Mexico weekly ledger., 1901-06-27

NbN0
In your telegraph Office there is a
battery connected with wires that
like spider webs cross and recross and
reach every corner Of this great coun-
try. If the battery is not charged
no message can be sent. Teachers,
take that battery as your pattern;
charge your mind and soul until they
are full Of the lessons Of purity to be
taught. Make your heart a mighty
magnetic battery, and every child
in your class will put up wire Of
communication. You need have no
fear of attendance. Your Glass viii
be full to OVERLOOKING every Sunday II
you win only charge your BATTERY"
Talk to the meanest man In your
town and he will tell you that he
wants his girl TO be a sweet, pure girl
and his boy to be an honest, upright
boy. Don't skip any, for there is
some coed in everybody, and say, string
q wire out to that fashionable home
whose inmates worship at the shrine
of fashion; where abominable affront-
airy Of fashionable dress, or I should
better say, nearer no dress, shocks
modesty and courts familiarity. There
was a time when Familiarity bred
contempt" and all women knew how
to blush; with too many, tits sad to
say, 1t is not so now.
The poison In the home comes from
the upper crust Of what is called
society, not from the lower. The
devil came from Heaven, not from
hell, and the growing tendency In too
many of our fashionable homes is to
walk as near the line Of his internal
region as possible; not to fall body and
soul into his dark domaln--and many
of them fail. More than from the
medium and common ranks OF life.
Where do most of our Sunday School
teachers come from? Not from the
palaces OF the rich, but there are some
noble exceptions.
There are two things in this world l
dearly love, yes, three, a boy, a mule
colt and a baby, and times they all
remind me of each other; but boys,
don't be like the boy Whose mother
made his breeches 50
nTwould take more than a fool to tell
When be started which way he would
go
And he couldn't tell himself very well.
We've all seen people like that boy,
we couldn't tell whether he was COM
ing or going, on or of, to or from; boys
be something, be a mar or mouse, or a
long tailed rat. Stand for something
or you will be worth nothing TO the
country, to God or the devil. While
at this grand convention we saw and
heard that postmaster In primary class
work mo, let me call 1t by its old
name, "Infant class" l love the old
names Of things; somebody started the
foolish fad Of calling the Sunday
School "Bible School," You can have
a Bible school every day in the week
but you can't have Sunday School any
day but Sunday. 1t makes me feel
like my wife has been divorced from
me and changed her name. Give us
back the old name SUNDAY School'')
That class numbers It's. Think Of 1t,
IT'S little toddling children. l saw
their sweet faces and heard them
recite. Oh, for more J. w. Dalbys In
Missouri. The thousands he has
taught in his infant class work in his
twenty four years service will be each
a sparkling gem in his crown Of glory
now waiting his silvered head OF near
three score and ten years. You, my
dear worker in the Sunday School can
earn and wear such a crown IL you,
like him, put your head and heart
into the work and keep your "battery
charged The names Of G.. B. Mac
~farlane, as Superintendent Of the
Presbyterian Sunday School; J. NJ.
Marmaduke, of the Methodist; J.. A.
Guthrie, Of the Baptist and D. l..
Locke, of the Christian, all four of them
Superintendent OF teachers Of their
Sunday School for near or quite a
quarter Of a century will live long in
the memories Of the mothers and
coming grandmothers Of Audrain
county, after the most illustrious
politician is forgotten. What a charm
the music of the Sunday School has. ]
think now Of st. Cecilia Legend tells
us that angles dropped sweet flowers
ON her fingers as she drew beautiful
sentiment from the keys Of the life
less instrument. How much the more
will angles listen and let fall the i'm
mortal wreath Of acrown of glory upon
! the head Of a teacher, boy or girl,
| whose heart is in the song Of grateful
praise OF Him whom to-day we would
| crown "Lord of ALL"
There is a story land 1t may be true
Of a beautiful, golden haired girl in
Virginia who, when but i've years old.
learned TO sing that sweet old song
"Jesus Lover OF My Sould, Let Me to
Thy Bosom fly In a midnight raid
she was captured by a band OF Indians;
twenty years later the savage banc
was captured and with them the grown
up girl. All trace Of former face Of
form was gone by which she could b,
recognized; language all forgotten, ex
cept the beautiful song; and through
1t as she sang to eager listeners in thu
old home of her girlhood town, she
laid once more her weary head upol
her loving mothers bosom Oh, teacher
teach them how to sing these songs o
the heavenly home and perchance II
heaven you may find them by tn
sweet memories Of your earth life her
with them in the Sunday School; ant
if not there, you may sooner here wo'
them back from paths Of sin in man
hood or womanhoOd years; for tn
seed once sown will never lose It
terminating power; God hath said M
word shallnot return unto me void.
II anything ! have said is worthy 0
your remembrance, act upon it and ma
God add His blessing upon your worh
Send your Superintendent OF a tearch
mot your preacher, for these CONVEX
lions are for an exchange Of ideas am
methods Of actual S. S. teachers an
Superintendants that we may lear