Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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I { j . McCORMICK MESS^GER. MrrOPMirK S. C THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1940 Flower Quilt You’ll Point to With Pride Pattern No. 6525 Q UILTMAKING’S fascinating— especially when the pieces form lovely flower blocks—printed materials set off these flowers ef fectively. Make this handsome quilt. It will brighten up any bed room. Pattern 6525 contains the Block Chart; carefully drawn pat tern pieces; color schemes; direc tions for quilt; yardage chart; il lustration of quilt. To obtain this pattern send 15 cents in coins to The Sewing Circle, Household Arts Dept., 259 W. 14th St., New York, N. Y. Please write your name, ad dress and pattern number plainly. Pull the Trigger on Lazy Bowels, and Also Pepsin-ize Stomach! When constipation brings on acid indi gestion, bloating, dizzy spells, gas, coated tongue, sour taste, and bad breath, your stomach is probably loaded up with cer tain undigested food and yotu-bowels don’t move. So you need both Pepsin to help break up fast that rich undigested food in your stomach, and Laxative Senna to pull the trigger on those lazy bowels. So be sure your laxative also contains Pepsin. Take Dr. Caldwell’s Laxative, because its Syrup Pepsin helps you gain that won derful stomach-relief, while the Laxative Senna moves your bowels. Tests prove the power of Pepsin to dissolve those lumps of undigested protein food which may linger in your stomach, to cause belching, gastric acidity and nausea. This is how pepsin- izing your stomach helps relieve it of such distress. At the same time this medicine wakes up lazy nerves and muscles in your bowels to relieve your constipation. So see how much better you feel by taking the laxative that also puts Pepsin to work on that stomach discomfort, too. Even fin icky children love to taste this pleasant family laxative. Buy Dr. Caldwell’s Lax ative—Senna with Syrup Pepsin at your druggist today 1 Fill the Mind Study rather to fill your mind than your coffers; knowing that gold and silver were originally mingled with dirt until avarice or ambition parted them.—Seneca. FIGHT COLDS by helping nature build up your cold-fighting resistance suffer one cold tui after another, i sensational news I Mrs. Elizabeth Vickery writes: "I used to catch colds ocry easily. Dr. Piercds Golden Medical Discovery helped to strengthen me just splen didly. I ate better, had more stamina, otsd was troubled oery little with colds." This great medicine, formulated by a prac ticing physician, helps combat colds this way: (t) It stimulates the appetite. (2) It promotes flow of gastric jukes. Thus you eat more; your digestion improves; your body gets greater nourishment which helps nature build up your roM Ikhtiiij resistance. So Successful has Dr. Pierce's Golden Med ical Discovery been that over 30,000,000 bot tles have already been used. Proof of its re markable benefits. Get Dr. Pierce’s Golden Medical Discovery from your druggist today, or write Dr. Pierce, DeptN -100, Buffalo, N. Y., far generous free sampie. Pont suffer unnoces- saruy from colds. Neglecting the Mind If anything affects your eye, you hasten to remove it; if anything affects your mind, you postpone the cure for a year.—Horace. THIN WOMEN LOOK TOO OLD Women needing the Vitamin B Com plex and Iron of Vlnol to stimulate ap- C tite win see what a difference a few rely pounds make in filling out those hollows and skinny limbs. Get pleasant tasting Vlnol at your drug store, or write Vlnol Co., 94 S. Wabasha, St. Paul, Mina. What We Do Everywhere in life, the true question is not what we gain, but what we do.—Carlyle. L yoRftlev ^ CfiL&66 ^H^UOUgXUttETS. SAIVS. HOSI DROPS NEW IDEAS 0 Advertisements are your guide XT to modern living. They bring you today’s NEWS about the food you eat and the clothes you wear. And the place to < find out about these new tbiaga is right in this newspaper. > By ELMO SCOTT WATSON (Released by Western Newspaper Union) AMONG the countless trib- utes paid to Abraham Lincoln are several, written by newspaper men, which have become Newspaper Classics, i. e., pieces of prose that so caught the public fancy as to result in frequent requests that they be reprint ed in the newspaper in which they originally appeared. Outstanding among these is an imaginary conversation between Lincoln's mother, Nancy Hanks Lincoln, and a personification of the Present. It was written in 1914 for the Boston Herald by Robert Lincoln O’Brien, at that time editor of the Herald, from 1931 to 1937 chairman of the United States Tariff commis sion, and now publisher of the Cape Cod Colonial at Hyannis, Mass. It reads as follows: Nancy Hanks—I see the calen dar says it is 1914, nearly a cen tury after my life in the world ended. Pray tell me, spirit of the Present, whether anyone mortal remembers that I ever lived, or knows my place of burial. The Present—Oh, yes. There is a monument over your grave at Pigeon Creek. A man named Studebaker of South Bend, Ind., went there in 1879 and spent $1,000 in marking it. Nancy Hanks — What do you mean?) More money than I ever saw in my life spent on my grave, more than sixty years after I had made it! Was he a rich descend ant of mine? The Present—He was no rela tive of yours. As a matter-of-fact citizen, he thought your grave ought to be marked. Twenty- three years later the state of In diana erected a massive monu ment in your honor; 10,000 school children marched in procession when it was dedicated. The gov ernor of the state, now one of the great commonwealths of the Union, was there, while a distin guished general from afar, deliv ered the principal oration. This monument cost a larger fortune than you ever knew anyone to possess. More people than you ever saw together at one time assembled. And on the pedestal, in raised letters, one may read: “Nancy Hanks Lincoln.” Can there be any mistake about that? Nancy Hanks — What is this wonder of wonders? I realize that my mortal remains, inclosed in a rough pine box, were buried under the trees at Pigeon Creek, and that no minister of religion was there to say even a prayer. I supposed that if anybody in all this earth of yours would be sure ly forgotten, and soon forgotten, it would be Nancy Hanks, the plain woman of the wilderness. My life was short—of only twenty- five years—and in it I saw little of the great world, and knew little of it, and on going out had little further to expect from it. So, I pray, break to me the meaning of this appalling mystery! The Present—This is the 12th of February! Nancy Hanks—That was the birthday of my little boy, a slen der, awkward tellow, who used every night to climb a ladder of wooden pins driven into a log, up into a bed of leaves in the loft, and there to dream. Whatever became of that sad little boy? He was not very well when I left him. All that winter he seemed ailing. I hated to go away. I was afraid his father could not give the care that the frail little fellow needed. Did you ever hear what became of my little nine- year-old boy out in the woods of Pigeon Creek? The Present—Of course I have heard what became of him. Few have not. The people who could answer your question number hundreds of millions today. There is no land and no tongue in which the information you seek could not be supplied, and usually by the “man in the street.” Actual millions of people know that the 12th of February was the day you welcomed into your cabin in the frontier wilderness that little boy. His birthday, in twenty-two states of the Union, including the im perial state of New York, has be come a legal holiday. Most of the others hold some commemo rative exercises. When the great financial market of the world opened in London this morning, it was with the knowledge that the United States of America, the great republic over the seas, would record no stock transac tions this day. The words “No market — Lincoln’s birthday,” travel on ocean cables under every sea, and business in the great buildings, forty stories high, of New York city has paused today. So it does at Ft. Dearborn —you remember—on Lake Michi gan, now one of the foremost cities of the world. Nancy Hanks—Pray tell me more of the miracle of my little 'jT. - 4 • -y. w''/r/s "ANYNews Down T % TVf YlLLA6C,CZRY ? *VA/eii, S^uiee mclfan'5 60Ne t'washin'ton T' 5e€.f''1ADiSON SWORe IN. AN OL* SPELLMAN Tetti mcthis bonapartc fcllahas CAPToReD MOST O' SPAIN. WHAT'S NEVA/ out HCRe.Nei ghsor. ? #/ ’’’nuth in' a Tall. NUTHin ATALL, *C€PT F€R A New 8A BY DOWN T* TOM LINC0LN\S« nuthim' eveiz happens our neKe." gEPRtNTep syge<?ugST- Cbucfesy /ViCvSVS Pub. Cb. (/Y- X )Mor/c(J This cartoon titled “Hardin County, 1809” is also a Newspaper Clas sic. Drawn by H. T. Webster, it was first printed in 1918 in the Kansas City Star and other newspapers receiving the syndicate service of the Press Publishing company (New York World). Every year since then it has been reprinted in the Star at the request of readers. boy’s life. 1 cannot wait to hear what it all means! The Present—If you had one copy of every book that has been written about him, you would have a larger library than you ever saw in your mortal life. If you had visited every city which has reared his statue, you would be more widely traveled than any person that you ever saw. The journey would take you to several European capitals. Every pos sible work that he ever wrote, every speech he ever made, every document he ever penned, has been collected, and these have all been printed in sets of books with a fullness such as has been accorded to the works of only a few children of men. You could count on the fingers of two hands, and perhaps of one, the men in all ROBERT LINCOLN O’BRIEN secular history who so vitally ap peal to the imagination of man kind today. Nancy Hanks—And so my little boy came into all this glory in his lifetime! The Present—Oh, no. He died at fifty-six, as unaware of how the world would eventually re gard him as old Christopher Co lumbus himself. A few months before his death he expected soon to be thrown out of the position he was holding, and so he wrote a letter telling how he should strive to help his successor to carry out the unfinished work. Your little boy saw so little to indicate the place that time has accorded him. His widow was hardly able to get from congress a pension large enough for comfortable support, and yet that same body, in less than a half century, appropriates two million dollars—stop to think of that—for a national monument in his honor, and on plans so elaborate as to call eventually for far more than this sum. But I could tell you only half the story. Men have retired from business to go into solitude to study his life. Others have been made famous by reason of hav ing known him. I recall a New York financier who had known the high life of the world, min gling with the princes and states men of nearly every land. On his seventieth birthday his friends gave him a complimentary din ner. He chatted to them of what he had seen and where he had been. But he dismissed all the honors of the big world by saying that the one thing that remained most worth while in his three score years and ten was that he had shaken hands and conversed in private audience with your little boy, whom this cosmopolite pictured as “leading the proces sion of the immortals down the centuries.” Nancy Hanks—This is beyond me. I am lost in mystery qpd amazement. What did my boy— that earnest, sad little fellow of the woods and streams—do to make men feel this way? How did it all come about? The Present—That might be as hard for you to understand, without a knowledge of what has taken place in the meantime, as the skyscrapers and the ocean cables and railroad trains that I have spoken about. But I will try to tell you something of what he has done. Nancy Hanks—I am hanging on your words. I long to hear the story. The Present—We have in the United States a great democracy. We are making a great experi ment for the nations. Your little boy gave friends of democracy, the world over, the largest meas ure of confidence in its perma nency and success of any man that has ever lived. More than a million people a year now pour into the United States from lands beyond the seas, most of them unfamiliar with our language and our cus toms and our aims. When we Americans who are older by a few generations go out to meet them we take, as the supreme example of what we mean by our great experiment, the life of Ab raham Lincoln. And, when we are ourselves tempted in the mad complexity of our material civili zation to disregard the pristine ideals of the republic, we see his gaunt figure standing before us and his outstretched arm pointing to the straighter and simpler path of righteousness. For he was a liberator of men in bondage, he was a savior of his country, he was a bright and shining light. He became President of the United States, but that affords small clue to his real distinction. Few Americans ever refer to him as “President Lincoln.” In the idiom of our people, he is Abra ham Lincoln, called by the name you gave him in the wilderness gloom. To that name of your choosing no titles that the vain world knows could add anything of honor or distinction. And to day, from the Atlantic to the Pa cific seas, and in places under dis tant skies, children will recite in their schools his words, men will gather’about banquet boards to refresh their ideals by hearing anew some phase of his wonder ful story. Our nation could get along without some of its terri tory, without millions of its peo ple, without masses of its hoard ed wealth, but it would be poor, indeed, were it to wake up on this morning of the Twentieth century without the memory of Abraham Lincoln—one of the really price less possessions of the republic. f To the list of Newspaper Clas sics associated with Lincoln’s Birthday should be added anoth er. True, it appeared first in a book but it has been “reprinted by request” in the papers so many times that it rates as a Newspaper Classic. It was writ ten by Rosemary and Stephen Vincent Benet and toas included in their “A Book of Americans” published by Farrar and Rine hart in 1933. Its subject is: NANCY HANKS If Nancy Hanks Came back as a ghost Seeking news Of what she loved most She’d ask first: "Where’s my son? What happened to Abe? What’s he done? "Poor little Abe Left all alone Except for Tom Who’s a rolling stone: He was only nine The year I died. I remember still How hard he cried. "Scraping along In a little shack With hardly a shirt To cover his back And a prairie wind To blow him down. Or pinchin’ times If he went to town. "You wouldn’t know About my son? A Did he grow tall? 9 Did he have fun? Did he learn to read? Did he get to town? Do you know his name? Did he get on?” Soon after “A Book of Ameri cans” appeared and the reprint ing of “Nancy Hanks” began, D. R. Graff, a contributor to Frank lin P. Adams’ column “The Con ning Tower,” then appearing in the New York Herald Tribune, wrote this: REPLY TO THE GHOST OF * NANCY HANKS I remember your son Whose bony hands Left a plow to rest In prairie sands , And came to town In his Sunday suit Wearing Tom’s hat And shirt to boot. He got a job In a grocer’s store Weighin’ out beans And sweepin’ the floor. Then he bought leather boots For his awkward feet And practiced law In the county seat. He studied hard (Almost every night) Till the pages blurred Beneath the candle light You’d have smiled In your pioneer way To see him readin’ About Henry Clay And hear him talk In a low-pitched tone To a bed and a table In a room, all alone When he’d think of you Before goin’ to sleep. He’d pray the Lord Your soul to keep. And he’d see your face When the rains’d drip Through the quiet hours Of a flatboat trip "Did he have fun?” Yes, in his youth And he’d often laugh In a way uncouth; But In later years When his road was steep He kept his laughter Way down deep. \ "Did he grow tall?” A good six feet. With a roomy chest Where a stout heart beat; With hairy hands To grip a plow ; And a blacksmith’s fists That c’d stun a cow. , "Did he get on?”— If what you mean Is a white frame house In a yard of green. Or money to buy A bottomland farm Or store-bought clothes To keep him warm. Or the extra horse So he could ride Along country roads With his village bride— Well— Gettin’ on like that Wasn’t his way. He didn't gauge success By the bales of hay. Or the cords of wood A man can buy, Or acres he owns In wheat or rye. He didn’t care For wealth in gold But for wealth in love That a heart could bold Your son Abe Was of different clay. He’d forget to ask His rightful pay . As a lawyer should When he wins a case And the right prevails Against the base. He made his way By a different road And his shoulders carried A heavy load While cannon belched And generals led Gaunt grax. troops Of marching dead. While fear-crazed boys Slogged through mud And cannisters were Flecked with blood While Sherman rode Through a southern street And a drummer died In a field of wheat. Yes, Abe got on. Though few can tell How he ever lived through The war’s black hell And he died at last In a President’s bed While the nation mourned Its departed dead. So, If you’re the ghost Of Nancy Hanks, You’ll find Abe there Where armor clanks And you’ll see his face If you care to look For his eyes will smile With a God-like look. Another poem dedicatea to Nancy Hanks which is frequently reprinted was written by Kate McVey Park and first appeared in the Christian Advocate. It isi MOTHER OF LINCOLN Mother of Lincoln, in thy lonely sleep Rest thou content with what thy brief life wrought; Rest, for no longer need’s! thou vainly weep Bereft of fortune and to sorrow brought. What though strange yearnings filled thy hungering soul In the blind struggle of those years forlorn; Fate hath revealed the glory of thy goal. For what immortal purpose thou wert born; Rest, though men honor not thy lonely grave. Content to know no tribute of thine own. Hand-maid of Destiny, to whom ye gave Flesh of thy flesh and bone of thine own bone. Would that thy silent Ups could tell us when This needy esrth shall know thy like agatni CLASSIFIED DEPARTMENT ;• ‘ •' .y y »' ' : % .. . BABY CHICKS if CVASSORTED HEAVIES SOBO wsIIweVwSNo Cripples! NoCulls! wp«rlO* We Onarantee .Live Delivery. We Pay Pottage. ATLAS CHICK CO- St. Louie. Mo. ORDER YOUR CHICKS EARLY for January and February delivery and we will include 10 or more extra chicks per 100. Write at once for detailed informa tion. MILFORD HATCHERY, Rockdale, Md., Pikesville P. O. Beekeepers 9 Chairman Finally Got In His Sting The excited man mounted the platform and began his speech. The chairman made repeated ef forts to stop him, but to no pur pose. In the end he had to let him carry on. And carry on he did, fiery and pungent, for an hour, then stopped. “Have you quite finished?” asked the chairman. “Yes,” said the orator, “and I defy you to contradict a single word I said.” “I don’t wish to,” said the chair man. “The Brewery company, of whose management you complain, is holding its general meeting on the floor above. This is a reunion of the Beekeepers’ society.” ACHING CHEST Need More Than “Just Salve” To Relieve DISTRESSI To quickly relieve chest cold misery and muscular aches and pains due to colds— it takes MORE than “just a salve”—you need a warming, soothing “counter- irritanf’like good old reliable Musterole —used by millions for over 80 years. Musterole penetrates the outer layers of the skin and helps break up local con gestion and pain. 3 strengths: Regular, Children’s (mild) and Extra Strong, 40iL ***«•* Better Hum A Mustard Plasterl Strong Through Suffering Know how sublime a thing it is to suffer and be strong.—Long fellow. first thought at r THE FIRST WARNING St OF COLDS'ACHES OR ^ INORGANIC PAIN ^/JiiAVVY |> St. Joseph ^ ASPIRIN Good Order Good order is the foundation of all good things. How To Relieve Bronchitis Bronchitis, acute or chronic, is an Inflammatory condition of the mu cous membranes lining the bronchial tubes. Creomulsion goes right to the seat of the trouble to loosen germ laden phlegm, increase secretion and aid nature to soothe and heal raw, tender, inflamed bronchial mucous membranes. Ten your druggist to sell you a bottle of Creomulsion with the understanding that you are to like the way it quickly allays the cough or you are to have your money back. 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