LIVE "COPY" FOR THE CHURCH T HE CHURCH'S MERCHANDISE, the most valuable in the world, needs no advertising, it has generally been supposed, since it is free for the asking and generally available. But we are in an age when thoughtful religious leaders are beginning to apply the methods of industry to the business of the Church, and most denominations at least advertise their weekly song, sermon and worship. This, it now seems, is not enough. The Church and its business need publicity, and an advertising man, who is also a pastor, tells us how to get it. What we need, says Frederick E. Potter, head of a London advertising agency, is the application of "sanctified common sense" to the problems of the Church. Mr. Potter was addressing the Department of Church Advertising at the recent convention in Atlantic City of the Associated Advertising Clubs of the World. He is well qualified to give advice, since for nearly forty years he has been a member of the Christian Church, for thirty-six years a Methodist lay preacher, for twenty-six years an advertising agent in London, and for some years a Rotarian. As he is quoted in the New York Christian Advocate (Methodist), "The Church stands for the regeneration of the individual, the standard of the Golden Rule, the building of the City of God upon the earth, the Fatherhood of God, the Brotherhood of man, and the final redemption of mankind. Its business is to proclaim, to advertise, to make known the 'good news' caroled by the angels on the first Christmas Day. The Church has nothing to hide, to be ashamed of, but a glorious message to be trumpeted forth to humanity. While deprecating sensationalism and any commercialization of the Church, I advocate the forceful but tactful use of every legitimate and suitable form of publicity.” Bill-posting opportunities should be seized, says Mr. Potter, and notice boards should be "conspicuous, artistic, and complete in essential information." All announcements should be seemly, carrying only good live "copy." What to avoid in "copy" is suggested in the following notice displayed in a cultured American city. "Topic. The Unpardonable Sin! A Bright and Joyous Service! All are Welcome." Notices should be placed in hotels, apartment houses, stores, railway depots and in other suitable places for which permission can be obtained; a well-produced magazine should be distributed, and, above all, the press should not be neglected. Welcome reporters, suggests Mr. Potter. "Make a fuss over them, and study their comfort and convenience." On occasion united processions of Sunday-schools or church organizations give local publicity of compelling character which can not be overlooked, and then there is the important item of cooperative church publicity, as presented on such occasions as Peace Day, Mother's Day, or at some other time when it is agreed to emphasize some great truth or to celebrate some anniversary. But, warns Mr. Potter: "Don't leave the advertising in the minister's hands. Many folks expect the parson to do everything. This is largely the layman's job, and to be done with enthusiasm. The Christian man is the only one who has full reason to be an optimist. Good measure, heaped up and running over, is the spirit in which to tackle this matter. Let your message be clear, dignified and easy-to-be-understood by the people. "The use by the great agencies of the Church of publicity is growing and justifying itself. Missionary societies have adopted it. The biggest society of its character is the British and Foreign Bible Society, with an income of £366,912 for last financial year, during which 8,679,384 volumes were issued. It has circulated or helped to publish the Scripture in 558 languages. The Bible Society for years has found regular, explanatory and informed advertising sufficiently satisfactory to be a regular part of its operations. On my last day in London I met the secretaries to discuss the next campaign. Good advertising means good finance. It is stated that one religious organization in Great Britain has commenced the publication of 40,000,000 pamphlets for propagandist purposes. It may be easily guessed the teaching is heterodox. "I am a member of the Temperance and Social Welfare Com mittee of the Wesleyan Methodist Church. We have a publicity man, a magazine, use the advertising columns of the press, and are exerting a mighty influence. We are emulating the amazing lead given by the United States in casting off the shackles of the saloon! Issued over one-half a million pamphlets in one year. This address can not do justice to a vast and important subject; it can only be suggestive and stimulative. Let all interested talk up the Church; be proud of its mission; rejoice in its accomplishments; believe in its future; advertise it in their lives. "May I suggest that when all has been done 'the goods' within should not belie the window-display. Let praise and prayer, music and preaching, brotherliness and atmosphere, all combine to retain those who have accepted the printed, written or spoken invitation, 'Come with us and we will do thee good."" R THE RELIGIOUS DETECTIVE ELIGIOUS SPIES? Yes, the Church is full of them. They are found in pulpit and pew, trying to trip some one into a heretical saying, attempting to catch a brother in some utterance that they think is not in accord with the truth -the truth as they see it. Their voluminous reports are spread on the printed page, as witness the secular and denominational press during the past few months, and shrieked from the pulpit and the public platform, until the air has been made almost sulfuric with flaming accusation. But, we are told, there is nothing to warrant church people in making religious detectives of themselves, in spying on the faith of other believers. The remark, says The Continent, is illuminated by the public statement of the head of a detective agency that the practical business of a detective is not to see whether his victim is right or not, but to show that he is wrong, and to make him wrong if he is not wrong actually. This, we are told, is probably the tendency of the religious detective also. It was stated at the recent Presbyterian General Assembly that so-called rationalism is not prevalent in the church. This, in the eyes of the religious detective, says the Presbyterian journal, is plain rebellion. Has not the religious detective been watching his brethren? "Does he not keep a record? If the Church is not shot through with infidelity, if the ministers are not disloyal to their vows, if the church is not being endangered, then what becomes of the endless pages written to prove that evil is rampant and the real gospel is nowhere to be heard?" No simon-pure religious detective could thus let himself be put in the wrong. Another distinguishing mark of the religious detective is his "certainty that he himself has all the right of belief and loyalty." His ostensible standard is the truth, the Bible, the creed of faith. But he can not agree that any one else can take the same standard and differ with him. That is heresy, and the men are traitors to their church and enemies of God. All this, says The Continent, "is infinitely sad.” "The church is apt for a time to see a good deal of it. Good men will feel that they do God service in directing attention to extremists and branding them as typical instances. Moreover, such activity in censorious attacks makes new extremists. That is one of the painful results of theological discussion. It forces a certain type of mind to declare itself as extravagantly as the vocabulary will allow. Honesty seems to demand it. Opinions tentatively held become irrevocable. Thoughts in solution now crystallize. Men who have been going along with their work placidly suddenly take sides. Thus it comes about that the aftermath of a discussion furnishes material for more of it. The detective says, 'I told you so,' without realizing that he has helped to make it so. Already such expressions are appearing. "Doubtless the detective has his place of service. Only a special type of man is fitted for it, fortunately, and most men will go on their way doing their daily duty, observing rather than aiding the men who enjoy this form of ministry. This will be true of the rank and file of the church. The ministers will go forward with the saving Gospel, leading their people into larger dedication and richer stewardship. The Sunday-school teachers will gather their students around them as before, sending them away with fuller knowledge of the truth. So the kingdom will advance, even tho more slowly." No doubt if you wished to go to all the trouble and expense of making your own vegetable soup, it would be good soup. But even then you Would be able to extract all the nutritious juices from the joint of the beef richest in appetizing flavor to make your broth or stock? Would you insist upon your dealer delivering Chantenay carrots just because you know them to be unsurpassed in flavor and color? Would the corn have to be Country Gentleman and would the potatoes have to come from Maine simply because the finest potatoes in the country are grown there? Would you search through all the markets of the world to make sure that each ingredient was the very finest that could be obtained? Would you use thirty-two different ingredients, including fifteen tempting vegetables, invigorating beef broth, substantial cereals, fresh herbs and dainty seasoning? Yet all of these things are done for you in Campbell's Vegetable Soup! Unsolicited contributions to this department cannot be returned. SPRING has heaped up for herself such an amount of adulation that the truth (according to the year 1923 at least) can do her no harm., And here it is served up in the Nation and the Athenæum (London). SPRING POET'S PASTORAL BY HERBERT E. PALMER "Spring, the glad Spring!" Nay, Spring is melancholy. Ten thousand poets have sung a pleasing folly. I, lean, light runner, will declare the truth. Spring is a time of striving, travailing, ruth, (Two Springs there may be, but the first's unluscious). She cries, yearns, wails, aspires, moans, gasps for breath, Like a poor baby betwixt life and death Seeking to grow, and in pain, and woefully conscious. She is always down in the dumps, or away in a flush, Heart in gold shoes, or flame-high when the South wind flies, Fire turning to trammelling gloom 'neath sky and green bush, And the human mind goes with her, and suffers likewise. The bush is not green enough, clouds fleck the skies, And harper and troubadour, good journalist (The bad lie abed) wail to God, clench a fist, And wish she'd have done with her tricks and her lies. All's well in the morning when the sun shines And you rise fresh, and early go seek Earth's fair violet; But at three in the afternoon how the soul pines! And so heavy those sins that we fain would forget! For then, when the woodlands are wanning and wet, And the sleet flies down past the feathery larches, THE modernist who does not want easy poetry will scoff at this. But it is a fair mid-summer-night's dream and evokes dream also. It is from the July Contemporary Verse: MOON-MADNESS BY VICTOR STARBUCK They did not know that the moon had shone And they marveled why I wandered alone How should they know I had dreamed all night Of a goddess slender and tall and white They wondered why I was rapt and pale, For they did not know I had watched a sail magical, moon-bright seas. There were orchards and vineyards and cellars and stores Of everything edible. "All of it yours!" Said Robin Hood, easily, drinking some wine And breaking in windows and opening doors. "You're welcome," he said, "to this abbey of of mine." They entered it gladly. They never had seen Nor friendlier manners than Robin Hood had. "The barn is mine too," he remarked, as they ended Consuming three times the amount they intended. But they never looked into it, being so full. Though Anthony thought that a monk was offended Who stood in a doorway considering wool. They just walked around it to find their way out. And they tried to thank Robin Hood. "Yes? What about?" Was all he would answer and galloped away... The adventure had happened, beyond any doubt; Yet what in the world could poor Anthony say? He said he had heard of a probable buyer (The world was to blame that an excellent liar Had taken the place of an excellent youth) And had chased him and missed him and punctured a tire (Who really would rather have told them the truth): G. S. B., well known to readers here, steps out of his anonymity for once in the national farm magazine, Farm and Fireside (New York). A SWING SONG BY GEORGE S. BRYAN In the grassy, shade-strewn orchards of the joyous Long Ago, Vacant swings are waiting idly for the friends they used to know For the friends whose laughter mingled once with many a merry cry. In those blossom-haunted borders of the days gone by. To and fro the swings would go, while the soft spring breeze Stirred the petals down like snow from the apple trees: To and fro, now high, now low, while glad hour used to glide, Glad hours well spent in full content Old Cat Died. What though empty swings implore you to return from Now to Then? Time can nevermore restore you to those care-free hours again; Yet sometimes in dreams you're drifting, back beneath a springtime sky Back once more amid the blossoms of the days gone by. To and fro the dream swings go, while the soft spring breeze Stirs the petals down like snow from the apple trees; To and fro, now high, now low, as in life's April tide: How near, how far, those dear days are When the Old Cat Died! THE CLEAN, COMFORTABLE QUARTERS FOR THE PRISONERS ON THE STATE FARM Instead of sleeping in malarial swamps, as county convicts often did, the more fortunate ones on the Raiford Farm have bunks in large, sanitary buildings, two of which are shown here, just within the stockade. "F BRIGHTER SIDE OF FLORIDA'S PENAL METHODS LORIDA PLAYS SECOND FIDDLE to no other State in the manner in which she handles her prisoners, as compared from every angle. Florida is teaching her prisoners thrift, respect for law, cleanliness, and Godliness, thereby turning them back to Society better men and women than they were when they were sentenced." These assertions, attributed to J. S. Blitch, Superintendent of the Florida State prison farm, by The Florida Times-Union (Jacksonville), are a refreshing if astounding contrast to the recent exposé of the indignities and barbarities to which many convicts in that State were subjected and to the story of Martin Tabert, the twentytwo-year-old North Dakota lad, who died in a lumber camp from a flogging at the hands of a whipping boss. The apparent inconsistency is explained by the fact that most of the instances of cruel treatment resulted from the policy of individual counties in leasing their convicts to private corporations, whereas the prison farm, which Mr. Blitch uses as the basis of his statement, is directly under State control. In our issue for April 21 were set forth in detail the conditions which made possible the tragic fate of young Tabert, and in our issue for June 16 we told how Florida "came clean" by abolishing the leasing of county convicts to private corporations and forbidding the employment of whipping bosses. Since that time another chapter has been added to the grim tale, for Thomas Walter Higginbotham, who wielded the lash with which Tabert was flogged, has been found guilty of second degree murder in connection with the youth's death. The jury deliberated one hour and twenty minutes. He received the minimum sentence of twenty years' imprisonment. If Higginbotham's appeal for a new trial fails, he probably will be sent to the State farm to begin serving his term. There he will find methods far different from those he is said to have employed as a whipping boss for the lumber company. Having presented the dark side of Florida's penal system, THE LITERARY DIGEST is glad to be able now to describe a bright side, the existence of which comparatively few persons suspected. Writing on "Southern Prisons," in The Century Magazine (New York), Frank Tannenbaum declares: "One must record with pleasure and commendation the very excellent work of Warden Blitch at the State farm at Raiford, Florida. In a few short years he has raised the Florida State farm from one of the worst to one of the best in the South. Unfortunately, this praise for the State farm can not be extended to the Florida county chain-gangs, which are still among the worst in the South." Features of the State farm which are considered partly responsible for its becoming a "model," are the development of the "honor system" among the four hundred convicts there, so that only eight civilian guards are needed; and the absence of firearms, whips, or other weapons of coercion. A reporter for the Times-Union recently went to the farm, mingled with the prisoners as one who had just been "sent up," and took several photographs, three of which we are using with this article. He emphasizes at the outset the spirit which animates the place by opening the story of his experience thus: "Don't try to run away-because we're coming after you!" The Times-Union representative scratched a perplexed head and stared wonderingly at an elderly convict, who was the author of the advice. There was something wrong here. This was not Raifordit must be Chattahoochee (the State insane asylum). Maybe this was just one ward, or division, of the State Prison Farm, in which the weaker-minded prisoners were segregated and allowed to indulge their weird fancies. Who ever heard of one convict telling another not to try to get away, under pain of being pursued and run to earth by nearly the entire personnel of the convict body, from cook to chamber-maid? But the old man didn't look looney, and certainly the half a dozen other convicts, who murmured their approval of his counsel, seemed sane enough. "Well," sighed the reporter, "I'll bite. Where's the joke?" But he found there wasn't any. ."Don't try to run away-because we're coming after you,” is the spirit of more than four hundred men and women confined in J. Sim Blitch's Raiford State farm. Once innoculated with it, they never shake it. His clothes hidden beneath a bench in the shower-bath room, his eyes, nose and hair, more or less full of soapsuds, the reporter made a good convict when the first band of prisoners trooped in from the day's work in the fields. "You're a new one, aren't you, buddy?" one of the convicts asked, taking notice of the soapy figure and failing to observe the clothes beneath the bench. "Yes. I just got in to-day; when do we eat?" was the reply. "Pretty soon now." "They feed you all right, do they?" pursued the reporter, anxious for some first hand information. |