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

The Brownies' Book
July, 1920
One Dollar and a Half a Year
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The Brownies' Book
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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. JULY, 1920 No.7


COVER DRAWING. "From Generation to Generation." Albert A. Smith.
AMERICA FOR ALL. Prize Essay. Mildred Adele Barfield. Illustrated by Laura Wheeler 195
THE SANDMAN'S SONG. A Poem. Robert P. Watts 196
THE LAY OF THE NILE. A Poem. Cecelia Elizabeth Illustrated by Albert A. Smith 197
THIS IS A DOG'S LIFE. A Story. G. B. Harrison. Illustrated by Hilda Wilkinson 198
SHAPES. A Poem. Mary Effie Lee 202
GRADUATES OF 1920. Thirty Pictures 203
BROWNIE GRADUATES. M.G. Allison. Illustrated 204
OUR LITTLE FRIENDS. THE Children's Manual. Georgia Douglas Johnson. Illustrated 213
AMERICA'S FIRST MARTYR-PATRIOT. A True Story. Illustrated 216
THE GROWN-UPS' CORNER. Illustrated 218
PLAYTIME. Danish Fun. Nella Larsen Imes. Illustrated 219
WHY BENNIE WAS FIRED. Willie Mae King. Illustrated by Hilda Wilkinson 222
MOTHER. A Poem. G. Smith Wormley 224


  • 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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  • 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 - Commencement at Tuskegee ]


The Brownies' Book

Vol 1. JULY, 1920 No.7


AMERICA FOR ALL Benefits of Enlistment in the UNITED STATES ARMY

SAM was white, Billy Boy was brown. They were two little wanderers belonging to nobody and living nowhere in particular. They were always together, and the one apple or the last dime was shared equally between them.

Tonight they occupied an obscure seat in a dark corner of the city auditorium.

The band began to play "My country" and everybody stood up and sang.

"Sam," said Billy Boy, when I hear that song, I wonder if it is meant for me."

"Course 'tis, Billy," replied Sam, "ain't this your country same's 'tis mine! Uncle Sam don't keer whether you is white ner black ner blue ner brown. jest so youse true 'Merican."

"Gee!" said Billy, "jest see that soldier guy! Ain't them the swell togs he's wearing!"

"Sure thing," answered Sam, "an' see how straight he is. Listen, he's speaking."

Then across that great throng came the words of the soldier-orator.


"Fellow Americans, your country is calling to you. Old Glory, symbol of equality and justice, appeals to you; the sacred blood of your fathers implores you to loyally support the United States Army."

"Sam," said Billy, "his voice sounds smooth an' easy like deep running water."

"Yes, Billy, it makes you feel all sorter warm an' trembly inside."

The speaker continued:

"Our country offers health, training, and a liberal education, classical, scientific, and vocational."

"Gee, Sam," said Billy, "the army must be some swell place."

"You said it, Billy."

The speaker continued:

"Young Americans, your country needs you to become a part of her national university and to be prepared to defend your home and your loved ones. Your loyal hearts will not let Columbia plead in vain."

The speaker closed.

"Billy Boy," said Sam, "we's good 'Mericans, so me and you fer the United States Army."

Dear Sam:—

My, you are having a corking time in Esquimau Land!

But listen! I have crossed the Rockies, have sailed on the Pacific, have seen Hawaii's beautiful skies, and in the mellow moonlight have listened to the music of the ukelele.

Now, here I am. Oh boy, this is the life! I am a baseball pitcher, an electrical engineer and a movie fan.

[illustration - Mildred Adele Barfield]

I save all my money. No way to spend it.

Mess is calling. Chicken and ice cream today! Me for the eats!

Yours, BILLY BOY, (Srgt. William Boykin, 25th Inf.).


The Sandman's Song

SINGING a sleepy song,
The sandman swings along,
Seeking little heads,
To tuck them in their beds.
"Sing a song of sand."
"Sing a song of sand."
Let's go to Slumberland.
I'll drop it in your eyes ;
They'll close with sandy sighs;
"Sing a song of sand."
Thus sprinkling snoozy wares,
On the little one who fares
Gaily all day long,
He sings his sleepy song,
"Sing a song of sand."
Who can e'er withstand
This sprinkler, sprinkling sand?
First he gets your toes;
And then your eyes—and goes!—
"Sing a song of sand!"


The Lay of the Nile

[illustration - ALBERT ALEX SMITH 20 ]
VICTORIA calls, in tones of mirth
While leaping the Falls, to give me birth.
Where Ripon is rushed, singing a round,
That never is hushed, I froth and bound.
I sparkle and spread, through rapids spree
To my spacious bed, and northward flee.
Aquatics abide, and sport with me;
Bold sea-birds ride my ledge and key.
I hurry the skiffs the natives row,
While fretting the cliffs where spearmen go.
Whenever I romp, through silver falls,
In crystalloid pomp my current sprawls.
Past beasts domiciled in fell, in dell,
Through jungle and wild I rush pell-mell.
For my rhythmic dower of melody,
Old Abyssinia lends loam to me.
I'm scantily poured, through shallow glades,
To grant a safe ford for Coptic maids.
Fair tropical isles with fruitage blest
My current compiles, then rifts to quest.
Through arid Sudan I surge and wind;
In the great Nubian confluents find.
I scurry to guide the ships of trade
Where caravans glide and nomads raid.
For sad Ethiops, dwelling afar,
My rhythm oft scopes a plaintive bar.
Proud Egypt of old I've built of silt;
But never a wold my silt has built.
My turbulent run naught doth abash
To leap Murchison with foam and dash.
O'er Egypt I flood, its gardens roam,
And leave it a cud of highland loam.
I meander on, tall dams I brim,
And swell at Assuan the "Great Dam's" rim.
In Upper Egypt, I split to flee
The delta abrupt, and wed the sea!



About seven years ago, the subject of this story began his eventful passage through this vale of tears, sorrow and excitement; and through the entire time, every minute of his life has been crowded with strenuousness. One bright summer morning I observed him sitting on the doorstep of his new home across the way, looking up and down the street with timid curiosity depicted on his face, ready at the first sign of danger to retreat to safety. Babe has always believed in "safety first" though at one time recklessness got the better of his usual caution, and the result was almost disastrous to the point of cutting off, yes, winding up his earthly career in a most ignominious manner; but of that later. I called to him, and cocking his head on one side, his ears pricked up and eyes showing questioning wonderment, he regarded me with a sort of diffident cordiality. I invited him to come over; and he came, his timidity increasing as he approached, his curled-up tail wagging doubtfully.

The expression of his homely but intelligent, good natured face plainly said "I'll come but please don't hit me." Crouching and creeping cautiously he came to me. I put out my hand to his little shaggy head and he licked my fingers with a dog's caress; and so the homeliest, cutest and most intelligent little mutt became my most faithful friend and has so remained till this day.

Babe from a puppy has grown in dog wisdom; and his many friends, (he has no enemies) unanimously declare that that dog has got sense. When Babe does a thing simply to amuse, it is for his own amusement; if it is to amuse you, you must make him know that you are going to pay him for what he does, otherwise he doesn't do it. Just ask him to sit up and he will look at you as if to say "nothing doing"; but give him a smell of roast turkey [illustration - HRW ] or fresh roast pork, or cake,— though don't offer him anything common like ginger bread and expect him to beg for it,— and you'll see. There isn't any dog in the world that can sit upon his haunches any quicker or any oftener than Babe can for anything he likes, until he gets his appetite satisfied, then he forgets.

Babe's real name is "Baby" but most of his personal friends know him as "Babe" or "Boy", but no matter by which name he is known, he has had more adventure slipped into his seven years than usually falls to a dog of his size or station in life. He is a regular Teddy R. and he would rather fight than eat, until he gets licked, then he doesn't care for either fighting or eating until his wounds cease paining.

Although today Babe is something of an epicure, he formed one habit in his very youthful days that still sticks to him; he does love to inspect garbage cans. If he is out with any of his people for a stroll, no garbage can on either side of the street escapes his notice; sometimes he will extract a bone, then run ahead for a block and make a meal while you are overtaking him. He used to be great for burying bones when he was a puppy; often he would bury his bone, and when he turned around would see some other dog intently watching the proceeding; he would immediately dig up his bone, take it somewhere else and rebury it in a spot where he wasn't observed.

Let me make you recognize Babe, for if he has met you at any time and likes you, he is bound to recognize you. He is a little fellow, stands 14 inches high perhaps; his body is covered with a coat of shaggy gray-black hair sprinkled sparsely with white, with a white streak on his breast. He always travels on a trot and always has a certain point of destination in his mind; his object is to get there and his time is limited. He is something of a fighter and generally out of his class. There is no glory in it for him to tackle a dog of his own size; but sometimes a small dog will start an argument with him and there is no way out of it but to fight; and he promptly sails in. Usually he vanquishes his adversary right there and then; after he gets the enemy down, he will stand over him like a prize fighter waiting for the count, ready for the finishing wallop if he attempts to rise.

Babe was not born a fighter, for naturally he is the most
harmless and innocent of dogs; but he is so homely that most dogs get mad when they look at him and want to whip him just for spite; but from puppyhood, he and another four footed chum of just about his age, were befriended by Jack the champion fighting dog of the neighborhood and Jack made scrappers of them both. If a strange dog came in the neighborhood and was seen by either one of the three, he must turn back or fight; and it was a chance if they let him turn back without a fight. On one occasion all three held up a stranger. The three chums would not let him go about his business; he realized that he had to fight, and as Babe was the nearest for attack, he caught it first; before reinforcements reached him he had all he wanted; when he got free he turned tail and flew for his own doorstep, and seating himself, looked on the combat from afar, while the expression on his face plainly said, "This is no place for my mother's son." Babe has been in many a conflict, some of them desperate, and he bears the scars of some painful wounds. One day he came in with his side laid open for about two inches right down to the flesh; it looked as though some one had thrown a broken glass bottle at him and they sure found the mark. It was the most troublesome wound he ever had and it put him in the sick ward all right and before it would heal up Babe had to wear a real baby's shirt over his body to keep him from constantly licking that sore.

When he began to convalesce he caused much amusement by appearing on the street wearing his shirt with his forelegs stuck through the sleeves like arms and the tail of the shirt fitting tightly around his body; but he didn't mind being laughed at so long as he was able to be out. Babe is little and his legs are short, but there are two times when he can run some; one is when he is going to whip the other dog if he can catch him, the other time is when he thinks the other dog is going to whip him. How that dog can run when he is scared! We were strolling along the street one day, and had got opposite a high stoop; a large dog on the landing spied Babe and he made a mad rush down those steps. Babe seemed to feel him coming rather than to see him. He had no chance to get me between himself and danger ; he had to light out right straight ahead. You ought to have seen him stretch himself; with his head turned so he [illustration - He caused much amusement H.R.W. ] could look over his shoulders to see how fast the other was coming, terror shooting out of his eyes, his long hair streaming in the wind that his own flight created; he laid low to the earth and stretched himself his full length at every leap; his ears back and tail straight out, he seemed to be saying to himself, "I've got to go some more." And he did go. The expression on his face was ludicrous in the extreme. I felt sorry for Babe if the big dog got him, but I had to laugh. He outran the big fellow and saved his skin.

On another occasion it was a bull terrier of class, belonging to a young woman who had him out for an airing I suppose. She had removed the leash from his collar and was letting him run free. He caught sight of Babe when he was a half block away and bore down on him like a troop of cavalry making a charge. He almost upset a woman who happened in his path. The collision broke the force of his onslaught somewhat, but he struck Babe fair and square; they
landed out in the roadway three feet from the curb, with my dog underneath and on his back, and the bull over him eating his shoulder. I jumped to his rescue and with a swift kick to the side of the bull's head induced him to stop making a meal off my pal. But Babe was in distress; he held up his leg and whined. I patted his head and encouraged him a bit and he started off on three legs; but on coming back when we drew near the place of the encounter, he excused himself and took the other side of the street.

For some years now he has lived in another part of the city, but knowing my hour for breakfast which he learned from his habit of accompanying me on my daily morning rounds, he makes it a point to be on hand at 8 o'clock; and if by any chance I get away before his arrival, he will go over the route, first to the newsstand (if the store door happens to be closed he will stand up on his hind legs, look through the glass to satisfy himself that I am not there) then across the street to the restaurant. Broad street is a very busy thoroughfare at this point; autos, motorcycles and street cars are flying back and forth every minute; pedestrians are always on guard for fear of being run down; and many are the times I have held my breath as Babe would become entangled in the passing maze of vehicles as switching his tail out of the path of the flying motorcycles and dodging an onrushing jitney back to the rear end of a trolley car, he at last appeared on the other side of the street calm and unperturbed. If he does not find me at the restaurant, back to the shop he comes, and if I have not arrived on his return, he goes down to the corner of the street, seats himself on the curbstone and patiently awaits my appearance. If he thinks he sees me in the distance, you will see him stretch his neck for a more intense look; and when he recognizes me, then for his glad rush and exuberant welcome!

Babe is a dog of good morals; and he is some church going dog too; though like many of our good church going people he will frequent saloons. He counts among his friends a worthy church deacon. One day he overtook the deacon on his way home and gave him the surprise of his life. He greeted him in his usual manner when he recognized a particularly intimate friend; he rushed up and with a bound clear from the ground of about a foot, planted his forepaws in the small of the deacon's back, his way of saying "hello there!" then he trotted along at the deacon's side till he came to a sa- loon. Babe stopped, looked up expectantly, his tail wagging; then he ran over to the saloon door, again looked up in the deacon's face as much as to say "Come in and have something." The deacon said "Oh no, Babe, I don't go in those places." Babe's tail wagged a "So long then" and he disappeared under the swinging doors. The deacon in telling of the incident later said that that dog knows every saloon on the street. To the dog's credit I must say he did not go in for a drink but through his keen instinct he has learned that saloons often run free lunch counters; and some of the human frequenters lose the way to their mouths and drop morsels on the floor which he can have for the picking up; and he has the nerve to do it.

Babe is so much of a church going dog that to my knowledge he went to church twice to one service; and that beats some churchgoers. On this particular Sunday evening, I passed through the street on which he lives; he happened to be at home and, as on the day I first saw him, sitting on the door step. He was overjoyed at seeing me. I stopped and said a few words to him and told him to stay there till I came back. He stayed till he thought he could follow me without being observed; then he got in the procession but kept a long way behind. Well to make the story short, I had been seated in church about five minutes when Mr. Babe came trotting down the isle looking for me; before he got to the pulpit, an usher who was acquainted with him grabbed him and put him out. This was before service commenced. Not in the least discouraged he hung around for half an hour or so, then he thought he would try it again. This time he reached the space in front of the pulpit, passed along to the choir, which is at the right of the pulpit, and took his seat on the floor in the vacant space between the first row of seats and the singers. His mistress is one of the singers and he sat down where he could look up at her and hear her sing. He wanted her to invite him up, so he begged ; that is sat up on his hind legs and waited; that was too much for the choir, they smiled; and very much to Babe's disappointment and disgust his mistress came down from her seat, and for the second time he was escorted to the outside, also home and locked in.
I know Babe said to himself, "What's the use of trying to be good?"

Babe's people are Baptists. Three years ago he was immersed; we went up to the canal where it runs under Bloomfield avenue and I dropped him in the water; he didn't seem to like it at first, for he began clawing at the bank with his fore paws [illustration - "Come in and have something" Hilda Rue Wilkinson ] while his hind legs were trying to find something solid to stand on ; but after one or two plunges he began to enjoy it. The second time I took him for a swim, he just stayed with me long enough to make sure where we were going, then he forged ahead, and when I got near the place, he was just coming back to meet me and he was soaking wet; he had already been in swimming. Now he is a confirmed Baptist, too.

The momentous event in Babe's career came in the early summer of 1917 when he fell into the hands of the law. He was charged with a crime, the penalty of which is death; and he came within an ace of paying the price. He had been warned repeatedly; his friends knew that he was courting danger, but Babe was reckless like many a human being. He thought "Oh, I have got by all right for six years, I am too smart for that bunch of low foreheads!" And he would not wear his muzzle. When I first put it on him he felt terrible and put up a big kick; he tried in every conceivable way to get it off; used his forepaws in an effort to dig it off; got down in the gutter and tried to rub it off against the curbstone. After his seemingly useless effort to free his head from the contrivance, he gave up apparently, and trotted off shaking his head viciously. About an hour later, he trotted back as unconcerned as though nothing had happened to mar the pleasure of living, with the muzzle dangling to his collar but his head was as free as he desired it to be. And so it went on. Once he came home without bringing the muzzle with him and no further efforts were made to curtail his freedom.

On the morning of which I write, we started for breakfast as usual. On the corner of Eighth avenue and Broad street, Babe met three
strange dogs; they greeted him in a very friendly manner. I remember, the thought came to me, "Those dogs act just as though they were out for a good time." They must have invited Babe to go along with them for no amount of calling would induce him to come with me. He looked at me, wagged his tail as if to say "Go ahead ; I'll be there by the time you get through eating." When I came out he was nowhere in sight. It bothered me a little at the time, for generally if he did stay outside for a while, he knew about how long it took me to eat, and he would be on hand when I got through. Anyhow he didn't show up, and I thought again about those dogs getting him in trouble. I went back to the shop and perhaps an hour passed by. No Babe. I had occasion about this time to go over to my lodging place.

As I was passing through Clark street, I saw a lady I knew and she seemed greatly excited, trying to catch her pet dog. I asked her "What's the matter?" "Why," said she, "there's the dog wagon!" Then the idea struck me. I said "I'll bet they have got Babe." Well at noontime he hadn't shown up; at supper time he was still missing, and I knew that the boy was in limbo, for it used to break his heart to miss going to supper with me: After closing shop I went to his home and inquired if he was there. No; they hadn't seen him since morning. We concluded that the dog catchers had surely got him. His mistress said she would go to the pound first thing in the morning; that was Saturday. Everybody who learned that the dog was missing was worried; for twenty-four hours after capture the dog criminal goes to the electric chair; an ignominious end for such a dog as Babe. sure enough Babe was in jail. His mistress saved his life by putting up $2.00 bail. After he was freed on his way home he stopped in to say "good morning". I asked him where he had been ; with a "please don't ask me look" he walked out the door, and hasn't been much in this neighborhood since, until recently.

Since he was in jail, he has been missed by his many friends on the street, for since his escapade, he has been confined in the back yard during the day. He had become a character of note; and I often hear the inquiry from men who are strangers to me, "Where's the little dog? I don't see him any more." Babe's night in prison must have been one of terrible anxiety and suspense to one of his sensitive nature. To be deprived of his liberty and freedom to go to his home when he wished to go, to be thrown in a cage with all of those strange companions when he was used to sleeping in a house with human beings, must have hurt his feelings; anyway for months after his liberation he felt his disgrace keenly; he was a changed dog.

Sometimes Babe stays out till very early in the morning, but no matter what the hour of his arrival home he expects to be let In. And everybody in the neighborhood knows that he is coming; for when within half a block of home he begins to bark, and will continue until some one gets up and opens the door. A tenant in the house once said, that his people ought to give him a night key so he could open the door for himself. Although Babe is getting along in years, he is still vigorous and full of ambition. His gray hairs are increasing, but he retains many of his youthful ways; and soon his friends may refer to him as "old Mr. Young".

People have said to me "It's strange that that dog has taken such a liking to you",—and sometimes I think it is strange. It causes me to wonder and sometimes it seems to me as though the light of human intelligence was shining through this dog's eyes. If the souls of the dead come back to earth to revisit familiar scenes and to be near those they loved while on this earth, is it not more probable that they would come in some pleasing form rather than in the ghostly and fear inspiring form invariably pictured? So when Babe comes, I always welcome him as my truest and sincerest friend. There is no deceit in him. He either loves entirely or he is entirely indifferent. He does not smile with his face and frown in his heart, but if he loves you, he smiles all the way from his little black nose to the tip of his curly tail. That's why the more I see of some people, the better I like my dog.



OH, yes, I watch nurse hang them there—
My cap and apron on the chair—
But when she goes and takes the light,
My clothes turn witches, every night!

[illustration - Graduates of 1920
North Carolina
North Carolina
South Carolina
North Carolina
North Carolina
North Carolina
South Carolina



THIS is the Education Number of THE BROWNIES' BOOK, for which we have secured pictures and names of some of our graduates for you to read about, admire and emulate. In cases where we have been unable to secure names of graduates, figures are used.

We get through grammar school, somehow, easily; but it takes perseverance to be graduated from high school. And after we've called the teacher a crank and said she was ugly and wished that the school would burn down,—well, by this time we're enough grown-up to take back all these sayings and even to realize that the teacher wasn't cranky or homely but just terribly in earnest, and now how glad we are that she was!

  • Maine: Brunswick—Elizabeth Hill, an honor student, whose oration is "Ambition". Miss Hill is a willing worker for the Portland Branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People.
  • Boston: Girls'—12.
    Girls' Latin—A girl who in a class of more than 100 pupils has been elected by her classmates to write the Class Prophecy; she is chairman of one of the committees of arrangement for Class Day.
  • Chicago: Crane Technical—Arthur G. Falls, Joseph Roberts
    Lucy L. Flower—Grace Johnson, Ida B. Barnett, Myrtle Bostick, Emily E. Howell, Agnes Johnson [illustration - BEATRICE E. PENMAN Ohio BERNICE WILSON New York CLINTON WILSON Chicago MABEL PINKSTON Chicago Rosa James Chicago ]
    Parker—Rosa James
    Hyde Park—6
    Englewood — Ernestine Clarke, Ruby Clarke, Maurice Hughes, Clinton Wilson, Elizabeth Cooper, Julia Day, Mable Hill, Julia Mosley, Walter Marshall, Earl J. Neal, Mable Pinkston, Elsie Taylor, Madra Jones, Helen Douglas, Helen Stewart, Charles McCutcheon, Eldridge Goodwin, Thelma Simons
    Tilden Technical—Abbott Sayre, Susie Thomas
    McKinley—John E. Wade, Constance J. Hinton, Eulo Fambro, Ophelia Dandridge Cleveland : West—Beatrice Wright
    East—Gladys I. Mitchell, Thelma L. Taylor
    Central—Mildred L. Anderson, Adelyn E. Koiner, Quitman Bloxter, Eugene F. Cheeks, Langston Hughes, Grace C. Jones, Thelma B. Lewis, Justine H. Stanard
  • Detroit: Northwestern—2
  • Pittsburgh: Allegheny—Gladys Powell, Rosa Barts
    Fifth Avenue—John B. Allen, Mary Turfley
  • Ohio: Portsmouth—Beatrice E. Penman
  • New York: Townsend Harris—Clarence Holt, Stedman McCarty
    Wadleigh—Claudia Davis, Gussie Emanuel, Frankie Glover, Gladys Vaughn, Marguerite White, Goldie Balle, Marion Boyd, Edith Colvert, Elizabeth Johnson, Rosamond Snead, Olive Thomas, Bernice Wilson
    [illustration -
    West Virginia
    West Virginia
    GEORGE LEWIS Louisiana


    De Witt Clinton—Philip Montifiore, Arthur Guisbard, Herbert Dunbar
    Washington lrving—10
    Hunter—Grace B. L. Smith
    Bushwick—Lucy Lark
    Commercial—Lydell C. Usher, Samuel E. Blount
    Flushing—Isham Davis
    Girls'—Gwendolyn Bennett, Laura Daniels, Yolande DuBois, Dorothy J. Kelso, Margaret Welmon, Eleanor J. Morton, Adele J. Hunt, Marie Delmar
    Jamaica—Frances Harper, Elizabeth Johnson
  • Omaha: Commerce—J. Dillard Crawford
  • Washington: Spokane—Naomi Tigg

Bernice M. Wilson writes: "I am 17 years age. 1 hope to be a graduate of Wadleigh next month. If I am successful, as I am certain I shall be, I shall resume my course of study in the New York Teachers' Training School."

Arthur G. Falls says: "I graduated from Copernicus School in 1914 at the age of 12, being the youngest grammar school graduate in the city of Chicago and a ranking member of the class. I completed my course in six years. will graduate this year from Crane Junior College at the age of 18, the youngest member of the class. I have completed the Pre-Medical course and am on the honor roll of the graduating class. I shall enter Northwestern University in the fall as a medical student."

Ruby Clark is a graduate of the Englewood High School and of the Senior Diploma Class the Chicago Musical College. She says: "I am now taking a post-graduate stenographic course at the Flower Technical School for Girls."

Thelma L. Taylor writes : "I am the daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Oliver A. Taylor of Cleveland. I am 15 years old and have taken the Classical course at East High School and will continue my studies at Western Reserve College for Women in the fall, specializing in French."

Susie D. Thomas has "completed a four-year course in General Science, which consisted of four years of English and two years of Latin; one year each of Physics, Chemistry, Physiology, General Science, Botany, Civics, History, Algebra, Geometry and Trigonometry. This is only preparatory to a four-year University course which I expect to commence in October. I shall specialize in Chemistry or some other branch of science, as the Bacteriological and the Psychopathic Laboratories in this city are employing our people when they are fitted for places."

Elizabeth W. Johnson says: "I expect to graduate from Jamaica High School in June and in September I will enter Pratt Institute to take the Normal Household Science course, in order to become a Domestic Science teacher."

Langston Hughes, Central High, Cleveland, writes: "It might interest you to know that I have been elected Class Poet and have also written the Class Song for the graduates. I am, too, editor of The Annual and am the first Negro to hold the position since 1901, when it was held by the son of Charles W. Chestnut. I thank you for the honor of having my picture in your publication."

Edith Colvert of Wadleigh intends "to further my educational pursuits in the Secretarial course at Columbia University."

Marion Boyd of Wadleigh is "the only girl of my race this year to succeed in becoming a member of The Arista, the honor society of the school. In September I will enter Sargent School of Physical Education." Miss Boyd was graduated from Public School No. 13, Williamsbridge, in 1916, taking third honors in a class of 81, four of whom were colored. She has an older sister, Frances A., who is at present a Junior Statistical Clerk in the Public Service Commission of New York City. Their father is Stamp Clerk at Williamsbridge Post Office Station and has served 30 years continuously in the New York Post Office service.

Grace J. W. Johnson writes: "Aside from my regular school subjects, I am studying music and am working for a degree in the arts. Being especially interested in the teaching side of the 'Get an Education' subject, I am anxious to enter Chicago University to complete my studies."

Thelma B. Lewis writes: "I entered Central High School of Cleveland, Ohio, four years ago and have never been absent nor tardy in that length of time. For two years I have been a volunteer social settlement worker at the Hiram Social Settlement House. I have also been a Sunday School teacher in St. John's A. M. E. Church for the past three years, in the Primary Department."

[illustration -
New York
New York
New York
Now York
New York


Olive M. Thomas of Wadleigh says: "I have a strong ambition toward literature. When I accomplish something worth while (as I think) I shall send it to Miss Fauset and I trust it will not be put in the scrap basket."

J. Dillard Crawford tells us that he is "the first colored boy graduate of the High School of Commerce, Omaha. The following is a list of my school activities: Business Manager of Graduating Class; 1st Lieutenant Commander of Band; 1st place Drill Down (Medal) ; Secretary and Treasurer of Webster Debating Society; Nominating Committee of Hi Y Club, and a Member of the Debating Team. At the present time I am taking a Post-Graduate course after which I intend to go to Ames, Iowa, for a course in poultry raising, for this is my life work. I am getting my practical experience now on a large poultry farm here."

Eugene F. Cheeks, Central High, Cleveland, plans to spend one year in finishing a book, "that I will publish, and make several lecture tours; then I will begin my studies for an A. B. degree from Harvard University. During my year out of school I shall also build up the printing business which I have succeeded in establishing during my High School years."

Thelma O. Simmons writes: "I am graduating from piano, June 10, at which time I play The Hungarian Fantasy from Liszt, orchestral parts being played by my teacher, Harmon H. Watt (white), and I am graduating from High School, June 24, at which time I play two piano selections :

  • (a) Polonaise E Flat Major, Opus 11 No. 1, Moszkowski
  • (b) On the Holy Mount. Anton Dvorak

I wish to take a Post-Course in Stenography at some College where I can get a Bachelor's Degree in Music. My aim is to pay my way by recitals. I can commit with perfect ease, and I love to play for large numbers of people: I love to teach piano, too. Enclosed you will please find a program of my last recital; this will give me a Gold Star on my Diploma."

Mabelle Hill of Englewood High, Chicago writes: "I am making a special study of music at the Coleridge-Taylor School of Music. So after school hours, I devote my time to teaching and Community Service work, besides being organist of one of the leading churches of the city."

Lydell C. Usher of Commercial High, Brooklyn, says: "Although I was not a distinguished scholar, yet I feel as though I was not such a remote star that I could not be seen shining. I was a member of the school's orchestra, in which I played the violin. I participated in the school's band, playing the cornet. If there is anything in this world that I have learned through this training, it is to appreciate education, to be more broad-minded and to endeavor to do all that I can to promote the welfare of my posterity. There is only one thing which I regret, and that is that I cannot get into the same sphere as those of the opposite race in regard to work and business activities. I hope that more education, unity and ambition among the Negroes will some day make this possible for all of us."

  • COLORED HIGH SCHOOLS (The names given are of ranking students)
  • Mobile, Ala.—31
  • Birmingham, Ala.—72. Edward A. Brown, Jr., Cora M. Davis
  • Lincoln, Fort Smith, Ark.—12. Estelle Smith
  • M. W. Gibbs, Little Rock, Ark.—23. Mary I. Maxwell, Sammie M. Thomas, Dorothy Gillam, Mamie C. Hickerson
  • Langston, Little Rock, Ark.—17. Dewitt Lawson
  • Dunbar, Washington, D. C.—157. Captain W. Allison Davis
  • Frederick Douglass, Evansville, Ind.—21. Florina C. Bell
  • Clinton Street, Frankfort, Ky.—5. Jerry Samuels
  • Lexington, Ky.—20. Carrie L. Fletcher
  • Central, Louisville, Ky.—44. Margaret W. Taylor
  • Baton Rouge, La.—8. Vivian L. Crayton
  • Central, Shreveport, La.—26.
  • Baltimore, Md.—74. Frances D. Waring
  • Lincoln, Kansas City, Mo.—68. Anna M. Gates
  • Sumner, St. Louis, Mo.—104.
  • Salisbury, N. C.—7. Marion Montgomery, whose average is 96% per cent.
  • Douglas, Oklahoma City, Okla.— 39. Thelma Hill, Nellie Ewing, Anna E. Cottrell
  • Pearl, Nashville, Tenn.—48. George W. Streater
  • Houston, Texas—39. Jessie E. Covington
  • Booker T. Washington, Norfolk, Va.—44. The principal writes: "We have 450 pupils on roll doing high school work and 19 teachers,
    [illustration -
    West Virginia
    South Carolina
    West Virginia
    North Carolina
    West Virginia

    representing Howard, Wilberforce, Lincoln, Union and Atlanta Universities."
  • Lincoln, Wheeling, W. Va.—3.
  • Sumner, Parkersburg, W. Va.—3.
  • COLORED NORMAL SCHOOLS (The names given are of ranking students)
  • Alabama: Emerson Institute—14. Herschell R. Williams
    Selma—19. Susie V. Goldsby
    Miller's Ferry N. & I.—8. Annie P. Jones
    Tuskegee—150. Alfonso Henningburg, Eugene Latting
  • Florida: Daytona N. & I. —21. Eveana Dailey
    A. & M.—27. Thomas Reid
  • Georgia: Americus Institute—12. Essie M. Brooks
    Payne—5. Bernie L. Ethridge
    N. & A.—12. Odessa Thomas
  • Kentucky: State University—54. John T. L. Highbaugh
  • Kansas: Western—62. Alcenia Jones
  • Louisiana: Straight—41. Hilda Conway
    New Orleans College—131. Damon P. Young
  • Maryland: Princess Anne Academy—11.
    Morgan—28. Georgia C. Lawrence
  • Mississippi: Rust—10. John E. Jones
    Utica N. & I.—28. Mary E. Jones
    Jackson College—15. William A. Scott
    Okolona Industrial—7. James L. Raspberry
    Tougaloo—16. Alma Lewis
  • Missouri: George R. Smith—6. Adam N. Logan
    Lincoln —32. Mattie Freeman
  • North Carolina: State Normal—15. Joanna R. Houston
    National Training—12. William M. Allen
    Joseph K. Brick—4. Madge L. Watson
    Bennett—76. Edgar B. Smith
    A. & T.—40. McKinley Jeffres
    Immanuel Lutheran—8. Thelma T. Mendenhall
    Biddle—38. Algernon 0. Steele
    Albion Academy—25. Bartell Wicker, whose average is 95 per cent. He is a returned soldier, having served as a sergeant in the aviation field.
    Roanoke Institute—5. Ethel M. Able
  • Ohio: Wilberforce—20. Payton E. Bernard
  • Oklahoma: A.& N.—60. Missouri Clement
  • South Carolina: Schofield N. & I.—11.
    Benedict—50. Johncie E. Hunter
    Kendall Institute—7. Cassie Gregg
    Clinton N. & I.—28. Essie Kemphill, valedictorian; Juanita C. Boulware, salutatorian; and Carrie E. Williams. They also received diplomas from the Teacher Training Class for Sabbath School work with high averages.
    Avery Institute—26. Alphonso Hoursey
    Mayesville E. & I.—12. Ruby I. Purcell, who received a diploma from the normal course and a certificate from the Domestic Art department.
    A. & M.—94.
    Voorhees N. & I.—4. Eufaula E. Turner, Simon T. McIntosh. "Mr. McIntosh was born in 1903. He attended the graded school at Winnsboro, S. C., and in an oratorial contest won the first gold medal ever given as a prize. He graduated from the graded school in 1916 as valedictorian of his class."
  • Tennessee: Lane—10. La Vera Seet
  • Texas: Prairie View N. & I.—170. Ethel Tears, Mable Morrow, Joseph Alexander, Louis Fry
  • Virginia: N. & I.—103. Margueriette E. Moseley, Marie C. Presley
    Seminary and College—32. Susie C. Miller
    Hampton Institute—64. ' Frel Owl
    St. Paul N. & I.—72. Elnora Callis
    Virginia Union—33. Robert P. Daniel
    Hartshorn—12. Dorothy M. Johnston
  • West Virginia: Storer—12. ,
    Bluefield Institute—67. William J. Sinkford, whose 4-year average is 94 per cent.

This makes a total of 121 graduates from mixed high schools, 865 graduates from colored high schools and 2,029 graduates from colored normal schools,—or a total of 3,015 Brownie Graduates, of each one of whom we are proud.

And since the saying of long years ago tells us: "It was in making education not only common to all, but in some sense compulsory on all, that the destiny of the free republics of America was practically settled", we would have you feel not that you have "finished school", but rather that you are determined to start on the lessons of life.



I SUPPOSE you'd like to be a Crow and fly over the world and see just everything as I,—and maybe I wouldn't like to be a dear Brownie!—but since Crows must be Crows and Folks must be Folks, I'll try to tell you about some things I've seen on my flight over the seas. Caw—Caw—Caw!

  • Poor Mexico: Another revolution because Carranza foolishly tried to name his successor to the Presidency. The other leaders resisted and the poor old president was killed. Let us hope for peace and order.
  • Poland is dying of fever and starvation and yet foolishly fighting Russia, while England and France furnish arms and munitions. They have penetrated as far as Kief and threatened Odessa. Now the Russians are attacking at the north.
  • Europe is still distressed over the Peace Treaty. The German elections have strengthened the parties which oppose the treaty and it seems unlikely that the Conference at Spa will take place. This conference was to settle details of payments to be made by Germany, and other matters.
  • The Irish question is no nearer settlement. Crime and resistence to law abound and more English soldiers are landing.
  • England and other countries are negotiating with the Bolsheviki who rule Russia, for opening trade relations.
  • The mission in Aintab of the American Commission for Relief in the Near East, has been besieged since April 1 by the Turks, who are endeavoring to get the mission buildings for use against the French.
  • According to Premier Lloyd George, the San Remo conference decided that all misunderstandings have been dispelled and that the Allies are agreed that the Treaty of Versailles is to be the basis of the European policy. The dispute with France was not over the enforcement of the Treaty, but arose because the French Government felt that the uprising should be put down by Allied troops, while the Allies held that the Germans should be left to restore order in their own country.
  • Among policies outlined for Ireland at a conference in London, attended by Premier Lloyd George, are: the provision for more severe treatment for perpetrators of crime; the granting the Irish almost the same freedom of speech as in England; and official publicity of all happenings in Ireland.
  • A conference on economics, between representatives of France and Germany, has been arranged by Premier Millerand and Dr. Goepart. The establishment of trade relations, on the basis of the Treaty of Versailles, is desired.
  • In Sydney, Nova Scotia, 12,000 coal miners went on a May Day strike as a protest against the imprisonment of leaders in the general strike last year at Winnipeg.
  • Princess Margaret of Connaught, the Crown Princess of Sweden and cousin of King George of England, died recently at Stockholm.
  • The removal of the remaining 35 hunger strikers at Belfast jail to a hospital makes a total of 69 released in 2 days.
  • An International Parliamentary Congress of Commerce, with 13 nations represented, will be held at Luxemburg, May 4-7, to discuss the high cost of living, exchange, commercial transportation and national debts.
  • A new Cabinet, to succeed that of Premier Salazar, has been formed in Spain and is headed by Eduardo Dato.
  • A Canadian Minister to the United States is soon to be appointed. The British Government wishes to place its Canadian relations with the United States entirely in the hands of Canada.
  • President Ebert of Germany has been expelled from the Saddlers' Union of Berlin, for having signed the death warrant of a man convicted of murder. This action, according to the Unionists, is a violation of socialistic principles

  • brownies.192007.022.jpg
  • The Supreme Council has decided to open negotiations with Bolsheviki representatives at Copenhagen. Full resumption of trade with Russia and recognition of the Soviet Government may be expected after the conference.
  • Twenty-two Negroes martyred years ago in Uganda, Africa, for the Catholic faith, have been beatified at Rome. This means that some day they will be canonized and pronounced saints. Richly gowned cardinals, bishops and officials attended the ceremony and also the humble missionary priests who do the real work.

Now I've arrived in America! I was hoping here to be able to tend only to my darling Crowlings;— but, alas, there's too much of Human Interest. Caw—Caw—Caw!

  • The Republican National Convention has met at Chicago to nominate candidates for President and Vice-President and to adopt a platform. The platform calls for an association of nations to preserve peace but repudiates Wilson's League,. It asks for a stopping of lynching and regulation of strikes. The Democrats will meet at San Francisco in July.
  • Republican members of the House Ways and Means Committee wish to include in their soldier relief legislation a plan for paid-up insurance, its value to increase annually by compound interest on which loans can be obtained through the Post Office.
  • The Senate has passed the bill for the appropriation of $465,000,000 for navy expenditures during 1921. The bill has been sent to conference for adjustment of a $40,000,000 Senate increase over the House bill total.
  • A peace resolution has been reported by Senator Lodge. It requests President Wilson to negotiate peace treaties with Germany and Austria, repeals the declaration of war and wartime legislation and retains to the United States all former German and Austrian property until all claims of American nationals have been satisfied.
  • The Senate has passed the bill providing for a national budget system and for a system of auditing Government accounts.
  • John D. Rockefeller, Jr., has given $2,000,000 to a fund of $100,000.000 being raised by the Northern Baptist Convention.
  • Railroads east of the Mississippi and north of the Ohio and Potomac have agreed to ask for a 30 per cent increase in freight rates.
  • Since the close of the war, the United States Navy has been reduced to 400,000 men ; 177 ships have been sold.
  • Bishop John Heyl Vincent, founder of the Chautauqua Educational System, died recently in New York at the age of 88.
  • The Department of Agriculture reports that this year's prospective wheat crop has been reduced 33.8 per cent as compared with last year's crop.
  • The War Finance Corporation will discontinue, about May 15, making loans to support foreign commerce. The corporation was organized by Congress to lend up to one billion dollars in connection with the Victory Loan Act; but, according to banking estimates. scarcely more than $50,000,000 has been actually made available.
  • Railroad executives have informed the Senate Committee on Interstate Commerce, that the railroads because of financial necessities will need an advance of $500,000,000 from the Government this year, in addition to the $300,000,000 provided by the Railroad legislation.
  • Secretary of Labor Wilson rules that membership in the Communist Labor Party does not of itself constitute sufficient ground for the deportation of aliens, because there is in its platform no evidence of intention to use force to overthrow organized government.
  • Representatives of 2,000,000 railroad workers have appeared before the War Labor Board and demanded a minimum wage of $2,500 a year for unskilled workers, with differentials above that for skill, hazard and responsibility.
  • There have been strikes of 20,000 textile workers at New Bedford, Mass., for higher wages; of 20,000 lumber workers in Wisconsin and Michigan for an 8-hour day and increased wage; of 15,000 freight switchmen at Buffalo; and of 10,000 tenants in Chicago, who refuse to vacate their apartments for incoming tenants.
  • A protest against Union labor took place at Sioux Falls, S. D., when nearly every business concern and civic organization signed a declaration for open shop.
  • At a conference of representatives of eastern sugar refiners and officials of the Department of Justice, it was proposed to prohibit resales in the sugar trade. It is hoped that this will be the means of preventing hoarding and speculation, and of controlling prices of sugar.


Our Little Friends


SQUARE your, shoulders,
Lift your chest,
Make the present hour your best;
Dare to venture,
Spurn to please
Inclinations unto ease.
Life is waking,
Light is breaking,
Fare unto the further goal;
Wed ambition,
Proud fruition
Waits beyond the thunder's roll.
Doff the shy air,
Meet a glance fair,
Naught is gained by slavish fears;
Seek the star-ways,
Leave the by-ways,
Win the guerdon of the years!



HERE I am!" says Wilhelmina. "Court meets today and I am here on time ready for our next'."

The Judge had forgotten that he was to continue his talk on books, there are always so many wonderful things to discuss; and he is further surprised that you should be the first one present at the court. Usually you are a little late, you know. Indeed he had begun to suspect that you considered yourself above these meetings.

Wilhelmina is frank. "It isn't that I'm above these meetings, it's that you seem to feel that only the children's needs are to be considered. I've gone all through that list of books you told us about last time and you haven't mentioned a thing hardly that I'd want. Boys' books, yes, and all those things for Billie and Billikins, which I liked too when I was their age. But now I'm grown up, think of it—seventeen in October,—and I want to learn about life, and people and the world. What difference does it make if I do like to read about love. It's here, isn't it? You yourself said it was the greatest thing in the world. You and mother are just alike, always keeping me a baby."

The Judge finds your point well taken, Wilhelmina. So here goes, my dear. These are books which deal both with life and with love, which after all are practically the same thing. Any of Alice Brown's books will interest you, but I think you'll especially like The Story of Thyrza and Bromley Neighborhood. Then there are the Awakening of Helena Richie and the Iron Woman by Margaret Deland which form a sort of sequel, and I know you will like Tante by Anne Sedgwick. None of these is specially new but they are all very fine and sweet and sound—and immensely interesting.

"Well, what else?" asks Wilhelmina insatiably. "You know I've got the whole summer before me."

Mary White Ovington's Shadow brings you right up to date with the latest output. And then—see here, Wilhelmina, what did you study French for? You're not learning it just to pass off your college entrance exams, you know. Get a good dictionary and read Halévy's Abbé Constantin. and Georges Sand's Mare au Diable. Then there is Bigarreau by André Theurlet. There's a beautiful love story for you. And if you want to laugh—which at your age is better on the whole than loving—read French plays. They are marvellously funny—that is, the comedies,—

"I know some of them," says William. "Le Voyage de M. Perrichon,—that's loads of fun."

Yes; by Labiche and Martin. And also Pailleron's Monde ou l'on s'ennuie.

"I think," interrupts Wilhelmina modestly, "that you ought to pay some attention to Billie."

Oh, you are satisfied? Well, then, William first must hear about Bob Thorpe, Sky Fighter in the Lafayette Flying Corps, by Austin Bishop, and Benjamin Heydrick's collection of short stories called Americans All. That will help you to become acquainted with all sorts and conditions of people.

As for Billie,—you are at such an-in-between age, child. But I know you'll like Myron T. Pritchard and Mary White Ovington's Upward Path because it is a collection of stories and poems by colored writers, mostly about colored people. Now, let's see, all of you will want to read Flavia Canfield's Refugee Family, which tells of a French family in northern France while the Germans were in occupation.

"What about me?" pipes Billikins. "Mr. Judge, don't forget me!"

As though he could! For you there are Parker Fillmore's new Czechoslovak Fairy Tales— you pronounce it Check-o-slo-vak,—that's it, Billie;—with lovely decorations by Jan Matulka. Then there's the Wishing Ring by Eleanor Schorer.

"And Wilhelmina will help me through the hard places," says Billikins happily.



I HAVE just received the last number of THE BROWNIES' BOOK and I have found it so interesting that I could not do less than say something about it.

It's a magazine so merry and instructive that I keep all the numbers that I have received in my little library like the most valuable books that I have.

Now I must say something about myself that I think you will like to know. I am a little Cuban, born in Cuba,—although my parents are from a little island, they tell me, by the name of St. Kitts. I am only fourteen years old. I like music very much and I am taking my studies in the Music Academy of Mozart in Nuevitas. Now I am studying the third year of piano and often I think that some day I will be an artist and will go to live in the great Africa, our Mother Land.


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.

TODAY I happened to be casually glancing over the magazines on the shelf of our school library and saw a copy of THE BROWNIES' BOOK. I had read in The Crisis of its beginning but had not seen a copy before. Eagerly I opened it and read the issue from cover to cover and I must say I really enjoyed it. I noticed that you wished to hear from colored children too so decided to write you a few lines concerning myself.

I am a colored boy, brownskinned and proud of it. I am 14 years old. My home is now in Tampa, but at present I am a second year student at the Florida A. M. College. My father is a doctor and my mother a music teacher. I play four musical instruments: the violin, piano, clarinet and 'cello, but I like the violin best of all. I started playing the violin when I was six years old. Long ago I completed the Keyser violin method and have subsequently studied awhile in New York and also under a very strict German professor. I've been appearing in public with my violin ever since I can remember. I play very often now. Among my solos are many works of Fritz Kreisler, Dvorak and I just love Il Trovatore. I am also very much enthused over "Scene de Ballet" by DeBeriot and play it often, as well as "Ciaconna" by Tommaso Vitali and the Concertos by Seitz. I agree with anyone who says music is great. I find very much pleasure in my violin.

You might infer that it is my aim to be a violinist from the above statements. Perhaps it'll sound strange to you for me to say that I don't, but that's the fact of the affair. I wish to be a writer and give to the world that intense feeling of altruism that is ever and anon tugging at my heart.

I think the readers of THE BROWNIES' BOOK might like for me to tell them about my little den or "office" at home. In it I have a 5 x 8 hand printing press, a sectional bookcase, a desk, colored light oak, a typewriter and a trunk-like box where I keep my "miscellanies".

I love to read and especially do I love to revel in the writings of my own race and those of Dr. DuBois more than any others. I think "Darkwater" is grand. My favorite authors are DuBois, Dunbar, Chestnut, Braithwaite, Johnson, Poe, Tarkington, Stevenson, Mark Twain, Scott, Dickens, Kipling, Doyle, Barbour, Hugo, VanDyke and Roosevelt, as well as quite a few others. My favorite magazine without exception is The Crisis. Each month I literally devour every line of its contents. I also subscribe for the Inland Printer and American Boy. My mother usually gets the Etude, a musical magazine. I like the Literary Digest and the American and am very much interested in the Competitor, the new race publication.

My aim is placed clearly before me and already, although I have yet to see my 15th birthday, I'm striving to reach it. I know it'll be a long, hard struggle to the top for men of experience have said so in their books. But if grit and unwavering determination are all that's needed—well, I may be over-confident, but I've really no thoughts of failure.




ALMOST every land boasts of some man who has particularly distinguished himself in the service of his country. Sweden has its Gustavus Adolphus, Italy its Garibaldi, Poland its Kosciusko and America its Crispus Attucks.

Long ago when these United States were still a part of the British Empire and were known as "colonial possessions", a revolt broke out on the part of the colonists against the mother country. English soldiers who were guarding the province of New England—as it was then known—conducted themselves with such arrogance and swagger that finally the "colonials" could stand it no longer. So one never-to-be-forgotten day, the 5th of March, 1770, a small band of citizens made an attack on some British soldiers who were marching through State Street, Boston, and the affray which has come down to us under the name of the "Boston Massacre" took place.

The leader of this band was Crispus Attucks. He was a tall, splendidly-built fellow, and must have been very impressive as he rushed with his handful of men pell-mell into the armed opposition. He knew only too well how precious a thing is freedom and how no sacrifice is too much for its purchase. For Attucks had been a slave and perhaps still was at this date, though a runaway one. Of this we cannot be sure, for history goes blank at this point, but in any event twenty years earlier in 1750 this advertisement had occurred in The Boston Gazette or Weekly Journal:

"Ran away from his master, William Brown of Framingham, on the 30th of September last, a Molatto Fellow, about 27 Years of Age, named Crispas, 6 Feet 2 Inches high, short curl'd Hair, his Knees nearer together than common; had on a light colour'd Bear-skin. Coat, plain brown Fustain Jacket, or brown all-Wool one, new Buck-skin Breeches, blue Yarn Stockings, and a checked woolen Shirt.

"Whoever shall take up said Run-away, and convey him to his above-said Master, shall have ten Pounds, old Tenor Reward, and all necessary Charges paid. And all Masters of Vessel and others, are hereby cautioned against concealing or carrying off said Servant on penalty of the Law. Boston, October 2, 1750."

What had Attucks done in those twenty long years? Certainly whatever else his interests he must have spent some time dwelling on the relationship existing between England and the American colonies. Perhaps he was imaginative enough to feel that if England were so despotic in her treatment now of her colonies, she would be a worse task-mistress than ever as the years rolled by and her authority became more secure. If he had spent his time near Boston, which seems likely, he may have heard the eloquent and fearless assertions of James Otis on the rights of the colonists.

That he was deeply interested in political affairs is shown by this letter which he wrote long before the date of the Boston Massacre to Thomas Hutchinson, Governor of the Province:


You will hear from us with astonishment. You ought to hear from us with horror. You are chargeable before God and man, with our blood. The soldiers were but passive instruments, mere machines; neither moral nor voluntary agents in our destruction, more than the leaden pellets with which we were wounded. You were a free agent. You acted, coolly, deliberately, with all that premeditated malice, not against us in particular, but against the people in general, which, in the sight of the law, is an ingredient in the composition of murder. You will hear further from us hereafter.


Whatever his preparation he was ready on that fateful fifth of March to offer himself up to the holy cause of liberty. At the head of his little host he flung himself on the soldiers of the oppressors shouting: "The way to get rid of these soldiers is to attack the main-guard; strike at the root; this is the nest!"

We are used to terrible descriptions of warfare on a huge plane in these days, but the scene that followed in that quiet street still brings a thrill of horror. For the enraged British soldiers answered the blows and missiles of the American patriots with a deadly shower of bullets. Down fell Crispus Attucks mortally wounded, the first American to die for his Fatherland. And with him fell Samuel Gray and Jonas Caldwell. Afterwards Patrick Carr
[illustration - The Crispus Attucks Monument, Boston, Massachusetts] and Samuel Maverick died also as a result of their wounds received in the fray.

The cost of patriotism had come high.

All down the street, doors and windows flew open. The alarm bells rang and people rushed to the scene from all directions. The bodies of Attucks and Caldwell were carried to Faneuil Hall and laid in state. The other dead and dying were carried to their homes and buried thence. But Attucks and Caldwell, being strangers in the city, were buried from the hall where they had lain. A long procession attended them as a token of respect and appreciation. These two and Gray and Maverick were buried in the same grave and over them was reared a stone on which the inscription read:

"Long as in Freedom's cause the wise contend, Dear to your country shall your fame extend ; While to the world the lettered stone shall tell Where Caldwell, Attucks, Gray and Maverick fell."

Many years later Boston showed afresh her appreciation of Attucks in the shape of a new monument which she raised to his memory on Boston Common.

What patriot of any time has done a nobler deed than that of Attucks? Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, says the Roman proverb. "It is a sweet and fitting thing to die for one's country." That is true and many have done
it. But to die as Attucks did for a country which while seeking its own freedom, yet denied his—such an act calls for the highest type of patriotism. I like to think that as his courage was high, so was his faith so abounding that he needs must have believed that America one day would come to realize and put into practice what one of her great statesmen said one famous fourth of July:

"All men are born free and equal."



I CAN'T stop without saying how we all adore THE BROWNIES' Book! I do think it is charming! It is so thoroughly for babies— for boys and girls—and it is so peculiarly for ours! I am sure I enjoy it as much as any child—and look eagerly for it each ,year—that's what it seems to be. I was much interested in the story of Sojourner Truth —marked "true" and I hope you will, if not each month, surely frequently, tell us true stories of great men and women of our race— so that our children may learn to know the life of Dunbar, Douglass, Booker Washington, DuBois, and a score more as well as they know the stories of Washington and Lincoln.

My own little boys are four and five years old. One is in grade one, the other visits daily. Their favorite cover design is that on the March is- sue! They both go to bed at six-thirty—and the first few days after THE BROWNIES' BOOK arrives we three lie across my bed one-half hour "reading"! They do not want me to tell the stories to them. I must read so that they can follow with me and point out the words they know. They like to trace the pictures on to thin paper—and, well I do think they appreciate the book in its entirety—as much as their understanding permits (and you think that's mighty little!). Tonight after tucking them into bed as I came downstairs they called, first "Smiles" (the baby) then "Happy", "Mother, I'll wake early tomorrow morning so's I can read THE BROWNIES' BOOK, hear?"

JULIA PRICE BURRELL, St. Helena Island, Frogmore, S. C.

THE BROWNIES' BOOK is a delight! I like your keeping it to common-sense middle lines; distinctive—in the touch of folk-tale, legend, race history, outstanding, high achievements that carry inspiration to the simplest mind that understands the words.

Here is a thought that I have not seen worked out, but which may be useful: How much inspiration has come to white stragglers, strugglers, despairing ones, through the rise of such a poor little child as was Booker T. Washington to begin with? That is, I mean to say, the sphere of influence knows no bounds. .

[illustration - Lee Rayford, Cheyney, Pa. ]


Danish Fun

DEAR Children—These are pleasant memories of my childish days in Denmark.

N. L. I.


One player represents the fox. If outdoors he sits on a stone, if in the house, on a stool or box. Another player represents the goose and the rest are goslings.

The goose stands in front with the goslings in single file behind her, each having his hands on the shoulders of the one in front of him. They circle, still in this position, around the fox chanting the first verse of this song:

Our goslings fly to the meadow
To eat the bright green grass,
Shame on the wicked fox
Who watches as they pass
In the summer-time.
Is the old fox at home today?
And what is he doing pray?
He sits upon a stone
And crunches on a bone
Till the evening gray.
And who is to be your prey?
Oh come now, foxie, say?"
You, goosie, goosie gander,
As fat as fat can be;
Also goslings three!"

At summer-time the goose stands in front of the fox with the goslings behind her. The second verse has the same action as the first. The third verse is sung by the goose and fox alone. At goslings three the fox rises and tries to catch one of the goslings, while the goose with out-stretched arms tries to prevent him.

The first gosling caught is the fox next time; but the fox must keep on chasing until he has captured three.


The players sit in a circle and one player brings the shoe and says:

"Shoemaker, shoemaker, mend my shoe,
Have it done by half past two!"

Then he goes out and the shoe is passed to each one and finally hidden. When he comes back he must hunt for it. Occasionally the shoe is tapped on the floor. The person who has the shoe when found is, of course, "it" for the next time.


All sit in a circle except one, who stands and is called the jester. He is supposed to begin a story, inventing it as he goes along. Frequently without warning he uses the words Change places." The players however pay no attention at all to this, but when the jester adds the information "The King is here!" all jump up and change places and the jester endeavors to get a seat. If he succeeds the one without a seat becomes the jester. No change is to be made unless the jester says plainly "The King is here!" If, for instance, he says "The King is coming!" the players are not to change. This uncertainty adds to the excitement and fun.


When has a man four hands?
When he doubles his fists.
At what time was Adam born?
A little before Eve.
When the clock strikes thirteen, what time is it?
Time to repair the clock.
What is the color of a winter fruit?
What is the national color of France?


Legend of the Forget-Me-Not

LONG years ago in Eden fair
A wealth of flowers blossomed there.
One day God to the garden came
And unto each one gave a name.
Each flower loved her pretty name
And vowed she'd live up to the same;
So when He came again, He'd see
Each one more like her name would be.
Once more God to the garden came
And asked each flower for her name.
Each one told Him as He came past.
Until He reached the very last.
A little blue flower hung her head.
She had forgotten hers, she said,
She begged amid her grief and shame
That He'd give her another name.
Each pretty flower tossed her head
And unkind things about her said.
"A flower that forgets," said they,
"Should be plucked up and thrown away."
But God smiled kindly on her fears
And brushed away her pearly tears;
And as He turned to leave the spot
Said. "Good bye, dear. Forget Me not."


Little People of the Month

WE have little patriots, too. There's Edward Corbin Smith, whose father is a veteran of the Spanish-American War and a member of the 9th Cavalry, and is now ready for retirement in the Philippine Islands. Edward is 7 years old and has marked ability as a snare drummer. Then there's little Frederick Douglas III., whose great-grandfather became known in America and abroad as a powerful influence for Liberty and justice. Little Booker T. Washington III., is so proud of his uniform that he's smiling, and I bet he's wishing mighty hard that he were a grown-up.

But we're especially proud of our girl patriots—for girls do have such a weary time trying to prove that they have brains and can be inspired and have ambitions. And when the essay contest on "What Are the Benefits of an Army Enlistment?" was given, Helen Wilson won a second prize for Dallas County, Texas, and Fannie Horrington of Portchester, N. Y., won a third prize. Helen is in the 7th grade and was awarded a "Diploma of Honor" from the Federal Government. Fannie, who is a sixth grade pupil, wrote:

"Life in the army makes better American citizens. A soldier's motto is 'Duty, Honor. Country.' A soldier is always obedient and self-sacrificing. He gives up the many enjoyments of life to do his duty. He is brave, heroic and true. He has respect for his comrades and superiors. Have we ever yet seen a soldier who did not show unlimited respect for his flag and country? Since it fits him physically, since it teaches him a trade, since it gives him practical advantages, since it moulds his character into one of a true American, why should he hesitate to enlist in the United States Army?"

[illustration - Edward Corbin Smith Helen Wilson Frederick Douglas, III. Booker T. Washington, III. Fannie Horrington ]



BENNIE PARKER was a little colored girl eleven years old but small for her age. Perhaps my little readers will smile to hear of a girl's being named Bennie but many little girls in the South have boys' names. Bennie was the oldest of four children and besides her father was dead. She was quite an attractive child and much petted at school because of her precociousness and industrial activities but at home she was the little mother of the family.

Bennie did chores every day for Mrs. Blair, a white lady who lived on Vine Street about three blocks from where Bennie lived. She helped with the meals, washed the dishes, and swept the porches and walks every morning before school. Bennie was proud of her job for she got three dollars and a half a week. Every morning she rose at 5:30 o'clock and was at her work by 6:00. She had finished her breakfast dishes, sweeping and dusting by 7:45 and was off to school on time. She always had her lessons and seemed no less happy than her more fortunate playmates at school.

Bennie's one great pride was her small bank into which she put one-half of her weekly earnings; the other half she cheerfully gave to her widowed mother towards the general upkeep of her smaller brothers and sisters. A broad smile always revealed two pearly white rows of teeth and lit up the little brown face when Bennie thought of the fat roll of twenty-five dollars tucked away in her little iron bank. This she had saved from her weekly earnings and also she had placed in her bank the extra nickels she made by going to the store for lunch for some of the teachers. Then too Miss Howard, her teacher, often gave her extra nickels for candy, but Bennie kept them tightly tied up in her handkerchief until she got home and then she would carefully deposit the shining coins among her other precious hoard. As soon as she had saved up thirty dollars she planned to put it in the big bank downtown where it would draw interest.

It was near time for school to close and Bennie had almost thirty-five dollars now. She always finished her work earlier on Saturdays. One bright sunshiny Saturday in May she carried her sum of $35.50 to the National Bank in town and as she received a bank book with her name plainly written across the top and the amount stamped to her credit she was very happy. Several people smiled at the independent carriage of that little smiling colored girl as she left the bank.

School would close on the twenty-sixth of May and Bennie would finish from the Eighth Grade and she was the youngest in her class! The school board had offered three prizes for the winners in an oratorical contest for the colored pupils in all the grade schools of the city and there were three. The first prize was twenty-five dollars; the second, ten dollars; and the third, five dollars. Bennie wanted to try for one of the prizes and how she wished she could win the first! Then she would have almost one hundred dollars saved. Oh! if she could only win!

Bennie had never written anything herself— the speaking part wasn't so bad for she had often recited, but to write an essay seemed doubtful. Then, too, there was Evelyn Hill who could write much better than she and Helen Jones who spoke so well, too. She decided that she would not try but that night she dreamed that she won in the contest. Bennie didn't believe in dreams because none of hers ever came true but somehow the next morning on her way to work she resolved to try. The next morning she gave her name to her teacher as one of the contestants.

"I am glad you are going to try, Bennie," pleasantly remarked Miss Howard after hastily writing her name.

Bennie gave as her reply her broad, cheerful smile. She hurried to finish her work that evening and when Mrs. Blair came into the kitchen to tell Bennie she could take home the cake which was left from luncheon she found the work done and Bennie gone.

The thought foremost in her mind was the preparation of her essay. She had now only three weeks to write and memorize it. She could hardly see how she could do it but she must. She made visits to the library during her recess hours and found some material which helped her in writing the composition. Then for over a week she practiced memorizing it.


She rose earlier than the rest of the family and would go over the essay aloud in the kitchen or the woodshed. Bennie found herself running breathlessly in order to get to work on time every morning. She had practiced in the woodshed every morning now because she was afraid her loud talking in the kitchen would cause some member of the house[illustration - "She had practiced in the woodshed every morning" Hilda Rue Wilkinson ] hold to investigate and no one must find it out.

Friday morning Bennie stayed over fifteen minutes of her time and by the time she ran up the street to the big stone steps of the brick house it was six-thirty. She had been late nearly every day of the week. 'What would Mrs. Blair say? Bennie wondered if she had yet come into the kitchen as she ran up on the porch. She caught sight of Mrs. Blair's tall but stout form through the glass of the kitchen door.

Bennie quietly walked in with her usual "Good morning, Mrs. Blair." Mrs. Blair was irritated this morning because she had planned to accompany her husband in the car to town that morning and here Bennie had spoiled her arrangement by being late again.

"Bennie you are late again. You needn't come back tomorrow, you are fired!" was Mrs. Blair's stern verdict. Her piercing blue eyes looked straight into Bennie's wide open deep brown ones. She hastily left the kitchen and the rest of the work for Bennie.

The blow to Bennie was a crushing one. She was almost late for school that morning and she felt that everybody knew she was "fired". She never had been before and she couldn't feel just right again unless she had "a job". What would her mother say? She couldn't tell why she was late. That would give her secret away. After school she slowly turned her steps homeward to tell her mother she was "fired."

"Mother, I got fired this morning," said Bennie slowly, expecting a sound scolding as she placed her school books under the table.

"'Fired'! and all on account of that little unruly
tongue of yours I suspect," said her mother. "Well school is out next week and I guess another job will turn up soon," she consolingly concluded.

Bennie dared not to attempt an explanation for she was glad to escape. She was thankful for the extra days she had to put in practice and made several extra trips to the woodshed that week for wood.

Commencement quickly arrived and the contest was to be in the city auditorium at eight o'clock Wednesday night. Bennie looked very nice in her white dress, white shoes and stockings which she had earned herself. Six contestants were seated on the platform including one boy, Herbert Brown. The speakers were not to talk over fifteen minutes. Herbert brought forth storms of applause from the interested audience. Bennie was the next and last speaker and her little heart beat double quick time when the master of ceremonies called her name.

Instantly upon rising she gained poise and self control. She delivered her oration with ease, conviction and fluency. When she sat down her ears were tingling with applause, and other demonstrations of her victory were given by various animated ones in the audience. In less than twenty minutes the judges returned and announced the winner. Bennie had won the twenty-five dollars in gold!

Bennie could hardly close her eyes that night for she was so happy. She didn't mind being fired at all now because she had earned as much in one night as she would have earned in one month by being hired out.

She arose early the next morning and ran all the way to Mrs. Blair's, holding tightly to the gold coin in her little brown hand. Mrs. Blair not being able to find any domestic help had resorted to washing her breakfast dishes every morning.

"Good morning, Mrs. Blair," said Bennie in her usual cheerful way as she walked into the open kitchen door.

"Why—er—good morning," stammered Mrs. Blair, as her eyes turned upon the round dimpled brown face just full of smiles. "Did you come back to work?"

"No ma'am, I only came to show you what I got for being fired," and she held out the precious gold coin in her hand. Mrs. Blair's eyes grew larger with surprise and admiration as Bennie proudly related the incidents which led to her victory.

"Why didn't you tell me before, Bennie, that you were in a contest and needed time to practice? You may come back to work if you wish," she replied sympathetically.

"I can't come back now any way, for Miss Howard, my teacher, has promised me a delightful vacation for winning the first prize. You know I've never had a vacation and I am so anxious to find out how one feels," replied Bennie seriously yet with delightful humor.

Mrs. Blair could not but help rejoice with Bennie as she almost danced out of the kitchen door and happily hummed one of her school songs all the way home.



GOD bless my mother," a little boy said
As he knelt in prayer at the side of his bed;
"She wakes at night when I'm fast asleep,
To watch over me in my slumbers deep.
"And early at morn when the birdies sing,
When feathery creatures are on the wing,—
Mother is working that I may sleep
And grow in strength in my slumbers deep.
"All day long my dear mother toils
To cleanse the spots my little hand soils;
And when I am fretted by trifling cares,—
My mother my sorrow always shares.
"God bless my mother with patience and love,
And crown her with visions of Thy joys above;
May she rejoice in her task to know,
That without a mother I could not grow."