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Foot Prints. Laine, Henry Allen. 400dpi TIFF G4 page images University of Kentucky, Electronic Information Access & Management Center Lexington, Kentucky 2002 b02-000000017 These pages may be freely searched and displayed. Permission must be received for subsequent distribution in print or electronically. Foot Prints. Laine, Henry Allen. Daily Register Press Richmond, Kentucky 1924 IMLS This electronic text file was created by Optical Character Recognition (OCR). No corrections have been made to the OCR-ed text and no editing has been done to the content of the original document. Encoding has been done through an automated process using the recommendations for Level 1 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file. FOOT PRINTS by HENRY ALLEN LAINE Daily Register Press, Richmond, Ky. CONTENTS Introduction by Dr. James Bond, Director State Page. Inter-Racial Committee_______________________ 7 Thirty Years of Peace (Decoration Day poem 1893)_ 9 Our President__________________________________11 My Solution of the Race Problem-------------------------12 On The Heights________________________________12 Those Good Old Days__________________________13 A Kentuckian's Appeal--------------------------------------14 Thru a Glass Darkly___________________________15 Push _________________________________________16 Booker T. Washington's Visit____________________17 Saloons Must Go!______________________________18 My Dog______________________________________19 Watch Out ____________________________________20 "Watch Ye Therefore"__________________________21 Some Little Good______________________________22 Quit Yo' Foolin'________________________________23 Press to the Front____________________________ 24 Let It Come___________________________________25 Gwine Back ___________________________________26 Looking Backward _____________________________29 Light In Darkness_____________________________30 I'm a White Man______________________________31 Perseverance __________________________________32 Stupid Bill ____________________________________34 The Silent Voice_______________________________37 My Favorite Season------------------------------------------38 The Whittling Man_____________________________39 My Kind of Man_______________________________40 Berea's Founder and His Work__________________41 The Pessimist---------------------------------------------------45 Dis 01' Worl'__________________________________46 Shack ________________________________________47 The Deacon's Backsliding------------------------------------51 5 Old Fashion Preachers__________________________55 'Possum and "Chidlins"_________________________56 A Bit of Philosophy___________________________59 Sambo's Letter to Uncle Sam___________________60 If Farmers Should Strike, What Then____________62 Living On the Farm___________________________63 Life's Mission _________________________________64 Greetings to the K. N. E. A. April 19, 1923, Louisville, Ky.______________________________65 A Winter's Evening at Home--------------------------- 68 Grand Dad at Last -----------------------------------------70 The Decline of Domestic Authority______________71 A Few Remarks to Negro Farmers, Nov. 30, 1919____73 Agriculture and the New Day___________________75 The Negro Exodus_____________________________78 INTRODUCTION It has been my privilege to know for many years, Henry Allen Laine, teacher, farmer, poet. Mr. Laine is well known in Madison and surrounding counties where he has rendered splendid service as citizen, teacher, and County Demonstration Agent. He is also known to a limited circle as a poet of unusual charm, deep spiritual insight and a sympathetic grasp of the problems of the common folk, of whom Mr. Lincoln once remarked: "God must have loved the common people because he made so many of them." Mr. Laine measures up in every particular to the standard of man set in his poem, "My Kind of Man," "Who labors not for man's applause, But gets an honored name because" he strives with an honest heart for the right. Mr. Laine is master of the Negro dialect and has the ability to express in a very remarkable way the psychology and the soul yearnings of the Negro race, while at the same time many of his poems are couched in clean, choice, and forceful English. I can scarcely conceive of a more helpful way of spending an evening in the church, school house, or at the family fireside than in the study of the poems in this book. I sincerely hope that these poems may find a wide circle of readers, feeling quite sure that no one can read his lines without catching the spirit of the author and being made the better for the contact. JAMES BOND. 214 Pythian Temple, Louisville, Ky., Jan. 22, 1924. This page in the original is blank. Thirty Years Of Peace (Recited at Berea College, Decoration Day, 1893) Time rapid rolls to many here, It seems but yesterday, Since horrid war's grim crash and roar The very mountains sway When sunny South with scattered wreck Was strewn from shore to shore, And blackened chimneys marked the sites Where cities stood before When Negro slaves (by Christian men) Were landed on our shore, Peace fled and base contentions rose, Increasing more and more, Like subterranean fires, that For years unheed burn, When suddenly in wrath burst forth And mountains overturn! So the fierce fires of smothered hate Grew more and more intense, Until the South rose up in arms To fight for the defense Of that the greatest of all sins, The sale of blood and tears; Their failure freed the Southern slaves And answered prayers of years. God bless our heroes all today! Who through Death's valley rode, And on the flaming battle field Their love of country showed. Who bade farewell to home and friends To rescue Uncle Sam, When Lincoln called they answered back "Ay, Father Abraham!" From every mountain hill and dale. In eager haste they pour, And many a fireside plunged in gloom, Was brightened nevermore. All honor heroes great and small Who bravely wore the blue! Our country's peace, and strength, and hop, We owe it all to you! 9 As time rolls on and I look bacjc And see what has been done, In thirty years to reunite And make our people one, My heart in gratitude goes out, As I look 'round and see, Where once the vilest hatred reigned, Now peace and harmony. All honor to our unknown dead Who fell amid the fray, Whose bodies lie beneath some plain, Or hillside far away. On bloody fields they face no more The blazing cannon's mouth, But from their ranks celestial watch, The progress of the South. O'er forty-five progressive states These honored colors wave, The North and South united firm, And not a single slave! The slaver's whip, the clanking chain Have long since passed away, And white or black no matter now A man's a man today! 10 Our President He's a modest man with world-wide fame, And every school-boy knows the name, Of Teddy Roosevelt. He comes from Holland's sturdy A worker,t hinker, firm as a rock! Courteous, able, brilliant, plain, With a level head chuck full o brain, The matchless Roosevelt! Well born, and reared in Luxury's lap, He scorned a Rip Van Winkle's nap; But equally ready with sword or pen, Soon took front with the world's great men, Intrepid Roosevelt! He honors men for their personal worth, Nor cares he ought for color or birth! The plainest citizen gets the same Attention kind, as the man of fame, From courteous Roosevelt! All honor give to the prince of men! The statesman, scholar, citizen! Hero of hillside, plain, and glen, The writing man, the fighting man, Theodore Roosevelt! 11 My Solution Of The Race Problem Here of late, about the Negro, There's a great deal being said, By our so-called "Negro leaders," Many of whom need to be led! Here's the plan I would adopt, And success would surely follow, So much talking I would stop Educate and save the dollar! Trust no longer party ties, Think no more of emigration; Trust yourself if you would rise, God, and wealth, and education. Train your head, your heart and hand, Hoped-for times will surely follow; These three things complete the man: Love, refinement and the dollar. Idleness shun, with rum and strife, Live for things that bring men glory; Show the world a man's a man Prcving true the eld, old story! Then race-hate will pass away, Poverty and mob law '11 follow; For the world respects the man With refinement and the dollar! ON THE HEIGHTS 'Tis grand to stand on some tall cliff, That looms above the wreck-strewn shore, And feel secure from angry waves, That down beneath you foam and roar; But it is grander, still ,to stand, Upon some sunlit peak of Truth, Along Life's bleak and rugged coait, Strewn round with wrecks of ill-psent youth. To take a stand on such high ground, Is the great privilege of all; Up where Life's gentle bree-zes blow, And softest dews of heaven fall. Why stay below amid Life's fogs, Where fleeting clouds their shadows race Up yonder on the sunlit heights, Is ideal Manhood's proper place. 12 That good old day has almost passed, When any honest man, With brains, could rise from poverty, And lead our nation's van; That good old day is almost passed No more to come again, When those who climb to honor's heights, Were plain Log-cabin men. That good old day has passed away When politics were free Prom "rings" and bosses just in it "For revenue only," When offices of public trust, Could not be bought and sold; And brains, and push, and honesty Could wield more power than gold! That grand old day has passed away If one for office ran, A record loyal, brave and true Must show or change his plan. Convention halls with police packed, Were not in those days seen, To help some self-appointed "boss," Control his base machine. We would not have that old day back With its grand and chivalrous men; We do want back that sentiment, That ruled our country then; When offices of public trust Could not be bought and sold, And brains, and push, and honesty Could wield more power than gold! 13 A Kentuckian's Appeal On history's page an honored place, You hold, beloved Kentucky; Shall mob-rule blot it with disgrace, Kentucky, O Kentucky The good with shame astonished stands, While bold law-breakers form in bandi, To raise against thee bloody hands, In treason, O Kentucky! Thou art the garden spot of earth Kentucky, great Kentucky; And we, permitted to be born On thy good soil are lucky. Dame Nature Bluegrass carpets spread Where feet of the loveliest women tread; 'Tis here she rears the thoroughbred, Both man and beast, Kentucky. But where's thy patriot spirit brave, Kentucky, O Kentucky Gone Hast thou become a slave To lawless men, Kentucky Shall the home of Lincoln, Marshall, Clay, Its bloo'd-bought glory cast away, Thy valor won in a darker day, Kentucky, O Kentucky To spare the rod will ruin the child, Kentucky, O Kentucky; You've dealth with mob-law far too mild, In years gone by, Kentucky! Too long thy coroner's verdicts read: "Death caused by unknown hands" has spread, Contempt for law. Anarchists dread Thy courts no more Kentucky I If thou wouldst rise up in thy might, Kentucky, great Kentucky, And punish criminals, black or white, By honest law, Kentucky, Then capital with longing eye, Distrusting thee now passing by, Would soon return and lift on high Its banner bright, Kentucky! 14 THROUGH A CLASS DARKLY I. Cor.XIII: 12. I sat at my window, looking down, On a crowded street of a busy town, At the ceaseless crowds as they come and go, Like the restless tides as they ebb and flow, And I thought of Life and its mystery: "Could I lift the vail that now hides from me The great beyond ah, then I'd see Life's mystery and meaning." "I'd see why one life glows like the beams, Of an evening star. While another seems, But a flickering mote, shedding scarce a ray, To gleam across Life's stormy way. Why the good man dies oft, in manhood's prime, Why the bad, oft lives, far beyond the time Granted hoary Age. But Fate hides from me Life's mystery and meaning!" "I'd see why a man at a certain time, Of a certain race, of a certain clime, For a certain purpose seeming born; And in spite of envy, prejudice, scorn, Will crowd up to Honor's heighs while he Of boasted superiority, the form and face Some mightier race, Can scarcely secure the lowest place!" "Why a man in life though good or great, At him hurls Envy her darts of hate, But soon as his head is beneath the sod, He's praised as a hero and a god! How many souls are lingering here, For whom no smile, nor word of cheer But scare the flickering life is gone, Deceit feigns grief with mourning on!" Ah, the time will come, when all shall know, Hidden 'whys' of things that now puzzle so; At the golden eve, when we've done our best, And we weary feel and sink down to rest, Free from all vexing cares below, And we wake beyond, ah, then we'll know, Life's mystery and meaning. 15 PUSH! Don't fret and whimper your life away, And growl about no chance, For the poor man to edge thru the frenzied crowd, Or up in the world advance. Tho' the fight grows hot for power and place, Just join in the maddening rush; Keep a level head, an open eye, And,Push! The world may try hard to crowd you back, And elbow you out of the race; But press right on, keep your temper and smile, With your eye on a higher place; Be firm, and true, and honest through, Don't beat about the bush; Be frank, and fair; treat all men square, And,Push! Oh! don't, over small things, worry and fret, And hasten your health's decline; You'll soon, at best, be laid to rest, Under the drooping pine! For the old folks' sake, learn a warm handshake, Win lass' and lad's best wish; Have faith in God, in Man, in Self, And,Push! 10 Booker T. Washington's Visit The "Sage of Tuskegee" has come As a guest in the "Old Kentucky Home;" We're really glad that he found the time, To come up here and see, That it's really true Kentucky leads, In hospitality. Of course we all feel very glad, That a really good time Booker had, But what will the pious preacher say When he hears what Booker has done, That he two-stepped gay with the fairest dames Of social Lexington But who can blame him Wouldn't you Two-step with such fair women too Such beauty and such music sweet, Would make a preacher cross his feet; I'm glad that the sage and statesman had Here such a chance to see, How good white folk and good black folk Get on in harmony. There scarcely ever comes a jar, Their friendly intercourse to mar, And isn't that what he's fighting for Down there at Tuskegee To lead both up to a higher plane Of mutual sympathy Ah! color does not make the man, But brains, and grit and honor can! But wasn't that an inspiring sight, On Saturday at the Fair Twenty thousand of Kentucky's best, All cheering Booker there! Say, come again, good doctor, do, Kentucky's deep in love with you! Her latch string always hangs outside, Her table is always spread; Her horses are fast, her women fair, And her wine is rich and red. 17 Saloons Must Go Fate has decreed that rum shall go, In spite of what the scoffers say. That evil which the world so dreads, The world opposes it today, With warmer ardor, stronger blows, Which very plainly goes to show, The people are determined that Saloons Must Go! What good are they that should stay, To tempt, to poison, kill, corrupt There's naught that scatters misery, Half like the dramshop's poison cup; The homes where glowed once light and joy, All gloomy now, with want and woe, Should rouse the pity of mankind, And demon Drink be made to go. How sad to stand with mourners round, A drunkard's grave, so soon forgot, And hear the thunder of the clods, Fall on the coffin of a sot! Ah, will the nations never wake, But sleep like Samson strong of old, Shorn of their strength by alcohol, Led captive blind, by lust of gold The money that the Negroes spend For cursed drink, why don't you know, 'Twould dot this country o'er with homes, To shelter them from rain and snow Our clergymen they thunder loud, At thread-bare evils stale and old, But lightly pass this evil by, That kills the race thru love of gold! The prayers of millions that ascend, From hearts all broken and in pain, Bereaved and torn by alcohol, Are heard of God, and not in vain. Fling out the banner to the breeze, Thathe who runs may read and know, That for our sons' and daughters' sakes Saloons Must Go! 18 MY DOG He's a noble fellow that he is, with his glossy coat. Those eyes of his Light up and glow some times like he Possessed a living soul like me. And were I asked to now point out My favorite playmate, there's no doubt I could decide it very quick By calling frisky little Crick My dog! Oh, he's so jolly and so small He could not get my rubber ball In his small mouth. Tho he can bark And frighten "boogers" in the dark! Why he'd just take right after them If I'd say "sick 'em" Little Lem Our neighbor's boy just yells, "hello!" And climbs the fence, he's frightened so At my dog! But Crick just barks at Lem for fun, If he'd say "boo!" how Crick would run! 'Cause Cricket's just as 'fraid of Lem, You bet your life, as Lem is him! He growls at Lem and makes a face As if he said, "Get off our place!" Until I call him, "Come now, Crick" And he, well trained, obeys me quick, My watchful little dog. My uncle gave my dog to me When he was just a puppy wee. I've taught him many a funny trick, He's awful smart and learns so quick; He beats a heap of boys who go To our school house and never know Their lessons when they're called on. He Can sit as nice as you or me On his small haunches in a chair Oft eyeing me with modest air. I never scold, or beat or tease, My dog, but always try to please, And make him happy just as he Brings joy and happiness to me. 19 there's nothing in this big world wide Which I enjoy I won't divide With noble Crick so fond and true, My kindest thoughts go out to you My dog! WATCH OUT! There's a thing or two I notice, As I knock around a bit, Some bad habits of my people, E'er they prosper they must quit. What e'er hinders race-advancement, Let us challenge, let us rout! Or we'll never make a nation, If we don't watch out! All the summer they are going To the picnics, and the show, To the fair, and "big camp meetin'" 'Tis the fashion "don't cher know." Winter's coming like an army, He will storm your weak redoubt, And he'll catch somebody napping, If you don't watch out! See them moving to the cities, That are over-crowded now, With a class that follows loafing, When it ought to be the plow! Dens licentious, dives of danger, For the idle lurk no doubt, And too oft they fall as victims If they don't watch out! One great need now, is true leaders, If our teachers and D. D.'s Are corrupt the people will be, So long as they follow these. Let's have men for our race-leaders, Sober, honest, and devout, Or our doom is sealed forever, If we don't watch out! 20 "Watch Ye Therefore"CHRIST How has your life been spent young man, Has it been for the good and true Have you battled for right with all your might And done what you could do, To make this world a better place, To live in for the coming race Ah, better than gold is a good name Said the wise old sage of old; Don't meddle with strife, live an upright life It is better than silver or gold! Get wisdom as life's strong defense, The beginning of which is common sense! Be careful! Life's a dangerous road, Uncertain, rough, and steep; Your moral tone is always known By the company you keep. Let looks and actions always be From any ill suspicion free! How short is life! Time flies so swift, That ere we are aware, Our forms are bent, youth's vigor spent, And frost is on our hair! Then let us all improve life well, For how soon ended who can tell 21 Some Little Good I did some good today, Unconsciously, the while, When I mixed some wit within a pleasant talk, As a friend and I took a quiet walk, And it brought to his lips a smile. What ever makes one smile, Lifts from his mind a load; And it makes his journey smoother still, Tho' rough the path, and steep the hill, Along life's rugged road. I did some good today, When I shook a stranger's hand; It made him feel that he had one friend In the world whose courtesy did extend To a stranger through the land. I did some good today, To a beggar at my door, Who only asked for a crust of bread, For he had neither home nor friends, he said, And he thanked me o'er and o'er. So, may I always be, From selfish motives free, Determined to do what e'er I can To lighten the load of my fellow-man, Through kind fraternity. 22 Quit You' Foolin' Yes heah yo' come mos' out o' breaf, Yo' bettah quit yo' foolin'! Done almos played yo'se'f to deaf, Yo' bettah quit yo' foolin'! See dem pants now, an dat shirt! Clean dis morn'n, now wid dirt Done kiwered. Boy gwine to whoop yo' fer 't Yo' bettah quit yo' foolin'! Heah I's bin needin yo' all day! Yo' bettah quit yo' foolin', Didn't yo' heah me callin' say Yo' bettah quit yo' foolin'! I'm feared yo'll nevah do no good, Yo' lazy t'ing! go tote some wood! I'd be some er count now, sho I would Yo' bettah quit yo' foolin'! What's dat in dem pockets dar Yo' bettah quit yo' foolin'. Mo dem green apples I declar' Ef yo' doan quit yo' foolin' I'll kill yo'! Got bof pockets full! Didn't I tol' yo' not ter pull No mo' I's gwine ter com yo' wool Ef yo' doan quit yo' foolin'! 23 Press To The Front How grand to be filled with the noble ambition, An equal among our great heroes to stand, And step in the tracks which scholars and sages Have left as they passed over time's golden sand. Doctors of Law, great jurists and statesmen, And scholars still sounding in science's deep sea, Teach us that by patience and earnest endeavor, And brave self-denial what we too, may be. The young man unthinking, who breaks off his studies, Thinking completion will take him too long, And rashes out into the world's great arena And thinks to win fame by a speech or a song, Will very soon find that the world has no pity, And in disappointment his folly he'll rue, And find to his sorrow that fame's fleeting bubble, Is sought by many but won by few. Just see how we grow! So long isolated! No longer hemmed in by America's rim; "Uncle Sam" can now boast like his old British crony, The sun can no longer go down upon him! In our "New Possessions" there must be erected, Great cities and railways; rich land to be tilled; And schedules of commerce to lay the foundation, Of that mighty eastern republic we build! All hail! to the dawning of that great tomorrow, Whose rapid approach on the swift wings of time, Hastens the "New Day," whose radiance and splendor, Shall witness achievements of grandeur sublime! And when that day dawns perhaps the millenium, For which Christian paople have hoped for and prayed, Shall come and restore us to that blest condition, Of peace and contentment from which we have strayed! 24 Let It Come Whether sunshine, whether rain, Let it come! Whether sorrow, whether pain, Let it come! If by Pate you're stricken, try Not to worry, fret and sigh; Sorrow's oft a blessing, why Let it come! When Earth's ills fall thick and fast, Let them come! And fierce blows life's tempest blast, Let it come! Trials only make us strong, Nerve us to withstand the wrong; Be it sigh or tear or song, Let it come! Troubles come oft hard to bear, Let them come! Each and all must bear a share, Let them come! God the father in his might, Often works beyond our sight; What he does is always right, Let it come! 25 Gwine Back 'Twas a southern railway station, On a balmy autumn day, And a bustling crowd was waiting Stern, and thoughtful, giddy, gay, For the train. The hum of voices, Like the murmur of the sea, Kose above the drowsy humming, Of the town's activity. Shambling slow, an aged Negro Tottered, leaning on his cane; Four-score years had bowed him hoary, Filled his trembling joints with pain. Faded tied, a red bandana At his tattered elbow hung, Keepsakes, gifts, and family trinkets, In it saved since he was young. Oft he paused, and searched each pocket, While his aged troubled face, Wordless told a tale pathetic, Little heeded at the place. Soon a gentleman, a planter Of refinement, wealth and pride, Deeply touched, a fellow feeling Drew him to the old man's side. "What's the trouble Uncle May be I could help you if I knew." "I can't gosomebody's robbed me, Purse am gone and money tool" "Lost your money Where'd you started1 "Back ter ol' Kentucky whar De ol' 'oman an'.de chil'n, Side by side are buried dar! I could fin' dey graves dis morn'n, Under dat big elm tree, On de knoll behin' de orchard, An a place wus lef foh me! Aint bin dar since Mars Jeems sol' me, Got behin' an' couldn't pay. Las' I saw dem all dey's cryin Forty yeahs ago terday! 26 Boss, I'se gettin' ol' .an' lonesome, An' jes' felt I'd like to go, To de oF home in Kentucky, An' jes, see de place once mo'! Set once mo' on de ol' stile blocks, Drink once mo' f'om de ol' spring; Stretch beneaf de ol' black wa'nut, Whar I hung de family swing! Take a stroll down fru de orchard, Whar de beetles and de bees, Used ter hoi' dey ebennin' concerts, 'Mong de bloomin' apple trees! Dars de loveliest parks, an' gyard'ns, Orchards, meadows, farming ground, Grandes' house, and proudes' owners, Found in all dat country round! Boss, I aint got long to stay here, Case, I'se gwine down de hill; Ef I fails to make dis journey, Mighty feard I nebber will. I had twenty silver dollars, Saved up little at a time, Sometimes I'd lay by a nickel, Den again, sometimes a dime. An' now after all mah saben, Up fah twenty yeahs or mo', Saben purpose fah dis journey, I'se done robbed V now can't go!" "Move on nigger, with your plunder, Or I'll pull you! move along!" Roared a blue-coat with his billet, Striding through the waiting throng. "Stand back sir!" the planter thundered, "Wait until there's need for you!" To the self-important copper Who crest-fallen straight withdrew. Then the planter drew his wallet: "Let's all help this poor old man, Back to where his dead are buried, Each one give just what you can." 27 In his hat he dropped a dollar, Then quick passed it down the line; Dollars dropping on his dollar, Till beside his thirty-nine. "Forty dollars, uncle, for you" Then the old man to the ground, Knelt amid the throng encircled, Tears of joy were streaming down: "0 in thee, a strong believer, All my days Lo'd, I hab been! Thou in pity always looking, Down on needy, helpless men! Thou dis day my faif hab strengthened, I will neber doubt no mo'; Help me love, and serve yo' better, Let mah light shine whar I go! Bless dese white folks and dey neighbors, Lead and guide dem whar dey go; May dey lamps be trimmed and burning, When dat silver trump shall blow! Th'u your mercy and dey money, 'Spects to see my home again; On dem and dey seed foreber, Let thy blessings rest, amen!" With uncovered heads, and silent, Stood the crowd, that sympathy, Which lies dormant in each bosom, Started tears in every eye; But the silence soon was broken By the coming of the train, Each, to his thoughts returning, Thundered on his way again! "Thundered on" much wiser, better, Through each heart the feeling ran That to scatter human kindness, Is the noblest work of man. 28 Looking Backward When Hybenal winds are blowing1, Gloomy snow-clouds from the poles, And old Hayseed, with a shudder, Draws up closer round the coals; When they, howling, drive before them Dreary waves of misty rain, Starting tiny, icy streamlets, Trickling down my window pane, Then I like to sit and ponder And my mental vision cast, Backward o'er life's glowing chapters And its pictures of the past. Childhood days! Their joys and sorrows; Youth so hopeful, happy, vain, Gallant as a knight in armor Charging o'er some bloody plain! Victories won 'mid classroom plaudits, Urging effort on anew, Championships of games athletic, All these rise to mental view. Oh, how these dear recollections Dearer grown by riper years, Crowd those youthful scenes before me Looking backward through the tears. What high hopes and faith unbounding. Never doubting but a name, Would be writ among immortals In some sacred hall of fame; Time rolls on and age advances, And youth's towering castles fall, Mediocrity is written In Fame's gilded silent hall! O, fond Hope, urge thou me onward, With that vim which at the start, Filled me with that noble purpose Ever "to act well my part! May the love of right and duty Nerve me for the coming fray, Conscious of God's approbation, "Well done"in a coming day! 29 Light In Darkness There's a good time surely coming, Coming tho it may be late; I can see its light advancing, Just a little longer wait! That vexatious Negro problam Can be solved, and it will be; They've the key to its solution, Down at Sunny Tuskegee! Tuskegee sends out this message Through the Southland wide and far: "Why seek homes in Africa's jungles Stay in Dixie where you are! Educate and save the dollar, If you would a nation be; Win white friends both North and South, And learn a trade," says Tuskegee. Washington, the Negro Moses, Proves that Armstrong was no fool, When he chose that bright young Negro, An industrial training school, To build up ,to train his people, Sons and daughters, husband, wife, How to best discharge each duty, In the varied walks of life! Learn a trade! The high professions, They are crowded. A demand Now is made, regardless color, For the skilled manchanic's hand. The best trained will win the battle, . Be the color what it will; Color must give place to merit, What the world now wants is skill! Learn a trade! That in life's battle, We may march as warriors bold, Taking every calling captive, And as trophies, honest gold! Fortified with skill and manhood, Color shall no barrier be; Lo! The hand of Ethiopia Stretches forth at Tuskegee! 30 I'm A White Man An honest Negro, hurrying along, His contented heart was full of song. He wished -nobody any ill, But cherished for all a kind "good will." He met a white man, in whose eye, Lurked the demon Hate, said he, passing by: "I like a nigger in his place;" (In the maudling tongue of a "tight" man. "I'm agin 'im when he tries to act Like a White Man." To the worthy man, all honor is due, Be he white or black, if his heart is true. In the grades of life, honest men prefer That the measure of worth shall be character. All men are equal in God's sight, The yellow, the red, the brown, black, and white. I pity the man with so narrow soul, Who tho' he has failed in life, can Still glory in that thread-bare boast: "I'm a White Man!" Ah, where shall the honest Negro flee, To escape man's inhumanity, While driven and scourged by the cruel rod, Of the Anglo-Saxon color god Tn courts of justice, in marts of trade, In business concerns of every grade; In public places everywhere, That same humbug grins hideous there: "I'm a White Man-!" But its coming yet! Yes a better day, When the false by the true, shall be swept away. When the standard of justice is lifted high, Yea, the standard the world shall be measured by, In the clearer view of enlightened man, When he falls in line with his Maker's plan. If I, then, measure in heart and mind, To manhood's stature I'm the right man, Altho my skin be as black as ink, I'm a White Man! 31 PERSEVERANCE Streamed golden rays from a clouless sky, While gentle zephyrs floated by, When the curious crowds from Palos, Spain, Stood crowding the wharf of the trackless main, To bid God-speed to the seamen brave, Who dared to cross the unknown wave, Of broad Atlantic's heaving breast, In search of lands in the unknown west. With a firm belief that the Earth was round, While critics declared his mind unsound, By works Columbus proved his faith, His order was: "Sail on!" Each sailor stepping to his place, With a smile of adventure on each face, As Columbus waved adieu his hand, To the cheering crowd on the sunny strand, The ships glide slowly from the land, Each graceful as a swan! On, on they sail. The landscape grew More indistinct. At last from view, Rocks, hills, and mountains fade. Men who Knew naught of fear before, Were seized with terror, wild and strange, "What if this wind should never change Blow Westward evermore!" Then horrid monsters from the sea, Rose up in feverish fantacy, And torture them to mutiny! The sluggish waters thicker grew, The compass pointed no longer true, Hope now seemed all but gone! Imploring their commander they Beg to return. He answers nay. Some storm and swear while others pray, His order still: "Sail on!" From the path of duty he did not swerve, By kindness, tact, and steady nerve, He held each sailor to his place, While to the west still kept his face! At last the booming signal gun, 32 Announces land. And every one Runs to the deck! And O the scene! The landscape clothed in living green, Where birds in brilliant plumage sing, Rejoicing in eternal spring! Thus with a noble end in view, With faith and courage to carry it through, Columbus the course of the blazing sun, Still followed on till the prize he won! Nor faltered, nor doubted till his flag unfurled, 'Mid the splendid scenes of the great New World 1 O thou! Embarked on Life's broad sea! For the port of unknown destiny, Learn from this story briefly told, Of the Spanish Admiral of old: He who would win must persevere, Cast off thy doubt! Discard thy fear! 'Tis the day of deeds! The man of vim, Truth, faith, and industry on him Good fortune smiles. But the sluggard who Depends on chance to pull him through, Ne'er gains the topmost rung of fame, Nor among Earth's greatest enrolls his name! Sail on, O man from Life's barren shore! "Sail on," tho muttering thunders roar; "Sail on," tho' angry billows roll, And terror strike to the timid soul! Place that Good Pilot at the wheel, He knows thy bark from mast to keel! He'll guide thee o'er hidden rock, And keep thee safe 'mid storm and shock! Stand fast, and show thyself a man! Upright, with courage, power, and skill, Above thy head hangs honor's crown, Thou canst obtain it if you will! STUPID BILL Two High School lads were Tommy and Bill, 'Twas many years ago; Now Tommy was smart and very quick, While Bill was dull and slow. At marbles, leap-frog, tag, and ball Smart Tommy led the way; In class he got the teacher's praise, As well as "ten" each day. But Bill, he didn't like to play, He didn't like the noise; He liked to stand off by himself, And watch the other boys. He knew he couldn't make a "ten," And didn't care, because He was scolded when he tried and failed, While others got .applause. The High School SeniorsBill was one Declared it was a shame, To have their class' history Marred by a dullard's name. So they got up a class protest, In language frank and plain: "You must try to raise your record, Bill, If you hope to still remain In the Senior Class fellowship, And on commencement day, Receive your 'sheepskin' with the rest And have a speech to say. "The eyes of the world are on us, Bill, The same world we must face, When we go out from the High School, Bill, To join in the maddening race, For wealth, and fame, and honor, Bill, And all that life holds dear; And our success Bill, much depends, Upon our record here. "We've each mapped out our course in life, And we all hate to see, You marked as one of the failures, Bill, When you could also be 34 One of our High School 'Honor Men' Like Tommy and the rest. Come, save your credit; be a man; Let's march to fame abreast!" Then each went on in strict detail And outlined his career; 'Twas plain that all but Bill would be The great and brilliant peer, Of any of those master minds That made our country great In war, in commerce, science, art, And great affairs of state, From Henry Clay and Webster down! Tom said he would consent, Urged by the people and the press To run for President. Jack said he'd be ambassador, Our country represent, At that grand court of great St. James, Tom said he'd give consent! Fred said he'd build a railway line, To reach from pole to pole; And Senator Joe would urge a law For "Federal Control!" Then all eyes turned at once on Bill "Say, Bill what will you be When you go out in the big, wide world From the class of 'eighty-three'" Humped over writing with his toe On a dusty spot of ground, Bill slowly spoke, in a deep, clear tone, As heaped a dusty mound "Boys, I can't learn as fast as some, I's allus sort o' slow, But then there's got to be one drone In every hive, you know! "I've got a job as water boy Down at the factory. I know I'm dull, but some day yet, I'll make you proud of me!" 35 Derisive laughter greeted this As each boy turned to go, Each satisfied in his own mind For Bill there was no show. A score of rapid years rolled on And the class of eighty-three, Save one have failed to rise above Life's mediocrity! But who's that one who scaled the heights You know that dullard Bill, Who had no grasp of abstract truth, But a boy of iron will, Who got a job as water boy Down at the factory Then, That same Bill owns the whole "she-bang," Employs a thousand men! To Tommy and Jack, and Fred, and Joe, Bill's "Mister William" now; At his office door, with hats in hand, They practice how to bow! Don't scold a boy because he's dull No telling, it may be, Locked in his mind some genius sleeps, And perhaps you have the key! The world is full of Tommies smart, But not one Tommy in ten, E'er brings to pass those prophecies Made back in children when, Dressed in his "Friday evening" clothes, He made his speech and bow; Folks said he'd sure be President, But they know better now! But the "Stupid Bill" whom every one thought, In the race of life would fail, And the winding steps leading up to fame, No one ever thought he'd scale; But he reached its summit, plodding slow And on its record white, Enrolled his name with the faithful few, Indelible, and bright. 36 THE SILENT VOICE Did you ever rise at the break of day, When everything was still, And never a sound from the landscape round, Save the sound of the murmuring rill, And lift your prayful thoughts to God, In homage, love, and praise, For his kind hand that's leading you, Thru shadows and bright days Did you ever pause in your daily work, When a silent, strang command, Arrested your thoughts, and your footsteps too, And silently bade you stand, And review such blessings one by one, As the Lord has granted you, And then and there, breathe out a prayer, For dangers He's led you thru And maybe some friend at your side Still wonders to this day, Why you stood still, like Baalam's beast, When an angel barred the way. Nor does he know that what he thought Was an absent-minded whim, Was your awakened soul's desire To render praise to Him. Did you ever feel that way, my friend, Did you ever feel that way Tho' you felt alright, with a prospect bright, Still you feel inclined to pray 'Tis but God's omnipresent voice, That's gently calling you, To never forget, He's leading yet, In ways that are right and true. 37 My Favorite Season You may have all the joys of Spring-time, With its pleasant sun and dew; When the wintry fogs and storms depart, And the sun smiles thru the blue. When verdure springs from the warming earth And hark! on every hand Sweet music swells from the flowers and trees, And gladdens all the land. You may have all the joys of Summer, From toil and study free; To smiling fields and shady groves, Fair Pleasure beckons me. Content I walk thru the smiling fields Where herds contented graze; Each blade of grass is an orator, That speaks Fair Summer's praise. You may have all the joys of Winter, With its jolly holidays; Its coasting parties, skating crowds, Its jingling merry sleighs. When Santa Glaus on the Xmas tree, Hangs happiness for all; And laughter from young happy hearts Rings merrily thru the hall. Take all these joys and welcome, But give me the Autumn days; When the gentle sun shoots down aslant, His golden, mellow rays. When the lazy breezes sink to rest, And up to the clear, blue skies, The shimmering heat from the meadows round, Like holy incense rise. In the Autumn days, when Plenty reigns, How the merry farmer sings, As loads of golden fruits and grains To his crowded barn he brings. 'Tis then that the soul looks up to God, In thankfulness and praise, For life and health and bounteous store, Yea, give me the Autumn days. . 38 The Whitling Man He has come again! yea the "Whittling Man." Did you ever see him, ever scan His sage-like features Ever see This guy of the twentieth century If you never did, then mark him well, As 1 of his looks, and his doings tell: Long, lanky, and lean, with bristling hair With a swaggering gait, and a knowing air, While 'round his mouth there plays a grin, With tobacco juice running down his chin. Guess you think Solomnn wise, but what King Solomon knew, this guy's forgot! He knows how the government should be run; How the country's business should be done; Talks church and school and their power for good, The social scale and the Brotherhood; Trusts, Wall Street, Capital, Labor, Strikes, Are a few of the subjects he most likes. Cross-legged, seated before the door, Of the crowded front of the grocery store; Shoves back his hat, drawg his pocket And talks, and whittles, as if his life, Depended less on what he said, Than the kind of whittling that he made! Just watch him on some election year; Just watch then pretty soon you'll hear, What "I'd a done, if I'd a been, In the place of them thar leadin' men!" In every cause he leads the van, This sage and statesman, Whittling Man! My Kind Of Man The kind of man for me is one, Who seeks no praise for what he's done; Who labors not for man's applause, But gets his share of praise because, With an honest heart for right strives he, And that's the kind of man for me. Tho' highly honored, he does not scorn, The honest rags of the lowly born; Good cheer and hope to all he brings, For he looks at the sunny side of things; His manly heart is as light and free, As the morning breeze. He's the man for me. He knows a smile and a warm handshake, Oft from a stone a heart will make; From which kind words drive out despair, And plant an honest purpose there; He looks for the good in men and he, Is the kind of a man I delight to see. 40 Berea's Founder And His Work In every age there rises up a man, God-fearing, firm, embodiment of truth, Called, not his will, but God's alone to do, Like ancient Samuel, summoned in his youth. Howe'er corrupt the world may seem to grow, Or swallowed up the hearts of men in sin, Tho' doubts and error cast their blighting shades Lo! here and there Truth's light comes breaking in. Falsehood and wrong may flourish for awhile, Eternal Truth and Right forever stand, Like beacon lights along some rocky shore, To warn sea pilots of the wreck-strewn strand. I've witnessed much so sublime, grand and good, It stirred my soul; but the sublimest sight Is to see a good man dare to stand alone, Despised, and scorned, because he stands for right. Aye, such a one I knew, a southern man, Taught from his childhood no man had a right, To membership in Man's great Brotherhood, With rights full equal, save his face were white. Reared in Kentucky 'mong his father's slaves, With good Scotch-Irish coursing thru his veins, With just enough of sturdy English mixed, To give aggressive, strong, resourceful brains. With tender heart, religious nature strong, With firm convictions all men should be free, To make of self all that is possible, Such was Kentucky's hero, John G. Fee! In early youth he gave his heart to God, And placed his feet in that straight, narrow way, That leads to Life Eternal and that Light That shineth even to the Perfect Day. His soul, heroic, scorned a life of ease, But joined the ranks of that God-fearing few, Who seek for Truth, content with nothing less, And in God's grace, and knowledge daily grew. He read somewhere in the Good Book that God, Created of one common blood all men, If God made all of every shade and tongue, He made the Negro, he's my brother, then. 41 Must I, because my brother, then, is black, Deny to him, what for myself I claim Refinement, culture, bliss of happy home, Full civil rights, and social rights the same These rights are due to every worthy man, Who bears his full responsibility, Of Public duty. Color should not count, In boasted times of 'Christian Charity! Is it man's color, or his character, That's tested in God's balances above Is human hate the passport at the gate, Or meekness, kindness, justice, faith and love The Negro simply claims to be a man, No more, no less, with man's full rights implied, God-given rights that bondage could not Mil, Nor will he aught with less be satisfied! This good man saw the Negro's claim was just And straight became his champion at the bar, Public Opipnion, drawing to himself, Sharp criticism, near, and from afar. But soon he found, what all wise men have found-That words, mere words will never aught avail, Unless supported by some worthy deed, The bravest words must soon ignobly fail! Ye Negro Leaders! learn a lesson here, Whose eloquence so charms the listening crowd, Facts setting forth with wit and logic sound, While answering plaudits ,echp long and loud; The man who something practical can do, For the advancement of the human race, To lessen pain, and happiness increase, In human hearts will find a lasting place. Our Christian hero, with unshaken faith, In God's great love and simple justice saw, That some men up and some forever down, Illogical, contrary to God's law! For lo! the treble curse that blights the land, Is ignorance, and selfishness, and sin, All evils that afflict the human race, Traced back, we find, in that foul source begin! 42 His duty clear, he straight forsaking all, Home, parents, friends, and childhood's happy scenes, And started out to preach impartial love, Trusting in God for guidance and for means, Like some frail bark that leaves the peaceful shore, And ere her rigging drops from sight of land, The rising storms arouse the threatening roar, Of angry waves that dash on every hand. So rose mob violence round the martyr, Fee, And filled his strongest, bravest friends with fear. But Providence provided some escape, When personal harm and death itself seemed near! But threats of mobs, nor sting of social scorn, Nor the base failures of the cringing law, Swerved him a hair-breadth to the right nor left, Whenever he his duty clearly saw! By Duty led to yonder dreary spot, Where rugged hills and quaggy low-lands meet, A tangled thicket, full of stagnant pools, For owls, and bats, and frogs, a safe retreat, There built a church and next a village school, To which he gave the fitting name Berea, A Christian College in the reach of all, Was started there upon its great career. For forty years it placed in reach of all, Christian instruction, turning none away, Who sought for knowledge, culture, higher life, The Cause of Christ promoting day by day, How many youths, Berea, have reached success, Their parts well acting in society, Who trodden down by ruthless power of Fate, Inspired to rise to honor and fame by thee Thy work was so beneficent and kind, That Charity outstretched her generous hand, To aid thy cause. And students white and black, Flocked to thy halls from all parts of the land. The mountains sent her sons and daughters down, And sturdyyouth came from the cultured North; And youths and maidens "carved in ebony," Swarmed to thy halls and proved an average worth. 43 And to Kentucky's honor be it said, For thirty years she scorned to lay a straw, To check thy progress, or embarrass thee, By threat of base coercion, or by law! And why she then, so quickly grew alarmed, So frightened at the "social boogerboo," Has puzzled me for, lo, these many days, And doubtless, it has puzzled others too! Much has been said and much more strong believed, Of plots, intrigues, and base ,ignoble schemes, Laid hatched, and brooded in those sacred halls, To rob the Negro of his fondest dreams. What e'er of truth, or falsehood of this charge, Brought by both races, justly both complain, One thing I know, the blacks were forced to go, The whites, protesting, kindly bade remain. Berea School-men, pleading innocence, Say, why such haste to hurry plans along Ere that High Court the Day-law could decide Your "jim crow" plans endorsed the Negro's wrong. Almost three centuries this kindly race, Thru hardships and thru troubles too, untold Has come, rough ore thru hardship's furnace heat, To shine forth yet, the Nation's purest gold! Farewell Berea! The Negro looks to thee For championship of equal rights no more; Upon thy new found creed, the martyr, Fee, Looks down, and weeps, from yonder better shore. So long as in the Negro's feeling breast, There beats a heart of love and loyalty, Will Fee's great name, with Garrison's, Philips', Stowe's, Be ever held in grateful memory! 44 The Pessimist "What's gwine to come o' dis Negro race" Said Uncle Eben, with troubled face, Seated beneath a cherry tree, "Hunting ground" of the honey bee, Turning swift while the days are warm, To shield itself against the winter's storm. "I wonders some time lookin' roun', 'Ef dis 'ere race ain't losin' groun'. 'Pears we's learnin' awful slow, De berry t'ings dat we ough' ter kno. De fust mistake we made soon es we's free, Mistook de meanin' o' liberty. "Thought dat de word meant do as you please, Wo'k when you has to, take yo' ease; To wo'k an' to sabe was a wicked t'ing, Hab' big meetin', shout an' sing, Sarven de Lord in delight o' day, Soon's it's da'k th'o 'ligion away! " 'Nother mistake made eb'n now, 'Stead o' showin' our young uns how, To stir lak we did, let 'em do Anyway, dey want to; ain't dat true Daughter's playin' 'rag-time,' son's playin' cyards. Mammy's in de wash tub, in de back yards. "Daughter off at college, dressed to kill, Mammy in de wash tub, payin' de bill; Son he's a cigarette-smokin' dude, Ol' man furnishin' de clothes an' food! De ol' folks strugglin' to pay for Ian', De young fo'ks puttin' on, actin gran'. "01 fo'ks dies, fust t'ing yo' knows, Back in de white man's han's it goes! So I wonders sometime, lookin' 'roun', Ef dis 'ere race ain't losin' groun'; Tears we's learnin' awful slow, De bery t'ings dat we ough' ter know!" 45 Dis Ol' Worl' Dis ol' worl' am very funny, Ef hit sees a feller down, Strugglm in de sea, misfortune, Hit des stan' an' let im drown. But when hit sees he's determined, Dat success he's gwine ter win, Ev'ry feller wants ter he'p 'im Win de race he's runnin in. Ef a feller's po' an needy, Hit des he'ps ter keep 'im po'; Ef he's rich and independent, Hit tries ha'd ter he'p 'im mo Ef he's headed fer perdition, Ridin sin's toboggan slide Each one push 'im as 'e passes, So dat he may faster ride. Ef 'e treads de path of virtue, Leadin' straight ter honor's goal Whar de crown ob lif e awaits 'im, When 'e jines de honor roll, Dis ol' worl' des ups an' crowns im, While de golden trumpets soun', An his pathway strew wid flowers, While admirers gather roun'. So I say dis worl' am funny, Ef hit sees a feller down, Etrugglin' in de sea, misfortune, Hit looks on an' lets 'im drown. But ef hit sees he's determined, Dat success he's gwine ter win, Ev'ry feller wants ter he'p 'im Win de race he's runnin' in. 46 SHACK "Come seb'm or leben!" the shooter said, As each young sport bent low his head, Counting the spots on the tumbling bones, To decide who now, the money owns. The grinning victor's name was Shack, Who picked up the coins but tossed one back, Then rubbing the dice with a blow and a shake. Cried, "Fade me Cuffy, foh I'se yo' cake!" Cuffy at length fished up a dime, Which Shadrack won in an ace of time1. Straight Cliffy rose with trembling lips, Arms hanging helpless at his hips, While tears rose in his dark, bright eyes, And to swallow a lump in vain he tries. "I promised mammy," the urchin said, (His father had for years been dead.) "I promised her dat I'd be good, An' wuk an' he'p 'er all I could To buy us a hoss an' nice white house, Jes lak white folks n mammy lows, She's gwine ter sen' me to Tuskegee, No tellin' whut dey'd make ob me; An' now maybe I'se spiled it all!" And Cuffy's tears began to fall. Now "Shack" was a lad hard tho you try, 'Twas difficult to classify. His traits Dame Nature so concealed, Naught by his looks was ere revealed, Save by his shrewd and restless eye, One saving trait he would not lie. Had a bulldog's grit with a smiling face, Had fought every urchin in the place. He rose, gave Cuffy a puzzled stare, Then quickly assuming a quizzical air With cap shoved back on his wpoly head, And his hands thrust deep in his pockets said: 47 "A mammy's boy! a schoolin boy! CryinM whtit's dem tears foh, joy I'se got no mammy, Fse too tough, Dey spiles big boys, dey do sho' nuf! Dey suits foh kids age two and free, But not foh great big boys lak we!" The tears on Cuffy's cheeks meanwhile, Were dried by Shack's sarcastic smile; Resolving not to be outdone Good mammy knowing he had one. Thus: "Shack how very proud I'd be, To hab yo' stay all night wid me, An' see mah mammy at mah home, An she'd be glad to hab you come. "You'd change yo' min' I'se "purty sho' About boys' mammies ef yo' go! W'y we'se got plenty dar to eat, An' good sof beds, mam alus treat Mah comp'ny nice, afp yo' go, She cut dat milyun 'hind de do'!" Ah, me! the thought of melon sweet, The bed, and good nice things to eat, And "Cuffy's mammy! I'll jus' sho' She's lak all mammies, so I'll go." "It dat yo' Cuffy whose yo' fren'" "Shack," mammy, "honey, come right in, Jes hab dat cheer dar, by de do', De white folks keep me busy so, Washin' an' i'nin' ob der close, Lor, how proud white people grows! Cuffy, fix de fiah son, 'Cause mam wants ter git dis i'nin done; An' tote some watah f'om de pool, To put dat milyun in ter cool, Run erlong now an' hurry back, Den mam gwine ter fix you boys a snack! "Shack I'se awful glad yo' come, Cuffy's boun' so close at home, I doan much let 'im go down town, So much mischief hangin' roun', 48 Robbin', stealin', 'n' shootin craps, 'Taint no fittin place fob chaps! I lak yo' looks fob. I kin tell, When chillun done been brought up well. We need mo' sprightly lads lak you Ter train us up race-leaders true; Ter take up de wuk so well begun, By brudder Booker Washington! Cuffy tole me heap 'bout you, Said you'd de brain an' de pluck ter do, Mos' eny t'ing you set yo' hed; Bully fob you! he furder said, You'se de finest black boy in de place. I'seglad ter hear 'im say so case, Dar's a gran' an' noble wuk for you, An' Cuffy V mo' sich boys ter do." Shack sat leaning against the wall: "Well, well, dis mammy do' beat all! Has sich confidence in me, Sich kin words an' sympathy; Ef 'twant fob dat Cuffy's eye, I'd des steal er chance an cry!" "Yes son, whut we po' black folks need, Is true an' upright men ter lead. "Now Cuffy's good, but weak, will bend, I'se glad fob sho' dat you'se his fren'; I know you'se agwine ter Tuskegee, I hopes you V 'im '11 roommates be; I want you ter keep im in de right Doan let 'im shoot dem craps an' fight! "Now, honey, wont you promise me You'se a gwine widCu ffy ter Tuskegee, Dat you'l he'p Cuffy ter be good" Shack simply nodded that he would. He weak and trembling tried to rise, The teardrops swelling in his eyes; For fear they'd start, he dared not speak, Lo! this strange mammy kissed his cheek! "God bless you chile I know'd you would, God help you to make dat promise good!" Shack felt so humbled by the spell, Thrown round him by this dame so well, 49 Made effort vain to sneer and scoff In last attempt to cast it off: "School lak dat ma'am cos' a heep, I'se feard we'll fin' it not so cheap;" "No honey, you is wrong dar sho' Dat school was built some years ago, To help prepar' de cullud race, Foh de worl' great wuk an' a hi'ah place, In de 'ligious, social, business world, Our bannah plant at de front unfurled! "Why honey, doan de scripter say, Dat Ethiopia's gwine ter sway, Truth's shinin' scepter o'er de Ian' Wid her outstretched and mighty hand Dat's why dat school in de reach ob all De rich, de po', de great an' small. The supper finished, the prayers were said And the little boys soon were snug in bed; Cuffy socn was sleeping sound, But poor bad Shack, no sleep he found! 'Twas Shack with himself in terribla strife And he conquered at last for a better life. And he resolved that from that night, To never more shoot dice; and "Right" Should from that night his motto be, And to go with Cuffy to Tuskegee. He rose next morn at the break of day And with eyes closed tight threw his dice away. He gave back the money from Cuffy won, And declared himself with gambling done. Today he's a rising architect, Past winning a name and the world's respect; Once almost lost, on a cold world thrown, But saved by one act of kindness shown! The Deacon's Backsliding He was a deacon, strict, devout, Who for that office seemed cut out; With his slick, bald pate and goated chin, And his great contempt for the smallest sin. He lived on a Southern Georgia farm; It was Spring at last, and the sun shone warm, As it, smiling, burst through the rifted cloud, The storm departing, muttering loud. "I believe we're done for a while with rain, And I aint sorry nary grain," The deacon said to his pious wife. Who, like himself, lived a busy life. 'Twas the deacon's custom to go to town, Prompt as each Saturday rolled around, To carry a load of market stuff, To change for groceries, plug and snuff. To mix with the crowd and learn the news, And occasionally to swap his views For a better set, on the church and state, Oft times returning home quite late. While plowing along, the sun grew hot, And the deacon thought of a better spot The mossy old bucket ,the cool, deep well, "I'll hitch Bob Toombs, and Til rest a spell." So on the porch in an easy chair, The deacon sat, with an anxious air Upon his face, while looking down The long, red highway toward town. "I wanted to go to town today, But wife, she thinks I'd better stay And plow the corn, we're so behind With work, and besides twont hurt to mind Your wives sometimes. They like to boss, And are so whimsical and cross Whene'er they can't get things to run, Just as they'd like to have 'em done!" He filled his pipe, and with a sigh, Lit it with a match scratched on his thigh, While the fragrant smoke in columns rolled Like incense up in the days of old. Then suddenly there came a sound, Of hoofs and wheels, and looking down 51 The long red road, he saw a shay, Drawn by a decent looking bay. And in the shay two gentlemen sat, Each in his Sunday clothes and hat, Come jogging along at a lively rate, And halting the rig at the deacon's gate. "Light, gentlemen, light," the deacon said, Then placing his straw hat on his head, He met them half way down the walk, And led them back in a pleasant talk. "Well, Brother Dismukes, how do ye do I think it's really kind in you To visit us, when we aint been To see your folk since you moved in Our neighborhood; but then you know How women folks are; they can't go A-calling out in public view, Unless they've got on something new. "Besides the creek has been up so, That my old 'oman's feard to go Across it, for each time, she said, She takes a swimmin' in the head. And this young brother, who is he Oh yes' it's brother Slattery." He seated his guests, and hurried around, To where his wife was boiling down, A pot of soap, and speaking low, Suggested that she'd better go, And get some dinner, quick, while he Would entertain the company. She muttered something about the way Some folks could loaf on a worky day, With times so hard, and a backward spring She couldn't understand the thing! Well, he talked with his guests on temporal things, Then soaring aloft on more pious wings, He reviewed the church, its surrounding whole, And his deep concern for the sinner's soul! They eyed him closely from head to foot, And finally one this question put: "Say, Deacon Jones, didn't you just say, That you'd been plowing corn today" "Yes, yes, you see I usually wait Till Monday, but the season's late, 52 And when I can get in a day, To run the plow, I must make hay." His visitors seated by his side, Both opened their eyes at this quite wide. "But I enjoy good company so, If you'll excuse me, I will go Where the boys are fencing and call son Jim, And give the plowing up to him." "What, going to make him plow today" "Yes, time's too precious to fool away. The fact is boys his age and size, Need plenty of air, and exercise." His guests were silent a moment or so, Then suddenly both rose up to go! Tho the deacon urged them, they wouldn't stay, But hooked up their rig and drove away! Mt. Pisgah's church day opened clear, And the crowds poured in from far and near. On horse-back, mule-back, buck-boards, gigs, Creaky old rock-aways, two-horse rigs! Each one contributing its full share, To the crowd of country folk gathered there! There black-dressed women with specks and shawls, Men home-spun dressed and in overalls, stood round in groups, all talking low, All plainly grieved at the awful blow Which late had fallen swift on one Of Pisgah's pillars; one who'd done So muc hto make her a tower of strength, Throughout South Georgia's breadth and length. The sexton scarce had tolled the bell For eleven A. M. when the gavel fell For the business session. A song was sung, From a hundred lusty throats it rung. Then brother Tompkins led in prayer, Eesponses rising here and there. A song. Then orders of the day, Were called for; and without delay, Old deacon Simpkins from his pew, When call was made for business new, Rose up at once, addressed the chair, 'Mid deathly silence everywhere: "Brother Moderator, I regret to say, That I have a charge to make today, 53 Against a brother deacon here, Whos' gone in and out for forty year, Before this flock, and always stood, High in his church and neighborhood. Sir, on last Sunday deacon Jones, In the sound of church-bells solemn tones, Instead of fasting and humble prayer, As becomes good deacons everywhere, Not only was plowing, but made his boy Take turns with him, thus to destroy What good intentions that the lad, Through reliigous convictions, may have had. The reason I know that he did plow, He told two brethren present now." Dismukes and Slattery from their pew, Declared that the statements made were true, "I move you agin 'im we prefer A charge of Sabbath breaking, sir!" 'Twas seconded. "Are there remarks" With eyes ablaze, and flashing sparks, Old Deacon Jones sprang to his feet, His tingling blood at fever heat, And declared the charge was most absurd, And the basest slander he ever heard. Then spoke the pastor: "Tell us pray, What did you do on last Lords' day" "Lord's day it rained. I stayed at home And read by Bible, sir, and some Who ought to have done the same, sir, they Were plotting how to slander me." "What did you do on Saturday, then" "I plowed by co'n, and these same men Will witness to the truth, I hope, That my good wife was boilin' soap." "Well Monday then, what did you do" "Why the day was clear, and the sky was blue," "There' deacon, stop! There's where you're wrong, For Monday it rained hard all day long! While last Lord's day was bright and fair, With the spring birds singing everywhere. I thought there must be some mistake, And we'll drop it now, for the church's sake." A pause, and Deacon Jones arose And asked the pardon of all those Whom he had unjustly criticized; And a sob escaped as he wiped his eyes. 54 Old Fashion Preachers Whar is now, dem good ol' preachers, Bo'n way back in slabery days, Wid dey plain ol' fashion dressin', An' dey plain ol' fashion ways Wid dey heart-felt ligious greetin', Dey unfailin' hope and cheer, Dey upliftin sense ob duty, Make dey ol' time memory deah. I kin heah dem plaintive voices, Pleadin' wif de muse ob song, Stirrin' up de soul's emotions, Asde y sing so sweet an' strong. As dey sha'ps 'n' flats V time beats, Can't be beat in our time, An' de wo'ds was full ob meanin', Chanted th'u de perfick ryme. How dey cheered de meek an lowly! Any one distressed or greved, Were consoled wif glowin' promise, An' dey heart-aches were relieved. Were dar any sick, afflicted, Dem good men, were sho to call, Sing a hymn, den gently kneelin', Pray for invalid an' all! Dey wa'nt blessed wid college trainin', How could dey be Dey wa'nt free; Dey knowed nothin' 'bout dis learnin', An' dis here theology. But dey rich imagination, An dey earnest, rousin' style, Stirred wid in de hearts ob people Fust a tear an' nex' a smile. I believe in learned preachers, Ef dey leamin's mixed wid grace, Either one wid out de other, In de pulpit's out ob place. When de grace of God, an' learnin', Bof wid in a man combine, He becomes a moughty power, To advance de cause devine! 55 " 'Possum And Chidlins" (From The Daily Register, Dec. 27, 1917.) Some little controversy has been developed over the respective merits of 'Possum and "Chidlins" as the "piece de resistance" of an informal menu these snappy evenings. 'Possum and "Chidlins" of course, have a peculiar appeal to the appetite of the colored brother, and what is more proper than that they settle the mooted point themselves Henry A. Laine, Supervisor of Rural Colored Schools, who wrote such a splendid poem on the last Liberty Loan, and which was highly complimented when in appeared in these columns, received a letter from his friend, P. W. L. Jones, professor of history at the Colored State Normal at Frankfort. Laine, however, is devoted to his "Chidlins" and he told Jones so in poetic reply. Both poems are splendid examples of negro dialect and equal to the best work of Paul Lawrence Dunbar. The Daily Register is glad to have the opportunity of being the first newspaper to publish them. " 'POSSUM" (By P. W. L. Jones, Prof. History, State Normal School, De possum's sweet, as sweet can be, De possum's tender, rich, and good, De juiciest ob de juicy meats, De finest of the de finest food. He's fit fer ev'ry rank an' race, In Norf, or Souf, or East or West; He's good when skun an' good unskun, An' all de ways he's cooked is best. Dey aint no dish dat suits my taste, Lak possum baked up good and brown, Dey ain't no eatin' haf so fine, De possum's equal aint bin foun'. At morn, at night, at. dinner time, At home or 'broad on Ian' or sea, When hot or col', an' twix and 'tween, De possum sho' eats good to me. 56 W'y cose, I know deys other meats, I knows dey's prime, an' midlin' rare, But none of dem doan cut no ice, When possum's on de bill ob fare. I lub de possum th'ough an 'th'ough, I lub de hide, I lub de meat, F'om side t' side, fom en' t' en', F'om head t' tail, fom back t' feet. I lub my wife, I lub my kids, I lub my home, an' duty's call, I lub,my "toddy," dog, an hoss, Bui possum meatIp, best ob all! "CHIDLINS" By Henry A. Laine, Author of "Foot Prints." Dear Jones: De kids wus 'sleep, and de house wus c'am, Ah spreads mah feet out fum jam to jam. Chunked de fiah an' opened de e'b'nin' mail, An' de fus' t'ing I sees is you' 'possum tale. Dat po'm is sho'ly hard ter beat, You sho made a study ob possum meat. An' I knows ev'ry word dat you said is true, 'Cause 1 knows som't'in' 'bout possum too. But I do sho'ly pity you, Ef you nevah tasted "chidlins"! "Chidlins," you ax me, "whut are dey" I tells you now, in de shortes' way: You takes dat pa't dey calls "tentines," What's 'tached to de hog's digestin' machine. You take hit, an' soak hit 'bout nine days, Den you biles hit down. T'aint ready yet. kase, Hits got ter be wallupped in flour an' fried, Serve pepper an' sauce. Den you peep inside Ob de ub'n to see if de bread is done, Be keerful, now, or yo' jaw'll get sprung! An' ef you doan min' gwine t' swallow yo' tongue, Eat'n cracklin' bread an' "chidlins"! 57 Co'se I knows moughty well dat possum meat, Wid taters and gravy am ha'd ter beat. Wid steamin' co'n pone, hot an' brown, An' nobody bother'n you hangin' roun', Wida pitcher ob sweet milk rich an' col', Den a feller gwine t' eat ev'ry bit he'll hoi'. But de dish dat reaches my hongry spot, Ash cake an' coffee, steamin' hot, An' a smokin' dish ob "chidlins." I love Kentucky's sun-kissed hills; Her peaceful rivers, her gurglin' rills; I love her far-famed Bluegrass plains, Her rollin' fiel's wietdey ripenin' grains; Ah love her stately forest trees, An' her blooded stock. But above all dese, I'd love moughty well, when I git oF, Fer ter hab a little Ian' or bon's or goP, But hit wouldn't bring happiness to mah soul, Lak "eracklin' bread" an' "chidlins." A Bit Of Philosophy 'A hearty laugh doeth good like a medicine."Solomon. I have noticed one thing and I've found it true, It's better to laugh than to sigh. And this plain truth that I'm telling you, That it's better to laugh than to sigh, Is as true as the gospel. Don't you know, That a hearty laugh, makes the life blood flow, At a livelier rate, and a redder glow It's better to laugh than to sigh. When you rise in the morning feeling blue, It's better to laugh than to sigh; And everything seems gone wrong with you It's better to laugh than to sigh. Just whistle some tune that you love to sing, Or try to think of the funniest thing, That ever you heard, then the "blues" take wing It's better to laugh than to sigh. When things don't seem to come out right,' It's better to laugh than to sigh; And it seems you are making a losing fight, It's better to laugh than to sigh. Just grit your teeth and roll up your sleeves, For the fight is lost, when one stops and grieves. Who "Labors and Laughs" success achieves It's better to laugh than to sigh. For the man who laughs leaves cares behind, It's better to laugh than to sigh; For a laughing face means a tranquil mind, It's better to laugh than to sigh. For the man who laughs starts a ripple of mirth, That ripples and runs all around the earth; And the world is glad in its new-found bivth It's better to laugh than to sigh. 59 'SAMBO" WRITES TO "UNCLE SAM" (Henry A. Laine, the colored Poet-Laureate of Kentucky, Is very patriotic, and wants to see the boys of his race recognized in the call for soldiers to fight for the Stars and Stripes. He came in from his home at College Hill last week and handed The Daily Register the following "letter from Sambo to Uncle Sam" about the matter, which Prof. Laine says, expresses the feelings of the patriotic colored people exactly.) Dear "Uncle Sam:" Is hit a fac', Dat you'se gwine ter hold us black boys back, An' aint gwine t' 'low us a bit o' chance, Fer ter face dem "Huns" on de fields ob France I'se heard you'se gwine take along er few, Des ter black yo' boots, an' ter wait on you, An' des potter 'round de camps, an' gwine Des to do odd jobs back behin' de line. You needn't ter feel, suh, a bit o' dread, Dat dese black boys is a bit afraid, Ob dem 'ar dreadful German guns, 'Cause de blood of ancient warriors runs Th'u dis here race. Wy sir, we do T'ink you ought ter let us share wid you De danger, hardship, joy and pain, An' we'll bear our part, and we won't complain. De doan min' de mud, and de blood, and de stench, An' de awful life in de front-line trench; We des want a chance fer ter prove again, Dat dese here t'ings called "niggers" are men. We des want ter stan wid our rifles in hand, Des ready ter dash across "No Man's Land," Des as soon as dey give us de order, "Go!" An' de "Huns" who oppose, will ba "Huns" no mo. Three centuries we'se lived together here, Th'u de storm an' shine, an' you all feel near To de colored folks; an' I spec we do Feel also, near, to de white folks, too. We'se stood by each, in de ages gone An' I t'ink we can stan' still furder on, An' all we black boys want's a chance, An we'll open yo' eyes, on de fields ob France. 60 Dear Uncle Sam: Please let us go, When dis wah ends, dar'll be no mo'; 'Cause de nations dat are fightm' dey Gwine t' settle dey 'sputes some y'other way. An' dey ain't gwine t' 'low no wicked king, Ter start no mo' such awful t'ing, As dis here wah. When hit do cease, Den begins ter reign universal peace. Please doan forget ter let us know, When you need us. Truly yours, SAMBO. 61 If Farmers Should Strikewhat Did it ever occur to you what would take place, If the farmer should go on a strike And what next would happen to the whole human rac If the farmer should go on a strike If nothing at all was produced for one year, No stock, grain, or poultry, no corn, not an ear; The whole world would tremble with panic and fear, If the farmer should go on a strike. And soon some dread plague and gaunt famine would reign, If the farmer should go on a strike; And soon not a living soul would remain, If the farmer should go on a strike. The wheels of industry would cease to go round, The great busy cities would soon crumble down; The earth would be silent; all still; not a sound, If the fanner should go on a strike. He is to all business the chief corner stone, And too patriotic to strike; He fights the Peace-battle and fights it alone, He's too patriotic to strike. The army and navy with battleships grim, The nation's defenders depend upon him; And in a great crisis our chance would be slim, If the farmer should go on a strike. He asks for no favors; just wants a man's chance, And he'll never go on a strike; No "middle man's" profit to check his advance Too good an American to strike. But don't take the kernel, and give him the shell, Or something might happen, just what I can't tell; Just grant what is due him, and all will be well, And he'll never go on a strike. 62 Living On The Farm The folk, who in the city think, That all the world is there, Whose looks and actions tell a tale Of city toil and care, Should come out in the country once, Where free from every harm, They'd find that far the happier folk, Are living on the farm. No noise nor clatter of the street, Disturb their peaceful dreams, But orchards, meadows, lakes and parks, Valleys, hills, and streams, Are just a few of many things, Whose beauty, and whose charm Make home seem more like paradise, Than living on the farm. Where life is not made burdensome, By fashion's despot rule; Where half grown boys, and girls as well, Go bare foot, miles to school. Where home spun clothes and brogan shoes, Will cause no more alarm, When worn on Sunday, to the church, Than Monday on the farm. What cares "Hayseed" what city folk, May sneer and laugh and say, About his pants stuffed in his boots That's just old "Hayseed's" way! Their city airs, and pretty clothes, Gives "Hayseed" no alarm; He knows when they want bread and meat They get it from the farm! Out on the breezy country farm, Both Health and Beauty dwell, Free from the noise of city life, And haunts of vice as well. I close with this, my proudest thought, I hope I say no harm; But the noblest men that ever lived, Were raised out on the farm. 63 The "Father of his Country" first, Next "Honest Abe" the man Who set four million people free Now beat that if you can! Their bringing up 'mid rural scenes, Gives country life a charm, That makes me feel high honored, sir, In living on the farm. Life's Mission The question often comes to me "What is my mission here" "Is it for selfish interest I labor year by year, To heap-up honors for myself Fame, honor, land or gold; To labor for myself alone, From youth till I am old" Nay, selfish gain leads but to loss, What would it profit me To chase thru life the bubble fame Then in the life "to be" Regret the things I mighWe done To help my fellow men, Who failed for help which I withheld- The chance comes not again. Yea, rather I my life were spent Like humble Mary's son, And I, about go doing good Until my days are done. Then in life's golden twilight eve I'll sit in peace content, Rejoicing at the happy close Of life for others spent. 64 LAINE'S FINE GREETING TO COLORED EDUCATORS (From The Daily Register.) Upon the invitation of Prof. E. E. Reed, of Bowling Green, President of K. N. E. A., Paul W. L. Jones, of Frankfort, Prof. J. S. Cotter, of Louisville, and Henry Allen Laine, of Richmond, appeared before eighteen hundred teachers and visitors at the annual meeting in Louisville, Wednesday, April 19, 1923, at 2:30 p. m., and conducted what is known as "An Evening With Kentucky Negro Authors." The following poem, "Greetings," was read by its author, Henry Allen Laine, on his being Introduced on that occasion: GREETINGS! I rise to offer kindly greetings, Teachers of Kentucky; I'm glad we're spared in health and strength To meet each other here. Thru busy scenes and anxious cares And many unseen dangers, We've safely passed and reached this point Of one more busy year. How have you fared since last we met Has true success or failure Attended you in that great work, Instruction of the youth Have you done all that you could do, And put forth every effort To make this year your banner year In spirit and in truth I know you have. Your presence here Speaks plainly your devotion To Duty in its highest sense, Your yearning, strong desire To take the lead here in the South, In public education, And on her altars keep alive Its everlasting fire. 65 There sit before me able men, And many cultured women, Whose lives would honor any race, However dark or fair. But one here stands out, clear, distinct, Aggressive, bold, untiring, Of vim and force and brilliant parts, Our worthy chairman there. We all are race men here, I hope, To that high woi'k devoted, Which seeks to lift our people up And hasten on the day, When man to man shall brothers be, Here in our great free country, And every form of racial hate Forever pass away. This body stands for school reform; We'll not retreat or waver, Till such reforms are brought about As set forth here below. We represent the highest thought, The most advanced idea, Of public schools whose rising forms Advancing shadows throw. We want free schools in reach of all With most advanced equipment, Extended terms for rural schools, With text books furnished free; Compulsory laws, that will compel, Small schools consolidated; All classified in proper grades Of high efficiency. We want more high grade Normal schools, Equipped for training teachers, To meet the strict requirements Of this advancing age, Where all that's best in the teaching art, With highest skill imparted, By experts in the lecture room And of the printed page. 66 In all our schools there should be planned A course on "Race Relations," So whites and blacks might studyfacts In light of truth divine; So that where mutual interests blend Urge justice full, impartial, So that goodwill might drive out hate, Along the "color-line." Search history with impartial eye, Unfold the whole great story, Include why Crispus Attucks fell, While teaching Paul Revere; And when you sing great Putnam's praise Don't leave out Peter Salem, And so on down the shining line, Teach facts complete and clear. Search musty nooks for hidden truth, Turn on the light revealing The mighty deeds by white men done, But don't forget to tell The glorious part both races played In peace ini war together, And how brave, loyal Negroes served Their county long and well. Let thoughtless youth be taught to see True worth in life is being A wholesome, elevating force Let it be taught at school That one safe course leads straight ahead To inter-racial concord; That all our unknown future hangs Upon the "Golden Rule." So let these aims be kept in view When back to fields of labor We go, when these brief sessions close Let every teacher do His best by word, and thought, and deed, To honor Old Kentucky, And may she wake out of her sleep And rise to life anew. C7 A Winter's Evening Red blazes dance in the cheerful grate, With a flickering glow, on the wall; And borne on the wings of the northern blast, Snow crystals hissing fall; But what care I, for the wind or the snow, When comfort reigns within When meal in the pantry is still holding out, And fuel is in the bin. The stock are housed snug and warm in the barn, Unharmed by the storm passing by; The fowls on the roost, are discussing their plans, While the pigs grunt contented in their sty. Let 'er go, rain or snow, Let 'er howl, and growl, and blow! There comes a time by natural law, for all things here below, We need time for reflection 'round the fireside of home, And perhaps we'd feel more thankful For the good days, when they come. At evening the paper comes, fresh from the city press, And eagerly I glance at all the news, To know I'm almost crazy what other people think And to weigh, compare and ponder different views. Then to my small library, quite eagerly I turn, I have, of books, I'm sorry, just a few; You see, I have selected them with care. They are my friends, I love them much because they're good and true. First on the list, the Bible. I like so much to read, Of characters like Samuel, Esther, Ruth, Of Nehemiah, builder-and of Ezra, mighty priest, I read for inspiration and for truth. Next in their order, Shakespeare, great Milton, Goldsmith, Burns, And stately Pope, with his "Essay on Man;" Then kind, light-hearted Dunbar, playing on his harp of gold, Whose brilliant life cut short seems but a span. 68 Next a few lives of statesmen, like our first President, Who, none too proud to kneel in snow to pray For starving, ragged armies, and the great man's prayer was heard, That's whywe have "Democracy 'today. And Lincoln, liberator, first martyr President, Direct descendant of great Charlemagne, Whose depth of love and sympathy, whose breadth and range of mind, Still puzzle scholars, sounding him in vain. One more for space is limited. There rose out of the South, That dusky statesman, Sage of Tuskegee, Who found his race industrially in bonds of slavery still, And pointed out the way how to be free. He told us at Atlanta, in the purely social world, The races could live peacefully apart; But in those matters, vital, to the country's strength and growth, We should be joined as one, in mind and heart. So while the tempest howls without, I'm thinking by the fire, How pulling, we, together may Rise to a standard higher. Let 'er go, rain or snow, Let 'er howl, and growl, and blow! There comes a time, by natural law, For all things here below; We need time for reflection 'Round the fireside of home, And perhaps we'd feel more thankful, For the good days when they come. "THE STORK'S VISIT" TO MADELINE, MY DAUGHTER I think the Stork was very kind, To leave that tiny lady With all her pretty clothes and things, For an indefinite stay. Her Uncle Kell and youthful aunts, Her Grand Dad and Grandmother And even "Granny" all desire To have her come some day And visit us. I tell you what I feel like Old Methuselah! And I am Old Grand Dad at last, With specks and walking cane! A big wide easy rocking chair Placed for me in the corner, Where 1 sit dreaming of the past, And live o'er life again. Dorothy May, grow tough and strong, For you will be rough handled By those young noisy aunts of yours, And sly young Uncle K. They'll make you eat and drink and "coo/ And then they'll have you crawling, And you must face the scorching sun, Out in the yard at play. Tell Daddy not to feel so big, He's not the only Daddy; I've felt nine times like he feels now! It's nothing new to me. When he has paced the floor all night, You, bawling with the colic, He'll know more of just what it means, To rear a family. 70 The Decline Of Domestic Authority (Editorial wrlttenm 1909 for the Richmond "Sentinel" by Henry Allen Laine.) Those of us, who are engaged in the work of training children have noted with apprehension the growing spirit of insubordination and the decline of good manners, on the part of the youth of our country. This growing rudeness is not confined to any particular race or color; but there seems to be a general disregard for those rules and regulations, governing childhood, which wisdom established and experience has sanctioned. There was a time whe nthe child was taught his place and made to stay in it; when one could reprove, admonish, and some times even rebuke his neighbor's child when necessity arose withotu any fear of giving offense or disturbing the peaceful, and friendly relations among families. There was a time when childhood recognized some authority; when parents united with the teacher in restraining and directing impulsive youth; when the minister from his sacred desk could reprove without giving offense. Boys were taught truth and honor; and girls virtue, modesty, and industry, and bothe were taught to respect old age. But it seems now that evil days have come upon us. Our boys are men while yet in their knee-pants; our girls women, eret hey reach the 'teens. The rights of Old Age are ignored, the ordinary rules of politeness disregarded, and authority in the home, and in the school is being trampled under foot by these 20th centuiy youngsters. What cause lies at the bottom of this state of affairs Well, in the first place, every generation grows more enlightened ;b ut increased knowledge does not always mean increased goodness. Knowledge is power and may be a good or a bad thing according as the power is directed, just as the locomotive is a great blessing when on the right track, and under control drawing a loaded train; but if turned loose on the track 71 without any controlling hand it becomes a monster of destruction; and so it is with knowledge. Secondly, Fads and Fancies of the age are alluring the people from the path of rectitude into the by-paths of sham and pretense. A wave of protest was put in motion some years ago against the "rod" as a means of punishment. It was started by few a goodly-good men and over-pious women, who sought to banish from Home and School this staid old regulator, the rod, and send it to the attic along with other relics of a barbaric age. Many school boards prohibited its use in the schools, and many parents wishing to be "up-to-date" substituted in its stead tears, and gentle lectures, with the result that children having no fear of punishment have taken the reins into their own hands. Now "what must we do to be saved" Let the parents and teachers join forces and reestablish dometsic authority upon the good old solid basis, so that peace and order may reign once more in the American home. "1919" To the Colored Farmers and Citizens of Madison County: The spread of the Spanish influenza put a stop to our club activity; but I am glad that the quarantine mil soon be lifted, and we can take up again, crop extension, soil improvement, increase production, home demonstration, domestic art, and general civic pride. We are just emerging from the world's greatest crisis, when the forces of evil led by the greatest military autocrat since Alexander the Great, sought to crush out democracy, and overthrow Christian civilization, and set up in their stead the "divine right of kings," backed up by invincible military power, with Berlin as the capital of the world. But at last the world's greatest nightmare is ended, and we are at the dawn of the Great Tomorrow, when the old order of things shall give place to the new, and the prostrate figure of Universal Brotherhood shall rise transformed in robes of spotless white out of the smoke and dust of war, and shall lead the nations in paths of peace and when we go to our places of worship on Thanksgiving Day, we shall, indeed, have many causes to be thankful. We shall be thankful, first, because we form one-tenth of the citizenship of the greatest and most enlightened nation on the face of the earth; second, we shall be thankful for the splendid record of loyalty and service we have made in thi scountry since we were led by Providence, three centuries ago, out of the jungles of Africa into this land of Promise; third, we shall be thankful that we have proven once more to the American white man that the American Negro is the best friend he ever had, and has stood by his side in every crisis, even in the dark days just passed, v/e have proven our worth and convinced the American white man that we are entitled to the fullest protection of the laws he has made and a chance under them, with his help and sympathy, to develop the best that is in us. 73 Our record in the great world war is a shining record. With amazing comprehension of America's war aims we have laid on "Freedom's Altar" the best that we had and to the extent of our ability, bought bonds and stamps, gave to the Red Cross and the Y. M. C. A., and most of all gave our brave sons who, whether behind the lines with the depot brigades or engineer corps, or up at the front, guarding the roads to Paris, proved that they possessed the same invincible spirit, so characteristic always, everywhere, of the American soldier; and in the future as in the glorious past, we shall continue to do our duty, first,by helping increase the world's food supply, inadequate at this moment, to feed the hungry world which stretches forth to us appealing hands, by producing more wheat, corn and hogs, more poultry, garden and dairy products; more fruit and berries, practicing all the while the strictest economy out on the farm, and in the home, so that we may be able to bear our share of the burdens of Reconstruction, and the American white man by his high sense of Justice and Right will see to it that we shall receive our full share of the fruits of the splendid victory for World-wide Democracy, which, by our mutual toil and sacrifice we, all of us, have so brilliantly helped win. HENRY ALLEN LAINE, County Agent. From The Richmond Pantagraph, October, 1919. 74 Agriculture And The New Day (From The Daily Register.) The address of H. A. Laine before the Teachers' Review class, at the Richmond Colored High School building, June 24, 1921: Fellow Teachers: I have been asked by Professor Bates to say a word along the line of Agriculture to this assembly of teachers of the Teachers' Review class. I always feel happy and at home among teachers, because for twenty-six years I taught in the rural schools and know something of the drudgery, monotony, the heart breaking daily grind of the rural teacher. Today on the summit of happiness, tomorrow in the valley of despair. Yet I know of no calling in which one has such an opportunity to render real service to humanity, services of such vital and far reaching importance. You stand as an army guarding civilization. You are the vanguard of progress. You are the world's torchbearers. You are the light houses along life's rocky shore. We stand this afternoon at the dawning of a great day. Civilization, recently severely tested, moves ever onward, touching and awakening races and nations. New relationships are being established, new ideals, new standards of living are being set up. New ambitions and aspirations are everywhere, moving people ot give to the world the best service they can render. Agriculture, the basis of all business and professions, commands the attention of the world as never before, for the question of food is ever before us, with ever increasing importance. The obsolete methods of agriculture of the past must be supplanted with the newer and better methods of today if this country is to escape the terrible fate of China, starving on those broad and once fertile plains, because ;e closed her eyes to agricultural progress and refused to advance with the rest of the world. She still plows with the same kind of crooked stick she plowed with two thousand years ago, while the western American farmer mounts his tractor hitched to gang plows and turns twenty furrows at once. She still cuts her grain with the ancient reap hook and threshes it out with old time flails, while our western farmer mounts his tractor hitched to a machine which cuts off the heads of the grain, threshes and 75 sacks it at one operation. She has allowed lumber speculators to cut down her once magnificent forests, permitting rapid erosion of soil, carried by rainstorms down into he rriver beds, filling them up and causing frequent overflows, destroying towns and cities, followed by drouths and epidemics and famine which threatens the very existence of the Chinese nation. Lack of civic pride has resulted in poor roads and bridges, and poor transportation facilities, making it almost impossible to get help to her in time and as a result, China is starving. The entire world's business structure rests upon agricul-tur eand realizing that fact, governments, national and state, are cooperating with colleges of agriculture to promote farming, stock raising and community life. Books are being written, lectures given, illustrated by screen pictures, to impress agriculture upon the public mind and laws are being made requiring agriculture to be taught in our public schools, and everything points to a universal awakening in the agricultural world. Let us rejoice that we live in this great day and have a hand in training the men and women who are to be the actors in the great drama of the new day, for the greatest product of the farms are the bright-eyed boys and girls, and what an array of talent from humble farm homes has marshalled the forces of progress in the past! George Washington, of Virginia; Abraham Lincoln, of Kentucky; Frederick Douglas, of Maryland, and Booker T. Washington, of Virginia, are samples of the farm's greatest product mid peaceful solitudes of rural life, where minds of men grow broad and strong and pure, these intellectual giants with echoes in their souls of singing birds and babbling brooks have added to history illustrious chapters. The real teacher, the teacher of tomorrow, will not be content with the daily class room routine, the assignment and hearing of lessons out of books other folks have written, but will be a leader in the community, taking active part in everything that makes for a better community, and by her intelligence, her tact, her personality, compel people to quit the beaten paths of slowfulness and indifference and walk with her upon the highways of life. Like the Great Teacher she will go about doing good. Thru Parent and Teachers' Associations, thru the various farm clubs she will reach out and bring the people together in helpful cooperation, stimulating inter-dependence, community pride and sociability, relieving the lone- 76 liness and isolation and by her reading circles, round table discussions and singing classes enrich their lives spiritually and intellectually. When I speak of singing I do not refer to jazz music .echoes of ancient barbaric ceremonies, music which arouses the basest passions of human nature, but good and wholesome melodies, religious and patriotic, which elevate and ennoble human nature. The result will be a more contented rural population, who more than any other class of citizens have rendered unselfish service, uncomplainingly for the good of all. And when at last the teacher's work is done and she sits with tired, folded hands, looking into the glowing west of life's golden sunset, there shall come to her a whisper out of the quiet twilight, "Well done, good and faithful servant, you have been faithful over a few things, come up higher and enter into the joys of thy Lord." 77 The Negro Exodus The steady exodus of Negroes from the South, to northern and eastern cities, has attracted the attention of the civilized world, and the question as to why they are leaving is of such nation-wide importance that the entire press of the country has discussed the matter, yet very few newspapers and magazines have been willing, or able, to go to the bottom of this question and give an accurate and comprehensive reply. As I am a member of the Negro race and know something of the race's moods, ideas, and feelings, I will attempt to answer it. The Negro does not hate the Southern people. The Negro does not hate anybody. His absolute belief in the Bible, and its teachings of love and forgiveness, have so filled his heart with love that there is no room for hate. For more than three centuries the South has been his home. There, lie the bones of his ancestors. Many tender memories of happy scenes within the whitewashed walls of many a vine-clad cabin, memories of bygone days, memories of thefeast ,the husking-bee, the rollicking corn-song; the two-step; the waltz; the soul-stirring spirituals, the friendly sham quarrels, the sidesplitting humor, the weird ghost-tales! Talkabout real wit and humor, Bert Williams only expressed what thousands felt; and Mark Twain never saw the day that he could equal some of the droll humorists, who, with heavy hearts, have joined the exodus Northward. "Why is the Negro leaving" He is leaving because he is dissatisfied. He is dissatisfied because of: 1stConstant danger of mob-violence, upon the least provocation; 2ndDenial of the right of self-defense; 3rdJim-Crowism; 4th."Taxation without Representation;" 5thDenial of Suffrage; 6thPoor Schools; 7th-Unfair settlements by landlords; 8thPeonage; 9thThe Ku Klux Klan; 10thBetter wages up North. 1. When the Dyer Anti-Lynching Bill was killed by Southern Senators/the Southern Negro decided it was time to go. 2. The Eight of Self-defense is fundamental; take 78 away that right, and man sinks to the level of the hunted beast, fleeing for safety. Mob-law denies the Negro that right, and will lynch him, if he dares to defend himself, or family. 3. The Negro grows more restless under the cramping limitations of the Sputh's rules, and regulations governing his right as a citizen. 4. Is it to be expected that the Negro, or any other race, would be satisfied to go on from year to year, paying taxes and doing his bit along all lines, without having a single raical representative in any state legislature of the South, or in the Congress, to look after his special interests 5. The right to vote is fundamental; and its denial by any law, or illegal device, solely because of "race, color, orpre vious condition," shakes the Negro's faith in the white man's sense of justice, and makes the expression, "Democracy," sound to him like a hollow mockery. 6. In most Southern States Negro schools are poor, because of short terms, and poor pay for teachers, as well as limited equipment for training teachers. 7. Unfair settlements by Southern landlords with Negro tenants. The landlord agreeing with his tenant to furnish supplies at one price, and putting the accounts on the books at another price; and so juggling the figures, that the tenants always come out in debt at the end of the year. 8. Peonage has frightened thousands of Negroes from the South. 9. The Ku Klux Klan has caused thousands of Negroes of the backwood settlements of the South to flee to more lawful communities, where life is safer, often leaving property behind. The lurid flames of a fiery cross blazing on some lonely hill at night, has caused uneasiness in many a Negro cabin while silent hooded figures, in robes of white, marching past his door at night has caused many a watching Negro to shudder, and resolve then and there, that the next move will be his! For this race of mine has always been a little "techous" about white things moving in the dark! 10. Higher wages, shorter hours, bright lights, police protection, better houses, better schools, and a fuller enjoyment of civil and social rights, form another reason why the Negro goes North. In conclusion I plead with the American white man 79 to give the Negro a fair chance; and then if he fails to measure up to the standard of citizenship set up, let him stand aside; but if the Negro race, that in sixty years, was able to produce Frederick Douglas, John M. Lang-ston, Booker T. Washington, George W. Carver, J. W. E. Boen, W. E. B. Dubois, Judge William Harrison, Henry O. Tanner, Coleridge Taylor, Bert Williams, Roland Hayes, Col. K. C. Simmons, and other celebrated Negroes, can measure up to the white man's standard, then I appeal to the American people to give my race full weight on the scales of justice; for then will dawn America's New Day, when there will be no longer a North and a South, but everywhere, America!