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

The Brownies' Book
February, 1921
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The 1921 Crisis

is in keeping with our high standards of past years. It contains excerpts from the works of foremost Negro authors — an artistic and valuable reminder"As the Days of the Year Go By"

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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, Managing Editor; Augustus Granville Dill, Business Manager

VOL. 2. No. 2. FEBRUARY, 1921 WHOLE No. 14


COVER. Drawing. "BE MY VALENTINE." Hilda Rue Wilkinson.
THE LUCK OF CINDY ANN. A Story. Annette Christine Browne. Illustrated by Hilda Rue Wilkinson 35
SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY. "R". Illustrated by Hilda Rue Wilkinson. 39
A VALENTINE. "R". Decorations by Hilda Rue Wilkinson 40
MPHONTHOLO NE SHULO. An African Story.C. Kamba Simango. Illustrated by Hilda Rue Wilkinson. 42
Since. A Poem. Mary Effie Lee 44
GHOSTS AND KITTENS. A Story.Jessi Fauset Illustrated. 46
PLAYTIME. Games for a Rainy Day. Arranged by Katheryn M. Campbell 51
A BULL-FIGHT. Julia E. Brooks. Illustrated. 54
DENMARK VESEY. A True Story. M. G. Allison 57
JERRY'S FAVORITE. Verses. "R" 64


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[illustration - Sugar-cane is better than candy! Underwood & Underwood ]


The Brownies' Book

Vol. 2 — No. 2 February 1921 Whole No. 14



CINDY ANN turned over in bed, half raised up and looked out of the window, regarding dolefully the downpour of rain that had been going on for some time.

"Now ain't that too bad!" she said to herself. "'Twas to be me an' Aunt Venie's day to clean at ole Miss Jennie's, which is bad enough, and now I'll get to stay at home, but can't have no fun because it's goin' to rain all day. I'd just as soon be cleaning at ole Miss Jennie's." She reflected a moment. "Of course it's goin' to rain all day," she quickly added. "Aunt Venie says it's bad luck to start anything on Friday you're not goin' to finish, an' the good Lord started this day with rain so He's goin' to finish it just so, I know."

You can see that Cindy Ann had a style of her own in forming conclusions. Oh, yes, she was a funny little girl. She couldn't help it. She lived in a funny little place—the sort of place where people believe all sorts of funny things, you know, like: if you comb your hair at night, it will make you forgetful; if you sing before breakfast, you'll be in a fuss before night; if you meet a cross-eyed person in the morning, you'll have bad luck all day, and a lot of other such funny things that your grandmother knew about.

"Might's well sleep some more. Can't do nothin' today." So saying, she settled herself for another nap and just as she and a funny frog had nearly finished a big toad-stool—"Cindy! Oh, Cindy! You goin' to sleep all day?" Aunt Venie's voice rang out from the kitchen.

Cindy Ann jumped up, ducked her head to keep from butting against the toad-stool, but her eyes opened wide and looking out of the window she saw that it was not raining nearly as hard as when she first awoke.

"Hurry on, an' don't keep me waitin' break-fast so long," called Aunt Venie somewhat
fretfully. She too seemed to be bothered by the rain.

Cindy Ann was about to jump out of the nearest side of the bed but quickly jumped back and got out the other way saying, "Not on the wrong side of the bed, and on a rainy morning too!"

She put on her clothes so hurriedly, she didn't notice that her dress was put on and buttoned up wrong side out. A funny looking little object she was in her faded, worn, blue calico dress which when properly worn was shabby enough, but worn thus with the raw edges of two bright calico patches showing, and here and there a place where her little brown fingers had mended, she was a sight indeed.

Aunt Venie was so busy thinking of other things that she took no notice of Cindy Ann's looks.

"Let's hurry and get through", she said. "It's late now an' I want to put in my day at Miss Jennie's if I can; I'm engaged to go somewhere else tomorrow."

Cindy's face fell. "Oh, Aunt Venie. I thought we'd stay at home today, since 'twas rainin'. It'll be such bad walkin' gettin' to ole Miss Jennie's, an' it's so worrisome cleanin' at her ole pokey house. She's just so particular 'bout that ugly ole furniture an' ain't always handin' you out cake or somethin' nice like Miss Foster. I wish we'd stay at home today."

"Yes, an' if wishes were horses, beggars would ride," rejoined Aunt Venie. "Wishin' ain't feedin' us nor clothin' us nor keepin' a roof over our heads. I can't afford to miss a day's work if I can help it. If the rain holds up, an' I hope it will, we'll go to Miss Jennie's. We'll have to pick our way best we can till we reach the sidewalk."

Aunt Venie was a kind-hearted soul and really loved her little orphan niece, but her time and thoughts were taken up mostly with the hard, every day things of life and she seldom showed any affection. She had been a widow for eight years and was struggling to see the last cent of debt paid off the little place that she and Cindy Ann called home. Unlike Cindy Ann, Aunt Venie never liked to miss her day at "Miss Jennie's" even though the "thankey-pan" was not much in evidence there as at some other places where she worked. Perhaps her feeling toward Miss Jennie was due to the fact that they were both bearing a cross and had a fellow sympathy for each other.

Miss Jennie, or Virginia Gordon Hansberry as she signed herself, came from a family that had been wealthy and famous in the "befo' de war" times. Their glory, however, vanished with the southern confederacy. The close of the war found Virginia bereft of home, family, and money save a mere pittance. After that she made her home with an uncle and aunt, old Colonel Gordon and wife.

Old Colonel Gordon was a typical old-time Southerner whose most marked characteristics were his eccentricities. No one was certain of his financial standing at the close of the confederacy. Some believed that his fortune had not suffered from the war, while many believed the opposite. The old Colonel, however, lived in as dignified and as unpretentious a manner as ever and left people to think what they might. But at his death there was still no money in evidence, which left folks no longer in doubt concerning his financial status.

After the old Colonel's death Virginia and her Aunt lived quite secluded, doing almost no visiting or receiving. After the Aunt's death Virginia was left alone in the old house—alone with her memories of early days, alone with the old furniture that Cindy Ann hated so.

Cindy Ann tried to hurry through her breakfast but with every mouthful of food that went in, a mouthful of talk came out.

"One thing I do like about ole Miss Jennie,—she calls me Lucinda which is bad enough but not so bad as `Cindy'. I wish I'd been named Lucile or Luella. Don't any girls I read about in books have such old-timey names as Cindy Ann."

"I don't see anythin' wrong with your name," spoke Aunt Venie sharply. "Your grandmother was named Cindy an' your mother was named Ann. If those names were good 'nough for them, they ought to be good 'nough for you. You've got too high-flown ideas anyhow to be poor."

"But maybe we won't be poor always, Aunt Venie. Anyway, I like to pretend we ain't. I like to pretend that we're eatin' in a fine dining-room like Miss Foster's an' that my ole calico dress is one of her fine mornin' gowns an'—"

“Gracious me, child! How you talk!" interrupted Aunt Venie. "Your clothes," she observed, looking for the first time at Cindy Ann's dress, "are—my goodness—if you haven't got your dress on wrong side outwards!"

[illustration - "Seven long years of bad luck on us!"]

"So it is," laughed Cindy Ann. "It's a wonder I hadn't noticed it. I'll change it right away."

"Oh, no," said Aunt Venie. "Don't change it now. You must keep it on till twelve o'clock."

"Why, Aunt Venie? I've got time to change it, ain't I?"

"Yes, but when you put your dress on wrong side outwards without knowing it, if you keep it on until twelve o'clock, it'll bring good luck."

"Oh, Aunt Venie, I don't want to wear it through the streets this way. It looks bad an' shabby 'nough anyhow. I don't want to wear it this way," wailed poor, proud Cindy Ann.

"Wearin' your dress that way ain't goin' to hurt you a bit, Cindy Ann. You're too proud to be poor. Help me clear off the table quick so we can start out. It's past time I was at work."

It was in no pleasant frame of mind that Cindy Ann performed at Miss Jennie's the tasks which, when in her best humor, she disliked. She was a proud little soul, always sensitive at her shabby clothes, and the thought of being seen wearing her dress wrong side out-wards took all the cheerfulness from her usually sunny self.

Miss Jennie noticed the change in her expression and movements. "You don't look so well, Lucinda. You're not sick, I hope?"

"No'm," answered Cindy Ann, hoping she wouldn't notice her dress.

But she did. "Why I do believe you're wearing your dress wrong side outwards," she said, regarding poor Cindy Ann with some amusement.

"Yes'm, I put it on this way without knowing it an' Aunt Venie says I must keep it on till twelve o'clock for good luck."

"Well," smiled Miss Jennie. "I hope it will bring us all some good luck. I'd be glad to see it."

When noon came Cindy was engaged in cleaning Miss Jennie's tall, old-fashioned mirror, which task she accomplished with the aid of a stool. After cleaning the higher part, she paused, surveying the mirror, and for the first time that day beheld herself. As she stood there observing herself the hurt feeling gave way to one of overflowing amusement. She never imagined that she could have looked that funny. The longer she looked, the harder she laughed. Cindy Ann's spirits had risen and forgetting her work she commenced prancing about on the stool in a most clownish fashion.

Then, all of a sudden—she didn't know then how it happened and never could tell afterwards —the old stool jumped out from under her, or she slipped off from it. Anyway, they both fell. Both Cindy Ann and the stool were unhurt, but it fell against the old-fashioned mirror and broke it.

The noise brought Aunt Venie to the spot and on seeing the sight she wailed, "Oh mercy me, child! Now you've gone an' broke the mirror an' brought seven long years of bad luck on us. Oh Lord, Oh Lord!"

Miss Jennie viewed the broken mirror and the frightened Cindy Ann and though she regretted the loss of the old mirror, yet felt a little amusement.

"Oh well, it can't be helped, I suppose. Perhaps it was too much for Lucinda. We'll just move it out."

"Yes'm, but it ought to be hurried, Miss Jennie—hurried right away to help keep back the bad luck," said Aunt Venie.

"Perhaps so," was the answer, "but we'd better take out this broken glass before at-tempting to move it." So saying, she pulled out a piece of the glass and stopping with an exclamation of surprise, she stood with incredulous amazement stamped on her face.

Aunt Venie and Cindy Ann looked and saw wedged in between the glass and the back of the mirror something green and musty looking.

Miss Jennie pulled out what proved to be a number of paper bills which eccentric old Colonel Gordon had hidden before his death. He had found this old-fashioned mirror with its box-like back a splendid receptacle for his small hoard.

It is needless to say that consternation was soon changed to joy. "Well, Lucinda," smiled Miss Jennie, "wearing your dress wrong side outwards did bring us the good luck after all."

Cindy Ann smiled. She didn't want any more of wearing dresses wrong side outwards. When they left for home Aunt Venie had in her pocket much more than the amount due her for her day's cleaning.

"Now, Aunt Venie," said Cindy Ann, "you see it ain't true that breaking a mirror brings bad luck."

"Oh yes it is true, honey," said Aunt Venie, shaking her head. "You had on your dress wrong side outwards an' that turned the luck. If you had gone an' changed your dress this mornin', this good luck never would 'uv come."



ALL historians agree that the fourteenth of February was named after an early Christian priest of Rome who was cruelly murdered way back in the third century. The story goes that his remains still rest in the Church of St. Praxedes at Rome where a gate was named after him — Porta Valentini (Valentine's gate).

That is a sad memory to preserve and perhaps no one would rejoice more than poor St. Valentine that very few people connect this memory with the day which bears his name. On the other hand, very few people are able to tell just why it is that the ideas which all of us connect with the fourteenth of February should have sprung up.

It is probable that the name of the day and the customs rose from different sources. The day, as I have said above, was named to do honor to this martyred priest, but the custom of men and women exchanging love tokens was connected with certain feast days which used to occur in ancient Rome and which used to take place around the fourteenth and fifteenth of February.

On the eve of these feast days the names of Roman girls were put in a box and drawn out by chance by young Roman men. This was called a lottery and it was in this way that the custom was first transferred to England many, many centuries ago.

An old historian—Misson by name—tells how in England and Scotland lads and lassies used to gather in equal numbers on the day before St. Valentine's Day. Each one would write his name — real or pretended — on a separate slip of paper which would be rolled up and placed, the men's names by themselves in one box, and the girls' names in another. Then each girl would draw by chance or by lot a name from the men's box, and the men would draw a name from the girls' box.

Each girl would then have a man for her partner whom she called her valentine and each man would have a girl for partner whom he called his valentine. Of course since the girl would not always draw from the men's box, the name of the man who would draw hers from the girls' box, it happened that each girl and each man had two valentines. The way this problem was solved was for the man to choose the girl whose name he drew, rather than the girl by whom his name was drawn.

The girls most have liked this arrangement very much, for usually the man not only wore the name of the lady in his button-hole or on his cuff for several days, but he was supposed to give one or several parties for her and to send her gifts and various favors. Naturally these attentions often ended in love.

Usually this game was played only by single people, but at one time, especially during the reign of King Charles II., both married and single
might be chosen as valentines. Then the person who was chosen was supposed to give a present to the person who chose him. This was pretty hard if you were chosen by someone you did not like.

There were some quaint and interesting beliefs connected with St. Valentine's Day. A great many people believed that this was the day when birds chose their mates and that the chance meeting of a single man and woman on this date was of great importance, because it meant that the two were to become sweet-hearts. The first unmarried man that a girl met, or the first unmarried woman that a single man met on St. Valentine's Day, was destined to become the other's husband or wife, respectively.

As far back as 1755 a girl writes in a celebrated newspaper of the times:

Last Friday was Valentine's Day and the night before I got five bay-leaves and pinned four of them to the four corners of my pillow and the fifth in the middle; and then if I dreamed of my sweetheart, Betty said we should be married before the year was out. But to make it more sure, I boiled an egg hard, and took out the yolk, and filled it with salt; and when I went to bed, ate it, shell and all, without speaking or drinking after it. We also wrote our lovers' names on bits of paper and rolled them up in clay and the first that rose up was to be our valentine. Would you think it? — Mr. Blossom was my man. I lay abed and shut my eyes all the morning, till he came to our house; for I would not have seen another man before him for all the world.

If she liked Mr. Blossom that was a wise thing for her to do especially if she believed with Gay, the poet:

On Valentine Day . . . the first swain we see, In spite of Fortune shall our true love be.

In olden times no comic valentines were sent, only courteous messages of affection and love. Thus no one's feelings were ever wounded and the valentine really was what it ought to be according to the Latin word from which it is taken, a message of "well-being".




If you of me should cease to think,
My heart would
shrink and shrink and shrink!
But if of me you'd think, you know
My heart would
grow and grow and grow!



WILHELMINA — Isn't it a shame that there's so little work for laboring people?

Billy — I got a lot of things for you to do if you've got a bit of time.

The Judge — And so have I, for you and everybody. The back-yard needs sweeping; the house has needed painting for years; the pavement out in front should be repaired; the gas is and has been wretched for ages; and there is that copying —

William — Sister doesn't mean what she says. Of course there's work to do and always is for that matter.

The Judge —And people anxious to work?

William —Yes.

The Judge —Well then —to your jobs, O Idle.

Wilhelmina —But they can't work without pay.

The Judge —Who asked them to?

William —Nobody —but nobody offers pay for work —at least in a million cases. There isn't enough money.

The Judge —Piffle! There is too much money, —that's what makes money so cheap.

Billy —Goody! Is money getting cheap? Gimme a dime.

The Judge —Certainly, money is cheap and that makes high prices. You see it's not so much money that's wanted, it's food.

Wilhelmina —O, I see —Well there's a real scarcity of food.

William —But there isn't. The crops are the biggest in years, our teacher says, and Australia has wool stored up, and Cuba has sugar, and Mississippi has cotton, and there's corn to burn in Kansas!

Wilhelmina —I see the trouble, there's nobody to buy.

The Judge — Why not? Germany needs food and has dye-stuffs to pay for it; Russia needs clothes and has wheat to exchange; China has tea to pay for engines; India makes carpets and needs houses; Africa has palm oil and wants tools; South America —

Billy —Well why don't the fools—

The Judge —Fools, yes that's it. Fools. All of us fools fought a long, cruel, bloody and unnecessary war and we not only killed our boys —we killed Faith and Hope.

William —I don't see what Faith and Hope have to do with Food and Clothes.

The Judge —No, you don't and a good many very much wiser and bigger and older men than you pooh-poohed at Faith and Hope. But if we had Faith that Germany would pay for the food we could send her, in addition to her other vast debts — and if Russia had Faith that England would give her wool for wheat instead of seizing it to pay for the Czar's old debts; and if France had Hope that Germany did not want to fight —see? Always, everywhere, Faith and Hope must underlie human action. The world is not founded on a rock, but on Spirit —the Spirit of Peace and Good Will. And they who killed the spirit, put men out of work, and freeze women, and starve children, and lynch Negroes, and bait Jews, and raise the thing that we rightly call Hell.

Billy —Do you think it right to swear?

The Judge —There is time for all things. And it is now time for you, Sir, to go to bed.

Wilhelmina —I suppose you're right and all that, but aren't Faith and Hope a little —well —airy for foundations? You see, commerce and trade and laborers and wages seem so solid and real.

The Judge —Which is more real? Things or Thoughts about Things?

Wilhelmina —Things, of course.

William —No, Thoughts —because without thoughts there'd be no Things.

Wilhelmina —Nonsense! That's like saying that without eyes there'd be no light, and that in the land of the deaf there are no sounds.

The Judge —Well, are there?

Wilhelmina —I don't know.

The Judge —Neither do I. But certainly as between Thoughts and Things, Love and Lead, Faith and Fudge — Thought, Love and Faith are the real, the good and the true.



(The Lion and the Hare)

An African Story

This experience took place when all the animals except Shulo gathered together to dig a well. When the well was finished, Shulo was caught stealing water from the well and the lion, being king of the animals, was the judge; but the hare (Shulo) outwitted all the animals present.

PRIOR to this time the lion had had only one personal experience with the hare. Nevertheless, Mphontholo (the lion) had heard of the worldwide reputation of Shulo (the hare) in all the animal world. Shulo had the reputation of being the only person who could think fast enough in any emergency and could think straight and always succeed in finding out or striking upon the right plan that would enable him to overcome the obstacles which confronted him at the moment. He was the father of all tricks and a man possessed of natural ability to use most of his tricks to the best advantage. He outwitted all the animals in playing games as well as in some serious matters of his every day life. So with this unsurpassed reputation when the three children of Mambo Mphontholo (King Lion) were born, the king and queen could not think of a better person to take care of them than Shulo, who possessed all these marvelous achievements, and to teach their children all that he knew about his art and tricks.

The King Lion sent for Shulo and when Shulo came he was told that the king was going to ask him to take charge of his three children and that he was to devote his time to teaching these children all that he knew about the games and general wisdom. Shulo was to stay with the children in a fenced house. No one was allowed to go in to see the children; even the mother and father were not allowed to come in, but they were to see the children from the outside.

The lion was to have meat and other food brought to Shulo and the children every day. Shulo agreed to take of the king's children, so the next day he began his work with them, teaching them some of the simple games, such as kit hzalano (running after each other), kubaya kata (a ring game) and no kumphuka (hopping game).

When the evening came, King Lion and his wife passed by the house where the children were. They stood on the outside and Shulo lifted each child on the platform so that their parents could see them. The parents asked how the children spent their first day learning the games. "Did all of them behave well with you?"

Shulo assured the parents that all three of them did well considering that it was their first time learning the games.

Many days passed and Shulo was at his task teaching the three children. And the father and mother of the children did not fail to bring to Shulo and the children all the best meat they could find. They hunted far and wide and at Shulo's recommendation certain parts of meat were brought to the children. Every evening the lion never failed to come to inquire after the health and progress of his children and Shulo lifted them on the platform so that their parents could see them.

The hopping game included the jumping of suspended poles, jumping across the trenches and over the blazing flames of fire. One day as Shulo and his pupils were going through their daily gymnastic exercises, jumping over the things I mentioned above, one of the pupils fell in the blazing fire and was immediately burned to death. Shulo, as he always had done, thought of the way he was going to get out of the trouble. When the evening came, the lion came to inquire after the children's health and progress. Shulo lifted up the children on the platform. He lifted up one child twice, saying as before, Lingiloup ih zinthinya" ("look at this one, — he is very fat"). The lion was satisfied to see that the children were getting along nicely.

Two days later the second child also met his death during these daily exercises, so when the evening came Shulo lifted up one child three

times, so that the lion could see all three of his children. All three of them were manthikinya (very fat). The following day the last child also was burned to death while he was trying to jump over the blazing flames of fire. Shulo did not waste time, but he immediately thought of a scheme by which he could rid himself of the extreme difficulty in which he was. So he went about scratching himself up, ruffling his hair and bleeding himself here and there all over his body. When the evening came, the lion found Shulo outside of the enclosed house, crying. The gate of the house was broken. The lion asked what was the matter. Shulo repeated the sad and heart-breaking story of how the baboons broke the gate and got inside the house and killed all three of the lion's children and that the baboons almost killed Shulo while he was trying to defend the little ones. The baboons did this to avenge themselves of the wrongs inflicted upon them by the lion and his family.

If this were true, Shulo shared the baboons' view because it had not been very long since when the lion had pronounced a death sentence upon Shulo and the latter was brought to the former as a prisoner.

The lion was enraged beyond measure. He and his wife were bent upon killing all the baboons they could find. That same evening the lion and some of his friends went to the place where the baboons were sleeping peaceably and killed a good many of them. Only a few escaped and these were chased about but they succeeded in effecting their escape by climbing into the trees where the lion could not get them.

The next day a few of the remaining baboons called upon the lion. They wanted to know why he had come to their place and killed some of them. As far as they knew they had not wronged the lion nor any member of his family, in fact it was the lion who had wronged them. The lion at first would not listen to what the baboons had to say, but finally the baboons and the lion went to see the place where the children had been with Shulo. They looked the place over and found no trace of the baboons having been there at the time the children were killed. The lion told the baboons that he was sorry that perhaps he had killed their friends without justification, but that he had acted upon what Shulo had told him.

The lion suspected Shulo of having killed the children, so he started after Shulo. He found him at his home and without further argument the lion, showing his anger, was ready to jump upon Shulo. He told Shulo that it was he who had killed the children and shifted the murder upon the baboons. With threatening words the lion started towards Shulo who ran as fast as he could away from the lion. After a chase of several hours the lion was gaining ground. Shulo was tired and he knew that if he continued to run, the lion was going to capture him and kill him. He did not know what to do.

While he was thus puzzled he saw a big rock leaning over. He saw his chance under that rock, so he ran under it and held the rock up with his fore legs. The lion, coming at full speed, came under it. Shulo, immediately, as the lion came under it, said "Chekulu batililinyi buwe linotiwila" ("Sir, hold the rock, or it will fall on us"). The lion felt that keeping the rock from falling, was for his interest as well as it was Shulo's, so he forgot all about his desire of wanting to kill Shulo and held the rock.

Shulo left the lion holding the rock, saying "Kati walegela buwe lino kuneila" ("If you let go the rock, it will fall on you"). Shulo went away about his business and left the lion holding the rock. He stayed under that rock for many days and nights without food or sleep. At last he was so tired, hungry and sleepy that he fell down, half scared that the rock was going to crush him; but he could not hold it any longer. But to his surprise he found that the rock did not fall on him. He dragged himself out from under the rock. What he needed then was to get something to eat before he could resume his chase after Shulo.



INCE of the sun, the moon and me,
Nature's the common mother,
The moon my sister sweet must be:
The sun, my smiling brother.

[illustration - Bert Williams]

DOyou think, BROWNIES, that some day little Ernest will be as great a comedian as our Bert Williams?

Mr. Williams, you know, is a great comedian. He played in a show of his own, —the Williams and Walker Company, for a long time. Then he came to be the only colored actor in the Ziegfeld "Follies," —one of the most celebrated shows in New York City. He is now starring with George Lemaire in "Broadway Brevities." When the name Bert Williams is displayed in big electric lights, it is really an advertisement, —and few people fail to see the show.



THE moment I saw Mary Henderson I was sure that whatever mother might think of her, we children could never stand her. Oliver and Bill and the rest had sent me down to give her the once-over. I walked into the dining-room where she and mother were having their interview, pretending that I had left my embroidery hoop there, though it was really safe up in my room. A big, yellow woman she was, with a hard wart down in the corner of her face. When I came in she looked at me and said:

"This is your oldest girl, the one that's to help with the dishes?"

"Yes," said my mother weakly, avoiding my glance which even though I am not thirteen yet, can be very severe. "Yes, this is my oldest girl Rosemary. Of course she'll help you with the dishes if you want her to."

I knew she would want me to. She was just that kind. I went back and told the rest of the children about it. "I'm sorry for you boys," I finished. "I bet she makes you go on errands and take down the clothes-lines and beat rugs."

Oliver, who is very dark brown, turned almost pale at this for he is beginning to be quite a dude. He pretends it's because he goes to High School and the other fellows dress, but it's really because Maude Merchant has moved on our street and he wants her to think he looks nice. He hates the thought of dust in his hair or of getting his clothes mussed up.

"Not a bit like Deborah, I suppose?" he asked me.

"Wish we could have old Deb back," said Billy mournfully.

Cordelia spoke up, "You know what mother says, said she'd never have her in the house again."

"Just as though Deborah never wanted to go away and have some time to herself!" either Jarvis or Steve broke in indignantly. They are twins and think exactly alike and usually speak exactly alike. I don't remember which one said this, but I know it was one of them.

"I never saw mother so set," said Oliver. "Just what was it all about? Do you know, Rosemary?"

"Oh just the usual thing —the thing Deborah's always done ever since she's been with us. She got tired one day, I suppose, of hardly ever having any time to herself, and she said —you know how she talks —'Mis' Fores', aw Mis 'Fores', b'lieve I'll jus' light out fer a few days an' take a vacation. My ole man's kinda lonely an' my gal Lucy ain't such a turrible fine cook. Seems to me I oughta go home an' look after 'im a bit. Reckon you an' all these children here can get 'long without me fer a coupla weeks.' ”

"Mother got real mad," Jarvis struck up, "and said, 'Mind, Deborah, if you go this time, you needn't come back. You'll do this thing once too often.' "

"And old Deb only smiled, I'll bet," said Billy.

"That's it," I told him. "She said, 'Aw Mis' Fores', chile, you only jokin'. Reckon I don' get tired of workin' too like ever' one else?' But mother was really vexed about it and said she'd get some one else. It was that week-end you were at Grandpa Kingsley's, Oliver, you and Bill."

Oliver nodded. "Wish to goodness she'd come back," he groaned.

All of us wished that, for whatever mother may have thought of old Deb, she certainly was a success with us and we with her. She was big and capable and dark—about Oliver's color —with bright, black eyes and a ready smile. Mother thought we all ought to do a little housework, but Deb as a rule didn't want us under her feet. However, to please mother she'd let us come out in the kitchen. "Just keep out of my way," she'd boom, "that's all."

And how we did work for her when she'd let us! The boys always kept the wood-box and coal scuttles full. If the grocer's boy forgot anything it was, "All right, Deb, don't you worry. I'll stop by on my way from school and get it for you." Cordelia and I used to break our necks helping to scour the tins and wash dishes. We never thought of leaving our clothes around for her to pick up on sweeping day,
though very often other times our rooms looked like ships at sea, Billy used to say. Oliver used to write letters for her and help her with her accounts.

And Deborah —she made special little pies and cakes for us. If Cordelia or I had a party, she could always manage to make us a freezer of ice-cream. When Stephen tore his best pants she mended and pressed them so nobody ever guessed it. If mother was willing to let us go to the "supper-show" it was, "Run along out of here now to your old movies. I don't need you around my kitchen." And she'd do all the dishes herself. Mother has some one else come in and do the washing, but Deborah would find time to wash Betty's and Cordelia's and my white dresses, and iron and flute them till they were too pretty to put on.

She adored Betty, the baby, as Betty did her. But so did all of us. "Of course father and mother know right away as soon as anything happens to us," Billy used to say, "but Deborah knows it beforehand."

And now she was gone and mother wouldn't let her come back, simply because she had decided to take one of her vacations, as she always did about every six months. She never stayed away more than three weeks and when she returned she was always as delighted to see us as we were to see her, and would fix us the most delicious things to eat.

Mother used to get so cross. We never could see why or father either, I think. "Why shouldn't she have a vacation, Molly? And, anyway, you're always saying you want these children to learn how to work. When she goes away that's a good chance for them."

But mother would shake her head. "It's the principle of the thing, Oliver," I'd hear her say, though I never knew what she meant.

Now here was Deborah gone and mother insisting that she remain, and Mary Henderson take her place.

Well Mary Henderson certainly made things hard for us. She was a splendid housekeeper, neat and clean and a good cook. And she really was nearly always busy, as she'd have to be in a household of seven children and two grown-ups. But she had one very serious fault. She could not bear to work without letting you know it and getting you in it too. With Deborah work had been a sort of game which she played at very easily and which I really think she enjoyed. I've seen her stop in the midst of getting dinner and sit down and read the "funnies".

[illustration - Stephen and Jarvis]

But you'd never see Mary Henderson doing that. No sir-ree! She'd begin, "Mrs. Forest, if the girls could do the dishes tonight, I'd be able to start on the vegetables for dinner tomorrow. Since you're going to have company I'll need a little help." And as for the twins and Billy and Oliver! It really was wonderful how much work she could find for them to do even on Saturday afternoons.

We used to drop in at Deborah's on our way home from school —she lived on a small street right back of us but at the other end of the block—and tell her about it. She'd listen very earnestly, for she was well rested by now and would have been glad to get back to work.

"Deborah, you can't think how we miss you. Couldn't you fix it up with mother?"

"Law, chile, you know how you' ma is, turrible sot. I ain't goin' to ask her nuthin'. Of course if she should send fer me, that'd be diffrunt."

"If we fix it, Deb, you'll come back?"

"Watch me. Don' you all want some cookies? I'm bakin' tomorrow. Rosemary, you stop by an' I'll show you how to make some of them teeny little pop-overs whut Betty likes so well. How is my precious lambkin?"

"Oh she's all right, Deborah, only she misses you. She can't stand Mary Henderson. Wish to goodness you were back."

"Can't we do anything?" Oliver asked that evening. He was in the deepest gloom, for
Mary had found some new job for him after dinner which "just ought to be done this evening, Mrs. Forest." We all knew that Oliver had planned to go to the "movies." Maude Merchant was to be there with her sister and Oliver could have sat next to her.

The twins who read Dick Deadwood the Daring Desperado suggested poison. "We could put it in the soup just as easy —"

"And kill all of us! Don't be silly!" Cordelia snapped.

The very next day Mary Henderson herself gave us a slight hint. Cordelia, whose business it was these days to fill the salt-cellars, spilt a heap of salt. Mary Henderson almost fainted.

"My goodness, child ! Now we're going to have bad luck for ages. Here, before you clean it up throw some over your left shoulder!" She did it herself.

Billy, who was in the kitchen too pottering around on one of those "Henderson jobs" as the boys called them, pricked up his ears up "You don't believe in that kind of thing, Mary?"

"Of course I do!" And off she went on a long account of the way bad luck befalls people. She kept Billy listening for nearly an hour. We noticed he seemed very thoughtful at dinner.

Afterwards when we were all up in the living-room getting our lessons, Billy shut both doors, came back and stood in front of us looking very mysterious.

"She believes in ghosts!" he whispered. All of us knew whom he meant.

"She would!" said Oliver scornfully. " You'd never catch old Deb believing in any nonsense like that!"

"But don't you see," Billy went on, "we can get rid of her?"

Well we had a long talk, but I don't suppose anything would have come of it if it had not been for the black kitten.

Betty had a small, black kitten which she was very fond of. As we are all crazy about Betty, who is a much nicer baby than ever Cordelia or either of the twins was, we were all devoted to "Mister", the kitten. All that is excepting Mary Henderson; she didn't like cats she said, nasty, creeping things always underfoot. For her part she believed in saying "scat" to them and driving them away.

"Mister" could not get used to her. He had been treated so kindly, it never entered his little cat-head that any one really meant to be cross to him. Mary would give him a slap now and then, but he couldn't make up his mind to stay away from her. On one particular day Mary was just about to open the oven door with the dish-towel held loosely in her hand when "Mister", thinking this was something for him to play with, put up a tiny, black paw and pulled it out of her grasp. And Mary Henderson burnt her hand. She was so angry that she drove "Mister" around the kitchen and out the back door, into the freezing bitterness of a February afternoon.

We came home from school and found Betty sitting on the lowest stair-step, her little face all swollen.

"I cwied and cwied; I stamped my foot, but she wouldn't let the kitty come back. I looked out the window for him, and he looked at me; then he walked away. He's dead, my kitty, I know he is. He's frizzen."

"Why didn't you call mother?" asked Billy angrily. "Don't cry so, Baby."

"Muvver was out and Fader hadn't come home. I told him my big brother Noliver would hurt her. Oh Noliver, you will, won't you?"

"You bet I'll fix her someway, Betty," said Oliver and marched off to the kitchen.

I think Mary Henderson was a little frightened herself; this wasn't a day to turn a fly out of doors, let alone a little petted kitten. But she wouldn't own up.

"He was always underfoot," she told Oliver, "and I couldn't be pestered with him. I'll speak to your mother about him, though I think you're making a lot of fuss over an old black cat. He'll be coming back anyway."

But Wednesday and Thursday passed and no "Mister". Betty cried herself almost sick and nothing that even mother could say would comfort her. She wouldn't hear of another kitten. All of us shunned Mary Henderson as though she were the plague —all except Billy who seemed actually to be getting chummy.

Jarvis and Steve spoke to him about this. But Bill winked. "Guess I know what I'm about."

Friday was Washington's birthday and we had a holiday. Our parents went to town together and were to go to a party that night. We children and Mary Henderson would be alone in the house until two or three o'clock Saturday morning.

Now was our chance —if ever —to fix her.


"And we'll fix her," said Bill. "Listen, know what I've been talking about to her these days? About ghosts. 'Member that book Uncle Steve gave Steve and Jarvis for Christmas that time, all about the jungle and how eastern people believe animals sometimes are dead folks come to life in another form? I told Mary Henderson that I didn't believe a word of it — but she does! She dreamed last night about the little kitten. 'Oh Willy,' she says —wouldn't it jar you to hear her call me 'Willy' —'Oh Willy, suppose the kitten died in the cold and should come back to haunt me?'

"'I suppose the kitten is dead —poor "Mister" —'but he won't come back,' I told her, 'don't you fear!'

"Know what she said? She dreamed about him last night, a big, black cat he was, on a stretcher and a lot of white ghosts with him and —"

All of us had the idea at once.

"We'll do it," I shouted. "We'll be ghosts and we'll chant —"

"I'll be the cat," said Cordelia.

"On the pie-board," said Oliver, "and Stephen and Jarvis will walk on each side and Rosemary in front, and because I'm the tallest, I'll walk in back and we'll —"

"Chant," said I, "something awful like — 'When you murdered this poor creature, You murdered my soul too!'

"And then we'll moan —"

"Should I say miau?" asked Cordelia.

We thought she'd better not do that.

My but we were good children that day. There were a thousand "Henderson jobs" but we did them without a murmur. All of us were nicer to Mary Henderson than we'd ever been. Bill in particular talked to her for a long time. Oliver going out into the kitchen overheard him talking to Mary about the ghosts of cats. Mary looked at him.

"Ain't it awful, Oliver? Suppose the kitten should come back?"

"Nonsense!" Oliver said sharply, "Bill, I'll tell father on you if you don't quit talking such stuff. Don't think about it anymore, Mary, or first thing you'll be dreaming about cats and imagining you're seeing them, when you won't really be seeing anything of the sort. There's no such thing as ghosts."

He left the kitchen then, but Bill stayed on. When he joined us later on he was in high spirits.

"She's just as afraid and shivery!"

Such fun as we had getting ready! Mother had a Hallowe'en party last year. She was a witch and Cordelia her black cat, so Cordelia had a nice furry suit all ready. The boys were each to wear a suit of father's summer "undies" —you should have seen Stephen and Jarvis in them! I wore a single sheet wound around me and tied tight in the middle. And for our heads I fixed small guest pillow-cases, tying them far enough from the bottom to make them fit us close and let the rest of them fall down or stand up, just as it happened.

Oliver called Mary Henderson down to the cellar to explain something to her about the furnace, and Billy and the twins sneaked the pie-board out of the kitchen.

Mary Henderson slept in the middle room on the third floor. Her room had three doors, one opening into the hall on the front staircase, one into the third story back and one into the third story front. She is cold-blooded, so in the winter she doesn't raise her windows at night like my physiology teacher says you should, but sleeps with the doors leading into the other two rooms open. She says this gives her a current of air.

The back staircase is a closed-in staircase and opens right into the third story back room. But we never use it and since Mary is the only person on the third floor she goes up by the front stairs.

By nine o'clock we had all gone to our rooms. Mary Henderson really was sleepy, for she had cleaned that day, and Cordelia and Jarvis and Stephen all went to bed. But Oliver and Bill and I sat up in Oliver's room and talked and before we knew it, it was half past eleven. We got the children up then, for we expected father and mother home any time after one. It was lots of fun dressing. When we had all finished we tip-toed into mother's room and looked at ourselves in mother's big pier-glass. Oliver had smeared something on our faces that a boy had given him in his chemistry class, and it made us shine with a strange, greenish light that really was rather awful.

Then we pattered up the hack staircase, Jarvis and Stephen carrying the pie-board and Oliver and Billy carrying Cordelia in her black cat suit, which wasn't meant to climb stairs in. They had a hard time too, for that staircase is
narrow and Cordelia, who is chunky, is some weight.

We got in the room without a sound. Stephen, Bill, Jarvis and I held the board while Oliver hoisted Cordelia on it. Then we walked slowly and noiselessly into Mary Henderson's room.

I wish we could have seen ourselves. We really must have looked frightful, for we were certainly a success. We went in the room, groaning very faintly.

Mary Henderson sat up in bed and put one hand over her eyes.

When we got up to the bed we stopped and chanted:

"You murdered our body;
So we bring you our souls.
Find us somewhere else to live."

We said that because Bill told us a cat had several lives, so she had a right to think that all of these souls were wandering about seeking one body.

Mary Henderson didn't stop to think about anything. "Father in Heaven," she screamed, "save me and forgive me!" And up she jumped out of bed and picking up her slippers and bathrobe, which were on the chair beside her, flew out the other door and down the staircase. A moment later we heard the front door bang.

"Gee!" said Bill, "wasn't she some swift?"

"I wish she hadn't gone so soon," mourned Cordelia. "I was just going to say miau."

"It's a good thing you didn't," said Oliver severely. "Come on, let's get out of this before the folks get home."

I made them fold up the "undies" and pillowcases and put them all away. Then we washed our faces and went to bed.

Mother usually sleeps late the morning after a party, but father had to go into town on the 9:20. About 8 o'clock we heard him call mother. "Say, Molly, what about some coffee and a bite?"

"Mary's fixed it." said mother sleepily.

"Not much she hasn't," replied father. "I haven't seen or heard signs of Mary. Rosemary," he called.

"Yes, father."

"Go up and see if Mary's sick."

I knew when I came back they were all listening to hear whether I could control my voice.

"She's not there, father; she must be downstairs. Will I tell her you want her?"

Mother was up then. "Oh, Oliver, you don't suppose anything's happened to her?"

Such a time as we had! All of us rushed upstairs, downstairs, into the yard, down the cellar —but no Mary.

"My fur coat's gone," said father suddenly, "and my arctics."

We came near laughing at that, for we could guess what had become of them. Mary Henderson must have stopped to put them on when she left the house early that morning.

"Well," said father stopping suddenly, "I've got to make that train. I'll get something to eat in town. Call a policeman, will you Molly, and see what you can find out about my things?"

"See what I can find out about getting another girl," mother said in a temper. "You don't suppose Mary Henderson had anything to do with the loss of your things, do you? What earthly good would your articles be to her?"

Which was unkind, for father's feet are large.

Well about half-past ten Oliver noticed a boy standing in the yard with a big bundle. He beckoned us and since he would not come into the house, mother sent Oliver and Bill out to him. He handed them the bundle and a note and darted off down the street.

The bundle proved to contain father's coat and arctics. The note read:

Dear Mrs. Forest:

Here are your husband's things. I am not a thief, but I am afraid of ghosts. I will never work in your house again.


"What does she mean, mother?" asked Bill, speaking first because he can keep his face straight.

"I don't know, I'm sure," she wailed. "To think I'm without help again with this house full of children and all this work to do. I wonder if I can get anyone." She swept to the telephone and called several names. But no one seemed to give her any satisfaction. "What nonsense!" we could hear her exclaim.

Jarvis, who was near the telephone, caught what Miranda Powell answered: "No, Mis' Fores', an' lemme tell you, I ain't comin' to work fer you no mo'! Mary Henderson says you' house is full of spooks; she's seen 'em an' she's felt 'em."

"Pshaw !" said my mother and sat silent for a
moment. "Oliver, you go over to Deborah — mind you, don't you stay five minutes, —and tell her I'm willing to try her again."

"Yessum," said Oliver, "I'll bring her back with me."

We all trooped into the kitchen to meet them —that is all but mother.

Deborah came in smiling, with a little basket.

"Look!" Said Oliver lifting the lid.

And there was "Mister"!

"Come walkin' long er my fence three days ago," explained Deborah, "half frizzen and cryin' fit to kill hisself. So I took 'im in, allowin' some of you childrun would come by an' carry 'im back to my baby. How come you let 'im get away, honey?"

That night we had pop-overs. "Seems like old times," Father said cheerfully. "Nice to have Deborah back, don't you think, Mother Molly?"

"Is it?" asked mother stonily. Ungrateful of her, I thought, since Deborah didn't have to come back.

All seven of us cleared the table off and went out to help Deborah. Presently father came out. He walked over and shook hands with her.

"Glad to see you back, Deborah."

"Yessir, glad to be back," She told him pleased and proud.

Then he stood and looked us all over. Oliver said he winked, but I didn't see it and I won't believe it.

"I know you all had a hand in it," he said rather as though he wished he'd been in it too. "I don't know how you managed it, but you certainly are some smart children."

"I'll say so," said Deborah. Then she gave Betty some more milk for the kitten.




Arranged by


THINKof a number; double it; add 16 to it; take away half of it; take away the first number you thought of; the answer is 8.

The answer is always half of the number you add. You can add any number you wish.

Example: My number is 8; 8 doubled is 16; 16 plus 16 is 32; one-half of 32 is 16; 16 less 8 is 8.


Whisper a word to a child. The word cannot be repeated. If you do not understand the word that has been whispered to you, just repeat what you think was said to you. This child whispers it to the next, and so on until the word reaches the last child. The last child says the word aloud. You will find that the correct word hardly ever goes around. This game shows just how incorrectly people get things through gossip.


Let one begin a story. Don't begin a story you know, simply make up one of your own. After the first has given a nice little introduction, let the next player add something. Then the next one takes the story up, making it up as he goes and taking care to keep the characters and plot straight. Another person takes it up after a while, and so on to the last person who completes the story.

This is a very good game to use in class in school, for it encourages quick thinking and draws considerably on the imagination. A good short story might be told in this way.



THEREare things I do not quite understand as I fly among men. There is food —they eat not; there are clothes —they freeze; there is joy —they cry. Why —why —why?

  • A crime wave, which is the logical result of war, is being felt all over the world. It shows itself in murder and theft on a wide scale.
  • There is a dispute in Cuba as to which party won the recent election. At the same time a financial panic, because of the drop in the price of sugar, has taken place. This has led the United States to send General Crowder there and may result in American Occupation.
  • There is a great famine in China. It has followed two years of little rain-fall and crop failure. Nearly four million people are destitute in the province of Shantung and in the Pekin district there are a thousand deaths a day from starvation.
  • Mary Macarthur, who died recently in London, was a noted social worker and did much for the labor movement.
  • Much is being said about the possible refusal of the present Soviet government of Russia to pay Russia's borrowings before and during the war. It must be remembered that much of this borrowing was based on fraud. Up to 1905 the Czar's government borrowed six and one-half billion dollars which was wasted or spent in efforts to keep the mass of the Russian people in semi-slavery.
  • A British Labor Committee of six members has been in Ireland and reports that the British government is at fault and that the solution of the Irish problem will not be found in a policy of violence or vengeance.
  • Gabriele D'Annunzio has given up his attempt to hold Fiume in defiance of the Italian government. This makes it possible for Italy and Jugo-Slavia to live in peace.
  • Theobald von Bethmann-Hollweg, former Chancellor of the German Empire, is dead. He was the one who blamed England for going to war "just for a scrap of paper," which was his name for the German treaty with Belgium.
  • There has been a great deal of discussion about the disarming of Germany. She has reduced her regular army to one hundred thousand, according to the treaty, but she has various "citizen guards" and one secret organization which amount to military forces. France and the Allies are insisting that these forces too be disarmed.
  • In England out of a total of five billion dollars raised by taxation all but three-quarters of a billion are spent for war in one way or another. Meantime, unemployment is increasing, rents are rising, houses and coal are scarce, and food is high.
  • A Home Rule bill has been passed by the English Parliament, which sets up two Parliaments in Ireland, one in Ulster and one in South Ireland, with a council selected by the two as a connecting link. South Ireland is determined not to accept this Home Rule act but to insist on a larger measure of self-rule, if not independence. Lawlessness and military repression continue throughout the island.
  • Olive Schreiner, a white woman who used to write in South Africa with much sympathy for the natives, is dead.

I LOVEthe night that rises warm and dark as my plumage. It stretches as I fly, from Land's End to Tampa, and it sings to me of sleep and rest and daughter. But The Crow sleeps not —he flies and sees.

  • At Christmas-time a dinner was held in New York City at which only those people were invited who had given a thousand dollars apiece for the thirty-three million dollar fund which was being raised to rescue the starving children of Europe. In the middle of the speaker's table, between Herbert Hoover and General Pershing, was a child's high-chair with lighted candles.
  • Congress has assembled for its last session of three months. Its chief work will be to pass the appropriation bills for agriculture, the army, the diplomatic service and the District
    of Columbia and the Legislative, Executive and Judicial departments of the government. Last year Congress appropriated four billion, eight hundred and sixty million dollars. This year the government has asked for four billion, six hundred and sixty million dollars, but they will probably get about four billion dollars.
  • Joseph Cannon has served forty-four years in the United States House of Representatives, to which he was first elected in 1872. For eight years he was Speaker. He is 85 years of age.
  • The Y. M. C. A. has established a Thrift Week, beginning January 17, with these ten in-junctions: Work and earn; make a budget; record expenditures; have a bank account; carry life insurance ; own your own home; make a will; pay your bills promptly; invest in re-liable securities; share with others.
  • By measuring the light which comes from the outer edges of one of the great fixed stars, Professor Albert Michelson has calculated that that star is 27 million times bigger than the sun, or 260 million miles in diameter. This gives us an idea of how vast the universe is.
  • Three naval officers started on a trip with a balloon and after wandering four days they landed near Hudson Bay. On their way back their first exploit was to have a fight among themselves.
  • There were 65 persons lynched without trial in the United States during the year 1920. No other civilized country in the world has such a record.
  • The problem of labor in the United States is in a very difficult stage. For years labor unions have organized what is called the "closed" shop; that is, only men belonging to the union could work in a given shop and in this way the workmen could compel the employers to pay decent wages and furnish decent conditions of work. Led by the great Steel Trust and by the reaction since the war, many employers have determined to substitute the "open shop," which would break the power of the unions and allow employers to substitute the cheapest labor they could find.
  • The people of Washington had planned a very elaborate inauguration for President Harding on March 4. Mr. Harding has written asking them to simplify it.
  • The United States Supreme Court has decided that a sympathetic strike is illegal. This is because the International Association of Machinists, a very large labor union, has refused to set up printing presses made by the Duplex Company.
  • Mr. Harding is selecting his Cabinet and it is said that he has decided upon Mr. Hughes to fill the chief place of Secretary of State.
  • There has been a public investigation in New York, which has shown that the price of building material and the cost of labor have been artificially raised since the war in order to make profits for a few persons.
  • During the last weeks of 1920 there was a small panic in the United States, due to a general fall in values. American businessmen are said to have lost two billion dollars by the decline in prices.
  • A bill to exclude immigrants from the United States for a year has been passed by the House of Representatives, but will probably not be accepted by the Senate.
  • Coal mining has become a serious matter of thought all over the world. In England it has caused great strikes and in the United States troops have been called out in many states. The difficulty is that today the object of coal miners is to make money for the people who own the coal mines and not for providing as much coal as possible for the community at reasonable prices.
  • There is a strong movement in the United States and elsewhere to induce the world to reduce the amount spent on armies and navies. Of the United States' appropriations for the year 1920, sixty-seven and eight-tenths per cent. went to the expenses due to past wars, twenty-five per cent. to the present army and navy. Only seven and two-tenths per cent. was spent by the civil departments and on public and educational works. Throughout the world there is a similar tremendous appropriation for war purposes. This is wrong. The nations should consult for stopping the building of warships and reducing the number of soldiers.
  • When the slaves were freed after the Civil War, there was an attempt to intimidate them and keep them from voting by the organization of masqueraders known as the "Ku Klux Klan". Recently there has been an attempt to revive this organization as a protest against colored people and Catholics and Jews. The effort is both annoying and funny.
  • For every 100 wage workers there were, before the war, 65 who were women. During the war this arose to as high as 130. At present it has fallen to 100.



(Una Corrida De Toros)

BEFORE I reached Madrid I read in my guide-book, "Perhaps the only unadulterated Spanish article in the now almost entirely Europeanized Madrid is the bull-fight." Immediately I determined that I should see at least one light. Accordingly, as soon as I became settled in my hotel I began to cast about for an aficionado (one fond of the bull-fight). This was an easy task since all Madrid loves this sport. The difficulty then lay, not in finding an expert aficionado who was willing to take me to the bull-fight —for all Spaniards are obliging, charming of manner, and the embodiment of politeness,—but in selecting one whom I considered the best companion for a woman who was quite alone in this great Spanish metropolis. I finally decided that it would be best for me to take as my guest the portera, a woman who showed me many kindnesses while I was in Madrid. Her good esposo (husband) bought the tickets and in a fever of excitement I awaited the appointed hour.




Corrida Extraordinaria

If the weather does not prevent, there will take place an extraordinary Bull-fight. Six Bulls, from 4 to 5 years, with the white and black divisa of the ancient and accredited establishment of His Excellency, — MARQUES DE GUADALEST OF SEVILLA

    LIDIADORES (Those who take part in the bull-fight) PICADORES

  • Salustiano Fernandez (Chano), Rafael Marquez (Mazzaratini),etc.


  • Louis Freg —Jose Roger (Valencia) —Bernardo Munoz (Carnicerito)


  • Mariano Rivera, Alfredo Freg, y Antonio Segunda (de Valencia), etc.

The corrida will begin at 3:30 sharp. The doors of the Plaza will open two hours before.

The selection of the bulls will take place at 12:00. Tickets of admission one peseta.

The famous band of Hospicio will enliven the spectacle, playing the best known pieces of its repertoire.

The laws governing the corrida will be rigidly enforced.

I read the circular over and over. This was to be a rare treat. "I am going to see not one bull, but six bulls killed," I said to myself one moment; but the very next, I asked myself if after all I was going to find any real enjoyment in this brutal and cruel sport. Then too the corrida (fight) was held on Sunday and I had been taught —well, this was my only chance to see a bull-fight. It was my duty to go. Yes, I was sure of that. It was not only my duty to go but to stay until I had seen at least one bull killed, no matter how repulsive the spectacle was to me. Accordingly, at the appointed hour we hailed a coach, and after some little discussion as to whether we should engage it by the trip or the hour, started out. Down Calle Principe, a short ride through the Puerta del Sol, and there we were in the Calle de Alcala. As the little streams empty into the great river, so streams of human beings poured from all sections of Madrid into the Calle de Alcala. They came on foot, on the street cars, in coaches, in automobiles. They crowded the various entrances of this beautiful Plaza de Toros (bull-ring). They jostled each other in their anxiety to get in early, in order that they might miss nothing that was to be seen.

The Plaza de Toros of Madrid was erected in 1873-74. It is built in the Moorish style, with a huge archway at the entrance, and has a diameter of 112 yards. The arena (redondel) is separated from the seats of the spectators by a wooden barrier about six feet high. In front of this barrier there are at intervals additional barriers with sufficient space for a man who is hard-pressed to run behind, but not large enough for a bull to get through. Behind the first mentioned barrier runs a narrow passage. The rows of seats next to this passage are called Asientos de Barrera, de Contra Barrera and de Tendido. The upper and protected rows, which are divided into Delanteras and Asientos de Grada, are called Grades. Above the Gradas are
[illustration - Going to the Bull-fight] the Palcos(boxes) and the Andanadas. Gentlemen who attend the function alone often sit in the tendidos or gradas, but when there are ladies in the party they usually sit in a palco or in the delanteras de grada, as exit is then possible at any moment without attracting attention.

"The Spaniards are always very careful to advertise the ganaderias," (establishment where the bulls are bred), my friend was explaining to me as we were jostled by the crowd. "The best bulls come from Andalusian ganaderias. The bulls of the Duke of Veragua and Senor Miura for years enjoyed the greatest reputation. "Por aqui, Senorita" ("This way, Miss"), she said, indicating the seats we were to occupy. She secured the leather cushions which every-body uses on this occasion and when we were comfortably seated she continued —"A bull of four years from one of these establishments has brought as high as 1500 pesetas ($300). They are sent from their pastures to their destination by railway in cages or they are driven along the highroad with the aid of cabestros (trained oxen). When they reach the ring they are kept and fed in open corrales (yards) until a day before the corrida (fight) takes place. The bulls are then placed in the dark Toriles adjoining the arena, from which they are driven into the ring after being goaded into as great a state of excitement as possible."

"And from what section of the country do the best espadas (swordsmen) come?" I asked.

"The espadas, too, are Andalusians," she replied, "and are recruited almost altogether from the rural population. Prior to the 16th century, bull-fighting was a prerogative of the aristocracy, but since the construction of the first great Plaza de Toros, here in Madrid, this once chivalrous sport has been changed into a public spectacle in which trained Toreros take part. Indeed Spain offers nothing else for a son of the people without political influence except to become a torero."

I looked at my program. On that day there were scheduled to appear three distinguished espadas concerning whose prowess there had been no little talk among the aficionados. "This Freg," said a man wearing a hat shaped like a chimney-pot, to my companion, "is without a doubt a very wonderful fellow." "Claro!" she responded, her pretty black eyes beaming with happiness, making radiant that sweet face framed in a mantilla of rich black lace.

"Pero, mira, mira, ud, Senorita!" ("but
look, look, Miss!") she cried, touching me on the arm and directing me towards the president's box. For at that moment the president was giving the signal for the function to begin. The band played a military march and the cuadrilla, which has been called the procession of the dramatis personae— entered. There were alguaciles (policemen) dressed in ancient costumes and mounted on fine horses; espadas (swordsmen), vulgarly called matadores (slayers) with capes of various colors; banderilleros (men who throw the barbed darts into the bulls' necks) in satin suits; picadores (men who vex the bulls with thrusts of their lances) mounted on old hacks; attendants on foot (chulos) with the team of gaily decorated mules which is used to drag off the dead bulls and horses. They saluted the president, who on this occasion was a distinguished visitor, marched once around the arena and disappeared. Then a policeman (alguacile) dashed up to the box of the president from whom he received the key of the gate through which the bulls entered the arena. He rushed back to the gate, which, by the way, was not locked. It was thrown open, there was a loud blast from a trumpet, and out rushed a bull wearing the badge (divisa) of his breeder, his Excellency Senor Marques De Guadalest of Sevilla. The fight was on.

You have been told that the bull had been kept for hours in the dark without food. Imagine, then, his bewilderment when half blinded by the sun, he dashed into the arena. The excited screams of 14,000 spectators maddened him. He saw just in front of him a man waving a red cloak (capeo) and he made a lunge for the cloak just as the man jumped gracefully aside. Immediately the bull espied a picadore dressed in yellow, wearing a broad brimmed hat, mounted on an old worn out horse and holding in his hand a lance. The next moment the bull's horns had pierced the horse's stomach and the picadore's lance had plunged into the bull's back. The picadore jumped from the falling horse and ran to safety behind the barrier, while the bull continued to gore the dying horse. The waving of cloaks in another direction lured him away. For ten long minutes the clever capeadore thrilled his spectators with his skillful manoeuvers. Then the furious bull charged a horse with such force that the picadore's leg was crushed between the horse and the barrier. He clung to the barrier until friends came to take him to the infirmary. The horse, with his bowels protruding, galloped riderless around the ring until another charge of the bull brought him to the ground. Thus ended the first act of the fight.

Now, when the bull had been sufficiently wearied (castigado) by the picadores, the banderilleros in gorgeous livery entered, bearing barbed darts ornamented with colored papers which must be artistically planted in the bull's neck. The bull, fresh from his encounter with the horse, was met in full charge by the banderillero who jumped quickly to one side and stuck two banderillas (barbed darts) in his neck as he passed. The bull darted after another banderillero, who escaped by jumping over the barrier. He then turned to the man in the center of the arena, only to receive two more banderillas. The bull, now vexed almost to the limit of his endurance, charged a dead horse. He took him on his horns, lifted him in the air, then dropped him on the ground. Once more he returned to the banderillero who, standing still in front of the bull, sent the third pair of finely aimed banderillas into his neck. A storm of applause greeted the banderillero. He was acclaimed a hero. Then the president gave the signal, for the Suerte de Matar—the third and last act of the drama—was about to begin.

The espada (swordsman) with his hair done up in a pig-tail and gorgeously arrayed in a velvet suit embroidered in silver, and wearing white silk stockings and black slippers, approached the president's box and dedicated to him the death of the bull. By dexterously handling the red cloth (muleta) under which the sword (estoque) destined to deal the death blow was concealed, the espada "coquetted" with the bull a few moments. He knelt daringly before the bull, he stood erect and struck a tragic pose. The bull's horns seemed to pierce the man's loins. I lowered my head and closed my eyes as the espada reeled backward into the arms of two attendants, but thousands of Spaniards jumped to their feet. "Dios!" groaned my companion. The next moment she pulled me to my feet. "No, no, Senorita; Mira, ud, mira!" ("No, no, Miss, look, look!") I opened my eyes in time to see the wounded man plunge the sword downward through the animal's neck into his heart. Up from 14,000 throats there went a scream. Men threw their hats in the air, women waved their handkerchiefs, people
were pushed from their places in the general excitement. The supreme ambition of the espada had been realized. He bowed to the spectators and then made his way painfully to the infirmary. In the meantime, the coup de grace was given to the fallen animal by a puntillero who pierced his spine with a dagger. Then the team of mules with jingling bells carried off the dead bull and horses. The traces of blood were covered up with fresh sand and the show was ready to begin again with a fresh bull.

A murmur of discontent ran through that vast throng, followed by "Que vaya el presidente!" ("Away with the president! Hiss! Hiss!") Over in a corner some men began to fight and the policemen rushed in to separate them. Cushions were thrown into the arena, and men and boys jumped into the arena and started toward the president's box shouting: "El Presidente, el Presidente!"

"They are angry because the president did not give the honor to the wounded espada that was due him," my companion told me. But the president remained totally oblivious of the general confusion. He sat unmoved while the policemen drove the people out of the arena. Upon the arrival of the second bull the aficionados returned to their places and order reigned. Six bulls were killed that day, but I was ready to leave after the first one had been dragged out and I think that I could never be induced to attend another bull-fight.

But the Spaniard would say with a shrug, "Vaya que gente! What does it matter if a few old hacks that would soon fall dead themselves are killed to make sport for the aficionados? As for the bull, Carrajo hombre! You, yourself, if you were in such a rage as the toro, would no more feel the thrust of a sword than the prick of a gadfly!"



A Martyr for Freedom

HOW fortunate are Brownies of our time!

It was during a voyage, when a little colored boy was fourteen years of age, that Captain Vesey gave him a name, "Telemaque".

Even though he was so young, this little boy was among 390 human beings who were to be owned by whoever would buy them. Telemaque's "beauty, intelligence and alertness" caused him to be separated from the rest of the slaves and made a sort of pet among the officers; but at the end of the voyage, which was between St. Thomas and Cap Francais, Telemaque, too, was sold as a slave.

The town physician at Santo Domingo, however gave Telemaque's owner a certificate which stated that the boy was subject to epileptic fits. The law required that sales of persons of unsound health should be cancelled; so Telemaque and Captain Vesey resumed their life together.

In the speech of slaves, "Telemaque" with the long a pronunciation, was changed to Denmark, and we know of this man as Denmark Vesey.

For over 20 years Denmark Vesey served as a faithful servant to Captain Vesey, who retired at Charleston, South Carolina. Denmark Vesey became interested in lottery games, in which people are given prizes by chance. And in 1800, as a patron of the East Bay Street Lottery, Denmark Vesey won a prize of $1500! With which he bought himself from Captain
Vesey, at the price of $600, and began to work as a carpenter.

Denmark Vesey had many children,—but the Slave Code made them the personal property of other men. This cruel situation embittered Vesey,—not only because he was personally involved, but because his great-heartedness made him want to do something to blot out such sorrow from others' hearts.

By this time Denmark Vesey, through his travels with Captain Vesey, had learned to read and write and to speak French and English fluently.

Eventually Vesey began to plan an idea for resisting the slave system. He was a cautious man, and in this manner he gained the attention of the slaves, to whom he spoke of their inalienable human rights. For nearly four years he carried on a secret agitation among the slaves. He did the work alone, but the city of Charleston, South Carolina, and 100 miles of adjacent country were covered,—and then, in 1821-22, Vesey's effort became an organized movement.

Five men were chosen by Vesey as associate leaders. One, Rolla Bennett, was a bold and ardent person; Ned Bennett was a man of firm nerves and desperate courage; Peter Poyas was cautious and true; Gullah Jack was regarded as a sorcerer,—artful, cruel and bloody; Monday Gell was firm, resolute, discreet and intelligent.

With such an aggregation of men and several thousand members enrolled, Vesey started an uprising against slavery. His plans were that the leaders of the movement, at the same time and from six different quarters, would attack the city of Charleston, and seize its strategical points and buildings, taking the arms and ammunition; with horses they would keep the streets clear, cutting down without mercy all persons, white and black, who tried to hinder the uprising.

The time was in 1822, and the insurrection was planned for Sunday at midnight, July 14; but about the last of May, there were indications that the plot had been discovered, so Vesey changed the date of attack to Sunday, June 16.

After all, though, someone betrayed them! This happened on the morning of May 30, and by sunset the city authorities were ready to guard against the supposed surprise. The week following was one of watchful waiting for all concerned; Vesey, however, carried on his work.

Don't you admire his wonderful courage!

And finally the city officials found one who was so disloyal, so unmanly, as to tell them Vesey's plan.

On June 15, Peter Poyas, Rolla, Ned and Batteau Bennett were arrested; Vesey was not captured until the fourth day following; Jesse Blackwood was taken the next day; Monday Gell was arrested four days later; and on July 5, Gullah Jack was captured. In all there were 131 Negroes arrested, 67 convicted, 35 executed and 37 banished from the United States.

To Denmark Vesey, Peter Poyas, Rolla and Ned Bennett and Gullah Jack is the honor of remaining absolutely loyal and brave, with their vows unbroken.

This cannot be said of Monday Gell, who though he was brave and loyal throughout his trial, betrayed his fellows to save his own life.

And so, on July 2, 1822, Denmark Vesey, Peter Poyas, Rolla, Ned and Batteau Bennett and Jesse Blackwood were hanged; ten days later Gullah Jack was hanged; and on the twenty-second of July, 22 black martyrs were hanged for the cause of freedom.

"When Vesey was tried, he folded his arms and seemed to pay great attention to the testimony, given against him, but with his eyes fixed on the floor. In this situation he remained immovable, until the witnesses had been examined by the court, and cross-examined by his counsel, when he requested to be allowed to examine the witnesses himself. He at first questioned them in the dictatorial, despotic manner, in which he was probably accustomed to address them; but this not producing the desired effect, he questioned them with affected surprise and concern, for bearing false testimony against him; still failing in his purpose, he then examined them strictly as to dates, but could not make them contradict themselves. The evidence being closed, he addressed the court at considerable length ***. When he received his sentence, the tears trickled down his cheeks."

Denmark Vesey was a black man, and handsome. He was physically strong and had a powerful mentality. He has been referred to as an old man but, though his hair was probably white, he was only 56 years of age when he died on the gallows at Charleston, South Carolina, nearly one hundred years ago,—for that Freedom which is ours; that Freedom which we shall ever cherish!




Little People of the Month

FIVEyears ago a little "brownie" boy was needed in a moving picture with Baby Marie Osborne known as "Little Mary Sunshine". Somehow, Frederick Ernest Morrison's father heard about it and he and little Ernie went to the movie studio. Ernie started right in to romp and play and fight to the delight of everybody, and then and there he was engaged to act in the picture,—and he's been acting in the movies ever since.

Ernie is said to receive enough salary to own a fine home, several automobiles, and dogs and other pets, just like other movie stars; but for the present he and his father are investing their money in a grocery store and refreshment parlor at 5420 Long Beach Avenue, Los Angeles, Cal., where hangs the sign, "Joseph Morrison & Son, Grocers."

Every morning Ernie is up and dressed at 8 o'clock, and for four hours each day he is taught the mysteries of reading, writing and arithmetic.

Critics say that little Ernie is blessed with a rare gift,—that of a natural comedian.

At a moving-picture show recently a little girl remarked, "Oh, there's that funny little colored boy again. I wonder who he is!"

Professionally Frederick Ernest Morrison is known as "Sunshine Sammy," and he co-stars with Harold Lloyd, producer of Lloyd's comedies which are produced at the Hal E. Roach studios in Culver City, near Los Angeles. Little "Sunshine Sammy" also assists Harry "Snub" Pollard, movie comedian, in his laugh producing antics that amuse men, women and children all over the world. Did you see him as the frightened little boy in Harold Lloyd's comedy, "Haunted Spooks"? They recently finished a comedy of telephone strife, called "Number, Please."

Frederick Ernest Morrison has three little [illustration - Florence Louise Morrison, Harry "Snub" Pollard, "Sunshine Sammy"]
[illustration - Frederick Ernest Morrison] sisters and many playmates to whom he's just plain "Ernie,"—always ready to romp and play and fight, just like any other seven-year-old boy.

One of Ernie's sisters, Florence Louise Morrison, also acts in the movies, and she's often seen on the stage with Ann Thompson, soprano soloist, and her company of entertainers. Florence says, "Play acting is all right for a little change now and then, but I prefer to go to school and study and learn to be a kindergarten teacher." And she's just five years old!

In Los Angeles, little Ernie is spoken of as a "race benefactor", since each day he makes thousands of people laugh and forget their troubles.

We are indebted to Mr. Noah U. Thompson, the "Los Angeles Express for the main facts concerning "Sunshine Sammy."
[illustration - Helen Dett]

HELEN Dett is the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. R. Nathaniel Dett of Hampton Institute in Virginia. Both of Helen's parents are talented musicians, —her father is a pianist and composer, and her mother is a pianist. And what should I tell you about Helen? Simply that she is a wonderful child—she plays her scales on the piano, asks her mother and father for some of the most difficult piano numbers, including Rondo Capriccioso, and then tries to imitate them. Indeed, she has succeeded in imitating her mother in a simple part of Rondo Capriccioso. And she's only 3 years old.

Helen enjoys a fairy tale immensely, and she fairly bubbles over with delight when THE BROWNIES' BOOK comes.



AMONG the many good and interesting things which we have in Texas, these three impress me most,—education, schools and colleges. We have schools in nearly all of the rural districts, which teach from the primer grades to the seventh and eighth grades. We also have from five to six schools in some of the cities. From this you see we have splendid opportunities to obtain an education.

Our high schools teach the primer to the eleventh and twelfth grades. During these times we are taught domestic art, domestic science, music (vocal and instrumental), sewing and many other useful things.

There are some of us grasping the opportunities as best we can as they appear before us.

We do not always have gladness and sunshine along the lines of education. We have trials in Latin, tribulations in geometry, and problems in algebra. Realizing the benefit and usefulness of an education we have learned to make our problems easily solved with these words,—Anything that is worth trouble in getting, is worth having.

We have also learned that we must work in the present in order to perfect or accomplish something in the future. I count it our time of grace to grasp the opportunities as they come before us.

We have several colleges in the state of Texas,—Prairie View, Guadeloupe, Paul Quinn and several others.

There are many good things I could say about our colleges and schools on education and also along the lines of music. I hope it will be understood from these words that in Texas education is contagious.

H. VIOLA LOTT, Waco, Texas.

I THOUGHTyou might like to hear about some of Waco's scenery. Here, near Waco, is a beautiful place called Lovers' Leap.

In a bend of the Brazos river, about three or four miles above Waco, is where Lovers' Leap is situated. The bank on one side is about two hundred feet high. There is a ledge of rock extending out over the river. On the other side of the river is a valley which gently slopes toward the river. When you stand on this projecting ledge you can see most of the surrounding country.

I will tell you why they call this place Lovers' Leap. Waco was first settled by Indians and while Waco was just a village of tents, the incident happened that gave Lovers' Leap its name. There were an Indian maiden and an Indian brave. They fell in love with each other. Their parents objected to their marriage and they grew despondent. They slipped away to take a stroll and while near this ledge they jumped off and drowned themselves. Since then it has been called Lovers' Leap. This might interest some of the boys and girls of other states.


I RECEIVED my first copy of THE BROWNIES' through the Rev. Taylor, and I do think it is very interesting both for children and grown-up people. I read quite a few stories in the book and I enjoyed them very much. The one that impressed me most was little Bennie's Oration, and I wonder if it is a true story or a fairy tale? I am a little brown girl, ten years old. I am in the fifth grade A class in school. I am very much interested in music. I take piano lessons from a very strict French teacher. I made my first appearance in public Sunday, December 26, 1920. And I have every encouragement to go on. Wishing THE BROWNIES' every success,

LILLIAN V. STONE, Meriden, Conn.

Readers of THE BROWNIES' BOOK are urged to communicate with other children through the columns of The Jury. We shall be glad to publish answers from one child to another.



FOR a number of years the National Child Welfare Association, which has offices at 70 Fifth Avenue, New York, has specialized in the production of educational panels visualizing in picture form the fundamental facts of Child Welfare. The panels are arranged in sets of five, ten or more panels, and each set illustrates some particular phase of welfare for the child. There are sets on Prenatal Care, on the Care of Babies, Hygiene for School Children, Character Forming, Citizenship, Religion and many others.

Now the Association has entered upon an interesting experiment, which we believe will have far-reaching results for colored people, in the production of educational art panels to meet the special need of Negro children.

Heretofore the education of the Negro child has been too much in terms of white people. All through school life his text-books contain much about white people and little or nothing about his own race. All the pictures he sees are of white people. Most of the books he reads are by white authors, and his heroes and heroines are white. If he goes to a moving picture show, the same is true. If a Negro appears on the screen, he is usually a caricature or a clown. The result is that all the Negro child's idealism, all his sense of the good, the great and the beautiful is associated almost entirely with white people. The effect can readily be imagined. He unconsciously gets the impression that the Negro has little chance to be good, great, heroic or beautiful.

In preparing its newer series of panels the Association has very carefully considered the psychology of the child. Healthy, happy and beautiful Negro children appear in the pictures in a way that portrays a part of Negro character concerning which too little has been said. The panels carry the suggestion that the Negro child can be beautiful, happy and healthy as well as the white child. This is a self-evident truth, but it has not been made sufficiently prominent in the education of our children. Already two sets, comprising twenty-two panels, have been produced; and others will follow, as there appears to be a widespread demand for this kind of material.

Further, to aid in educational work among Negro children, the Association has added Mr. Leet B. Myers to its staff as Field Secretary, and he will devote his time to the development of this special work. Mr. Myers has had a wide experience in religious work, organized charity, housing reform, public health and other forms of social work. He has worked with colored people; and he is familiar with the conditions under which they live, as well as with their desire as a race to reach a better position.

In addition to the production of special material for use among Negroes, the Association has plans for a wide distribution of the panels through exhibits and in connection with educational lectures. Also, after the manner of the Plattsburg idea, it will train groups of workers, who will in turn take back to their home communities, materials and methods of child welfare work.

EVELYN ADELE RICHARDSON was playing at having a birthday party (she will be five tomorrow) when she decided to make up speeches for the occasion. After listening to her for a short time I got pencil and wrote what she was saying. I thought that maybe it would interest the rest of the Brownies to hear the rhymes made up by this little Brownie.

I see a little moon high, high, high.
I see a little star in the pretty, blue sky.
I see a little rabbit what looks at the moon
I see a little girl what runs too soon.

When we got to here she took the pencil and said, "Wait till I fix it."

After drawing a line across the page she gave it back to me and started again.

Pretty, pretty little things
About my yard each day;
When I come in to eat,
They quickly run away.

All of this family enjoy THE BROWNIES' BOOK. We look forward to the coming of the agent. That reminds me — the agent for THE BROWNIES' BOOK has moved away. I hope that another one will be put in this field, for so many children who cannot send for it for a whole year can buy it one copy at a time.




REBECCA yearns for May and June,
And Tim likes April and November,
While Alice sings the harvest moon
Of August or of gold September
"The month I like the most," says Jerry,
"Is little sawed-off February.
"Why think of all its holidays!
Although it seems so short and fleeting,
There's room for mirthful games and plays
And valentines and birthday greeting.
You don't have long to stay in school
When February starts to rule.
"George Washington picked out a day
In February to be born in.
He chose a chilly time, I'll say,
This funny universe to horn in.
He was the Father of the Nation,
And left each boy a day's vacation.
"And Mr. Lincoln came here too
In February's short duration;
He was an honest soul and true,
A man of humble birth and station.
He was the president and martyr
Who put an end to human barter.
"Great Frederick Douglass —grand old man—
Belongs in this month's category,
He freed himself from slavery's ban
And lived to know great fame and glory.
My father says we boys should never
Cease copying his high endeavor.
"Oh Valentine,—the dear, kind saint,
Had his day too in February.
He left to us a custom quaint
Which causes fun and makes us merry.—
I gave Bill Higgins' little sister
A candy heart and—well I kissed her!
"But there's another reason why
I think this month deserves attention.
Since you don't know, it seems that I
Will have to give the matter mention
The fact is I, your young friend Jerry,
First saw the light in February.
"My mother's just proud of me!
She said she thought George Washington
And Douglass, Lincoln too—all three—
Were boys no better than her son.
She hugged me then real close and hearty.
And gee! She gave me some swell party!"