' him lash Tiger, an' use him spur till Tiger gallop! When dey get to de door where de young lady was standin', Annancy take off him hat an' wave it, an' him bawl out:

"Me no tell you so, Missus! Dat dis old Tiger was not'ing but me fada's old long-ear jackass ridin' horse?"

An' him jump off, an' Tiger was so 'shame dat him gallop away into de bush, an' was neber seen any more!


Lucinda Brown

"I didn't go to Sunday School,"
Sighed pretty Flossie Bell;
"Good girls, of course, obey God's rule,
Oh, dear,—but I must tell,—
"0 Lord, I was a naughty girl,
To stay from You today,
Because Sue Langton had a voile,
And I an old pique."
"I didn't go to church today,"
Said sweet Lucinda Brown;
"But the good Lord, I would obey,
So, Father, please don't frown,—
"For I went out to see Ruth Ware,
She's poor, and lonely, too;
And I went there, her lot to share,
Like You, dear Lord, would do,"
"Now, Flossie Bell, when you're forgiven,
Your soul will hide your gown;
Still nearest Me, above in Heaven,
Will be Lucinda Brown."



OLD MAN was walking along, very thirsty, so the first river he came to, he flung himself down to drink. Right after he had filled up, he noticed a branch full of bullberries, lying under the water.

"Say, that is fine," exclaimed Old Man. "Berries! I guess I'll dive in and get 'em."

He dived in, swam around under water, and felt for the berries; but not one could he find.

"That's queer!" he gasped, coming to the surface. "I'll look again."

When the water cleared, he stared into it again. Sure enough, there were the berries.

Old Man dived a second time, and the poor fellow nearly suffocated, trying to stay under water long enough to find the berries. Finally he came up and blew a long breath and climbed out on the bank. After a minute, he turned to look and the berries were there as before!

"I don't stay under long enough, that's the trouble!" exclaimed Old Man. He found a stone and tied it around his middle and jumped in. He went down, like a stone, and flopped on the hard bottom of the river. Once there, he thrashed his arms about, looking for the berries. It was no use. At last, choking and bubbling, he tried to rise, but could not. The stone held him down.

"Do I die now?" he wondered.

"No," answered his tomahawk,—"cut the cord!"

Old Man cut the cord, and the rock fell on his toes.

"OUCH!" he gurgled.

He shot to the surface. Now he was so exhausted that he had to lie on his back to recover breath. Suddenly he noticed, right above him, a berry bush, leaning out over the river. It was the reflection of this bush that Old Man had dived for!

"So!" cried Old Man to the berry bush, "you fooled me, did you!" He jumped up and picked out a stick and attacked the berry bush, beating it until he had knocked off all its berries.

"There!" he cried, as he ate the berries, "that is your punishment for fooling Old Man. After this, even the women will beat you!"

It was so. From that time, whenever the Indian women wanted berries, they beat the bullberry bushes with sticks, having first spread blankets to catch the berries. Old Man taught them that.



YESTERDAY, dear Children of mine, I spoke on a painful subject, to wit,— on being whipped. Now, may I confess that my heart was not in my sermon? I hate whippings. And so today I am going to ask you to sit beside me, on my bench, while I summon Father and Mother, and give them a piece of my mind. Won't that be jolly! I know you'll like it.

Very well. James, you may sit here. Please don't be so stiff in that collar. Try to look natural. Adelaide may sit beside you—never mind the powder puff, Adelaide. Now, Billikins, after you're through squirming, here's my knee; and Billie, to amuse you; yes, I know, Billie, you'd like to put in a word to Father,but you won't.—I shall do the talking. And even little Gertrude will refrain from comments and making faces.

Now, all quiet—try to be dignified. Laugh, of course. but don't whoop.

Oyez, Oyez! The Judge commands Father and Mother to stand before his court.


I TRUST you have listened carefully, while I have spoken in your behalf to your four children. I have put the case just as strong as I can. But I want to say right here and now,— that I am afraid you are using artificial pain for discipline a great deal more than you have any business to. I do not doubt that a well-placed and timely spanking has its use in this world; but I am absolutely certain that a regular rule of continuous blows, will not make men and women of your children. This is a world full of sorrows, and the sorrows of your children, although they may seem trivial to you, are just as tragic to them as any of your own. When, therefore, you increase their sorrows, do it with Thought and Object.

Think, first, if the thing you have in view could not be gotten by other means. If Billy stays too long on the hill, he could be kept from going tomorrow or the next day. That negative punishment would be a good deal more impressive than blows. But there is a method even better than that,—Billy has certain ambitions and there are certain big things which he wants to do. Take some particular thing, and show him how returning home at four o'clock promptly is going to help him to realize it. This is a case of neither blows nor retribution, but of positive stimulation by ambition and ideals.

But this Man of Might, takes Time and Thought, and Time and Thought are things that you do not give your children in near as large measure as you ought.


HAVE you ever bitten a rotten apple. or swallowed a spoiled Brazil nut? It is not nice. Neither are spoiled children. I think many of us would be willing to eat our share of such kiddies if we could improve their actions. Mothers mostly are responsible for such spoiling, and the mothers of these second and third generations of colored children are particularly guilty. They know how hard their lives and their parents' lives were; they know how many rebuffs and difficulties their children are going to meet; and they try and make this up to them by giving them all the candy they want, by letting them be just as saucy as they will, and by letting them run around wherever they want to.

Now of all the ways of training children's characters to meet difficulties which they are going to find in the present world of the color-line, these are the very worst. What you want to do is to strengthen, not weaken, your children. Make them serious, not frivolous; make them thoughtful, not rattle-brained.

This will call for judicious punishment now and then, for careful arrangement of rewards and denials, and, above all, for thoughtful co- operation with the father in the spending of
money and time. Finally, talk to William. He's got a lot of sense. Consult with Wilhelmina. She knows a good many things. And even Billikins and Billy are interesting conversationalists, if you are honest and straight-forward with them.

I WAS on the street car the other day. There came in a grandmother; a little girl, of perhaps four; two boys, of six or eight; and the mother and father. I knew their story in a minute. Grandmother did the work and spoiled the baby. Mother was fat and impatient. Father spent a few hours out of twenty-four at home. One of the little boys had several pretty cat-tails. He very generously gave a stalk to the little girl. She tore it to pieces and threw it on the floor. Then she wanted another stalk. He rightfully refused. Grandmother tried to settle matters, but was unable. Mother flew in, grabbed all the little boy's cat-tails, gave the best one to the little girl, and shoved the others back into the little boy's hands. He cried bitterly. She informed him that he would get a whipping when he got home.

What does that little boy think, and what has he a right to think? And what is going to become of that little girl!

Father and Mother may go.

AND NOW, CHILDREN, What shall we do about it?

"Whip 'em," pipes Billie.

"Shame on you!" says Adelaide; "What a naughty boy."

Yes, Billie, that was a naughty thing to say; and, James, it was a naughty thing to think.

"I know!" says Gertrude—she lisps a wee bit —"teach 'em!"

Bravo! Gertrude, teach them; that's the ticket—teach the parents.

"But how!" objects Adelaide, doubtfully.

Well, let's see. First, Gertrude, it will be your duty to make Mother understand that when you feel bad, you feel just as bad as she feels when she feels bad. She doesn't quite realize this. She thinks that your hurts are always little hurts,—and, perhaps, they are; but they don't feel little; fact is, they probably feel bigger than hers, and hurting is a matter of feeling.

Quod erat demonstrandum," interrupts James, with a voice of vast importance; but as Billie is eyeing him suspiciously, he hastily adds, "That's Latin; and it means 'which was to be proven.' You see, we are talking about feeling, and if hurting is feeling, why, then, if a thing feels bad, it is bad."

"That settles it," says Billie; "No more dentist for me."

"Don't toothaches feel worse!" asked Adelaide.

"After all, there's nothing in the world but feeling,—is there, Judge?"

I do not know. That is a vast question. But one more thing: How shall we teach Father?

"Father," says James, "doesn't know how to play."

"He's forgotten," says Gertrude.

True, true! Poor, poor Father. Very good. —teach Father to play. Who shall do this best —Billie or Billikins, James or Adelaide or Gertrude?

The answer comes as one voice:


Billikins is five years old!



I RECEIVED THE BROWNIES' BOOK last week. I think it is splendid. It is just exactly what I expected it to be, with real stories, fairy stories, Judge and Jury and then a corner for grown-ups. I shall be sending subscriptions for some of the members of my Sunday School class soon, I believe.


My Aunt gave me THE BROWNIES' BOOK for a birthday present. I think it is lovely. I am fourteen years old and I like to write stories, but I had no hopes of ever seeing them in print. Now, perhaps, if I write a very good one, you will let it appear in your magazine. I'm going to try.

SELMA FORD, Camden, N. J.

WHEN I grow up, I am going to have a newspaper or a magazine—I don't know which, yet. I think THE BROWNIES' BOOK has a lot of class and I'm awfully glad you started it. I am sure it will be a success, because so many colored folks want to read about the things colored people do and say. The part I like, though, is "As The Crow Flies"; you can learn such a lot about the whole world in those little paragraphs. We have a class in Current Events in our high school, and if you always publish that part, I'd be willing to buy it just for that. You bet I'm going to shine along the line of Current Events.


I AM eleven years old, and I want to be an author. Would you tell me how you went about it? Did you write a book first, or did you just send your writings to the magazines? How do you get into the magazines, to start with? I sent a very nice piece to an editor once, but he returned it. That made me feel very sad, for I had spent a lot of time writing it out. I like your BROWNIES' BOOK and I wish you would put one of my pieces in it. Then, I feel, I could really see into my future.


My little sister Katie got her first copy of THE BROWNIES' BOOK the other day. She is so proud of it, because it is her very own. She goes about hugging it in her arms and we have the hardest time to persuade her to let us see it. She can't get over the little Queen of Abyssinia. She hears lots of fairy tales and knows all about princes and queens, and so on. She says, "that little girl don't look very old; maybe when I'm as big as her, I'll be a creen, too." We are all interested in the magazine. I am fifteen and I like it as much as Katie.


COULD you take time to suggest a small library for me? Or if your couldn't, do you know anybody who could? I want to know a great deal about colored people. I think when I finish school I shall go to Africa, and work there in some way. If I decide to do this I ought to know a great deal about our people and all the places where they live. all over the world, don't you think so? My father is always saying that a great many wonderful things are going to happen to Negroes within the next twenty-five years, and I want to be able to understand and appreciate them.

GEORGE MAX SIMPSON, Toronto, Canada.

I GET so tired of hearing only of white heroes and celebrating holidays in their honor. I think every year we ought to have parades or some sort of big time on Douglass' birthday and on the anniversary of Crispus Attucks' death. I wish you'd say something about this in the BROWNIES' BOOK. All the colored girls in my class said they wished so too when I told them I was going to write you

CLAUDIA MOORE, Pittsburgh, Pa.
[illustration - Nine of "The Jury"—Three Have Gone Out ]



My mother said to me, "Now, mind,
To animals be always kind;
To every creature, bird or beast,
Show courtesy, to say the least!"
And then she took me to the Zoo,
(She said she'd nothing else to do,)
And showed me beasts of many styles,
From prairie dogs to crocodiles,
And take it from me, when I say
I didn't feel like getting gay,
Or doing them a bit of harm.
I wouldn't touch them for a farm.
The lion was the first I saw,
I just looked at his awful paw
And thought, "I'll never trouble you."
I thought that of the tiger, too;
He was a handsome looking fellow.
And striped all black and real bright yellow.
But I could never play with him,
His look just made my poor head swim.
The elephant—they called him "Dunk,"
Looked mild, but had a squirmy trunk.
The panther and the wolf and bear,
Threw into me an awful scare.
(The bear looked pretty good, 'tis true.
But s'pose he started hugging you!)
The foxes didn't need their labels—
I'd read of them in Aesop's Fables!
The hippopotamus and his friend,
Rhinoceros, stood my hair on end.
The python and the anaconda,
Just made me grow of kindness, fonder.

I might have liked the dromedary—
But oh, his manner was so airy!
And, too, I fancied the giraffe,
His long neck really made me laugh.
My mother said, "Come see the birds,
They're just too nice and sweet for words."
She showed me, first, a horned owl—
That really is an awful fowl!
He blinked at me, as though to say,
"I'll bite your fingers. Get away!"
And then I say a pelican,
With long, sharp duck-bill. Well, he can
Be sure I'll never trouble him,
And where he swims, I'll never swim.
And next I saw a cassowary,
Who looked to me a bit contrary,
"Of bird and beast, I've had my fill,"
I said, "Please take me home, I'm ill.
I promise to take your advice,
You'll never have to tell me twice."
But after I was home, in bed,
I pulled the covers 'round my head,
And saw those creatures at the Zoo,
And thought, "No wonder that they're blue,
And look so cross and mean and mad,
They have enough to make them sad,
If I were locked up in a cage,
I'd just be in an awful rage.
Perhaps they've children far away,
Or friends who watch for them each day;
Perhaps they dream at night, they're free
In forests green and shadowy;
And then they wake to dull despair,—
And little boys who poke and stare.
Right then and there, I charged my mind,
To be to all God's creatures kind.
And kind to them I'll surely be
If only they'll be kind to me!



PHILIP came rushing into the sitting-room, shouting: "Have you heard of the strangest of lands on the map,— The dear little, queer little, Island of Yap

"What on earth are you saying?" asked Betty.

"Just something I heard a boy singing in school today, about the Island of Yap. He must have made it up, because there isn't really any such place."

"Indeed there is," said Betty positively; "I saw something about it once in a book,"

Philip laughed, "If that isn't just like you! Of course, you'd think it was true because you saw it in a book. Tell me where the island is, and maybe I'll believe you."

But that was more than Betty could do. "I can't remember where it is," she said regretfully; "I don't think the book told."

"I guess it didn't," said Philip, "Smarty," he teased her. "Let me see— For a good silver dime I'd give you a rap, For pretending there's any such island as Yap."

Betty's face clouded. She hated to have Philip catch her up on anything, for he kept it up such a long time. As it was, he repeated the words of the little verse he had just made up, again and again.

Luckily, Uncle Jim came in just then. "Why, you're quite a poet, aren't you, Phil?" And then he caught sight of Betty.

"Why, what's the matter with my little girl?" he asked. "Has some one been disturbing her?"

"Oh!" cried Betty, happy now, for Uncle Jim was her staunch champion. "Philip's been making fun of me. He says there's no such place as the Island of Yap, and I say there is."

"So do I," said her uncle.

"Goody! Goody!" and Betty hopped up and down. "Now, Mr, Philip!"

"Oh, get out," said Philip inelegantly. "He's only saying that to make you feel good, but [illustration - "Daddy, may I have this nickel?" ] there isn't any such place just the same. You can't tell me where it is, Uncle."

"Indeed I can," replied Uncle Jim: "Do you remember that day I told you about the Philippine Islands, and how a group called the Bisayas lies right through the middle of them?"

Both the children nodded "yes" vigorously.

"And I even remember the names of the Bisayas," said Betty.—"Panay, Negroes, Leite, Cebu, Samar, and Bohol."

"Good," said Uncle Jim. "You make me think I'm a pretty fine teacher. Well, directly east of Cebu, south of the Island of Japan and north of the Island of New Guinea, lies the baby Island of Yap. It belongs to a group of islands called the Carolines."

"How funny," said Betty, "to name islands Carolines as though they were girls!"

"Wait," rejoined her uncle, "there was a reason. Many years ago, in 1527, to be exact, some Portuguese under their leader, Diego da Rocha, seized these islands from their inhabitants for Portugal. But later, in 1686, a Spaniard, Admiral Francisco Lazeano, took over the islands and called them the Carolines, in honor of the King of Spain, Carolus."

"Well, which country rules the Yappers now?" asked Philip, who was always very much interested in forms of government.

"Neither. The Spaniards ruled it for a long
[illustration - Brown Belles of Yap Laucawheelu 1920 ] while, but in 1875 Bismarck, the famous Chancellor of Germany. tried to claim it for his country. There was a good deal of talk between Spain and Germany—even His Holiness, Pope Leo XIII, took part in the discussion, which lasted for years. But finally, in 1899, Spain sold the tiny island along with the rest of the group, for $3,500,000."

"Gee whiz!" said Philip. "The Germans certainly wanted those islands. Do tell me what made them so Important?"

"No, no!" interrupted Betty. "Tell us first what kind of people live in Yap?"

"Well," said Uncle Jim, "like the Filipinos, the Yaps belong to the Colored Peoples of the world and to the race known as the Malay race. They are dark brown, with almost black eyes, high cheek bones, and wavy black hair. And they are rather short and slender."

"Now it's my turn," said Philip. "What kind of government do they have?"

"There are two classes." Uncle Jim told him,
"the slaves and the aristocrats. And the only way you can distinguish between these two classes, is that the aristocrats wear a comb made of long, narrow strips of bamboo, which spread out like a fan and are fastened through the middle by a peg. A slave would not dare wear one of these combs."

"How do the girls dress?" asked Betty. "I imagine they have wonderful styles."'

"They do," replied her uncle, "but nothing that you would care to copy. There is a plant growing in Yap called the pandanus, which has very long leaves. These leaves are shredded and put together to form a skirt, and this, with a pair of earrings, forms the whole costume of a lady of Yap. The boys and men wear a strip of cloth around the waist."

Both children were immensely amused, especially Philip, who had grown so within a year that his father had had to get him an entire new outfit. "Clothes don't cost very much in Yap, I guess," he said with feeling.

His uncle laughed, too. "That's hard to tell." he said. "for money in Yap is so different from the money we use. It is made from stone which is cut from quarries many, many miles away. The pieces of money are of different sizes, ranging from six inches to twelve feet in diameter, with a hole through the center so that they may be carried on a pole or strong cord."

"Well!" gasped Betty, "if that isn't the funniest thing! Why, Uncle Jim, how do people ever carry them? Some of the pieces must weigh tons and tons!"

"They do," was her uncle's prompt rejoinder. "Sometimes they weigh as much as five tons! But, of course, they do not carry them around. If a man has a house too small to be cluttered up with his money. he keeps it out in his front-yard. And it is perfectly safe there, because people almost never steal on the Island of Yap. Here is another funny thing: if a man loses his wealth in such a way that it can't be found again, he's still given credit for it by his neighbors. So that a Yapper who drops five or six tons of money in the sea—by accident, of course —will be just as much of a plutocrat as ever. Better look that word up, Philip."

"I'm going to," said Philip. "but tell me first why Germany wanted to buy Yap and the other Carolines."

"That's a good question," said his uncle approvingly.
"The Germans wanted the islands because they made such convenient trading-stations for German vessels sailing in the Pacific. And Yap in particular was wanted because it makes a fine cable base."

"But all that happened years ago," said Betty. "Why are people talking about it now!"

"Because the United States Naval Department wants to get established in Yap. Experts say that this little island would make a splendid cable and radio center and thus link San Francisco with Honolulu. Owing to the outcome of the war, small islands and colonies are to be redistributed, and this seems as good an opportunity as any for the United States to get possession of this important trading base. Any more questions, Miss Betty?"

"Yes," said Betty. "Tell me, Uncle Jim, how du the people of Yap make change?"

"There!" said Uncle Jim, "after I had boned up so on the Island of Yap, she asks me a question that I can't possibly answer. What shall we do. Philip?"

His nephew thought a moment, then he chanted,

"We'll have to go globe trotting over the map, And take her to visit the island of Yap."



"All in the Family"A Game

(To be played at home with our family and little friends, as well as at parties).


  • 1. As many sheets of paper as there are players
  • 2. Pencil
  • 3. Drinking glass
  • 4. Small coin

Circles, as distributed to players


Draw large circle. Use drinking glass, if no compass is available. Cut out and fold into eights.

Place coin in centre of large circle, and draw small circle.

Number for answers, as shown in illustration.

Let's begin!

Arrange players in semi-circle around the room. Provide each with a pencil, and paper circle.

Leader: "This is a word-game, called 'All in the Family', because all the words we are to write must have the same end sounds, or rhyme. This is our Family Circle. I have chosen a family name. It is the name of an act done three times a day. What is it?"

(Different answers will be given. Someone will surely answer, "eat.")

Leader: "This, then, shall be the 'Eat Family'. Please print the name in the middle of the smaller circle.


(All write the new name.)

Leader: "All members of the 'Eat Family' must have similar names,—that is, sounds that rhyme with eat, and, of course, similarly spelled. You can build these names by placing one letter, or two letters, before the family sound, e.g., n-eat. Not more than two letters may be added at a time.

Now try ot think of eight other words with the same family sounds. Write them in the circle, under the numbers. Five minutes is allowed for the game."

(Ten minutes, if the players are very little folks.)

Each player now passes his circle to the neighbor on the right, and corrects as the Leader spells.

Neat, wheat, seat, heat, meant, treat, beat, cheat, feat, bleat

Any of these words may be accepted.

Circles, when the words are "All in the Family."

The answers may be given in any order. To the player scoring the highest, award some prize, circular in shape, (small cake, apple, orange, round box of candy, etc.)

The nice thing about this game is that you may choose your own family name. As the prize winner to make a choice and conduct another game.

Note: Let me know if you play this game and how you like it. I shall be glad to know you and your prize winner, too.

[illustration - A Community "Sing" in Louisville, Ky. ]


Little People of the Month

There's no need having talent, Tommikins, if you don't use it, and just make people happier. William James Harvey, 3rd, can sing and recite; but he's ambitious! He's learned over a hundred pieces; so, when the Liberty Celebration was held in Philadelphia, Pa., at the Academy of Music, this little boy appeared on the program. During the past spring and fall seasons, he gave nine recitals in churches or Philadelphia and New Jersey. William is just six little years old.

LETA B. LEWIS is an "A" pupil, in both conduct and proficiency. She's in the fifth term grammar school, at Omaha. Neb. During her entire school course, she has received only one "B." When some colored parents complained that their children were not being treated fairly in school, this little girl was exhibited to prove that there's no difference in treatment; it's just whether or not you study, my dear.

LISTEN, Tommy! Charles Augustus Stewart, Jr., has been appearing in public as a violinist since he was eight years of age. He gave a recital at Wilmington, N.C., not so very long ago, and this was his program: "Melody of Love," by Engelmann; "Pizzicata Serenade," Op. 45, No.2, by Franklin; "Sing Me to Sleep," (lst Violin) Duet, by Greene; "Merry Eyes Waltz," Op. 21, No. 4, by Kuenzel; "Isle D'Amour," by Edwards; "Iris," by Renard; "Rackety Coo," from "Katinka"; Selections from Operetta "Cinderella," with Orchestra (1st Violin), by Nixon.

Is it not a wonderful thing to be able to make music? And such music!

WOULDN'T you like your school to win a silver trophy, bearing your name? I know you would, Tomasina. And you have Helena Harper to prove that it's not impossible. Of course, Helena studies, —and she's not a slip-shod pupil, either; but an honest little worker. Then came the essay contest on, "Why We Need New School Buildings". Helena took the test, and among 5,000 essays by grammar school pupils, Helena's won the trophy.

Helena is thirteen years of age and in the graduating class of the Mary J. Watson School, in Sacramento, Cal.

WILLIAM KIRK COFIELD, at the age of sixteen, is senior patrol leader and troop instructor for twenty first class colored Boy Scouts, at Glen Cove, L.I. He passed all tests before the Court of Honor and received his First Class Badge, February, a year ago.

Last summer William played second base on his troop's base ball team, when they won the champion silver cup over eight white troops. Last winter, when the Lincoln House Dramatic Club, of Glen Cove, presented Gilbert Parker's western drama, "She of the Triple Chevron," William played the star role, and his acting received favorable comment in white newspapers. And William finds time enough after he has finished his High School lessons, to be Secretary of Calvary A.M.E. Sunday School, and Treasurer of the Lincoln Settlement Y.M.C.A. Red Triangle Club.

Some boy!

Be sure to send us news about the kiddies who excel.

[illustration - William K. Cofield Leta B. Lewis Helena Harper William J. Harvey Charles A. Stewart, Jr. ]

[illustration - A Students' Play in Atlanta, Ga.]



In slavery days, colored boys and girls could not go to school. Very often they were not even permitted to learn how to read. Nevertheless, many of the young slaves were determined to learn somehow, no matter in what manner. Such a boy was Booker T. Washington; another was Frederick Douglass; still another was Blanche K. Bruce.

When Blanche was a boy, he had to work as a slave on a plantation in Mississippi. Like many a slaveowner, his master needed him too [illustration - Blanche K. Bruce] much to allow him any time to get an education. But young Blanche made up his mind he was going to learn his abc's the best way he could, and get all the knowledge that was possible for himself, so that when he became a man he might help his people and his country. Every spare minute he could get away from his slave toil, he would go off to himself and work hard over the few books he was able to get hold of. In this way he learned quite a little bit.

In 1863 Abraham Lincoln freed the slaves throughout the entire United States, Blanche Bruce was a free man. How glad he was that he had studied hard while he was a slave! Now he had a chance to use his learning.

People began to take notice of this earnest, bright, young fellow. They continued to admire him, and encouraged him in his efforts to rise in the world. Each passing year found him a little higher than before, and the time came when the people of Mississippi, both white and colored, called on him to take one of the greatest positions a state has to offer,—to be a Senator from the State of Mississippi, in the great Congress at Washington. Here, with one other Senator from Mississippi, and a number of Senators from all the other states of the Union, Bruce was to help make the laws for Mississippi, and the whole United States. Bruce and his friends rejoiced that he had studied so earnestly when a youth, that he was able to take up the big task at Washington.

While he was in Washington, assisting Congress and the President of the United States to make our laws, word came to him of his old slavemaster. He was no longer rich but was heavily in debt, and was so poor and friendless that the State of Mississippi had decided to send him to the poor house, a place where no respectable man cares to go. Bruce felt sorry for his former master. He set to work immediately to help him. Through a friend, he learned that at Vicksburg, Mississippi, a man was needed to inspect the ships as they came into port. Bruce saw his chance to assist the aged slaveowner.

He went directly to the President of our country, and asked a favor of him.

"My dear Bruce," said the President, "I'm only too glad to be able to serve you. What can I do for you?"

Bruce replied, "Mr. President, there is a position open at the port of Vicksburg, Mississippi. May I name an old friend of mine to take the place?"

"That's a small favor you ask," said the President. "Of course, your friend may nave it. You may name him any time you wish,"

Bruce went away happy.


But the thought occurred to him that his proud old master would, doubtless, rather go to the poorhouse than feel that he owed his rescue to a Negro who once had been his slave.

"He must never know I got the job for him," said Bruce to himself.

He straightway went to the other Senator from Mississippi, a white man, and told him the story.

"And I want you to name him for the position," Bruce said, "for if he knows that I, a colored man and his former slave, named him, he will feel so humiliated, he won't accept the position."

The other Senator agreed, and he himself named the former slaveowner for the position at Vicksburg.

You may be sure Bruce's old master was happy when he learned that he did not have to go to the poorhouse, but that he had a fine position, instead.

He never knew to the day he died that it was his former slave, Blanche K. Bruce, who had saved him from disgrace.

[illustration - Graduates of Dixie Hospital, Hampton, Va. ]