THE EfcON COLLEGE WEEKLY.
2
THE ELON COLLEGE WEEKLY.
Published every Wednesday during the
College year by
The Weekly Publishing Company.
E. A. Campbell, Editor.
E. T. Hines, Affie Grif&n, Associate Edi
tors.
W. C. Wicker, Circulation Manager.
W. P. Lawrence, Business Manager.
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should be sent to the Greensboro office.
Entered as second-class matter at the
post-office at Greensboro, N. C.
WEDNESDAY, APRIL 12, 1911.
THE MOTHERS OF MEN.
The quet-u who sits upon the throne at
home, crowned and sceptered as none oth-*
er can be, is mother. Her enthronement
is complete, her rdgn unrivaled and the
moral issues of her empire eternal. Her
children rise up and call her blessed; re-
^bellious at times, as her subjects may be,
she rules them with marvelous patience,
winninjj tenderness, and undying love.
She so presents and exemplilies divine
truth that it produces in the happiest
development of ehildhxid, character and
life. And memory is sacred while she
lives, and becomes a perpetual inspira
tion even when the bright fiowerp bloom
above her sleeping dust. She is the in
carnation of frood to the child, hence her
immense power.
Here empire is at the fireside; who
can think of the influence a mother wields
in the home and not be impressed with the
far reaching"power and results? What
revolutions would take place in our fami
lies and in our communities if that strange
magnetic power was not concentrated to
the welfare of the child, and the glory of
God? What liallowed memories, what ho
ly influences, what infinite tenderness and
resistless love encircles with gilded glory
this divinely insjjired and God-given name.
Unwavering in her devotion, inimitable
in the sweet memories of her voice, and
matchless in her never failing fidelity to
her off-spiing. next to God, she has e^ver
been the mightiest power on earth. The
weeping infant pressed to her breast, falls
to sleep at the sound of her gentle voice,
and smiles as it dreams of angels recalling
it with heavenly joy.
Childhood, distu.bed, Ifaps for joy at
heri approach, and fles to her bosom for
refuge. Tlie youth tottering and tiembling
upon the fathomless abyss of intemper
ance, and the gentle whisper of mother's
prayer leads him back to reformation. Art
thou a man giown gray in the service of
God? Art thou he that holds an eminent
position on life's stage of action? Then
neven forget that the primary foundation
of that pious, sturdy manhood was laid
before thy mother’s knee in childish
prayer.
No man in all his weary wanderings
ever goes beyond the overshadowing arch
of home. Let him stand on the suif-
beaten coast of the Atlantic or roam over
wtsfern wilds, and every dash of the wave,
even the breeze will whisper, “Home,
Sweet Home.” Let him sit among the
glaciers of the North, and the thoughts of
home, too warm to be chilled by the eter
nal frost, will float upon him. Let him
roam through the green and waving
gloves Of the South, and in the soft smiles
of the skies, and the kiss of the balmy
breeze, home will live again. And fur
thermore, we say that “Paradise is at
the feet of mother.” There is one vision
that never fades from the soul and that
is the vision of her at home. Then cher
ish forever, hallowed memories of her
that silveied her hair in thy behalf, and
even paused at the brink of the grave
to waft one living whisper for thee,
her darling boy.
Wle dost thou remember, she it was
who took thy infant hand in hers and
taught untutered feet their first pattering
steps. She it was who taught thy in
fant lips to lisp their first “Now I lay
me down to sleep.'’ And when in after
years thou hadst strayed from her en
nobling influence, when first thy faltering
steps wandered into brilliant bars and
gilded palaces of sin, when thou wast lui^
ed away by the musical jingle of the
wine glass and the delighted inspiring
passion, then did the tender mother bathe
her face in tears for thee, and waft thy
name to God in prayer, and when thou
hadst sunken lower and yet lower, when
thou was almost scorched by the flames
of torment and a thousand demons of
fended thine ear witlr their satanic
screams, then did that precious mother,
deigning to touch thy debauched bod\.
deigning to love that polluted soul, reach
forth that sacred hand and reclaim thee.
Thus triumphs a mother’s influence, the
grandest priohibition that can reign over
the soul destroying drink.
“The bravest battle that ever was fought.
Shall I tell you wliere and when?
On the maps of the world you will find
it not;
’Twas fought by the mothers of men.
Nay not with cannon or battle shot.
With sword or noble pen.
Nay, not with words or eloquent thoughts
From the mouths of wonderful men.
Of a woman that would not yield,
But bravely, silently bore her part,
Lo! there is the battle field.
No marshalling troops, no bivouac song.
No banner to gleam and wave.
But, oh! these battles that last so long.
From boyhood to the grave.
Yes, faithful still as a Iwidge of stars.
She fights in her walled up town;
Fights on and on in her endless wars.
Then silent, unseen, goes down.
Oh! spotless woman in a world of shame.
With splendid and silent scorn,
(io back to God as white as you came,
The kingliest warrior born.”
All ages in every condition of life, from
pauper to the king, yield their willing
homage to her resistless influence. She
has moulded kingdoms, revolutionized em-
]!iiW, civilized and Christianized hea
then nations and peopled earth and hea
ven. She is first in every noble work, first
in every Christian reformation, and first
in the kingdom of heaven.
No painter'*s" brush or poet’s pen, in
justoce to her fame, has ever itached
high enough to write the mother’s name.
Make ink of tears and golden gems and
sunbeams mixed together, with golden pen
and holy hand, go write the name of
mother. Thence upward, to that great
whit© throne, mid music soft and sweet,
thank Jesus for that precious name, and
write at his feet.
This declamation, by Mr. R. K. Red-
wine, won for him the medal in the High
School declaimer’s contest at Elon College,
on April 14, 1911.
LETTERS OF TRAVEL IN DREAM
LAND.
(A series of three letteis written by my
cousin while he was traveling in Dream
land last January. Thinking that they
may be of interest to the “Weekly” rea
ders, I send them to the editor for publi
cation.—Cousin Ralph.)
Letter II.
Sleepy Inn, Dreamland, Jan. 18, 1911.
My dear cousin Ralph:
Perhaps you will be sui prised to learn
that I am now visiting a rural district;
you know it is customary for travelers
to take in only places of especial interr
est, but I would consider my sojouin here
incomplete if I failed to see something
of the rural life of these people.
Since I wrote last I have visited sev-
eial towns of interest and have found
practically the same conditions prevail
ing as described to you in my last letter.
Of course conditions are different in a
rural section. However, I am glad to say
that the same spirit of fellowship and
kindness prevail* here also. Oh! mj' cou
sin, you can hardly imagine the joy that
is brought into the life of a people by
the absence of “snubbish” and “self-
important’’ individuals.
Cousin, I wish you could enjoy the rest
fulness of this place with me. And too,
this people seem to enjoy life so very
much. Here work may be called a plea
sure as it is always done at leisure; and
my, such crops these people grow! ^You
remember that old story about how Satan
and a certain man once farmed together.
The story goes that Mr. Devil always ar
ranged the bargain so that he got the val
uable part of the crop. If they planted
corn, Mr, Devil chose the above-ground
part; if potatoes were planted, he chose
the roots. That scheme would not work
in this wonderful land. Don’t be sur
prised when I tell you theie is no worth
less part to any thing which Dreamland's
farmers cultivate. Their corn has a sort
of knob growing on its roots which is very
valuable; their potato tops bear a deli
cious fruit, and so it is with all the other
things that g.ow—there is noting but what
is valuable. This is an ideal place, the
utopia, for which some of our people are
striving, the place where the dreams of
the most fanciful may be realized.
Sleepy Inn is just a country tavern. The
landlov,d has a beautiful blue-eyed daugh
ter of about eighteen summers. Her man
ners are g; aceful, her actions are season
ed with sense. She is such a contrast to
those “gushing sillies” w'e so often see
among our people. A more industrious
or more cultured young lady I have never
seen. Education and culture have not
lifted her feet from off old “mother
earth.” No, she is not af:aid that a
April 26, 1911.
little reality and honest service will con
taminate her beautiful soul:
“Would there were more of such a
frame.
That life might all be sunshine.
And weariness a name. ’ ’
It has been my privilege to attend some
public .gatherings, and also, occasionally
a church service. All the people here are
seen on public occasions: the wives and
motheis as well as the men and young
folk. It is such a pleasure to see these
matrons enjoying an evening entertain
ment. Thus refreshed and bouyed up they
are capable of attending to their domes
tic affairs in the best possible way. I
am told that these ladies never engage
in silly amusement or neighborhood gos
sip, and such orderly homes as theirs
can’t be found elsewhere. I attended
some church services where 1 found the
women taking an active part in the re
ligious work. I was told that these wo
men do not mind taking a cross-countriy
drive of three’ or four miles to lend their
presence and help to the seivice. I have
almost forgotten to say that everywheie
I have found th© same true in regard to
attendance at all public gatherings and
church servces.
Cousin, 1 wish we could enjoy this de
lightful trip together. You do not even
realize how much I appreciated your let
ter. Write me the home news as soon as
you get this scribble of mine.
Your sincere cousin,
Frank.
R, M. 3rOKlU)W,
Siii'seoii Dentist,
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