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

The Brownies' Book
April, 1920
One Dollar and a Half a Year
Fifteen Cents a Copy


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
Fifteen Cents a Copy
W.E.B. DuBois Editor
A.G. Dill Business Manager
2 West 13th Street New York, N. Y .



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. April, 1920 No.4


COVER Drawing. Marcellus Hawkins.
PUMPKIN LAND. A Story. Peggy Poe. Illustrated by Hilda Wilkinson 3
THE RETURN OF THE BELLS. A Story. Translated by Jessie Fauset 99
A MOVING TALE. Verses. Illustrated by Frances Grant 104
THE BIRDS AT MY DOOR. A Nature Study. Written and Illustrated by Mary Effie Lee 105
THE ANCESTOR. A Poem. Georgia Douglas Johnson 106
"U" STREET IN WASHINGTON, D.C.— 8:45 A. M.! A Picture. 107
A MUSIC CLASS. A Picture. 110
THE EASTER IDYL. A Poem. Jessie Fauset. Illustrated by Laura Wheeler 112
OUR LITTLE FRIENDS. Nine Pictures. 114
NOT WANTED. A Story. Grace White 115
PLAYTIME. A Dance. Arranged by Amanda E. Kemp 122
A KINDERGARTEN SONG. A Poem. Carrie W. Clifford. Illustrated by Marcellus Hawkins 124
THE TWIN HEROES. An African Myth. Adapted by Alphonso O. Stafford. Illustrated by Albert A. Smith 125


  • RENEWALS: The date of expiration of each subscription Is printed on the wrapper. When subscription is due a yellow renewal blank is enclosed.
  • CHANGE OF ADDRESS: The address of a subscriber can be changed as often as desired. In ordering a change of address, both the old and the new address must be given. Two weeks' notice is required.
  • MANUSCRIPTS and drawings relating to colored chlldren 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 - "Of Such Is the Kingdom of Heaven Underwood & Underwood ]


The Brownies Book

Vol. 1 APRIL, 1920 No. 4


A Story for Easter


From the French of Jean Aicard, Done Into English by

THERE were five of us little comrades, and we lived in neighboring houses on the very last slope of the great green hill, at whose foot towers Toulon, the city of war.

The windows of our houses looked out beyond the red roofs of the city, upon the road; and beyond the road upon the green hills of Saint-Mandrier; and beyond the hills, upon the vast, deep blue sea, which is forever changing, and which yet, remains forever the same.

As we were all pupils in the nearby school, we were scarcely ever separated from each other. Leon, the largest of us all, was twelve years old, Paul, the smallest, was eight. Leon never moved without his drum, a real drum, which we followed everywhere with a soldierly bearing. Petey, who was ten, always carried a flag; Frederick and Stevie marched along next, armed with wooden swords; and Paul always came last, never carrying anything except, indeed, his thoughts.

His thoughts, goodness knows, were weighty enough, for every day little Paul kept discovering something new in the great world, and, furthermore,— make what you please out of this,—little Paul was in love!

He was in love,— yes, really he was,—with Stevie's big sister. Stevie was something of a silly, the simpleton of the group. Why, you could make him believe all sorts of things! Just imagine,—that idiot believed that "Little Red Riding-Hood" was a story which had actually happened! As though you could be nine years old, and still believe such a thing as that!

Stevie's sister was named Elise, but we used to call her Lieze. She was nearly fifteen years old, and that was what charmed us. She never played with us, and that idealized her in our eyes. She used to come twice a day, at mealtime, to call her brother from the ravine where we used to be wandering; from the depths of the jungles of rosemary, where we used to pretend we were lost; or from among the rocks, where we would be searching for the cave of Ali-Baba.

From way far off, the noise of Leon's drum guided her. She would come running, calling in her pretty voice:

"Stevie! Ste-vie-ee!"

Then, sh! silence! the drum became mute, and we would slip unseen, into the densest of the thickets. We would lie down in the thyme, which smelt so good when you crushed it. And when her voice came to us again from the distance:


Then, "rat-tat-tat"! and the drum would seem to say: "Oh, what a silly girl, not to be able to tell where we are!"

The flag would be hoisted at arm's length, above the tops of the rosemary; and when the seeker finally arrived, all of us together would rush upon her, clinging to her dress, her arms, her neck. And Paul, being the smallest, always
[illustration - Albert Alex Smith 1920 ] got a kiss. That was why he was in love with Lieze.

All the rest of us were in love with her, too.

On Good Friday, of that particular year, Stevie did not come to play, and Leon had to leave his drum at home. "This is what Mama told me," he declared: "The bells have gone away, so you can't have your drum till tomorrow."

This mentioning of drums and bells together, gave us a great deal to think of, and we stopped talking of anything else.

All the church-bells in France had set out for Rome. No one would hear them ring again until the next day at noon. They would start back in the morning, for the journey was a long one; but how would they come back? Guess how! Across the great avenue of the heavens! They would have wings for that special purpose. Could they be seen? Perhaps, if they didn't take it into their heads to fly too far up in the sky, out of sight, or to pass by too far away, out there, above the open sea.

"Oh, pshaw! fellows," said Leon sturdily, "all that sort of thing is just like a fairy-tale, just like 'Little Red Riding-Hood.' It doesn't really happen."

We were all of us a little suspicious, and all our little group began to think about it with an air of great mental fatigue. All of us, even Leon, seemed disappointed and distressed. I shall never forget Leon's unhappy and discontented manner while he was enlightening us. It was plain that he missed something. It was, I imagine, his drum.

"The church-bells," he continued, stretching out his arm and holding his forefinger rigid, "are right up there in the belfries. Only they're not ringing. And someone comes along and tells us that they have gone to Rome! Papa said to me:

"'No one, but a fool, would believe that.'

"Besides, didn't Mama say: 'You are wrong; little folks don't need to be told the truth about everything so soon'?

"That's when she took my drum from me. It hasn't gone to Rome; neither have the bells. That's all there is to it."

We were convinced, none too willingly, and somewhat saddened at learning the truth. In order to shake off this feeling of gloom that
had settled over us, we had to invent some game. With each one saying a word in his turn, then with all of us talking at the same time, here is the idea upon which we finally decided.

Since we were all so wise, we would make sport of the ignorance and simplicity of Stevie. We would take him, the next morning, to the very top of the hill, and we would pretend to see the church-bells pass by in the sky. He, of course, wouldn't see them, because they were all really in the church-towers; and that would be awfully funny. It looked as though our Easter vacation were going to be well employed.

Leon promised to go and get Stevie the next morning, and we separated full of plans, thinking how funny our little comrade would look on the top of the steep hill. Only one thing made us still a bit sad, and that was that Lieze hadn't come to call us for the last two days. That, of course, happened sometimes, and it was very natural today, since Stevie, probably, because it was Good Friday, had remained in the house along with his drum.

THE next day we went up the hill. All five of us took the military road. Leon had his drum, but his drum-sticks were quiet on his chest, fastened to his shoulder-belt. His mother had forbidden him to use them, until the church-bells came back. Peter had his flag rolled up around the flagstaff, trailing a bit on the ground. Breathlessly, we rushed on, trying to keep up with big Leon, and every once in a while, when the slope became too steep, our little hands would have to seek a resting-place on our little knees.

"Halt!" said Leon, when we were half-way up.

We sat down and began to talk, glad to take a little rest, and pleased with the thought of having a chance to make fun of Stevie's stupidity.

"Isn't Lieze coming to look for us today?" spoke up Paul suddenly.

Stevie's answer threw us all into the deepest grief. No, Lieze would not come to call us, because she was very, very ill. She had been in bed for three days.

"The doctor said this morning that, perhaps, she was going to die," Stevie continued gravely. "Mama let me come out because the house must be kept perfectly quiet, on account of Lieze. And I was very glad to come, because somebody told me this once,---if, when you see the church-bells flying by in the sky, you make a wish right away, the good Lord will grant you whatever you ask. So, you see, I've just got to see the church-bells for Lieze's sake."

There was a long silence.

"That's the way it is with falling stars," said little Peter finally.

And Frederick continued: "if you ask the good Lord for something before the star dies out, He'll see that you get it."

"Yes, that's the way I heard it, too," said Stevie. And he repeated, "I've just got to see the church-bells!"

"You or I, or any of us," said Paul. "It doesn't make any difference. It's all the same thing as far as Lieze is concerned."

Paul was right; we would all make the same wish.

Again there was a long silence. Some strange unknown feeling was disturbing our little hearts. It was a feeling of sadness, of sweetness, and of mystery. It was our love for Lieze. We wanted to see her again, to see her pretty and lively self, many, many times; to hear her call us again, among the echoes of the mountain; to hug her again; to lose her and find her once more in our immense thickets of rosemary, towering about our heads!"

What notion did we have of what it would mean if Lieze should die? We only knew that we should never see her again. We could not stand that. And yet, how could we be sure that she was not going to die? Ah! if that story about the bells could only be true! If one of us could just catch sight of them way up there, flitting across the little clouds in the sky like swallows or sea-gulls! And, after all, why not? Our fathers did not believe, it is true, that the bells went off traveling along with the birds; but our mothers had told us so. Why shouldn't they be the ones who were right? We needed consolation so badly!

All these thoughts struggled for expression in our minds, one on top of the other, unformed and pitiful, confused by the very desire which so touchingly gave them birth. We loved her so much, our grown-up Elise! For her sweet sake, we realized that we were very unfortunate not to be able to believe in the flying bells. ... But, perhaps, they did fly after all! Why not?...Not all, perhaps, but just a few...Those of Toulon, of course, were in the church-towers; but those of Paris,—who
knew where they were?...Anyway, none of us thought any longer of making fun of poor Stevie. We didn't even think of playing. We only wanted to know that Lieze would not die.

NOW we had arrived on the bare and stony summit of the hill. We placed the drum and flag on the ground, and looked around us. The country-side, the hills, and the plains, and especially the sea and sky, seen from way up there, seemed so vast that we were a little afraid.

But there were five of us, well-armed; and when, lowering our eyes, we perceived at the foot of the hill, the reassuring roofs of our houses, and recognized our gardens, and even the people walking around in them, we felt somewhat more confident.

"There, I think that's Papa! Yes, I'm sure of it! And see there's Grandma!"

Alas! In Stevies's garden, there wasn't any-body! The windows of Lieze's room weren't even open, on this beautiful morning in Holy Week. And then, with one accord, all of us stopped looking at the house, and looked up at the sky, in the hope of finding there some means of help.

Those who have never tried, while children, to gaze thus for a whole hour into the infinite depth of a sky strewn with tiny clouds, in order to see a winged form pass by bringing the promise of happiness, will never know how vast the blue desert is, and how many winged atoms fly there, streaking it incessantly with unexpected zigzags and fanciful shadows!

Fortunately, the clouds hid the sun from us every now and then. Just the same, our eyes hurt us from looking at the dazzling light so long. And when we lowered our gaze to the ground again, we couldn't understand why we saw so many queer shadows about us.

Every moment our hearts leaped up with hope. Now it was a fly which, passing within our reach, gave the effect of a bell flying far, far away in the depths of the sky, almost lost to sight way out there above the sea; now it was a roof sparrow, tranquilly busy with its own affairs. Often the sea-gulls deceived us, dim, indistinct figures, flying way, way out in the direction of the Hyeres Islands, near a certain rock where they make their nest. In the air floated many nameless things; bits of wool torn from sheep by the spurs of the thorny broom-plant, and then scattered again to the passing wind; all sorts of airy nothings; threads from the plant called Virgin; shreds of feathers; indescribable odds and ends, which, escaping the hands of working-men, flitted on a wayward breeze across the sky line like tiny beings, followed now and then by a too easily misled bird.

We looked toward the east, towards Rome and Jerusalem. The swallows, we knew, came from that direction, and also the martens and carrier-pigeons, and all the other migratory creatures in whom the April season awakens a desire for something different. And in us, too, arose the desire to fly, to roam; a yearning for wide open spaces; a vision of soaring. Something fluttered within us, like a captive, useless wing. And it was love. It was devotion and tenderness. Just as these emotions are in the hearst of man, so they were already in us, alive and imperishable!

"THERE is one; I see it!"

Little Paul had seen a flying church-bell! Yes, with the eyes of his desire, with the eyes of his love, he had seen it.

"Are you quite, quite sure?" cried Stevie, turning a little bit pale.

"Yes, yes!"

He hadn't really seen it, of course not! But he thought that because he thought he had seen one, he could say: "I did see one."

Who can explain the origin of this tender childish lie? It was to himself that he lied first, in the hope of deceiving Stevie: not, indeed, to make fun of him, but, quite to the contrary, to console him. And why not admit it? He hoped, too, that he would be able to deceive the good Lord,—just a little...Oh! the unspeakable tenderness!

All our eyes, stretched wide, sought in the sky for the tiny speck, the slight, elusive, dark spot which Paul had indicated with his finger.

Leon, the unbeliever, was the first to catch sight of it again: "There, there, yes, I see it, I see it! Over there!"

What more need I say? One after the other, or rather one with the other, all of us saw the bell soaring on its great wings, which was to bring health back to Lieze. And the good Lord, who is kind to children, pretended to believe us. It is evident that He smiled upon us, for Lieze came back a few days later and called us again in her pretty voice, among the echoes of the mountain.

[illustration - "All of us saw the bells!" Albert Alex Smith 1920 ]

That holy Saturday, as we came down the side of the steep hill at whose foot towers Toulon, that terrible city bristling with arsenals, Leon's drum struck up a gay fanfare, our wooden swords flashed fire!

And little Paul, his head bowed with the weight of his ponderous thoughts, said to Stevie defiantly:

"Just let anybody tell us that we didn't see them! And we'll show him!"


A Moving Tale

TWO newly-wed Bunnies lived in a cunning house,
Large enough for them and their little Family Mouse.
(Most people boast a Family Cat,
But a Mouse is much less expensive than that!)
Soon the Bunnies' family grew and increased,
Till it quite overflowed the house they had leased.
(Bunnies at the windows, Bunnies on the stair,
Bunnies in the chimneys, Bunnies everywhere!)
"Well," said Mr. Bunny, scratching his head,
"Looks as though we'd have to find another homestead."
(Now houses are quite as scarce in Bunnyland
As they are among us Humans, I'd have you understand.)
Finally, the Real Estate Agent, Mr. Crow,
Rented him his largest Easter Egg Bungalow.
(And everybody says that that's the very reason,
Why we think of Eggs and Bunnies at the Easter season.)
So the Bunnies moved into their jolly new house,
With their forty-two youngsters and the little Family Mouse.
(But what they will do, if they've any more children,
Is a problem which to say the least, is woefully bewilderin'.)



IF you live in the country, you can have many interesting experiences with birds. One morning, at about seven o'clock, last March, I discovered a fawn-colored screech owl perched disconsolately upon the upper sash of a window which had been left lowered from the top all night. The owl, uttering faint croons, peered about as if trying to discover where he had spent the night. It was many minutes after my finding him, that he fluttered heavily away. My first cry of surprise seemed in no wise to have disturbed him.

Once, at this same window, I found a chimney swift, clinging desperately to the screen. The bird had flown in at the top of the window and landed just inside, against the screen below. He was quivering with fear.

For countless springs, the swifts, or swallows, had taken up their abode in a south chimney of our house. We could hear them often at night, in the brick-walled home. They seemed always to be "cuddling down", yet never to get quite "cuddled" to their satisfaction. The little bell-like twitterings would be sounding, I imagined, whenever I awoke.

At dusk, when the sky was lavender, the swallows would flutter in graceful groups, trilling, swirling high over our heads. How well I can see them now!—grouping themselves, breaking ranks, then flitting together. But as to having come into close contact with our neighbors, the swifts, that pleasure had not been mine till I found the frightened bird on the window screen.

"Ah, here you are at last, little lodger," I thought, and my heart bounded as it had when I first discovered an oriole's nest. "We have slept in the same house many spring nights," I said gently."You should not fear me now."

But the swallow said, with its every twitch, "Oh, please don't touch me,—don't touch me!"

I watched it a minute, before setting it free. Swallows in motion, gnat-catching, are more pleasing to look upon than swallows in repose. When one is clinging to your screen, you think.

"What a queer, little, long-winged bird; dark with here and there touches of weather-beaten-shingle gray; tiny black beak and strange stubby tail, with extended spines that seem to hold it to the screen like black basting threads!"

Rather a mousy-looking little creature, somehow, it seemed to me. Its prominent black eyes appeared to add to the suggestion.

Speaking of bright dark eyes, reminds me of the humming-bird that was imprisoned one August day on my back porch. She—for the little bird lacked the crimson throat that marks the male hummer—frantically imagined herself a captive, till she found that only the west end of the porch was incased in glass, and all the rest consisted of railing and lattice work. But while she was discovering this, I had an opportunity to watch her.

For a long time, I saw only a blinding grayish blur of perpetual motion. Then the hummingbird paused on the framework of the window, and I noticed the sheen on her splendid moss-green feathers, and marvelled at tiny black claws, minute enough to have been fashioned from wire hairpins. I heard a faint, "Chirp, chirp." Yet, when I was a child, someone had told me that humming-birds made no sound aside from the buzzing produced by their wings in motion.

While writing of sounds, I think of a songbird, the brown thrasher, and a surprise that the thrashers once gave me. On a sunny morning in spring, I came upon a pile of brush at the back of the orchard. Peeping at me through the mass of twigs, was a certain old Plymouth rock hen, that I had always suspected of being a little daft. Her ways were wild and strange. She delighted in hatching eggs in outlandish places. I went to discover upon what she was sitting. And what do you think I beheld just above Mrs. Plymouth Rock? I found a brown thrasher there, nesting complacently in what you might call the second story of the brush heap. her glassy yellow eyes glared at me
coldly, as if to say, "If it suits Mrs. Plymouth Rock and me—"

But who can account for the whims of birds? One summer day, a most amazing sight met my eyes. Flat on the ground in the back pasture, I found the nest of a mourning-dove! Mother Dove fluttered off, with that gentle, high-keyed plaint that she uses in flight, and left me to gaze at the nest of faded rootlets and two woefully ugly fledglings with long gray beaks. Their shallow nest was on a particularly damp-looking spot of earth. After one recovered from the shock of finding the brood on the ground, one's heart was filled with pity. The sight was so cheerless.

I thought of the oriole's comely basket, high in the golden light, where it swung from the tip of a poplar branch. I thought of a neat song-sparrow's nest that I had just seen hidden under the "eaves" of a Norway spruce hedge, where the song-sparrows spend the winter.

They come out on every mild morning to sing a little, even when Cardinal is silent. You recall their sharp knife-like notes. Ever ready to make cheer, the song-sparrows would seem to live a life free from trouble. yet they know what it is to have their hedge haunted by wily cats, on winter evenings, when the cold birds are fluttering to shelter; and at dusk, in spring, when Mother Sparrow is directing her awkward, freckled birdlings to some nook for safety.

Oh, I cannot tell how indignant it made me once to discover in the nest of Mother Song-Sparrow, two cowbird eggs, flecked with cocoa-brown like hers, but a trifle larger. Unsuspecting little Song-Sparrow, would have five instead of three eggs to tend, while the cowbird went swaggering with her noisy comrades up and down the pasture, in the wake of the cows.

As I write, this pasture is white with snow, for it is a January day, and cold. Five crows have come up from the woods, to peck at the corn stubble in what was once a pasture and then a cornfield. They strut over the snowy surface and pull at the bits of stalk, but they never come to feast when I feed Titmouse, with his golden hoard under each wing, and Chickadee, wearing the jaunty black skullcap, and making small sounds like corks screwing in bottles.


The Ancestor

THEY boasted of their ancestry and flaunted in his face
The glory of their royal lie, the valor of their race;
A moment Tom was clothed in thought,—he was not orator,—
Then shouted,—"Boys, I say, by Jove, I'll be an ANCESTOR!"

[illustration - "U" Street in Washington, D.C.—8:45 A. M.! (Photo by Scurlock) ]

OYEZ, O yez, all Children who hear the Judge and stand before the armposts sof his court. For the Judge seeks wisdom of his little ones, and longs to know the answer of a mighty riddle. Yesterday was the Seventh Day, and as the Judge sat resting from his labors, behold! an Aged Woman came and stood before him and glowered, and said,

"Fun, Fun, there is not Fun."

Now I, the Judge, straightened in my chair and wrapped the ermine of my cloak about me, and said:

"I will ask my Children."

Come, now, Children of the Judge, and tell me


SAYS Bilikins, —What is the mostest fun?"

"You mustn't say, —"

never mind, Billy.

Bilikins has a great idea and when you think something, never mind how you say it,—at least, never mind just then.

The question, then, which is brought before the Judge this morning, Children, is


"THERE," says Billy, "you corrected him."

Yes, but I did it gently, so as not to disturb him.

Now, Billy, I know what you think is the most fun,—and that is TALKING. Just as soon as anybody learns how to talk, they like to talk, and the more they talk, the more they like it. It is fun when you're six, like Bilikins, and when you're ten, like Annie, and it is perfectly fascinating when you get to be the age of Wilhelmina, and can sit in the armchair or stand by the front-gate with your very best friends. Only remember, the real joy in talking, depends a good deal on what you're talking.

"I know what is the most fun," says Annie; "it's EATING."

I sympathize with you, Annie, very deeply. Eating is certainly a joy. Consider once,—fried chicken, biscuits, and chocolate-covered nuts, and Pie. BUT don't over-eat. If you do, then when you get grown up, you'll have a sort of perpetual tummy-ache, which people call dyspepsia, and you'll think this a very, very wicked world.

"I know what is really the most fun," interrupts Bilikins,—"it's TAG."

There is deep wisdom in what you say, Bilikins. When we were little like you, we realized that muscles were given us to be used. As we grow older, we seem to assume that they are simply places to put fat on. People, then, who use their muscles, either in tag, or waling to work, or carrying cola, will be happiest IF along with their working, whey learn to think and have time to rest.

William stammers, "READING is best."

Millions and millions of people, living and dead and gone, agree with you, William. If talking with your friends is fun, then reading with the greatest Friends that ever lived, is more than fun,—it is a miracle.

But there are two difficulties. The first is that so few people learn how to read; they skim and skip and half understand and don't use the dictionary; and then, worse than that, still fewer people know what to read. It is fine to have a friend, and yet you would not make friends with a burglar or a scamp—that is, not usually. It is fine to read, but there are some things not worth reading, and there are other things more than worth.

"What?" asks William.

We shall have to leave that for another session, my son.

"Personally," says Wilhelmina, as she arranges her "dog ears",—"personally, I prefer DANCING."

But there are several kinds of dancing, and this is a case where once a bad kind got to be so common that a large number of good people said all dancing is bad. This, of course, is not true.


David, who was fairly good, at least till he got grown up, did some dancing in honor of the Lord, and you know what fun the little folk dances are in school.

There is no finer exercise to make people stand up and walk well and look good, than dancing; but to be at its best, dancing should be done in the open air, among friends and neighbors and parents, and it should not last all night.

And so,—we have talking, eating, and tag, reading, and dancing, five things which are all lots and lots of fun.

"But," interposes James, who is sixteen, "you have left out a lot of splendid things,—like writing and swimming and drawing and making things and loving people."

Of course, says the Judge, I shall be compelled, however, to hold another session for these. Meantime, I am afraid we shall have to swallow the little pill which is called a moral: all the buts and ifs which I have put in, say the same thing—don't over-do. This is the law of life. Run, but don't strain your muscles; eat, but stop when you are no longer hungry; talk, but not always; dance—some.



TO say that THE BROWNIES' BOOK delights us, is expressing our feelings mildly. We have long desired such a periodical, but hardly dared hope that those so much occupied with the weighty problems of today, could find time to think of the children's pleasure. Therefore, to Dr. DuBois and those associated with him in work, we feel deeply grateful as for a personal favor.


THE BROWNIES' BOOK is an answer to the call of our children at our library. For three years the children patrons of the library were looking for Negro stories. We were constantly searching for such in our story-hour.

MARION M. HADLEY, Nashville, Tenn.

I AM writing to say I have read your new magazine, THE BROWNIES' BOOK, with much interest and delight. It fills a need, I am sure. I enclose a check for one dollar and fifty cents. Kindly place the name of my niece—Laura T. Carroll, upon your list of subscribers. She is a little girl only eight years old, but I want her to become familiar with our best as early as possible.

LAURA E. WILKES, Washington, D.C.

I CAN'T close until I have told you of my favorable impression of the first issue of THE BROWNIES' BOOK. I read it with much pleasure, from cover to cover. You are to be congratulated. I shall send you some special child studies to use.

C.M. BATTEY, Instructor, Tuskegee Institute, Alabama

I CAN find no words to express my gratitude to you, for bringing out THE BROWNIES' BOOK. It fills a long felt need for our boys and girls. It would have pleased you to see my little girl with her first copy, and I am sure it would have taxed even your fertile mind to have answered all her questions. You will, I am sure, meet with much deserved success, and the boys and girls throughout America will thank you for introducing a magazine that tells them something of what their own race is doing.

ANDREW J. BRANIC, New York City.

NOTHING I have seen recently has pleased me so much as the first issue of THE BROWNIES' BOOK.

A. O. Stafford, Washington, D. C.
[illustration - This might be "The Jury", but in fact it is a colored teacher's Music Class at Medford, Mass.]


I AM a constant reader of The Crisis and it takes me from six o'clock until nine to read it from cover to cover, and then there remains an endless year of waiting for the next number. Sometimes I just wish The Crisis had a thousand pages; it is really a book that never tires one. I read something in The Crisis about a mother sitting alone in despair, thinking about her children long ago lost to her. And it reminds me of another mother, our mother country, Africa, and it was that thought which forced me to write the enclosed poem, "Africa"....

I will tell you just a little about myself. I live in a stuffy little town, where things go on year after year the same. I was not born here. The place is too small, it's killing me; my soul calls for larger things, so I appeal to you. I have been called odd,—in fact, I know that I am odd and I don't like to do things like other people, that's why I am sending my work on plain paper, and if you don't publish it, burn it up ....

I hope I haven't bored you. I hope you will excuse this horrid letter and all the errors.

PEARL STAPLE. Charlottesville, Va.

I THOUGHT you might like to know about my scrap-book. It is a large square book filled with sheets of coarse brown paper, with two covers with holes punched through and tied together with a string. In it I keep all the pictures I can find of interesting colored people and the interesting things they do. I have pictures of Frederick Douglas, Bishop Allen, Harriet Tubman, Paul Lawrence Dunbar, and lots of others. I like the pictures especially. But now that I am reading THE BROWNIES' BOOK, I see there must be a lot of important colored people that I didn't know about. I'd love to see pictures of Katy Ferguson and Captain Cuffee. If you have them, won't you print them, so I can cut them out and put them in my book!

ADA SIMPSON, Jersey City, N, J.

THE BROWNIES' BOOK has just come and I'm sitting down to tell you about it. I like the second one better than the first,—the drawings of the insects in the story about fairyland are so funny.

If I should write a good piece, would you put it in? I am twelve years old, but most folks think I am younger because I am so short. But you don't have to be tall to write, do you? My mother says I've been scribbling ever since I was very tiny. I'm going to send you one of my pieces.


WHEN I read about Captain Cuffee, I thought about a trip I made once. I have always liked the water. One Summer we were in the country. I was only about seven years old. How I managed it, I don't know; but I made a raft and poled my way about three miles down the Delaware River. When they found me, I was lying on the bank asleep, with tears on my cheeks. If there were any chance of getting in the Navy, I'd enlist when I get through school. But, anyway, I sure know I'm going to travel, just like Captain Cuffee. Maybe I'll go to Africa, too.


I WISH you would tell me what to do. I am fifteen years old, and I want to study music. My mother and father object to it very much. They say no colored people can succeed entirely as musicians, that they have to do other things to help make their living, and that I might just as well start doing this first as last. Of course, I say that just because things have been this way, that's no sign they'll be like that forever. But they talk me down.

Won't you tell me what you think about this? And tell me, too, about colored musicians who have made their living by sticking to the thing they love best? Of course, I know about Coleridge-Taylor and Mr. Burleigh.



The Christ that was, like us a child
On Christmas long ago, Grew up a gentle lad and mild,—
They say 'twas wondrous when He smiled!—
And how His mother watched him grow
So pure, so undefiled!
The Christ that was so kind and good Had enemies, a host;
Though some there were that understood
And worshipped Him as people should
The ones He thought would love him most,
Did all the ill they could.

The Christ that was so meek and true was nail up on a tree;
With horrid pikes they pierced Him through
And gave him vinegar and rue.
"Forgive them Father," murmured He
"They know not what they do."
The Christ that hung on Calvary dead
Lay three days in the ground.
On Sabbath morn His mother sped
To watch beside his stony bed,
And heard the angel's voice resound,
"He's risen as He said!"
The Christ that was so lowly born
Now reigns, a Prince, above
His brow still wears the mark of thorn,
His hands are scarred—they were so torn—
But children peal their thanks and love
To Him, each Easter morn!




PATSY McCULLEN would be ten her next birthday and ever since she could remember, she had never been wanted. Even when she had been brought to the Home, nine years ago, nobody during all those nine long years had ever come to ask for a little girl of Patsy's description to take home and mother.

Beautiful women in fur came into the Faculty Room to ask for a little girl to keep, and Mrs. Trumble always brought in pretty little girls, with fluffy curls and big brown eyes, and after being hugged and kissed rapturously, they were taken away in big, beautiful automobiles.

Patsy, peeping [illustration - "She did so want a truly mother"] through the keyhole, always shook her black hair out of her eyes. and said sturdily, "I don't care." And just to show that she didn't, she'd start to whistle. But whistling doesn't show that you don't care, and Patsy really did care. For sometimes, when she was all alone, her big, black eyes would slowly fill with tears; she did so want a truly mother.

When she fell and bumped her head, nobody was there to kiss it for her. When she cut her finger, the nurse bathed and dressed it and she was given a lecture on her carelessness and sent to bed. Every night, before she went to bed, Patsy would step into the Faculty Room and look at herself in the long mirror. Black curly hair, (Patsy always looked at her good points first) big, black eyes, long eyelashes, white teeth, and a nose that Patsy thought was all right; but, skinny arms and legs, large mouth, and—freckles! Then Patsy would creep upstairs and cry herself to sleep. Nobody wanted a little girl with freckles.

Not long after this, something happened to change Patsy's whole outlook on life. Around the corner, on Madison Square, was a rich woman, Mrs. Kingsley, who was giving a drama for charity, and she needed a little girl for one of the characters. So one afternoon she came over to the Home, and said,

"Which one of you little girls would like to have a truly mother?"

"Oh, I would!" shouted everybody at once.

"But it's only pretend," said the lady hastily.

"O-ooooh," and everyone sat down.

That is, everyone but Patsy, who came eagerly forward and said, "Oh, please, please let me pretend !"

You see, Patsy wanted a mother so badly, she was even willing to pretend she had one. So the lady decided to let Patsy pretend.

Every afternoon Patsy went over to the big house on Madison Square to rehearse for the play; and at last the night of the entertainment arrived. Patsy carried off the honors; and for the first time in her life Patsy was kissed and
petted and everyone said,

"Isn't she a dear little girl?"

Evidently Mrs. Kingsley thought so, too, judging from the way she hugged and kissed Patsy.

At last, when all the guest had gone, and the large house was quiet, Mrs. Kingsley drew Patsy towards her, and said slowly, "Patsy, would—would you like to live here always and have me for a really, truly mother?"

"Oh! Oh!! Oh!!!" shrieked Patsy.

And then Patsy was caught in a long, lingering embrace.

That night, while Patsy was being rocked to sleep, she said as she was dozing off, "I like it, I do."

Patsy had at last found a really, truly mother.




WOULDN'T you like to be perfect?

Among our "Little People of the Month" this time, we have four children whose little bodies are perfect. For instance, there's George P. Moore, of Portland, Oregon, who won a score of 99% in a eugenics test; George W. Bassett, Jr., of Winston-Salem, N. C., who is lying on his back and cooing, was registered 100% at the Baby Clinic, and weighed 19 1/2 pounds when he was five month old; beautiful little Clara Kersey Jackson, of Richmond, Va., is a 100% baby; George E. M. Cannady, who lives way up in Portland, Oregon, too, and was three years and three months old when this picture was taken, is a fine husky, chap.

Now this all means, not that these children are necessarily going to be perfect men and women, but that because they begin with perfect bodies, they are going to have an easier chance to have perfect souls.

One of the most distressing things about our people is the number of poor, unhealthy children who come into the world. In some sections, half of the colored children born, die before they are one year old, because their parents are poor and poorly-paid and because the city does not give them decent places in which to live and play.

But these children have made the first great step in life—their bodies are perfect. Next comes the perfect mind, and finally the perfect soul.

AFRICA seems so far away,—indeed it is; but, after all, it's not an impossible distance, for little Dorothy Coleman, born in Africa, has come to the United States, and lives in Charleston, S.C. Dorothy is the daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Coleman, who are missionaries.

WHEN the United States joined in the war, of course this meant that many a dear one would be called upon to leave his home and go to Europe, to work, to fight, and die if need be, for the sake of Justice. Among the brave men called, was the father of Mary Evans Wiley of Pittsburgh, Pa. Mr. Wiley served in France, as a Secretary for the Young Men's Christian Association. While in the service, he sent us this picture of his little Mary.

This month we have with us a little girl who has five names,—Ada Jane Nette Patti Lawton.

Did you know that Frederick Douglass had five names, too? His mother named him Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey; then a friend of his added "Douglass", after the character in The Lady of the Lake; but he dropped three of his names, and we know him only as Frederick Douglass.

Oh, yes,—about Ada. Well, she lives in Bainbridge, Ga., and is in the second grade; she writes fairly well and does nicely in arithmetic. She can wash dishes, sweep the floor and the yard, trade for her mother at the market, grocery, and dry goods stores, and take checks to the bank. Her mother says: "You can send her with any amount of money up to Ten Dollars, and she will bring back the correct change."

She's only six years old, too.

[illustration -
Clara Kersey Jackson George P. Moore Dorothy Coleman
George W. Bassett, Jr.
George E. M. Cannady Ada Lawton Mary Evans Wiley



I T'S spring. It's deep spring in Carolina, and soft spring in Canada, and between these homes of all my children, the Crow flies, calling and laughing and looking. The dark mystery of my plumage reminds me of sweet nights in Africa, and its glint and gleam are light, the first sunlight on the Alps at Berne. I like my black feathers—don't you? Well, here's away, for a glance at the world over-seas before lunch.

  • President Wilson has threatened entirely to withdraw the Peace Treaty if Great Britain and France surrender Flume to Italy, instead of giving it to the Jugo-Slavs. Flume is the best outlet for the commerce of the new Jugo-Slav State. Italy wants it in order to control the Adriatic. Probably Flume will become an international city, under the League of Nations, while Italy will get most of the neighboring islands.
  • The Bolsheviki, in Russia, have captured the city of Archangel, at the north, and of Odessa, at the south.
  • On February 18, Paul Deschanel became tenth President of the French republic; he succeeds Raymond Poincaré.
  • A meeting of the nations, to discuss money and debts, will he held under the auspices of the League of Nations, either in Holland or Belgium, this spring.
  • Germany owes today fifty-one thousand million dollars.
  • France has presented 6,000 Certificates of Gratitude to the families of her dead soldiers.
  • Hungary is protesting at the terms of peace which have been presented to her by the allied nations.
  • Admiral Ko1chak, who has been fighting against the Russian Bolsheviki, was killed by his own soldiers after his defeat.
  • The second meeting of the council of the League of Nations met at St. James Palace, London. America was not represented.
  • The new English Parliament has been opened, The King, in his speech, called attention to the misuse of liquor in the country and the intention of Great Britain to resume trade with Russia.
  • It is said that 7,000 Armenians have been killed by the Turks, in Cilicia.
  • Joseph Caillaux, former Premier of France, is on trial before the French Senate. He is accused of treason during the war.
  • Last year there were 50,000 deaths in Austria, and only 18,000 children were born.
  • There has been a revolt against Japan in the Island of Sakalin and in northern Korea.
  • Viscount Grey, former Ambassador to the United States, has written a letter to the London Times, in which he says that the Allies ought to accept the Treaty of Peace as amended by the United States Senate.
  • A professor in Bologna University, in Italy, is said to have discovered the germ which causes sleeping sickness. This disease causes many deaths in Africa.
  • There has been a great strike of dock workers in Havana. Most of these workers are colored men.
  • There is a great deal of unrest, amounting almost to civil war, in Ireland. The English Parliament is drafting a new Home Rule Bill, to allow the Irish some voice in their own government.
  • A great railway strike has taken place in Italy, and another in France.
  • Mr. Asquith, formerly Premier of Great Britain, has been re-elected to Parliament, and may be a rival to the present Premier, Lloyd George.
  • Albert Thomas, a French labor leader, has been elected Director General of the International Labor Organization, which has been formed under the League of Nations.

My! but this is a big world. I've flown from far Russia to Chicago since breakfast, and it must be past lunch time. I saw the Golden Horn and the blue Adriatic and the Avenue of the Elysian Fields and the Strand, and Oh! the
grey and beautiful ocean—the bounding black and angry ocean, and the cunningest little black babies in Cuba and Charleston. And now I'm back home, and I'm surely glad.

  • A great epidemic of influenza and pneumonia has passed over the United States, killing thousands of people.
  • Thirty-four states have adopted the amendment to the United States Constitution, giving women the right to vote. Ratification of only two more states is needed.
  • The man who discovered the North Pole, Robert E. Peary, died recently in Washington, D. C., at the age of sixty-four. With him at the time he reached the Pole, was Matthew Henson, a colored man, Mr. Henson is today the only living human being who has stood at the North Pole.
  • Since January 1913, the cost of food in the United States, has increased 104 per cent,— that is, it has more than doubled.
  • During the war, the Y. M. C. A. in the United States, received 162 million dollars, and expended all except seven million dollars for war work.
  • On March 1, the railroads of the United States were partially given back to private control; the United States still maintains strict supervision over them.
  • The Labor Unions opposed the return of the railroads to the Government, and asked for higher wages. President Wilson counselled them to wait, and investigations concerning their wages are now being carried on.
  • Several changes have taken place in the President's Cabinet. David F. Houston has become Secretary of the Treasury, instead of Secretary of Agriculture. The new Secretary of Agriculture, is E. T. Meredith. Bainbridge Colby has been appointed Secretary of State, succeeding Robert Lansing.
  • The All American Farm Labor Co-Operating Congress has been held in Chicago.
  • The final report of the American army abroad, shows that 34,844 were killed in action; 13,960 died of wounds; 23,738 died of disease; 5,102 died from accident and other causes; 215,423 were wounded.
  • The United States reports that during last year, 45 million dollars worth of goods were stolen while being carried on railroads.
  • The Democrats of the United States House of Representatives, in spite of the advice of President Wilson, refused to vote for universal military training. They were afraid to have colored soldiers.
  • The Chairman of the Republican National Committee, Will H. Hayes, has appointed an advisory committee of 159 members, who are to make suggestions on policies and platform for the convention, which will meet in Chicago, June 8. Five of these members are Negroes,— James Weldon Johnson of New York. William H. Lewis of Bogson, Roscoe C. Simmons of Kentucky, Dr. F. A. Furniss of Indianapolis, and Robert R. Church of Tennessee.
  • The steel corporation has increased the wages of 275,000 of its employees, 10 per cent. Many of these are colored men.
  • Farmers of the country are complaining because of the difficulty of getting laborers, the high profits which are made by merchants who buy their produce, and the difficulty of getting directly to the persons who use farm products.
  • Usually, the franc, which is the name of the unit of French currency, is worth twenty cents, and the English pound, $4.89; but because Europe is buying so much more goods from us than she is paying for, the value of the franc in the United States, has fallen to seven cents, and the value of the pound, to $3.33.
  • The United States Senate has passed an Americanization Bill, requiring all residents of the United States, from 16-21 years of age, and all foreign residents, from 16-45 years of age, who cannot read and write, to attend school not less than 200 hours a year.
  • The United States produces 300 million barrels of petroleum a year, and needs 400 million. The demand is increasing, while the production cannot increase further. This is the reason that many people want to interfere in Mexico, where Americans own over 200 oil wells, which produce 200 million barrels a year. Mexico is waiting for us to have the oil on reasonable terms and after paying taxes, but she wants no interference with her government. Mexico is right.
  • Senator T. N. Newberry of Michigan is being tried in court because it is said that he gained his seat by paying people to vote for him.
  • Sir Auckland Geddes hall been named British Ambassador at Washington.



NOW that the right of women to vote is gradually being conceded throughout the United States, few people stop to realize for how many years women have had to work and fight and wait in order to reach this goal. Even our boys and girls remember the disrepute in which suffragettes were held in England prior to, and even at the beginning of, the World War. And some echo of that unpopularity crossed the seas and was heard again in the treatment given not long ago, in this country, to the advocates of Woman Suffrage in Washington.

However, to women who many, many years ago, started the movement, and watched its course often with an anxious, though never with a despairing eye, the state [illustration - Sojourner Truth] of suffrage for women today would seem nothing short of a miracle. History can hardly emphasize too strongly what of shame, ridicule, and disappointment those true heroines were called upon to endure.

To one of those early leaders of women the disfavor arising from being associated with the unpopular cause of Woman Suffrage meant nothing, for she had long since been associated with a cause far more unpopular,—that of Abolition.

Sojourner Truth,—for that was the remarkable name of this extremely remarkable woman,—was born an American slave. The exact date of her birth is not known, but it is generally granted that she must have been born between 1785 and 1798. She belonged to a man named Ardinburgh, who lived in Huley, Ulster County, New York. Her name in those early days was Isabella, and this she kept for many years. Isabella's life was a sad one. She was a sensitive child and while still very, very young she received impressions of one of the chief horrors of slavery,—that of separations of slave parents from children. This remained with her all her life. She herself shows, unconsciously, how tragic her childhood must have been when she relates this incident.

"I can remember," she says, "when I was a little, young girl, how my old mammy would sit out of doors in the evenings and look up at the stars and groan, and I would say, 'Mammy, what makes you groan so and she would reply, 'I am groaning to think of my poor children: they do not know where I be and I don't know where they be. I look up at the stars and they look at the stars!'"

It was among such sad conditions as these that Isabella grew into young womanhood. In the course of time she married and had many children. One of these was a son who, while still a mere youth, was stolen away and sold outside of New York, his native state, Even in those sad times there were laws in New York forbidding the selling of slaves outside the state boundaries, but these were violated in this case. This slave-mother had already seen the suffering caused her own mother by the loss of her children; now she realized that the same anguish had come to her, and might befall her many, many times.

From that time on she began a violent protest against slavery which never ceased until finally that curse was lifted from the land. This was made the more possible by the fact, that in 1827 she received her freedom by a law which granted freedom to all slaves, in the state of New York, at the age of forty.

She had a long and remarkable career, and did many strange and unusual things. Among others, she changed her name, about 1837, to Sojourner Truth and that was the name by which she was called ever after.

Many of her striking sayings have come down to us. People tell how Frederick Douglass once showed plainly that he was very much discouraged at a meeting in Boston, and seemed to doubt if slavery ever could be wiped out. Then Sojourner Truth rose slowly from her place in the audience and stretching forth a long arm, exclaimed: "Frederick, is God dead?"


On another occasion a white man asked her at the close of a lecture if she supposed anybody really minded her talks against slavery. "I don't care any more for your talk," said he, "than I do for the bite of a flea."

"That may be," said Sojourner Truth, "but with God's help, I'm going to keep you scratching."

Long before the Civil War, she was lending her influence and eloquence to Woman Suffrage. Her mind was so keen and so broad that she quickly realized that the refusal of the right to vote to women, was only another form of slavery.

The second State Woman Suffrage Convention of Ohio was held in Akron, May 28 and 29, 1851. Sojourner Truth was present both days. On the second day the meeting was very stormy: several ministers who were present spoke very strongly against "votes for women". One said men had superior rights, because men had intellects superior to women's. Another said that the fact that Christ was a man proved that God considered women inferior to men. Things were going very badly for the suffrage cause, when Sojourner Truth arose to speak. Some of the leaders were afraid to have her talk, fearing she would make the cause ridiculous, and they urged the presiding officer, Mrs. Frances Dana Gage, to silence her. But Mrs. Gage was brave and rose and announced in the midst of a great hubbub,—"Sojourner Truth!"

Immediately all the confusion died away, for everyone, whether approving of Woman Suffrage or not, wanted to hear this wonderful woman. She must have been an impressive figure as she stood there, for she was very tall and dark, with a keen, unflinching eye. Her full deep tones resounded through the hall. Being uneducated, of course, she spoke in dialect or broken English, which I shall not attempt to reproduce here, though her speech, evidently, lost nothing by its use.

She pointed to one of the disapproving ministers,—

"That man over there," she began, "says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best help everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages or over mud-puddles, or gives me the best place. Well, I'm a woman, ain't I? Look at my arm," she went on, "look at my arm! And she bared her right arm to the shoulder.

"I have ploughed, and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man,—when I could get it—and bear the lash as well. And ain't I a woman! I have borne thirteen children, and seen them most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain't I a woman?

"Then they talk about this thing in the head, what do they call it?" Some one nearby told her "intellect." She nodded her head vigorously. "That's it, honey. What's that got to do with women's rights or niggers' right? If my cup won't hold but a pint and yours a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my little half-measure full?

"Then that little man in black over there, says women can't have as much rights as men, because Christ wasn't a woman! Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him!" Sojourner Truth had won the day as the deafening applause acknowledged.

She was an old, old woman when she died in 1883,—very nearly a hundred years old. Her life had been "full of weary days, But good things had not kept aloof."

In some respects her life seems more wonderful than any fairy tale that ever was written. She had been a slave: she had lived to see not only herself set free, but to see slaves set free all over the country. And she had helped to bring it to pass. She, who had started out in life as nobody, numbered the greatest man in the country, President Lincoln, among her friends. Absolutely uneducated and untrained, she sat in council with some of the most advanced minds of her day. And the cause of Woman Suffrage is in her debt.

Indeed her interest in this cause is the surest proof that she was a sincere advocate of liberty. For though the needs of her own people were so pressing, she felt that it was also her business to help the cause of all womankind.

No tablet, so far as I know, has been erected to her memory. But her own life is her best memorial. As a great Roman poet said hundreds of years ago, before Sojourner Truth had died, or was born, she "raised a monument more enduring than bronze, Which shall last throughout the years."


A Dance

I. Six girls in single file enter from one side and six from the other. They dance toward each other and down center of stage, separate, and form small circle of three, (see diagram).

The steps are as follows:

Step right foot forward, step left foot forward; three short running steps forward.........2 measures

Repeat all..................14 measures

=16 measures

Arms—Hands are held a little distance from mouth, as if holding horn. Head is thrown back on steps one and two, and forward on the running steps.

*The music is used by permission of G. Schirmer Co. [illustration - Figure I]

II. Step right foot forward, step left foot forward; step on right foot and spring up on right toes, raising left foot behind; step on left foot................2 measures.

Repeat all........................6 measures

=8 measures

Arms—Right arm is raised diagonally forward and upward; left arm is extended back.

III. (1) Facing center of circle, take four steps backward, starting with right foot; lift knees high, point toes down........2 measures

(2) Take four steps forward, toward center of circle, starting with right foot; knees high...2 measures

Repeat all...................4 measures

=8 measures

(1) Hands same as in I. Body bent over and head down. (2) Head up and thrown back.

IV. (1) Join hands, forming circle of three, facing outward. Skip around, starting to the right,—right foot, left foot, etc.

Head down, bend over and pull away from each other—knees high, (same as I, with heads up and thrown back...........2 measures

Repeat all................4 measures

=8 measures

V. Drop hands; four skipping steps forward, starting with right foot. Bend over, lift knees high, arms extended to side, shoulders high...................2 measures

[illustration - Figure II]

Same step, going back to center of circle; begin with right foot..2 measures

Head up and thrown back. Right arm, forward and up; left arm, down and back. Change arms with each step.

Repeat all.................4 measures

=8 measures

VI. Numbers 1 and 2 take hands and skip around, starting with right foot; numbers 2 and 3 skip alone (see diagram). Number 3 has arms extended to sides, head bent over on measures 1 and 2, and head bent over on measures 1 an 2, and head back on measures 3 and 4.............4 measures

Number 3 dances under the raised arms of 1 and 2 and around to place.......3 measures

Change—1 and 3 take hands.

Number 2 dances alone....1 measure

Repeat all....................8 measures

=16 measures

VII. Join hands, to make circle of three. Lean back, so as to pull away, and throw heads back; move around to left, with many very little steps, away up on toes.

VIII. Form single line, dance towards back of stage and off; steps and arms same as Figure I. 8 measures



LITTLE babies in a row,
Little dresses white as snow;
No hair, crinkled hair, straight hair, curls—
Lovely little boys and girls!
LITTLE children in a ring.
Hear them as they gaily sing!
Red child, yellow child, black child, white—
That's what makes the ring all right.
LAD and lassie, youth and maid,
Born in sunshine, born in shade;
Zulu, Esquimaux, Saxon, Jew,
United, make the world come true!
GOD'S big children all at work
Not one dares his task to shirk;
"All for each, and each for all"—
White man, red man black man, tall.



IN that far-off time when the world was young, there lived in a town of a powerful king, a widow whose name was Isokah, and whose husband, a brave warrior, had fallen in battle.

She had two baby sons, called Mansur and Luembur. They were twins, with bodies round and shapely, the color of dull gold. At their birth an old man, known for his gift of prophecy, had said, "Twins are a gift of Anambia, the Great Spirit, and they have been sent to us for a special work."

Everyone in that town, knowing how true were the sayings of the old man, believed thereafter that the twin babes of Isokah would grow into manhood and become warriors of note and possibly heroes of great renown.

When they were six weeks old, their mother planted in her garden, a short distance apart, two seeds. With great care she watered the earth about and when the seeds sprouted and became tiny plants, her care for them did not cease.

As the years passed, Isokah's two sons grew tall, strong, and pleasing to the eye, like the graceful pine trees around their home. In play, in the hunt, and in deeds of daring, these two boys always took first place among their companions. Meanwhile, the two plants grew into fine trees with beautiful spreading foliage. When Mansur and Luembur were old enough to understand, Isokah took each of them to one of the trees, and said,

"This, my son, is your life tree. As it thrives, withers, or dies, so you will grow, be in peril, Or perish."

After that day, Mansur and Luembur watched his own tree with increasing interest and felt for it a loving tenderness when resting under its spreading branches during the heat of the day, or in the cool of the evening, while listening to the strange cries in the jungle; or gazing with wonder at the dear sky with its brilliant stars, and the silver crescent changing nightly into a great golden ball.

How happy was Isokah as she watched her boys grow into early manhood, and the life trees thrive in strength and beauty with them.

During this time, Mansur had many strange dreams,—dreams of great perils in the jungle, dreams of different lands,— but more often he had visions of Yuah, the daughter of Zambay, who was Old Mother Earth, the first daughter of the first father.

Yuah was said to be beautiful. Her beauty was like the dusk at twilight, when the stars begin to twinkle in the afterglow of the Western sky.

One day, after Mansur had passed his twentieth year, he said to his mother, "The time has come for me to marry and I am going in search of Yuah, the daughter of Old Mother Earth."

Though her sorrow was great when she heard these words, Isokah knew that she could not always keep her son near her. So she called upon Muzimu, a wizard of strange power and asked him for some magic to help her son, Mansur, in his quest.

When this was given, she returned and gave it to him, saying, "My son, this is your magic. I shall guard your life tree while you are away and Luembur, your brother, will watch over me."

Mansur then put his strong arms around his mother's shoulders, bowed his head upon her cheek, and gave her his farewell kiss. Then, taking from her the magic, he touched some grass he had plucked from the ground. One blade was changed into a horn, another into a knife, and still another into a spear.

Before leaving, he called Luembur, saying. "Brother, be ever near mother Isokah, and let no harm befall her."

For days and days Mansur travelled. What a picture of natural beauty met his eye everywhere! How verdant was the foliage of the trees, shrubs, and plants of the African plains and highlands; how sparkling the streams that foamed over rocky beds of granite and sandstone, how beautiful was the coloring of the flowers, how gay was the plumage of the birds, how graceful and striking in size were the animals that fled before him as he pushed his way
onward to the land of Zambay, the mother of his desired Yuah. When overcome by hunger, Mansur called upon his magic for food.

At last, the far country of Zambay was reached. Whenever a stranger entered it, he was escorted at once to Zambay, the queen, the all powerful ruler of that land. The usual custom followed, when Mansur was seen striding forward with his spear in hand, horn across shoulder, and knife at side.

Standing near her mother, Yuah saw the stranger,—saw him in his strength and in his early manhood, so lithe in movement and so [illustration - "Do let me see it," urged Mansur] fearless in bearing. Straightway her heart warmed to him. How happy was Mansur when he beheld this dream-girl as a reality and saw in her eyes, a look of friendly interest that passed into admiration when he recited the story of his travels and the purpose of his visit.

Three days later, they were married. A fine feast was held, followed by joyous singing and a merry dance. The finest house in the town was given to the bride and groom, where for many months their happiness was complete.

One day, while idling in his new home, Mansur opened the door of a strange room which he had never noticed. In it were many mirrors, each covered so that the glass could not be seen. Calling Yuah, he asked her to remove the covers so that he might examine them. She took him to one, uncovered it, and Mansur immediately saw a perfect likeness of his native town; then to another, and he saw his mother and his brother, Luembur, sitting in peace beneath his life tree. In each mirror he saw something that carried his memory back to his past life and the country of his birth.

Coming to the last mirror, larger than the others, Mansur was filled with a strange foreboding. Yuah did not uncover it. "Why not let me look into it, Yuah?" asked Mansur.

"Because, my beloved one, in it you will see reflected the land of Never Return—from it none returns who wanders there."

Now this remark made Mansur very curious,
and he longed as never before, to see this mirror that would picture so strange a land or so mysterious a scene.

"Do let me see it," urged Mansur. Yielding at last to his entreaties, Yuah uncovered the mirror, and her young husband saw reflected therein that dread land of the lower world—that unsought place of cruel King Kalungo, of which all men had heard. Mansur looked in the mirror a long time, then he said,

"I must go there; I must leave you, my dear."

"Nay, you will never return; please do not go, my beloved one," pleaded Yuah.

"Have no fear," answered Mansur. "The magic of Muzimu will be my protection. Should any harm befall me, my twin brother, Luembur, will come to my rescue."

Now this made Yuah cry and she was very, very sad, but her tears did not move Mansur from his desire and his purpose.

In a few hours he had departed for the Land of Never Return.

After travelling many days, Mansur came upon a weird old woman working in the fields. In her eyes, there was mystery; in her presence, there came to him a feeling of awe. Though he knew not then, she was the never sleeping spirit that guarded the secrets of the Land of Never Return.

Approaching her, Mansur said, "My good woman, please show me the road to the land whence no man returns who wanders there."

The old woman, pausing in her work, looked at him as he stood there, so tall and straight. A smile passed over her wrinkled face as she recognized in Mansur one of the true heroes for whose coming she had waited many years.

Much to his surprise, the old woman, after a long and deep gaze, said,

"Mansur. I know you and I shall direct your way, though the task before you is one of peril. Go down that hill to your right, take the narrow path, and avoid the wide one. After an hour's travel, you will come to the dread home of Kalungo, the Land of Never Return. Before reaching his abode, you must pass a fierce dog that guards his gate, fight the great serpent of seven heads within the courtyard, and destroy the mighty crocodile that sleeps in the pool."

These impending dangers did not frighten Mansur. Following the narrow path, he came within a short time to a deep ravine. Through this he walked, head erect, eyes alert, and spear uplifted. Suddenly he observed the outer gate of the Land of Never Return.

By means of his magic, he passed the fierce dog, and after a severe battle he succeeded in destroying the serpent, that seven-headed monster. Near the pool, he saw the mighty crocodile resting on its bank, and rushed forward to strike him. Then, by accident, Mansur's magic fell upon the ground, and immediately he was seized by the crocodile and disappeared within his terrible mouth.

At home, his mother, Isokah, and brother, Luembur, noticed with fear that the life tree of Mansur had suddenly withered.

"Mother, my brother is in danger. I must go at once in search of him," cried Luembur.

Rushing to Muzimu, the wizard, Isokah procured some more magic, returned home and gave it to Luembur and besought him to go immediately in search of his twin brother.

As he departed, a great weakness seized her, and supporting herself for awhile against the trunk of Luembur's life tree, she slowly sank to the ground, with a foreboding that she would never again see her sons.

When Luembur reached the town of Zambay, she was much struck with the resemblance he bore to his brother, and Yuah was overjoyed that he had come to go in search of Mansur. She noticed with pleasure that Luembur also carried the same kind of spear, horn, and knife that Mansur had.

Yuah showed him the magic mirrors, reserving for the last the fateful one that had caused Mansur to depart for the Land of Never Return.

After resting awhile. Luembur continued his journey and, as in the case of his brother, came after many days to the weird old woman working in the fields.

The story of his quest was soon told. After it was finished, she said, "I know you, also, Luembur." She then gave him the same directions.

When he reached the gates of the Land of Kalungo, the fierce dog fell before the magic spear of Luembur. Then rushing to the bank of the pool where the mighty crocodile was dozing in the sun, Luembur with one great blow of his spear slew him. Then taking his knife he cut along the under side of the dead crocodile
[illustration - "Mansur jumped out, well and happy"] and, strange to state, Mansur jumped out, well and happy.

Swift as the wind, the twin brothers left the gates of the dread Land of Never Return and travelled upward to the place where the weird old woman worked in the field, under the rays of the glinting sun.

When she beheld them, she stood erect, a deeper mystery flashed into her age-old eyes, and in her presence, there returned to the brothers, that same feeling of awe, but now more intense.

Finally she spoke, "Brothers, by slaying the fierce dog, the terrible serpent, and the mighty crocodile, you have released the spirits of the brave, the wise, and the good, who were prisoners in the realm of cruel Kalungo. They may now return to Mother Earth when they desire, and visit the abode of their mortal existence. Your task here below is now finished.

"You, Mansur. shall be Lightning, that mortals may ever see your swift spear as it darts through the clouds; and you, Luembur, shall be Thunder, that mortals may ever hear and know the power of that flashing spear."

With these words, the sleepless spirit of the Land of Never Return touched each of the brothers, and Mansur went to the East and became the swift, darting lightning; and Luembur went to the West and became the loud, pealing thunder.

In the land of Zambay, when Yuah, through her magic mirror, saw what had happened to the brothers, she cried with much grief. Neither by day nor by night would she be comforted.

At last her mother, Zambay, said in a gentle and sad voice, "My daughter, when your husband, Mansur, and his brother, Luembur, are angry in their home, amid the clouds, and have frightened men and beasts, here in my land, your beauty and your smile will bring them joy. At such times, your body clothed with many colors, will bend and touch me, your Mother Earth. Go hence, and live with them.

With these words. Yuah went away from the home of her mother, and we see her now as the beautiful Rainbow, after the storm clouds of Mansur and Luembur have passed on their way to the home of The All Father, the Great Sky-Spirit, Anambia.