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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/36168-8.txt b/36168-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..572382d --- /dev/null +++ b/36168-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6229 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rosemary and Rue, by Amber + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rosemary and Rue + +Author: Amber + +Release Date: May 19, 2011 [EBook #36168] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSEMARY AND RUE *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Rosemary and Rue + + By Amber + + + Chicago and New York: + Rand McNally & Company, + Publishers + + + Copyright, 1896, by Rand, McNally & Co. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +"Amber" was not to be classed with any society or any creed. In all +respects she was an individual. In good-humored contempt she held all +form, and with deep sincerity she revered all simple things. She smiled +upon error and frowned upon pretense. Her life was largely made up of +impulse and sacrifice. She was the constant "victim" of her own +generosity, needing the money and the time which sympathy impelled her +to give away. She was so devoted a lover of the moods of nature, noting +so closely the changing of the leaf or a new note sounded by the +whimsical wind, that her spirit itself must once have been an October +day. Year after year she toiled, and her reward was not money, but a +letter from the bedside of the invalid, telling of a heart that had been +lightened, of a care that had been driven from the door. None of the +newspaper writers of Chicago was more popular. Another column told the +news of the day; her column held the news of the heart. Her best +thoughts and warmest fancies are scattered throughout her prose. Her +verses are pleasant, and many of them are striking, but meter often +chained her fancy. But some of her unchained fancies, poetic conceits in +the guise of prose, will live long after the clasp, holding the +pretentious verses of a society laureate, shall have been eaten loose by +the constant nibble of time. + +When a church was crowded with friends, come to bid "Amber" good-bye, a +great thinker, a writer who knows the meaning of toil, said that she had +succeeded by the force and the industry of her genius. And so she had. +For others, influence searched out easy places, but "Amber" found her +own hard place and maintained it, struggling alone. Her words were for +the poor and the sorrowful, and they could but give a blessing. But in +the end, a blessing from the poor may be brighter than the silver of the +rich. + + Opie Read. + + + + +Rosemary and Rue. + + + + +I WONDER. + + I wonder, if I died to-night, + And you should hear to-morrow, + You'd mourn to think this one dear friend + Had bid good-bye to sorrow. + + I wonder, if you saw a bird, + The hunter's dart outflying, + You'd lure it back with loving word + To danger, pain, and dying. + + I wonder, if you saw a rose, + Plucked quick in June's surrender, + You'd wish it back upon the bough, + To wither in November. + + I wonder, if you watched the moon, + The tempest's rack outstripping, + You'd grieve to see its silver prow + In cloudless ether dipping. + + I wonder, if you heard a thrush + Laugh out amid the clover, + You'd weep because its cage door oped-- + Its captive days were over. + + I wonder, if, some happy day, + When you have found your haven, + You'll mourn to find this one dear friend + Had been so long in heaven. + + * * * * * + +When I die bury me by the sea. Let my first hundred years in the spirit +be spent on a sunny sand-bank watching the sapphire tides break over a +bluff of lifted rocks. What is any earthly trouble but a dissolving +dream, when one may bury the face in golden moss and sniff the salt +spume of the sea! Over the blue verge of the horizon lies Spain, and I +build its castles hourly here in my heart. A distant echo rings in my +ears of trucks driven over stony streets, of the crack of the cabman's +whip and the shout of profane teamsters, but the only semblance to cruel +driver and jaded beast of burden seen in the seaside paradise of which I +write is a fat huckster and a still fatter donkey who draws the large +man where he (the donkey) listeth. Here on this lifted moorland, if one +wishes to go anywhere he rises up and goes forth on a carpet of crimson +moss and yellow grass and is driven by a chariot of untired winds. +Behind us are miles of purple moss swept by ragged shreds of September +fog, and musical, here and there, with bells of grazing herds; while +before us, behind us, and all around us stretches the boundless, +unfathomable and mysterious sea. + + * * * * * + +Did you ever hear of the island of Avilion? That enchanted place where +"falls not hail, or rain, nor ever wind blows loudly," whose orchard +lands and bowery hollows lie lapsed in summer seas? I found it one day +when I was sailing on Casco bay in a boat hardly bigger than a peanut +shell. Tennyson found it long ago in a dream, and to it he sent the good +King Arthur that he might "heal him of his grievous wound" within the +balm of its heavenly peace. But I found it in reality, and to it I took +a care-worn lady and a work-weary brain, that I might perchance renew +under its sunny spell a strength that was well-nigh spent. I found my +island under another name, to be sure, but I rechristened it within the +first hour of my landing. It is not the place, my dear, for featherheads +and butterflies, this island of Avilion. It is not the place for the +descendants of Flora McFlimsy to go with their new gowns and their +French heels. All such would vote my little island a bore, and run up a +flag for the first inland-bound steamer to put into port and carry them +away. It has no ball-room, no promenade-hall under cover, no brass band, +no merry-go-round, but instead it has meadow-lands that are brimful of +bird songs; it has wild strawberries that bring their ruby wine to the +very lips of the laughing sea; it has such sunsets as visit the dreams +of poets and the skies of Italy; it has great rocks that are woven all +over with webs of wild convolvulus vine, whose airy goblets of pink and +blue hold nectar for the booming bee to sip; and it has marguerite +daisies by the tens of thousands, and wild roses that carry the tint of +your baby's palm and the honey of sugar-sweet dew within the inclosure +of their small curled cup. It is hardly bigger than a Cunarder, this +little Chebeague island, whose name I changed to Avilion, and from +wave-washed keel to flowery bowsprit the eye never lights upon a +defilement or a stain. It is the only place in all my wanderings where I +never found a peanut shell nor a tin can thrown out to defile nature's +beauty. + +There was not a single bad odor on my island during the whole ten days +of my tarrying, and I am told by those who are old inhabitants that +such a thing never was known to it. A soft wind is always blowing, but +the only merchandise it carries is wild thyme perfume and the fragrant +airs that waft from meadow-lands and old-fashioned gardens full of spice +pinks and cinnamon roses. Now and then a hunter's fog slips the leash of +its viewless hounds and with noiseless "halloo" scours the island for +the prey it tracks but seems never to corral. Now and then a sudden +tumult seizes the tides that climb and fall on the shiny rocks and the +air is full of the throb of soft drums and the music of flutes that are +beat and blown a moment, then die away as quickly as they came, like a +strolling band that marches through a village street, then over the +hills and far away. Now and then a troop of crows rise silently from out +the shadow of the pines and go sailing between the lazy eyes that follow +and the sun, until, settling down upon some meadow stacked with new-cut +hay, they break into clamorous laughter that taunts you with its shrill +derision. Always, from dawn to dewfall, the world about little Chebeague +is full of swallows that dart and soar and flit like shadows. They +seldom sing, and yet the few notes they thread upon the air sparkle like +diamonds where they fall. Some strange bird, with a low, sleepy song +like the crooning of a child that is half asleep, or like a shepherd +boy's pipe idly blown beneath the noonday willows, is always haunting +the groves of Avilion with an undiscovered presence. I have spent hours +looking for him, yet never found him. Sometimes I have been led to half +believe the fellow exists only in the fancy of a spellbound idler like +you and me. + +Just at sunset a little feathered violinist of the island whips out his +fiddle and draws the bow so delicately across its vibrant strings, while +the golden sun slips tranquilly beneath the tinted waters of Casco bay, +that the soul of the listener is fairly attenuated like a high C +diminuendo with the spell of so much beauty. I don't know the name of +the bird either, but he is going to sing for us all in heaven later on. +Such performers do not end all here any more than Beethoven did. + +It was my custom during the time I spent at Little Chebeague to devote +the entire day to strolling or lying at length upon the rocks-- + + Nothing but me 'twixt earth and sky; + An emerald and an amethyst stone, + Hung and hollowed for me alone. + +I grew to love the solitude with all my heart, and the thought of +returning to the mainland with its jargon and its bustle was like the +thought of tophet to the poor little peri for whom the gate of paradise +had swung. Sometimes I would board the small boat that two or three +times a day threads in and out of the blue water-way and visit adjacent +islands hardly less beautiful than my chosen home. + +There is Long Island, far more beautiful by reason of its East End, +where as yet the tide of a full-fledged summer resort has not come. +There is an old-fashioned country roadhouse, such as we knew before the +landscape gardener and the boulevard fiend were turned loose upon our +rural towns. To follow their windings is heaven enough for me. A fringe +of buttercups to fence the way, thickets of underbrush to darken the +near distance, constant little ups and downs where the road slips into +hollow to follow the call of a romping brook or climb a hill to watch +for the sea. Wintergreen berries and russet patches everywhere, and the +snow of blackberry bushes in bloom far as the eye can travel. + +"There is an old-time rail fence!" cried a visitor from the booming west +one day; "my God, let me get out and touch it! I haven't seen anything +but barbed wire since I left New England!" And he did get out of the +buckboard in which he was driving and chipped away a big brown fence +sliver as a memento. These roads I am talking about lead nowhere in +particular. They, as often as not, end in a fisherman's back dooryard, +but they are sweet as a young girl's caprice while they last. + +One day we strolled across one of the islands and found a battlement of +rocks on the seaside that it would have taken a solid month to explore. +Oh, there was enough on the bar at ebb tide at Avilion to while away an +age of idle time. + +Sometimes we took it into our heads to ride. Then the choice lay between +Charlie the Christian--so named for his good behavior and gentle +ways--and the one roadster the island produced, a nag in the rough, who +held his head high and cavorted with the stride of a jamboreeing boy. + +The choice made, the hour must be watched to catch the low tide over to +Big Chebeague, for there are no wagon roads in Avilion. Six hours of +safety, as to the low water mark, is the limit of one day's riding, and +much can be done in the way of riding in a half-dozen hours' time. A +spin across the bar, the climbing of a rocky road, a sweep of +seaward-facing pike, with dips into ferny hollows and ascents to +pine-crowned bluffs, make the trip worth recording, and if to the +exhilaration of the ride you add a dismount now and then to gather +wintergreen and pick roses, with a loiter through a church-yard where +many Hamiltons, both pre-Adamite and ante-historic, are sleeping the +sleep of the just, you have the whole meaning of an afternoon outing on +Big Chebeague. + +Every evening after supper there was a pilgrimage to the west side of +the island, not to be dispensed with by descendants of those remnant +tribes that once worshiped the sun. Ranging from north to south as far +as the eye can sweep, from westward, fronting little Chebeague, lies +Casco bay, the loveliest bit of water in all the world. I say +unhesitatingly the loveliest, because I do not believe that Naples, nor +Sorrento, nor any far-famed Italian watering-place can match the coast +of Maine for beauty. Into this bay, like petals from a wind-shaken +blossom tree, are dropped hundreds of islands. Far to the west the White +mountains melt upon the horizon in airy outline of blue, and over all +each day is repeated the ancient miracle of the sun's decline. Sometimes +a single cloud, like a tomb, receives the bright embodiment of day and +hides it from our sight behind such draperies as orient never wrought +nor monarch dreamed. Sometimes this fair god lies at length upon a bier +of purple porphyry, while flakes of crushed gems strew his couch with +rainbow dust, and all the air is full of rose-red censers, edged with +gold. Sometimes he drops below the verge, holding to the last a wine cup +brimmed with sparkling vintage that spills and trickles down the hills. +Sometimes he returns in an afterglow, as the dead come back to us in +dreams, the tenderer and the sweeter for their second coming. However +the sun may set in Avilion, each setting is the most beautiful and best +to be desired. + + * * * * * + +I heard someone bewailing the death of a friend the other day. The staff +on which he had leaned, the bread which had ministered to his needs, the +very light that had filled his eyes seemed caught away, and he mourned +as one for whom there was no comfort possible. I saw a mother leaning +above an empty crib, whose dainty pillow no nestling head should ever +press again. I marked the terrible yet voiceless grief that ate at a +bereaved father's self-control, until no wind-blown reed was ever so +shorn of self-reliant strength. I saw a wife whose love had sunk within +the grave where her young husband was laid, as the sun sets within a +cloud of stormy night. I saw an old man bow his snowy head because the +faithful one whose hand had lain in his for more than fifty years had +vanished from his sight forever. I heard a little child lamenting at +bed-time the lullaby song which its dead mother's tender lips should +never sing again. But sadder than all these things, more tragical than +any death which merely picks the blossom of life and bears it onward to +heaven, as the gardener plucks the choicest rose to grace some festival +of joy, is the scene when a trusted friendship dies; when faith which +has endured the test of years gives up the breath of loyal life and +sinks to hopeless unawakened death. Never think that you have shed your +bitterest tears until you have stood at such a death-bed. Think not the +measurement of any mortal grief has been found until you have sunk the +plummet-line of such a sorrow. That grave shall never burst its sheath +to let the soul of friendship's betrayal free, like a lily on the Easter +air. That door shall never swing like the bars of a cage to let a +murdered faith flash forth like the plume of a singing bird to seek the +stars. Over the grave of a dead and buried trust no resurrection-note +can ever sound like a bugle-call across the dewy hills to rouse the +sleeper from his couch. God pity all who linger by the heaped-up mound +where love's forgotten dreams lie buried, and grant oblivion as the only +surcease for their bitter sorrow. + + * * * * * + +The days and nights swing equally upon the golden balance of time. The +year is whitening with its crop of frost-blossoms from which no +harvest-home has ever yet been called. Like an unwritten page, the new +year lies before us in untrodden fields of shining snow. God grant the +footsteps of Death be not the first to track the unbroken path that lies +before us. May joy and peace and love, like the roots of the violets +under the snow, quicken and blossom for all of us as the year advances, +and may our progress be, like January's, right steadily onward unto +June! + + * * * * * + +As I write there is a sudden break in the hush of night, and faint and +clear and sweet upon the listening ear falls the sound of "taps" from +the camp in Fort Sheridan woods. I drop my pencil and listen to it, as I +always do, with almost a spirit of reverent awe. The hard day's work is +done, the time for rest has come, and over all the busy camp silence +falls like the shadow of a brooding wing. The new moon, half hidden by +drifting clouds sends a rippling play of silver through the woodbine +leaves, and from the top of the maple tree, a thrush dreams forth a bar +of liquid music in its sleep. All the world is going to sleep, and God +grant, say I, that when the time for the final good-night has come for +you and for me the call for "taps," blown from some celestial bugle the +other side the mystic gate may fall as sweetly upon our ears and find us +as ready to sink to slumber. + + * * * * * + +Did you ever hunt for eggs in a haymow? If you did you can remember just +how, with bated breath, you crept through the fragrant glooms of the old +barn and searched the dusty place for nests. You can recall, perhaps, +the shaft of sunlight that broke through the crevice of the door and +showed you old speckle-top in her corner. You can hear again her furious +cackle when you dislodged her from her nest and gathered the warm eggs +she had hovered under her wings. You remember the excitement of the +search and the perfection of content which settled within your soul as +you gathered the basketful of milk-white eggs upon your arm and picked +your way down the steep ladder which led to the main floor and "all out +doors." Scarcely any excitement or exhilaration of later years can +compare with the joy of hen's-nest hunting when you were young. + +Did you ever go berrying? With a tin pail swinging from your wrist and +your oldest gown upon your back, have you climbed the hill, jumped the +fences and sought the side-hill pasture where the blackberries grew +purple in the shade? Can you recall much, in all the years that thread +between that happy time and this, which can transcend the pleasure of +those wildwood tramps? Even now I seem to fix my eyes upon a clump of +bushes by the old rail fence. They are domed high with verdure and show +dusky hollows underneath, where, my skilled eye tells me, lurk spoils +fit for Bacchus and all his nymphs. I part the leaves, a snowy moth +flutters out of the green dusk and wavers like a snowflake in the warm, +sweet air. I carefully reach my hand away inside the fairy bower of +crumpled leaf and twisted vine and draw it forth purple with the juice +of overripe berries that dissolve at a touch. With these I fill my pail, +and all too often, I blush to own it, my mouth also, until twilight +sends me home saturated with sunshine, late clover blooms and berry +juice. + +Ah, my dear, all this was fun while it lasted, but there is a more +exciting quest than hunting eggs or finding berries, in which we all of +us engage as the years of our mortal pilgrimage go hurrying by. It is +the search for happiness--a search we never give up nor grow too old to +maintain. Forgetting the disappointments and the satieties of the dead +years, we look forward to the new as the hidden nestfull of unchipped +shells of fresh experience and untried delights. God bless us all, and +prosper us to find the eggs and the berries before we die. Perhaps the +service of love we do others shall prove the bush that bears the +sweetest and the ripest clusters, and the nestfull that shall develop +the whitest store of all life's opportunities. + + * * * * * + +A genuine mother could no more raise a bad boy into a bad man than a +robin could raise a hawk. When I say "genuine mother" I mean something +more than a mother who prays with her boy, and teaches him Bible texts, +and sends him to Sunday-school. All those things are good and +indispensable as far as they go, but there is a lot more to do to train +a boy besides praying with him, just as there are things necessary to +the cultivation of a garden besides reading a manual. To succeed with +roses and corn one must prune, weed and hoe a great deal. To make a boy +into a pure man, a mother must do more than pray. She must live with him +in the sense of comrade and closest friend. She must stand by him in +time of temptation as the pilot sticks to the wheel when rapids are +ahead. She must never desert him to go off to superintend outside duties +any more than the engineer deserts his post and goes into the baggage +car to read up on engineering, when his train is pounding across the +country at forty miles an hour. + + * * * * * + +A LITTLE GOLDENHEAD. + + Gay little Goldenhead lived within a town + Full of busy bobolinks, flitting up and down, + Pretty neighbor buttercups, cosy auntie clovers, + And shy groups of daisies, all whispering like lovers. + + A town that was builded on the borders of a stream, + By the loving hands of nature when she woke from winter's dream; + Sunbeams for the workingmen taking turns with showers, + Rearing fairy houses of fairy grass and flowers. + + Crowds of talking bumblebees, rushing up and down, + Wily little brokers of this busy little town, + Bearing bags of gold dust, always in a hurry, + Fussy bits of gentlemen, full of fret and flurry. + + Gay little Goldenhead fair and fairer grew, + Fed on flecks of sunshine, and sips of balmy dew, + Swinging on her slender foot all the happy day, + Chattering with bobolinks, gossips of the May. + + Underneath her lattice on starry summer eves, + By and by a lover came, with his harp of leaves; + Wooed and won the maiden, tender, sweet and shy, + For a little cloud home he was building in the sky. + + And one breezy morning, on a steed of might, + He bore his little Goldenhead out of mortal sight; + But still her gentle spirit, a puff of airy down, + Wanders through the mazes of that busy little town. + + * * * * * + +Where shall we go to find the fit symbol of Easter? To the encyclopedia +that we may post ourselves as to word derivations and root meanings? As +well send a child to a botanist to find the meaning of a rose! To fitly +understand the true significance of Easter time, find some slope in +early April that the sun has found a few short days before you. Lay your +ear close to the ground that you may hear the fine, soft stir within the +bosom of the warm earth. Note how the mold is filling with its new birth +of flowers. There is not a covert in all the awakening woods that has +not a little nestling head hidden behind the dead leaves. The breath of +a sleeping child is not more peaceful than the sway of the wind flower +upon its downy stem. The flush on a baby's cheek is not more delicate +than the tint of each gossamer petal. To what shall we liken the grass +blades already springing up along the loosened water ways? To fairy +bowmen, led by Robin Hood's ghost through winding ways from forest on to +the sparkling sea. To what shall we liken the violet buds spread thick +beneath the country children's feet? To constant thoughts of God that +bloom even in the grave's dark dust. To what shall we liken the +twinkling leaves that shine in the dim depths of the woods? To lights +at sea, that tell some fleet is sailing into port. To what shall we +liken the shy unfolding of the lilac buds? To the poise of a slender +maiden who leans from out her lattice to hearken to a lover's song. To +what shall we liken the cowslip's valiant gold? To the shining of a +contented spirit with a humble home. To what shall we liken the brooding +sky and the warmth of the all-loving sun? To the potency of a gentle +nature intent on doing good, and the yearning of a tender heart to bless +and save. Is there a nook so dark and forbidding that the beautiful +Easter sunshine cannot enter and woo forth a flower? Is there a rock so +impervious that the April wind may not find lodgment for a seed in some +crevice, and there uplift a bannered blossom? Is there a cold, resentful +bank wherein the late snow lingers that shall not finally cast off its +disdainful ice and flash into verdure in response to the patient shining +of the sun? Is there a grave in all the land so new and desolate that +Easter time cannot find a violet among its clods and paint a rainbow +within the tears that rain above it? To nature's lovers, then, as to the +truly Christian heart, the significance of Easter is found in the +reviving garden and in the awakening woods. It means resurrection after +death, blossom time after the bareness of woe, the cuckoo's cry after +the silence of songless days, and the smile of a pitying All-Father +after the orphan time of the soul's bereavement and seeming desertion. + +Another blessed thought to be gained in the contemplation of nature's +sure awakening from the long lethargy of her winter's sleep is that, +however fearful we may be that death's reign shall be eternal, as +constant as day dawn after midnight, or shining after storm, shall be +the Easter of the soul. We do not need to pray for April; it comes. Nor +do we need to pray for release from the first dark dominion of fear and +dread when our beloved are snatched from our arms. Such experience is +only the transient reign of winter in the heart, while yet the soft wing +of April stirs upon the horizon's misty verge and the promise of violets +is in the lingering darkness of the air. Remember this: The same power +that sends us November is planning an April to follow, and out of the +snowfall evolves the whiteness of the annunciation lily. + +It has always seemed to me that, beautiful as Christ's birthday ought to +be and full of tender significance as we may make the hallowed Christmas +time, a deeper tenderness attaches to these Easter days. The Sinless One +had lived out the span of his mortal years; he had suffered and been +betrayed; had struggled through Gethsemane, up to the thorn-crowned +heights of Calvary, and yet, through all, carried the whiteness of a +saintly soul, to cast its dying petals, like a white rose, wind-shaken +yet yielding perfume even in death, in the utterance of that prayer for +universal forgiveness, the most wonderful that ever ascended from earth +to heaven--"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!" The +song that ushered in the birthtime of those sanctified years was an +invocation of peace and good will, beneath which the morning stars were +shaken like banners before the oncoming of a glorious prince, but the +prayer that ascended from Calvary was the plea of a betrayed and +anguished soul for universal charity and forgiveness from God to man. +Let us rejoice, then, when Christmas days bring gladness to our hearts +and homes, but let us forgive and bless when Easter lays its stainless +lily at our feet. There is constant need for charity and forgiveness in +a world so full of self-blinded and ignorant evil-doers. They do not +always know what they do, these rude and riotous betrayers of Christ; +and all the more need, then, for compassion, and that divine pity that, +even from the cross, could invoke heaven's pardoning love. + +If you have a friend who has wronged you, forgive him to-day, for +Christ's sweet sake. If you have a boy who has gone astray, reach out +your arm and win him back, while yet the Easter violets glow upon the +chancel rail. If you have a daughter who has been undutiful, take her in +your arms and ask God to forgive you both--you for your lack of +sympathy, as well as her for her waywardness. So shall you understand +the meaning of Easter, the resurrection time of love, the fulfillment of +its promise from out the icy negation of the grave. + +A few thoughts about death before we turn to other symbolizations of the +season. It is all a mistake, it seems to me, to make death a menace and +a dread in the minds of the young. Does the farmer go forth with tears +to plant the seed for the coming harvest? Does the scientist mourn above +the chrysalis that lets a rare butterfly go free? Does the navigator +rebel when a bark that has been tempest-tossed and storm-driven enters +port? Teach the children that death is all that makes life endurable; +that it is the sheaf of ripened wheat, or the budding flower, plucked +from the earth's dark mold; that it is the flight of the bird, the home +stretch of the yacht. We love each other, but what is it that makes +human love any nobler than the chirruping of birds if not its duration? +And it is only death that makes our loves immortal. Time enthrals them +with fear and environs them with alarms; death lifts them into the +region of eternal joy. Take away the reality of our faith in the life to +come and Easter would mean no more to us than it means to the browsing +cattle that munch the violet buds and trample the bright promises of the +year under foot. The comforting view of it all is, that here we are only +learning to love. We are like birds that sit upon the edge of the nest, +and flutter, and chirp, and dread to fly away. What shall the bough +whereon our nest was rocked with many a storm be when we have learned +to spread these tiresome wings and rejoice in the blue space of the +boundless air? The heroism of love, the faithfulness of love, the +grandeur, patience and magnificence of love shall only be revealed when +the soul has left the shadows and spread its wing in the empyrean of +heaven's blue. + + * * * * * + +There is a small boy who lives at our house with whom I wage an unending +warfare on the subject of clean hands. The sun never goes down nor yet +arises upon a harmonious adjustment of the mooted question. There are +more tears shed, more dire threats made, more promises broken, more +anguish endured on that one account than upon any other under the sun. + +The boy dwells under a ban as somber as the seven-fold curse of Rome. +His sisters nag him, his grandmother prays for him, his mother pleads +with him, his girl friends flout him, but in spite of all he continues +to wear his hands in half tints. But the other evening he made an +announcement that caused even the young person to remark: "Well, I'd +rather see you with your soiled hands than see you such a dude as that!" + +"Gee!" said the boy, "but some of the kids that go to our school are +queer ducks!" + +"Don't use so much slang," cried his mother; "why can't you call a boy a +boy as well as a 'kid' and a 'duck'; and whatever do you mean by 'Gee'?" + +"They bring little cushions to school," continued the boy with only a +swift hug in answer to his mother's question, "and they put 'em under +their hands when they play marbles, so's they won't get their hands +dirty. Gee whiz, but I'm glad I ain't such a fool!" + +And in spite of her desire to see him a bit more solicitous +as to personal elegance his mother could but echo the boy's +self-congratulatory remark. + +What on earth is going to become of us if this awful wave of effeminacy +which has struck the race does not soon subside? Earmuffs and galoshes, +heated street cars in April and double windows up to rose time have done +their best to make molly coddles out of men, but when we are starting a +generation of boys to play marbles with cushions to rest their hands on +the sex had better abolish hats and trousers and take to hoods and +shoulder shawls. Give me a boy and not a pocket edition of an old woman. +He need not be a tough nor a bully, nor need he be cruel nor untender +because he is a boy, but I want him jolly and brave and up to every +harmless prank that's going. I want him to use slang and wear muddy +shoes, slam doors and make all sorts of futile feints at keeping his +hands clean, provided, always, he appreciates the opportunity offered to +show the gentleman that's in him by never appearing at table looking +like a tramp. Even that is better, though, than being a "sissy." Give +him time and the untidiest boy in the world will develop into a +gentleman, but eternity itself could not evolve a man out of a boy who +plays marbles with a cushion! + + * * * * * + +As I was walking down Dearborn street the other day, close upon the +gloaming, I chanced to meet two pretty girls, not the only two in this +big city, perhaps, but two of the fairest. One had hair like the tassel +of ripe corn when the sunshine finds it; the other's head was crowned +with dusky braids, and the eyes of the two were brimful of laughter as a +goblet new-filled with wine. Surely such pretty girls should carry +queenly hearts, thought I, and with my old trick of catching topics in +the air, I loitered a little on my way to hear what such fair lips might +be saying. Said one: "I really don't care to marry him; he is such a +darned fool! but he will give me everything I want, and I suppose I +shall." I stayed to hear no more. If I had caught a yellow-bird +swearing, or seen the first robin appear in Joliet stripes, the +revulsion from pleasure to disgust could not have been more sudden. Is +this all the lesson the world has taught you, my pretty maiden? To soil +your lips with slang and sell yourself for fine clothes and the chance +of unlimited display! Forecasting the life of such a girl is like +forecasting an April day that dawns in tints of purple and gold, and +ends in tempest and the blackness of night. Beauty is a glorious +heritage, indeed, but to see it worn by such types as you, my pretty +dears, is like seeing a queen's crown on the head of a parrot, or a +royal scepter in the grasp of a monkey. + + * * * * * + +Niagara Falls! What heart is so stolid, what appreciative spirit so +calloused over with the hard crust of stoicism not to rise and shout +before the wonder of its magnificence? When a man or woman gets so blasé +as to thrill no more over Niagara Falls, let them be salted down with +last year's hams and hung on a hook in the quiet seclusion of a +smokehouse. + +First we took our way over the bridge that leads to the beautifully kept +Goat Island and, alighting from the carriage, stood for a time with the +full splendor of the American fall in our faces. A fascination that +could not be shaken off held the eyes upon that never-stayed torrent of +sun-illumined jewels. Diamonds they were, and great uncut emeralds, with +here and there a rain of fiery rubies, that tumbled from off the lifted +ledge of imperishable rock. And where the volume widened, until it +became an avalanche of snowy foam, shot through and through with needles +of light, it seemed to us that the law of gravitation had been forever +abandoned, and falling tons of water, losing kinship drop with drop, +were floated skyward again to find a home in heaven. Down-shooting +rockets of silver foam unfallen, yet always in the air! Canopies of +cloud, dissolving into fine dust-like roadside pollen! Draperies of +spray unrolled in noiseless splendor from the blue background of an +endless day! Explosions in mid air of thunderous torrents that turned to +carded wool on the way from heaven to earth! While I stood and watched +it all somebody profaned the air with a vulgar word, and I looked for a +flaming sword from the omnipotent hand to smite him where he stood. To +swear, or even to think an unholy thought in such a holy of holies, +deserves the penalty of death as much as did the desecration of the +temple in ancient times. + +Shifting our place from point to point, we found ourselves at last +standing on the very verge of the Horseshoe falls, where, crowned with +living green, it slips over the crumbling ledge and loses itself in a +dazzling whirl of spray. Although I have stood in that same spot many +times I am proud to remark that I have never stood there yet without +saying my prayers. The sight is too much for the puny ego that animates +this little capricious whiff of dust we call our mortal body, and now, +if never before, the soul that retains one particle of the divine within +it turns to God as the sunflower follows the sun. While we stood +entranced by the sublime beauty of the scene a mighty wind arose +suddenly and great clouds were called across the sky to the sending of a +swift alarm. Before the breath of the wind the mists were tumbled far +and wide like feathers, and a rainbow that arched the whole was +demolished into nothingness only to be kindled again as a flame in the +whimsical breath of the riotous air. One moment the atmosphere was a +fairy flower garden, full of violets, roses, green feathery ferns and +passion-tinted tulips brimming over with gold. The next some giant hand +reached forth and plucked and bore each flower away. A suffusion of +color followed every flood of sunshine, as a pomegranate runs with juice +at the touch of a knife, only to be succeeded by pale wafts of +colorless, interminable spray, where a cloud caught the too eager sun +within its soft eclipse. + + * * * * * + +If the Lord left any snakes in Paradise after the settlement of the +primal fuss they took the shape of the man who is a confirmed cynic and +pessimist. The man who has no faith, no enthusiasm, no candor, no +sentiment. The man who laughs at the mention of good in the world, or +virtue in women, or honor among men. The man who calls his wife a fool +because she teaches his little children to say their prayers, and curls +his lip at any belief in the world beyond the grave. The man who never +saw anything worth admiring in the sky when the dawn touches it, or the +stars illumine it, or the clouds sweep it, or the rain folds it in gray +mists of silence. The man who lives in this sparkling, shining world as +a frog lives in a pond or a toad in a cellar, only to croak and spit +venom. The man who never saw anything in a rose aglint in the sunlight +or in a lily asleep in the moonlight, but a species of useless +vegetable, the inferior of the cabbage and the onion. The world is +overfull of such men, and if I had the right sort of broom I'd sweep +them away as the new girl sweeps spiders. + + * * * * * + +Once I was sailing in a yacht close to the rock-bound coast of Maine. + +It was presumably a pleasure cruise, but if ever a poor wretch in +purgatory had a harder time of it I am sorry for him. + +The fog was thick, the ground swell was enough to unsettle the seven +hills of Rome, and something was wrong with the boat's machinery, so +that for hours we lay in the trough of the sea, making no headway and +fearful that each moment would be our last. Added to all this there came +at short intervals a demoniac blast from a fog horn which rent the air +with the clamor of a thousand tongues. + +"Look out!" it seemed to shriek over and over again. "Look out, poor +fragile wisps of gossamer! The hour strikes for your destruction. +Another wave, a little higher than the last, shall suck you down like a +shred of foam into the blackness of the sea's dark vortex. Brace up and +meet your doom. Look out! Look out! Look out!" + +I listened to that fog horn for hours, until the soul within me lay like +a spent bird weary with futile beating of useless wings, and I came +within a hair's breadth of madness. In fact, I think I had commenced to +rave a bit when a brisk wind sprang up that blew the fog away, the crew +succeeded in righting the craft and onward we flew out of sound of the +terrible fog horn forever. + +There are many things in life that remind me of fog horns; there are +many occasions that beat upon the soul with just such vociferous clamor. + +There are those old-fashioned Bible texts, shouting "hell fire" and +"eternal damnation." What are they but fog horns warning us from off a +mist-enveloped shore? We cannot shut our ears to them while we lie a +furlong off the rocks and listen to their woeful reiteration. Perhaps +some chance wind may blow us out to sea, there to escape for the present +the unwelcome climax; but we know that underneath the shrouded stars and +through the hush of midnight forever and forevermore sounds the crash of +that brazen alarm. We may not heed it, but the fog horn is there, forget +and disown it though we may. + +Then there are our birthdays after we grow old enough to understand +their significance; what are they but fog horns that sound at intervals +to denote that we are drawing near to the final doom of all mankind? + +"Sport on," they seem to say, "a little longer; weave your garlands and +blow your pretty bubbles while you may, for to-morrow you shall surely +die!" + +Each year the fog horn blows a louder blast, until finally the softened +haze of creeping years, like a white fog in the sea air, muffles the +sound, and we sink to rest at last, some of us with the wild clamor +hushed to the measure of a good-night song. + +Then the holidays. Thanksgivings and Christmases with independence days, +like wine-red roses dropped between, what are they but fog horns on the +invisible shores of memory? How they mock us with the recollection of +vanished joys, and warn us of barren years yet to be. + +Gone forever are the dear ones who made gala times and festival +happenings bright, and still we linger like boats in the trough of a +sullen sea, our motive power wrecked, our sails rent, and listen, +listen, listen to the warning that sounds from far off the hazy shore. + +"Gone, forever gone," the fog horn cries; "gone down into the sea, the +boats that kept you company when the bright-winged fleet put out from +port! Lost forever, in storms it seems scarce worth the while to have +weathered, since here you toss, alone at last, like driftwood on the +chilly tide, and listen forever to the mournful warning of my voice from +off the sandbars, warning you that not even love can withstand the beat +of time's relentless years." + +Our desks are full of miniature fog horns in the shape of unanswered +letters. + +Our closets hang full of fog horns of varying fabrics. They warn us of +the folly of trusting to bargain sales of shoddy goods; they warn us +against extravagant tastes when times are hard; they warn us against the +lazy mood that neglects the stitch in time that saveth nine. + +Every time we are ill the occasion is a fog horn. + +Either we have disregarded some law of health and are in the trough of +the sea in consequence, or we are flying on to the breakers with ears +dulled to the fog horn's din. + +We speak with cruel harshness to the old mother who loves us, or to the +little child who trusts us. We are sorry for it afterward, and that +sorrow is the fog horn that warns us to keep off the reef of temper. + +"To-day may be the last day for the mother you have pained or the child +you have wronged," it seems to say; "the bed they lie down upon to-night +may be the bed of death. See to it, then, that you make each day of +life, if possible, the last day of love's opportunity." Did you ever +stop to think of what would become the instant concern of all this vast +human race if a sudden edict should go forth that only twenty-four hours +were left for each man to live? What if an angel should appear to-day at +sunset and proclaim in a voice that should reach from world's center to +world's rim, "To-morrow at set of sun this globe and all its race of +sentient life shall be folded up like a scroll and effaced from heaven's +chart!" + +What would we all begin to do then, I wonder? I think that everything +would be forgotten but love. Envy and hatred, covetousness, jealousy, +ambition, selfishness and cruelty would find no place in the hearts of +men. We would improve love's latest opportunity to be kind one to +another, tender-hearted and merciful. The husband would not be harsh +with his wife, nor the wife show waspish temper to her husband, if the +last day had come for both. The father would not strike his boy in +uncontrolled temper, nor the mother rebuke her careless child, if the +knowledge that the end of love's opportunity lay between the uplifted +hand and the culprit. We should all be loving and fond and sweet if we +only knew. My dear, this very thought, carried out, is but another fog +horn. Perhaps death is already near, and the brazen clamor in our hearts +which takes shape of an uneasy conscience or of a nameless dread is but +the warning in the fog that we are close upon the fatal reef. Ah, the +air is full of them! They sound in every waking moment, they mingle with +our dreams, they greet our opening eyes, they accompany us when the +tired lids fall in slumber. The shore is lined with them and their +warning is as ceaseless as the beat of time's receding waves. + +But of what use is a fog horn to a vessel that gives no heed? Why uplift +them on dangerous reefs if the ship's crew sleeps through their warning +and the unconscious captain ignores their hoarse note of alarm? + +An unheeded fog horn might as well be silenced, and so, I sometimes +think, if we allow our hearts to grow callous to the call that +conscience makes, why not be thankful when the warning ceases and +silence follows the useless repetition of an unavailing appeal? If I am +to be shipwrecked at last I think I would rather run upon the reefs +without warning than to drift to destruction to the mocking cadence of +an alarm I would not heed. To go down with the sound in my ears of an +admonition that might have saved me had I but listened would be the +hardest sort of dying. + + * * * * * + +HER CRADLE. + + There are tears on the gentian's eyelids, + As they lift them, fringed and fair. + Do they mourn for the vanished brightness + Of my baby's golden hair? + + There's a cloud a-droop in the heavens + That shadows their sunny hue. + Does it dream of the lovelight tender + In my baby's eyes so blue? + + The golden rod pines in the forest, + The aster pales by the brook. + Do they miss her fairy footfall + In each dim and flow'ry nook? + + Now, all through this beautiful weather, + Wherever I walk, I weep; + For I think of the desolate cradle + Where my baby lies asleep. + + * * * * * + +The other night, as I was listening to "taps" in a neighboring military +camp, a longing came over me for a silver bugle of my own, that I might +blow a message to the drowsy world. We all listen to that fellow up at +Fort Sheridan, when he gives the command for "lights out!" just because +he blows it through a bugle. He might come out and say what he had to +say in tones anywhere between a cornet and a clap of thunder, and the +effect would be nothing to what it is when the notes filter through a +silver mouthpiece. And how exquisitely the last strains of that nightly +call linger on the ear! They melt into the starry glooms, and throb +through the dim spaces of the woods like golden bubbles or the wavering +flight of butterflies. Whenever we hear them we think of Grant, asleep +in his grave by the mighty river, of his work well done, and the rest +that dropped upon his pain-racked life at last like a soft and rainy +shadow on a thirsty land. We think of hosts of brave men who fill +soldiers' graves all over this blood-bought heritage of ours. We think +of hearts that once beat high, for long years silent as stones to all +our cries and tears. We think of a host of things, solemn and hushed, +and sacred, and drop to sleep at last with an indistinct purpose in our +hearts to so conduct ourselves that when the Death Angel blows "taps" +for us, we shall leave a record behind us to be read through fond, +regretful tears, and enshrined in golden characters upon the tablets of +memory. + +Now, if I had a bugle instead of a pen, to work with, and if I could +stand out under the stars on a hushed summer night and deliver my +message through its silver throat, perhaps the world that reads me might +be thrilled into earnest purpose more readily than it is when exhorted +from a pencil point or a quill. The first message I should ring through +that bugle of mine would be the command, "Don't fret!" However +comfortless and forlorn you may be, don't add to your own and the +world's misery by fretting. There never yet was a sorrow that could not +be lived down; there never yet was one that could be cured by worry. +When the cows get into the corn and the chickens into the flower-beds, +the sensible man chases 'em out first, repairs the damage next, and, +lastly, fastens up the break in the garden wall by which the marauders +got in. What would you think of a farmer who went into his bedroom to +pray before he chased out the cows, or of a woman who threw her apron +over her head and wept long and loud because the hens were scratching up +her pink roots, instead of "shooing" them a half-mile away with a broom? +Most troubles come upon us as the cattle and the hens get into the corn +and the garden patch, through a broken fence or a carelessly unguarded +gate. It is our own fault half the time that we are tormented, and the +sooner we repair the damage and mend the fence, the better. Time spent +in useless bewailing, in worry and disquietude, is lost time, and while +we wait the mischief thickens. Take life's trials one by one, as the +handful of heroes met the host at Thermopylae, and you will slay them +all; but allow them to marshal themselves on a broad field while you are +crying over their coming or praying for deliverance, instead of arming +yourselves to meet them, and they will make captives of you and keep +you forever in the dungeon of tears. Is your husband too poor to buy you +all the fine clothes you want, or to keep a carriage, or to surround you +with pleasant society and congenial friends? Very well, that is +certainly too bad, but what's the use of being forever in the dumps +about it? Get up and help him keep the cows out of the corn, and perhaps +you'll have a golden harvest yet. A sullen, discontented wife is a +millstone around any man's neck, and he may be thankful when the good +Lord delivers him from her. Whatsoever is worth having in this world's +gifts is worth working for, and wedlock is like an ox-team at the plow. +If the off-ox won't pull with the nigh one, it has no claim with him +upon the possible future of a comfortable stall and a full bin. Out upon +you, then, Madam Gruntle, if you sulk, and pout and fret your days away +because your husband is a poor man and spends most of his time chasing +the cattle, calamity and failure out of his wheat patch. He may possibly +be one of fortune's numerous ne'er-do-wells, but in that case all the +more reason you should not fail him. Bent reeds need careful handling, +and smoking flax gentle tending, else they will perish on your hands +and disappoint both you and heaven. All the more reason that you should +be cheery and strong and ready to do your part, if the man you married, +because you dearly loved him (remember!) is unable to do all that he +promised. That is, always provided he is weak and unfortunate, rather +than desperately wicked. A woman has no call to stand by any man if he +is a wretch and shows no desire to be anything else. The Lord himself +never helped a sinner until he showed some desire to be saved. Less +repining, then, a little more forbearance with one another's +shortcomings, and a little more loyalty to the promise "for better or +for worse," will ease up much of the burden of dissatisfied and +disappointed wedlock. + +Another message that I should blow through that bugle, if I had it at my +lips to-night, would be: "Be true!" And I should ring it out so long and +loud, I think, that the moon would stop to listen, and the sleepy heads +in every home in the land would rise from their pillows like +night-capped crocuses out of the snow. For heaven's sake, if you have a +principle or a friend, be true to them. Make up your mind, whether or +no your principle is solid and has God and justice on its side, and then +be true to it right down to death, or, what is harder, through +misunderstanding and obloquy. And if you have a friend, such as God +sometimes gives a woman or a man, faithful through all betiding, staunch +in your defense and tender in your blame, stand true to that friend +until the grave's green canopy is spread between you. He may be +unpopular and unfortunate, and all the feather-headed crew of society +may ignore him, but if you have ever tested his worth as a friend, stand +up for him, and stand by him forever. The sun may go down upon his +fortunes, and calumny may cloud his name, and you may know in your heart +that more than half the world says about him is true, but stand by the +man who has once been your true friend. Ingratitude is the blackest +crime that preys upon the human soul. The forgetfulness of a favor, or +the effacement of a bond sealed with an obligation, is capable only to +weak and cowardly natures. + +If you have a conviction, and are conscientious in the belief that you +are right, be true to your professions. If you are a rebel, be a rebel +out and out, and don't be a goat to leap nimbly back and forth over the +fence. Never apologize for either your faith or your profession, unless +you have reason to be ashamed of it; and, if you are ashamed of it, +renounce it and get one that will need no apology. + +There are lots of other messages I would like to stand on a hill and +blow through a bugle, but the weather is too warm to admit of further +effort just now; so we'll postpone the topic for another hearing. + + * * * * * + +I sat in a fashionable church the other day and listened to a sermon on +"The Prodigal Son." How often I have heard the same old story told in +the same old way. How familiar I have become with the kind father, the +bad son, refreshingly human heir, the veal and the ring! But the last +time I heard the story I felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to rise +up in meeting and ask the question, "How does the treatment accorded to +the prodigal son match the treatment we mete out to the prodigal +daughter?" + +How far out of our way do we go to accompany his sister on her homeward +faring after a season spent among the swine and the husks? + +Do we put an 18-karat ring on her poor little soiled finger and place +her at the head of our table, even if by good chance she gains an +entrance to the home? Do we not more often meet her at the back door +when nobody is looking, rush her through the hallway and consign her to +the little third story rear room, taking her meals to her ourselves, on +the sly, that the neighbors may not find out the dreadful fact that she +is at home again? + +"Keep yourself very close," we say to her, "and by no manner of means be +seen at any of the windows, and you may stay here. You can wear some of +your virtuous sister's cast-off clothing, and sleep on the lounge in the +nursery, where the servants never think of going since the little folks +have grown up, but you must be very penitent, and very humble, and very +thankful to God for the mercy you so little deserve." + +I think somebody had better write a new parable and call it "The +Prodigal Daughter." Perhaps a sermon might be preached from it to touch +the unmoved heart. + +After all there are two sorts of prodigals--the prodigal who comes home +because the cash gives out, and the prodigal who comes because his heart +turns back to the old home with such longing as the thirsty feel for +water. Neither boy nor girl who comes back for the first-named reason +should find a maudlin love awaiting, nor partake of any banquet that the +old folks have had to pay for, but the prodigal who returns because +there is something left in his or her heart like the music in a shell, +which nothing can destroy or hush away to silence, be that prodigal +sinful man or erring woman, should find not only the home doors swung +wide in welcome, but every doorway in the land wreathed with flowers to +bid him enter. + + * * * * * + +How few people know when to stop. If the preacher knew when to stop +preaching, how much more satisfactory the result of his sermon might be. +If the genial fellow knew just when to stop telling his good stories, +how much keener their relish would be. If the moralizer knew just when +to stop moralizing, how much longer the flavor of his philosophy would +endure. If the friend knew when to keep still, how grateful his silence +would be. If the candid creature who so glibly tells of our foibles knew +when to hold his tongue, how much less strong our impulse to slap him +would be. If the high-liver knew when to stop eating, how much less sure +dyspepsia would be. If the popular guest knew when to withdraw, how much +more regretfully we should see him go. If the politician knew when to +retire into private life, how much whiter his record would be. If we all +knew just when to die, and could opportunely bring the event about, how +much truer our epitaphs would be. The court fool who prayed, "Oh God, be +merciful to me, a fool!" prayed deeper than he knew, and the man who +prays, "Oh God, teach me to know when I have said enough," prays deeper +still. + + * * * * * + +You may talk about California all you will, but match, if you can, the +beauty of spring as it comes to us in these northerly latitudes. There +is the coy advance and retreat of a woman hard to win; there is the +crescendo and diminuendo of heavenly harmonies; there is the dissolving +view that glimmers and glows like an opal, or like the mirage of a misty +sea. I was in California a year ago, in April time. I found the month +that poets love in full splendor, like a queen who never doffs her +crown. Violets, roses, lilacs and carnations came all together in a +riotous rush. One did not have to woo the season; it was already won. +Like a matron crowned with the mid-splendor of her years, the earth +received the homage that is due achievement. Nobody caught the sound of +the first robin on a rainy morning and heralded it with a shout; the +first robin, like the first principle in creation, never existed, for +the reason that he was always there. There were no foretellings of green +along the watercourses; no prophetic thrills of violets in the air; no +uplifting of the hypatica's downy head above the lattice of fuzzy +leaves; everything was right where you discovered it, and had been all +the year round. Without beginning and without end, spring exists +forever, like a picture bound within a book, in the lovely land of the +Gringos. But walk out some April morning in the suburbs that surround +Chicago. Catch the tonic of the air, like wine ever so delicately +chilled with ice. View the lake, like a gentian flower fringed with a +horizon fine as silk. Scrape away the leaves and hail the valiant Robin +Hood in his suit of green, leading his legion upward to the sun. Without +the sound of a footfall or the gleam of a lance, they come to take +possession of the earth. Woo the violet to turn her dewy eye upon you, +and listen to the minstrel in the tower, where the winds are harping to +the new buds. Mark the maple twigs, like silhouettes cut in coral, and +the sheath of the wood lily, like a ribbon half unrolled. Rejoice in the +flash of the blue bird's wing as it startles the still air, and then say +to me, if you dare, that you prefer any other climate to this one that +belts the zone of these northern lakes. + + * * * * * + +Thank the Lord, all ye who can call yourselves healthy. The day has gone +by for physically delicate women. This age demands Hebes and young +Venuses with ample waists and veritable muscles. Specked fruit and +specked people go in the same category in the popular taste. To the +question, "How are you to-day?" I for one, always feel like replying in +the words of an old Irish servant we once had (God rest her faithful +soul wherever it be this windy day!), "First-rate, glory be to God!" It +is such a grand thing to be well and strong, to feel that your soul is +riding on its way to glory in a chariot, and not in a broken-down old +mud-cart. Talk about happiness! Why, a well beggar has a better time of +it than a sick king, any day. If, then, like a bird, your strong wing +uplifts you above the countless shafts of pain which that grim old +sportsman, Death, is ever aiming at poor humanity, count yourself an +ingrate if the song of thanksgiving is not always welling from your +heart like the constant song of a bobolink singing for very joy above +the clover. + + * * * * * + +What would be thought of a ship that was launched from its docks with +flourish of music and flowing wine, built to sail the roughest and +deepest sea, yet manned for an unending cruise along shore? Never +leaving harbor for dread of storm. Never swinging out of the land-girt +bay because over the bar, the waters were deep and rough. You would say +of such a ship that its captain was a coward and the company that built +it were fools. + +And yet these souls of ours were fashioned for bottomless soundings. +There is no created thing that draws as deep as the soul of man; our +life lies straight across the ocean and not along shore, but we are +afraid to venture; we hang upon the coast and explore shallow lagoons or +swing at anchor in idle bays. Some of us strike the keel into riches and +cruise about therein, like men-of-war in a narrow river. Some of us are +contented all our days to ride at anchor in the becalmed waters of +selfish ease. There are guns at every port-hole of the ship we sail, but +we use them for pegs to hang clothes upon, or pigeon-holes to stack full +of idle hours. We shall never smell powder, although the magazine is +stocked with holy wrath wherewith to fight the devil and his deeds. When +I see a man strolling along at his ease, while under his very nose some +brute is maltreating a horse, or some coward venting his ignoble wrath +upon a creature more helpless than he, whether it be a child or a dog, I +involuntarily think of a double-decked whaler content to fish for +minnows. Their uselessness in the world is more apparent than the +uselessness of a Cunarder in a park pond. + +What did God give you muscle and girth and brain for, if not to launch +you on the high seas? Up and away with you then into the deep soundings +where you belong, oh, belittled soul! Find the work to do for which you +were fitted and do it, or else run yourself on the first convenient snag +and founder. + +Some great writer has said that we ought to begin life as at the source +of a river, growing deeper every league to the sea, whereas, in fact, +thousands enter the river at its mouth, and sail inland, finding less +and less water every day, until in old age they lie shrunk and gasping +upon dry ground. + +But there are more who do not sail at all than there are of those who +make the mistake of sailing up stream. There are the women who devote +their lives to the petty business of pleasing worthless men. What +progress do they make even inland? With sails set and brassy stanchions +polished to the similitude of gold, they hover a lifetime chained to a +dock and decay of their own uselessness at last, like keels that are +mud-slugged. It is not the most profitable thing in the world to please. +Suppose it shall please the inmates of a bedlam-house to see you set +fire to your clothing and burn to death, or break your bones one by one +upon a rack, or otherwise destroy your bodily parts that the poor +lunatics might be entertained. Would it pay to be pleasing to such an +audience at such a sacrifice? But the destruction of the loveliest body +in the world is nothing compared to the demoralization of soul that +takes place when women subvert everything lofty and noble within their +nature to win the transient regard of a few worthless men of the world. +They learn to smoke cigarettes because such men profess to like to see a +pretty woman affect the toughness of a rowdy. They drink in public +places and barter their honor all too often for handsome clothes in +which to make a vain parade, all to please some heathen man, who in +reality counts them a great way inferior to the value of a good horse. +The right sort of a sweetheart, my dear, never desires to bring a woman +down to his own level. He prefers to put her on a pedestal and say his +prayers to her. Never think that you are winning an admiration that +counts for much if you have to abate one whit of your womanhood to win +it. Every time I see a woman drinking in a public resort, making herself +conspicuous by loud talk and louder laughter, I think of some fair ship +that should be making for the eternal city, with all its snow-white +canvas set, rotting at its docks, or cruising, arm's length from a +barren land. We were put into this world with a clean way bill for +another port than this. Across the ocean of life our way lies, straight +to the harbor of the city of gold. We are freighted with a consignment +from quarter-deck to keel which is bound to be delivered sooner or later +at the great master's wharf. Let us be alert, then, to recognize the +seriousness of our own destinies and content ourselves no longer with +shallow soundings. Spread the sails, weigh the anchor and point the prow +for the country that lies the other side a deep and restless sea. Sooner +or later the voyage must be made; let us make it, then, while the timber +is stanch and the rudder true. With a resolute will at the wheel, and +the great God himself to furnish the chart, our ship shall weather the +wildest gale and find entrance at last to the harbor of peace. + + * * * * * + +When you look at a picture and find it good or bad, as the case may be, +whom do you praise or blame--the owner of the picture or the artist who +painted it? When you hear a strain of music and are either lifted to +heaven or cast into the other place by its harmonies or its discord, +whom do you thank or curse for the benefaction or the infliction, +whichever it may have proved to be--the man who wrote the score or the +music dealer who sold it? You go to a restaurant and order spring +chicken which turns out to be the primeval fowl. Who is to blame--the +waiter who serves it or the business man of the concern who does the +marketing? And so when you encounter the bad boy, whom do you hold +responsible for his badness--the boy himself or the mother who trained +him? I declare, as I look about me from day to day and see the men and +women who play so poor a part in life, it is not the poverty of their +performance that astonishes me so much as the fact that it is as good +as it is. + + * * * * * + +I did think I would keep out of the controversy on the low-neck dress +question. But there is just one thing I want to say. Did you ever know a +sweet young girl yet, one who was rightly trained and modestly brought +up, who took to decollete dresses naturally? Is not the first wearing of +one a trial, and a special ordeal? It is after the bloom is off the +peach that a young woman is willing to show her pretty shoulders and +neck to the crowd; and who cares much for a rubbed plum or a brushed +peach? I cannot imagine a sweet, wholesome-hearted woman, be she young +or old, divesting herself of half her clothes and thrusting herself upon +the notice of ribald men. I can sooner imagine a rose tree bearing frog. +The conjunction is not possible. The cheek that will blush at the story +of repentant shame, that will flame with indignant protest when the +skirts of a Magdalene brush too near, yet deepens not its rose at +thought of uncovering neck and bust in a crowded theater or public +reception is not the cheek of modest and natural womanhood. It is not +necessary to be a prude or a skinny old harridan either, to inveigh +against the custom. I know full well how contemptible the affectations +and hypocrisies of life are. Half that is yielded to evil was meant for +good. The high chancellor of Hades has put his seal on much that was +originally invoiced for the Lord's own people. But there are some things +so palpably shameless that to argue about them is like trying to prove +by demonstration that a crow is white. It needs no argument. + + * * * * * + +THE VETERANS. + + Scarce had the bugle note sounded + For the call of their last defeat; + And still on the lowland meadow + Lie the prints of their quick retreat. + + Above us the bright skies sparkle, + And around us the same winds blow + That rippled their golden banners + In that battle so long ago, + + When the southwind challenged winter, + And the rose-ranks routed the snow, + And the hosts of tiny gold coats + Sprang up from their campfires below, + + To charge on the insolent frost king, + And shatter his lance of ice, + While back to the desolate northland + They wheeled him about in a trice. + + The battle is hardly ended, + The victory only begun, + Yet I saw the gray-bearded vet'rans, + To-day, sitting out in the sun. + + They nod by wind-rippled rivers, + They shake in the shade of the oak, + And all the day long they murmur + And whisper, and gossip, and croak. + + And often in wondering rapture, + They recount the charge they made, + When down from the windy hillsides, + And up through the dewy glade, + + The sheen of their golden bonnets + Shone out from the green of the leaves, + Like the flight of a glancing swallow, + Or the flash of a wave on the seas. + + They muse in sleepy contentment, + Or flutter in endless dispute. + For this was a brave cadet, sir, + And that one a crippled recruit. + + Fight over again your battles, + O veterans, withered and gray; + For a band of northwind chasseurs + To-morrow shall blow you away. + + * * * * * + +Once upon a time it came to pass that a woman, being weary with much +running to and fro, fell asleep and dreamed a dream. + +And in her dream she beheld a mighty host, more than man could number. +And of that host, all were women, and spake with varying tongues. + +And they bent the body, and sitting on hard benches wailed mightily, so +that the air was full of the sound of lamentation, like a garden that +wooeth many bees. + +And the woman who dreamed, being tender of heart and disposed kindly +toward the suffering ones, lifted up her voice saying: + +"Why bendest thou the body, oh, daughters of despair, and why art thine +eyelids red with tears? + +"Yea, why rockest thou like boats that find no anchor, and like poplars +which the north wind smiteth?" + +And one from among the host greater than man could number made answer, +saying: + +"Wouldst know who we are, and why we spend our days like a weaver's +shuttle that flitteth to and fro in a web of tears? + +"Behold we are the faithless and unregenerate handmaids who have served +thee, and women like unto thee, bringing desolation unto thy larders, +and gray hairs among the braids with which nature hath crowned thee. + +"Yea, verily, by reason of our misdemeanors lift we the voice of +lamentation in a land that knoweth not comfort." + +Now, the woman who dreamed, being full of amazement, replied anon, and +these were the words that fell from her lips: + +"Sayest thou so? And dwellest thou and thy sisters in Hades by reason of +the evil thou hast wrought?" + +"Nay, not forever," replied she who had spoken. "We remain but for a +season, that our remorse may cleanse our record before we go hence to +sit with the blessed ones in glory. + +"Not from everlasting unto everlasting is the duration of the penalty we +pay for what we have done unto thee, else were there no peace between +the stars by reason of our torment and our tears." + +And the woman who dreamed beheld many whose fame yet lingered within the +shadows of her home. + +There was Ann, the fumble-witted, who piled the backyard high with +broken china, yet stayed not her hand when rebuked therefor. + +There was Sarah, the high-headed, who refused to clean the paint because +she had dwelt long in the tents of such as hired the housecleaning done +by other hands, that the labors of the handmaid might be few; + +Yea, verily, with such as believed that Sarah and her ilk might have +time wherein to be merry rather than toil. + +There was Karen, the Swede, who wrapped the bread in her petticoat and +refused to be convinced of the error of her ways. + +There was Jane, the Erinite, who broke the pump, and Caroline, the +Teuton, who combed her locks with the comb of the woman who dreamed. + +There was Adaline, the hoosier, who failed to answer the summons of the +stranger who knocked at the gates unless she were in full dress and +carried a perfumed handkerchief. + +There was Louise, who smote the youngest born of the household because +he prattled of her dealings with the frequent cousin who called often +and sought to deplete the larder. + +There was the girl who desired her evenings out and never came home +before cock crow. + +There was the girl who threw up her place in the family of the woman who +dreamed because she was asked to hurry her ways. + +There was the girl who wore the hose of her mistress, and took it as an +affront when asked to desist. + +There was the girl who swore when the chariot of the sometime guest drew +nigh, and likewise the girl who refused to remain over night in a +dwelling where she was summoned to serve by means of a call bell. + +There was the girl who found it too lonesome in the country and left the +garments in the washtub that she might hie her to the great city, the +social center of which she was the joy and the pride. + +There was the girl who was made mad by means of the request that she +wash her hands before breakfast. + +There was the girl who entertained her callers in the drawing-room while +the family was afar off, sojourning in the hills or by the waves of the +sea; + +Yea, who thought it no evil to bring forth the flesh-pot and the +brandied comfit, that the heart of the district policeman might leap +thereat, as the young buck leapeth at sight of the water courses. + +There was also the girl who wasted, and the girl who stole; the girl who +never tried, and the girl who never cared. + +And seeing the multitude the spirit of the woman who dreamed arose +within her and she asked of a certain veiled one who seemed to be in +charge: + +"Tell me, O shrouded one, is there never to be any diminution in the +throng that cometh to take their abode in these halls of penitential +regret?" + +And the spirit in charge made answer, saying: + +"No, nor never shall be while fools live and folly thrives. + +"It is by reason of the babbling of busy-bodies that havoc has overtaken +the land of thy forefathers. + +"There is honor in faithful service, and an uncorruptible crown awaiteth +the forehead of her who serveth well. + +"It is no disgrace to the comely daughters of men who toil and are put +to that they bring in the wherewithal to fill the mouths of the children +who call them father-- + +"It is no disgrace, I say unto you, if such maidens take unto themselves +the position of servants in the family of him who prospereth, + +"Remembering that one who lived long since and has slept these many +years in the tomb of his fathers, spake truly when he uttered these +words, albeit framed in rhyme: + + "Honor and shame from no condition rise; + Act well your part, there all the honor lies." + +And it came to pass that the woman who dreamed took comfort to herself +by reason of her dream. + +And she arose from slumber like a strong man who desireth to run a race. + +And buckling on more tightly the armor wherein she moved, yea, even with +a free hand buttoning the boot and drawing the string, she cogitated +unto herself, and these were the words of her cogitation: + +"Behold, I will learn a new wisdom that I may be unto my handmaids a +friend rather than a taskmistress, that in so doing I may win unto my +household the damsel who hath intelligence. And my treatment of her +shall be such that many wise ones who call that damsel friend shall +decide to do even as she hath done and choose domestic service with a +woman who is kind even to the showing of interest in her handmaid's +affairs, rather than linger in bondage with the shop girl and her who +rattles the tinkling keys of the typewriter machine. + +"So doing, my days shall increase mightily in the land, as also the days +of her who cometh after me." + + * * * * * + +Women are either the noblest creation of God or the meanest. A good +woman is little less than an angel; a bad woman is considerably more +than a devil. And by bad women I do not mean women who drink, or steal, +or frequent brothels. The chief weapon of a bad woman is her tongue. +With a lie she can do more deadly work than the fellow in the bible did +with the jawbone of an ass. Untruth is the fundamental strata of all +evil in a bad woman's nature, and with it she is more to be dreaded than +many men with revolvers. There is absolutely no protection from a lie. +The courts cannot protect from its venom, and to kill a defamer and a +falsifier is not yet adjudged as legalized slaughter. + + * * * * * + +There is one awfully homely woman in Chicago. I met her the other day +over in Blank's art gallery. Our acquaintance was brief but sensational. +I looked at her, tucked her into my handbag and wept. She didn't seem to +mind it, and when, a few hours later, in the seclusion of my chamber, I +took her out of the bag and looked at her again, she was more hideous +than before. + +"You horrible creature!" said I. "If you look like me, better that the +uttermost depths of the sea had me." + +"But I do look like you," said she, and her voice was weak and low by +reason of prolonged exposure to the sun and air, "and Mr. Blank says I +will finish up very nicely." + +"Do you mean to tell me," I asked, "that my nose is as big as yours?" + +"Of course it is," said she; "pictures cannot lie. But comfort yourself +with the assurance that a large nose is always an indication of +intelligence." + +"Intelligence be blessed!" said I, for I was getting excited; +"intelligence without beauty is like bread without butter, or a peacock +without a tail! If I possess such a nose as yours, madam, I shall take +to tract-distributing, galoshes and a cotton umbrella, and forget that I +was ever human." + +"You talk wildly, as all the rest of them do," said my thin companion. +"Listen, for my time on earth is short, I am rapidly fading away, and +what I say must be said briefly. If you look about you you will see that +there exists, more or less hidden in every breast, the belief of one's +own beauty. The mirror, although a faithful friend, can never quite +disabuse the mind of that belief, and when the honest camera holds up +the actual presentation of one's self as an incontrovertible fact, the +disappointment is keen and hard to bear." + +"All that may be true," said I, "but not all your assertions can ever +make me believe that that dusky mass of hair, brushed back so wildly +from those beetling brows, is like my own. You know that mine is soft +and brown, and yours looks like the bristles of an enraged stove brush." + +"That's the way they all talk," responded the dissolving view, "but you +do not stop to consider that under the artist's pencil the shadows will +all be toned and softened. And let me say right here, that that +'beetling brow' is a sign of rare intelligence, much more to be desired +than the lower and more----" + +"Stop, right there!" I interrupted. "It is not necessary to have a brow +like a plate-glass show-window, or like an overhanging cliff, or like a +granite paving-stone, to denote intelligence! No, my friend, do not try +to lift this shadow from my soul. That mouth that looks like a dark +biscuit, that nose that looks like a promontory overhanging an unseen +sea, that hair that looks like the ruff of an excited chicken, that brow +that looks like a skating-rink, all make me sad. I shall never have my +picture taken again. If I look like that it is time I died. In the round +of an eventful life I may forget that I even saw you, but until I do I +am a tired woman. My mirror may assuage my sorrow, for that either lies +or catches me from a different point of view. Vanish then, oh, yellow +shade of an unhappy reality. Back to oblivion with you, and heaven grant +I never look upon your like again!" So saying, I calmly held the poor +but hideous creature in the flame of a gas-jet and smilingly cremated +her. + + * * * * * + +A fairer day than last Sunday was never cradled to rest behind the +curtains of night. It began with a flute obligato of sunrise, orbed +itself into a full orchestra wherein color took the part of first and +second violins, and declined at last into the hush of sunset like the +mellow notes of a cello under old Paul Schessling's master touch. Such +days visit the earth rarely. They are advance sheets of a story that is +going to be told in heaven; preludes to a song that we shall hear in its +perfection only when we have got through with the clattering discords of +time. Thank God for all such days. They do us more good than we know. +The sight of the woods, adorned as only queens are adorned for the court +of the king, the sound of falling leaves and lonely bird songs, of +hidden lutes, of unseen brooks, tremulous and sweet and low under the +russet shadows, uplift our souls and help us to forget, for the time +being at least, how tired we are, how worn with the fret of sordid toil +and how tormented and misjudged and calumniated we are by those who fain +would do us harm. I think if I had time to do some of the things I want +to do the first consummation of that happy time would be to build me a +little cabin in the woods, where, in utter loneliness, I could forget +how full the world is growing to be of folks and how prone they are to +do each other harm and hinder rather than help each other on the stony +way to heaven. + + * * * * * + +The other evening, while sitting in the gallery of the Auditorium and +looking over the balcony edge at the crowd waiting for the curtain to +rise, a strange thought came to my mind. How could hell be more quickly +created than by the unmasking of such a crowd as this? Suddenly remove +from humanity all power of self-control and conventional dissimulation; +force men and women to be natural, and act out every evil impulse latent +in their souls, and could Dante himself portray a blacker Inferno? The +man whose heart is full of murderous hatred--tear off the mask that +hides his perturbed soul, and what a demon would look forth! The woman +behind whose amiable seeming lurks malicious envy and snarling temper +and crafty deceit--what a pandemonium would ensue when such passion +broke forth like straining dogs from the leash! The old man with the +saintly face and the crown of hoary hair--could an open cage of foul +birds send forth a blacker brood than should fly out from his soul when +some omnipotent hand unlatched the bars of its prison and let the +unclean thoughts go free? The young man with the perfumed breath and the +suave and courtly manner--does any storied hell hold captive blacker +demons than the cruel selfishness, the impurities and the secret vices +that walk to and fro in his soul like tigers behind their bars? The +young girl with face like a rose and the form of a Juno--could anything +that hades holds strike greater dismay to the hearts of men than the +unmasking of her hidden thoughts? Ah, when the hour strikes for +unmasking time in life's parade ball, when death steps forth and with +cool, relentless touch unties the knot that holds the silken thing in +place that has hidden our true selves from our beautiful seeming, we +shall find no more fiery hell awaiting us than that we have carried so +long in our hearts. + +I would not like to be regarded as a pessimist from the writing of such +a paragraph as the above. Sometimes I seek to turn my thoughts upon the +crowd and unmask the angel as well as the demon. But I find that the +angels, as a general thing, wear no face concealers. They go disguised +in poor clothes and scant bravery of attire, but the angel within them +is like a singing bird rather than like a silent and chained beast. It +reveals itself in songs, like a caged lark. It looks from out the window +of the eyes in loving glances and tender smiles; it manifests itself in +sweet and cheerful service, like the sunshine that can neither be hidden +nor concealed. + + * * * * * + +Of all the pleasant things to look upon in this fair earth, I sometimes +query which is the best, a little child, a fruit orchard in early June, +or a young girl. I think the latter carries the day. Did you ever watch +a flock of birds sitting for a moment on the mossy gable of a sloping +roof? How they flutter and fuss and chirp; how they preen their delicate +feathers and get all mixed up with the sunshine and the shadow, until +which is bird and which is sunbeam one can scarcely tell. There is a +flock of girls with whom I ride every morning, and they make me think of +birds and sunbeams. They are so bewitching with their changeful moods +and graces that I sit and watch them as one listens to the twitter of +swallows. They sweeten up life, these girls, as sugar sweetens dough; +they fill it with music as sleigh bells fill a winter night. God bless +the girls, the bonnie, sweet and winsome girls, and may womanhood be for +them but as the "swell of some sweet time," morning gliding into noon, +May merging into June. + + * * * * * + +There are so many things in this world to be tired of! The poor little +persecuted boy in pinafores, sent to school to get him out of the way, +doomed to dangle his plump legs all day long from a hard bench, rubbing +his grimy knuckles into his sleepy blue eyes and wondering if eternity +can last any longer than a public school session, grows no more tired of +watching the flies on the ceiling and the shadows on the wall than some +folks get of life. Let me mention a few of the things I, for one, am +horribly tired of, and see if before my bead is half strung you do not +look up from the strand and cry, "Amber, I am with you!" + +My dear, I am tired to-day of civilization and all modern improvements. +I am tired of the speaking tube within my chamber where the new girl and +myself wage daily our battle of the new Babel. She speaks Volapuk, and I +do not, consequently she takes my demand for coal as an insult or an +encouraging remark, just as the mood may be upon her, and pays no more +attention to my request for drinking water than the unweaned child pays +to the sighing wind. I am tired of sewer gas and what the scientists +call "bacteria" and "germs." I am tired of going about with frescoed +tonsils, the result of the three. I am tired of gargling my own throat +and the throats of my helpless babes, and the throat of the casual +visitor within my gates, with diluted phenic acid to ward off deadly +disease. I am tired of nosing drains and buying copperas and hounding +the latent plumber that he adjust the water-pipes. I am tired of boiling +the cistern water and waiting for it to cool. I am tired of skipping +from Dan to Beersheba daily for men to remove the tin-cans, the ashes +and the unsightly rubbish that have emerged from long retirement +underneath the snow. I am tired of imploring the small boy to keep his +mother's chickens off my porch. I am tired of digging graves upon the +common wherein to bury useless potato-parings, the unsightly +cheese-rind, and the shattered egg-shell. I am tired of being told that +my neighbor's calf and my neighbor's pet cat, and my neighbor's blooded +stock of poultry are dying because of the copperas I scatter broadcast +about the mouth of drains. I am tired of being a martyr to hygiene and a +monomaniac on the subject of sanitary science. I am tired of sharpening +lead pencils. I am tired of speaking pleasantly when I want to be cross. +I am tired of the ceaseless grind of life, which like the upper and +nether mill-stones, wears the heart to powder and the spirit to dust. I +am tired of being told that the mark on my left ear is a spot of soil, +and of being implored in thrilling whispers to wipe it away. I am tired +of last year's seed-pods in spring gardens and of all two-legged +donkeys. I am tired of awaiting a change in the methods of doing +business around at the postoffice, and for the dawn of that blessed day +when I shall be permitted to dance upon the grave of the aged being who +peddles stamps at the retail window. I am tired of hosts of things +besides, but have no time to enumerate them all to-day. + + * * * * * + +I have tested the rainy weather dress reform. It was pouring when I +started from my humble home in the morning, and in spite of the prayers +of the Young Person and the sobs of the "Martyr," I arrayed myself in my +new, highly sensible and demoniacally ugly suit and weathered the +elements. Within two hours it stopped raining; the sun came out and the +streets filled with festively attired men and women, and where was I? +Stranded on a clear day in garments befitting a castaway! My flannel +dress, short skirts and top-boots wasted on fair weather. "In the name +of heaven," exclaimed a friend, as I bore down upon him beneath a +cloudless sky, "what have you got on?" "Go home! for the love of +humanity, go home!" said another. And what was I to do? Await another +storm like a crab in its shell, or venture forth and become the byword +of an overwrought populace, the scorn of old men and matrons? Next time +I start out in a reform dress I will take along the robes of +civilization in a grip-sack. + + * * * * * + +There is something that is getting to be awfully scarce in this world. +Shall I tell you what it is? It is girls. That is what is missing out of +the sentient, breathing, living world just now. We have lots of young +ladies and lots of society misses, but the sweet, old-fashioned girls of +ever so long ago are vanished with the poke bonnets and the cinnamon +cookies. Let me enumerate a few of the kinds of girls that are wanted. +In the first place we want home girls--girls who are mothers' right +hand; girls who can cuddle the little ones next best to mamma, and +smooth out the tangles in the domestic skein when things get twisted; +girls whom father takes comfort in for something better than beauty, and +the big brothers are proud of for something that outranks the ability to +dance or shine in society. Next, we want girls of sense--girls who have +a standard of their own regardless of conventionalities, and are +independent enough to live up to it; girls who simply won't wear a +trailing dress on the street to gather up microbes and all sorts of +defilement; girls who won't wear a high hat to the theater, or lacerate +their feet and endanger their health with high heels and corsets; girls +who will wear what is pretty and becoming and snap their fingers at the +dictates of fashion when fashion is horrid and silly. And we want good +girls--girls who are sweet, right straight out from the heart to the +lips; innocent and pure and simple girls with less knowledge of sin and +duplicity and evil-doing at twenty than the pert little school girl at +ten has all too often; girls who say their prayers and read their Bibles +and love God and keep his commandments. (We want these girls "awful +bad!") And we want careful girls and prudent girls, who think enough of +the generous father who toils to maintain them in comfort, and of the +gentle mother who denies herself much that they may have so many pretty +things, to count the cost and draw the line between the essentials and +the non-essentials; girls who strive to save and not to spend; girls +who are unselfish and eager to be a joy and a comfort in the home rather +than an expensive and a useless burden. We want girls with hearts--girls +who are full of tenderness and sympathy, with tears that flow for other +people's ills, and smiles that light outward their own beautiful +thoughts. We have lots of clever girls, and brilliant girls, and witty +girls. Give us a consignment of jolly girls, warm-hearted and impulsive +girls; kind and entertaining to their own folks, and with little desire +to shine in the garish world. With a few such girls scattered around +life would freshen up for all of us, as the weather does under the spell +of summer showers. Speed the day when this sort of girls fill the world +once more, overrunning the spaces where God puts them as climbing roses +do when they break through the trellis to glimmer and glint above the +common highway, a blessing and a boon to all who pass them by. + + * * * * * + +Is there any flower that grows that can compare with the pansy for color +and richness? Others appeal more closely to the heart with fragrance +that like a sweet and pure soul more than compensates for lack of +exterior beauty, but in all the gorgeous category none rank this velvet +flower that lies just now upon my window-sill. There is the purple of +Queen Sheba mantled in its soft and shiny texture; the gold of Ophir was +not more sumptuous; the light that breaks at dawn across a reef of +dove-gray clouds was never more delicate than the violet heart of this +lovely blossom. When I want to think of the ideal court of kings, of a +royal meeting-place for blameless scions and unsullied princes of the +blood, I do not think of old-world palaces and coronation halls--I think +rather of a pansy bed in June in full and perfect bloom, a soft wind +just bending bright heads crowned with crowns that never yet were +pressed on aching brows, and fluttering mantles of more than royal +splendor that never yet were wrapped above a corrupt and breaking heart. + + * * * * * + +MY ROSE AND MY CHILD. + + I held in my bosom a beautiful rose, + All gay with the splendor of June; + Its dew-laden petals like sheen of soft snows, + Its blush like the sunshine at noon. + + But e'en as I held it, I knew it must fade; + Its bloom was as brief as the hour. + The dews of the evening like soft tears were laid + On the grave of my beauteous flower. + + I held in my bosom a beautiful child, + The splendor of love in her eyes; + No snow on high hills was more undefiled + Than her soul in its innocent guise. + + But I knew that my angel in heaven was missed; + I knew, like my rose, she must go; + So with heartbreak and anguish her sweet lips I kissed-- + She sleeps with my rose in the snow. + + * * * * * + +It was not so very long ago that I chanced to overhear a lively young +woman make this remark about her mother: + +"Oh, mamma is nearly always taken for my sister. She never seems like +anything more than one of my girl friends." + +Poor child, thought I, your state is only another phase of orphanhood, +for the young life that has no counsel of motherhood is bereft indeed. + +No girlish comradeship, however juvenile and delightful it may be, can +possibly take the place of protecting, counseling, mother-love. Not but +what the sweetest relationship possible exists where the mother keeps +her heart young and in sympathy with her daughter, but there is +something else requisite to mother-love. + +The best mothers are those who have roomy laps where the big girls love +to sit while they whisper the confidences they never could reveal to +sister-mothers. They have all-enfolding arms, these right kind of +mothers, wherein they gather the tired girl, yes, and the tired boys, +too, and rock them to rest and peace, long after their "feet touch the +floor." + +They used to tell me I must never sit on anybody's lap after my feet +reached the carpet, but, thank God, that rule never applied to my +mother. + +You are never afraid of disturbing mother's "beauty sleep" when you come +in late at night if she is of the good reliable sort, as far removed +from frisky girl companionship as the moon is from its reflection. + +No matter how tardy your home-faring may be she is always up with a +lunch and a warm fire in winter or a glass of something cool and fresh +in summer to soothe your overexcited nerves, a thing she cannot do if +she is forever dancing about with you in your youthful larks. She has a +way of calming your tempers with a joke and a caress, of which the +sister-mother never dreams. She has also a way of smoothing your hair, +which your girl comrade never caught the trick of, for the reason that +she is kept too busy curling her own love-locks. When your head aches, +the right sort of mother knows just how to pet you to sleep and leave +you in a darkened room with a rose on your pillow to greet your waking +eyes; if you have a bad cold she knows the cuddly way to coax you to +take bitter medicine. She bathes your feet and dries them on nice warm +towels. She keeps the younger children from guying you, because your +nose is red; in short, she does a thousand nice things of which the +sister-mother has no knack whatever. + +When great trouble falls to your share, when sharp betrayal pierces your +heart, and trusted affection turns to ashes in your hold of what good is +the juvenile mother with her girlish tremors and tears? You want +somebody next in tenderness to God, to hold you fast and tight. You want +somebody who has suffered and grown strong, to soothe your breaking +heart. Somebody who can be silent and brave and steady until your fever +is passed. The shipwrecked sailor wants a rope rather than a feint of +throwing one; the shipwrecked soul wants a heart like rock, rather than +a handclasp and a promise. The sister-mother may be all right to go to +parties with, but you want something stronger and more steadfast to lean +upon in time of perplexity. You want a mother in all the holy +significance of the name. However sweet the tie of sisterhood, it cannot +be so blessed as the bond of patient, long-suffering, sanctified +motherhood. + +Seek to keep yourself in sympathy with your girls, then, mothers, but be +content to occupy a generation removed from the path they tread. Don't +make up in emulation of their beauty; don't seek to win away their beaus +and outdress them. Don't go decollete to parties where your girls should +be the reigning belles; don't aim to vie with them in fascination or in +charm. Be guider and ready counselor, but don't try to be rival. If God +has given you a girl child, and that child has grown to womanhood, +accept the condition of things and give over being a society belle +yourself, abdicating your place for the infinitely sweeter one of +mother. You cannot be the right sort of mother and ignore your duty to +your child. That duty lies in giving her her rightful place in the line +of march from which you are crowded out. Let her carry the banner while +you fall back a little. Watch over her, make things easy for her, smooth +the little difficulties out of her way, be on hand when she comes home +tired and excited to soothe her to rest and calm; counsel her how to +pick her way through the snares that are laid for youth and beauty, be a +refuge where she can run when the rainy weather sets in, which is sure +to fall in the summer time of youth, somewhere and somehow. In short, be +just as sympathetic and chummy and sociable as possible, but at the same +time make your daughter feel that you are older and stronger and wiser +than she, by reason of your motherhood, and that next to God you stand +ready to shield her, to guide her, to receive her in time of trouble, to +forgive her if she needs forgiveness, and to shrive her if she needs +confessing. Teach her that your love can never fail, that your heart is +a rock and a fortress and a shield for her to seek in all life's +bewilderment, far surer and more steadfast than any other love beneath +the stars can ever yield. + +When I think of all it means to be a mother I tremble to think how far +short of the standard the best of us fall. I would rather have it said +of me when I die, "She was a good mother," than that men should get +together and exploit my deeds as poet, reformer, artist or story-teller. +I would rather feel the dewfall of a child's loving tear upon my face +than wear a laureate's crown. + +Don't be critical, or censorious, or reserved with your daughters; don't +hold them far off and cultivate respect and fear rather than love; don't +be self-assertive and cause them to feel their dependence upon you in an +unpleasant way; don't be too eager to keep them in the background in +little things relating to the home, such as giving them no voice in the +arrangement of the room and the domestic regulations. Indeed, I have +known more attrition caused in the home circle from this last mentioned +point of difference between mother and daughters than almost any other. +I know a family, presided over by a good, unselfish woman, who, as a +mother, is the most complete failure I ever ran across. Her daughter is +of mature age and pronounced opinions, but she is kept in the background +and her life rendered most unhappy by the dominant will of the mother +whose old-fashioned views as to running the house are directly opposed +to more modern customs. The two wrangle continually over the +establishment of a dinner hour, the disposal of a light, the drapery of +a window, the adjustment of furniture, until there is less harmony under +the roof than there is music in a hurdy-gurdy. How much better it would +be if that mother would yield a little to the wishes of her daughter; +give the latter a chance to display her own taste and carry out her +inclination. I don't believe in the mothers and fathers of grown-up +daughters always insisting upon the occupancy of the front seats and the +leadership of the orchestra. + +The mother who can preserve the respect of her children without chilling +their love; who can be one with them, and yet apart, in the sense of +guiding, aiding and consoling, who can hold their confidence while she +maintains the superiority of her wisdom, is the happy and successful +mother. The title is a sacred one, made by the chrism of pain and +suffering, sanctified by the humanity of Christ and set apart as one of +the three of earth's tenderest utterances: "Mother, home and heaven." + + * * * * * + +Now that the days draw nigh for the return of the birds to our northern +woods and dales it is borne in upon me to hold a little "love feast" +with the boys. You know what a love feast is, if there was ever a +Methodist in your family. It is a good, cozy talk among the brethren and +sisters in regard to the best way of putting down the devil, and giving +the good angels a chance. And if there was ever need of downing the +devil it is in the particular instance of a boy's inhumanity to birds +and beasts. I have expressed myself as to horses, and to-day I shall +talk about birds. On these spring mornings, when the world is enveloped +in a golden halo, from out of which, like angel voices from the quiet +depths of heaven, the birds are singing their impromptu of praise, +imagine a lot of half-grown men and brutal boys going forth with guns +and sling-shots to break up the concert and murder the choristers. I +would as soon turn a lot of sharp-shooters into a cathedral at early +mass to bring down the surpliced boys and the chanting novices. I tell +you, O race of good-for-nothing fathers and mothers, whom God holds +directly responsible for the bad boys who desecrate this beautiful +world, you are no more fit for the training of immortal souls than a +hawk is fitted to teach music to a thrush. You ought to have had a +bear-skin and been the trainer of cubs. That your boys develop into +brutes and go to state's prison, and perhaps die at the end of a rope +eventually, is nobody's fault but your own. If you chance to own a horse +or a dog you show some care in its training, but God gives you a boy and +you let him run wild. There is no more reason why a boy should be cruel +than that a properly-broken colt should kick. The tendency may have been +born with him, but good training eliminates it to a great extent, if not +entirely. When I was a woman and lived at home, in the happy days before +I entered the arena to fight for bread and butter, to say nothing of +shoe leather and fuel, I used to gather the village boys about me every +spring and try to sow the good seeds of tenderness with one hand, while +carefully eliminating the tares with the other. I offered prizes for +the best record at the end of the summer. I formed classes, the +membership of which pledged themselves, to a boy, to abstain from +sling-shots, to cultivate the birds' nests and to withhold their hands +from the commission of a single deed of cruelty. Many is the gallon of +ice-cream I have paid for to keep those youngsters in the narrow path of +rectitude, and many is the time that I have patrolled the woods with my +boy comrades, keeping watch over the family of a blue-bird or a robin, +when the alarm went forth that some unregenerate boy was on the rampage. +All the boys whom I could get to join the club I was sure of, for I know +the way to a boy's heart, if I can only get the chance at him. For what +other purpose did nature turn me out a born cook? And why did she make +me a master hand at doughnuts and turnover pies? I have a large and +undying faith in the boys, if you will only start them right. The first +thing a boy needs is a good mother. He can get along without a +father--and I was going to say without a God--for the first few years of +his life, but he needs a mother. Not a mere nurse maid to look after +his clothes and see that he has plenty to eat at the right intervals, +but a good, sweet, companionable mother, with a good, soft breast for +him to cry on and two arms to hug him with. He needs a mother who can +talk with him and answer his questions, who is not stern and severe, but +responsive and get-at-able. With such a mother our boys will be gentle +and our birds will be safe. + +Try to think, boys, what a world this would be without any robins, or +larks, or thrushes; without any songs in the apple trees getting all +tangled up with the sunshine and the blossoms; without any canaries to +sing in the window, or any meadow larks to whip out their flutes among +the clover heads. If you should wake up some morning and experience the +ghastly silence of a songless world you would want to hire somebody to +thrash you that you ever used a sling-shot. Do you remember the minister +down New York way whom they fined for shooting robins? I never wanted to +get up on a mountain top so much in all my life and shout glory as I did +over that verdict. I have heard of immorality among ministers, and I +have heard of hypocrisy and lying and all sorts of offenses against +good taste and morals, but I never heard of anything so contemptibly and +causelessly mean as for one of God's especial teachers to get up in the +morning, put on top boots, cross the river in the sunshine and dew of +early morning, lift his gun, take deliberate aim and bring down a robin. +If I was the Lord I would never forgive it. Men are not to blame +sometimes when their blood gets too warm and they do impetuous things, +but to deliberately descend to the ignominy of shooting a robin and +calling it sport is to sink too low for justification. + +Whatever else you be, boys, be brave. If you must sail in and fight, if +your superfluous zeal is too much for you, go out in the field and +square off at a bull. There is some glory in whipping anything bigger +and stronger than yourself, but to show fight to a bird is a little too +much like sneaking out and tripping up a cripple in the dark. I am going +to write down a verse for you to write in your copy books this very day, +and then good-night to you: + + "The bravest are the tenderest; + The loving are the daring." + + * * * * * + +Isn't it heavenly to see the primrose around again? And the daffodils? +And the hyacinths? Last night I went home with a rose in my button which +cost me just five cents. At that rate, by careful abstaining from +anything more expensive than a ten-cent lunch, one can go on wearing +roses until next November. The robins have come back, too, and this +morning a couple of them awoke me with their "Cheer-up" song. The +indications are that they are prospecting for spring housekeeping. If +the cat kills them I shall kill the cat. I shall close my eyes and do +the deed in the name of mercy, for I detest cats, both two-legged and +four-legged, and I love robins both feathered and human. + + * * * * * + +I wonder why it is that the average woman can walk and talk, breathe and +laugh, suffer and cry, and finally die and be buried, and all the way +through make such a botch of her life! Why is it that we fall in love, +so many of us, just on the verge of a life that opens like a summer's +day, and change that life thereby, as a June morning is changed when +great clouds rush into the sky and obscure the sun? Why are girls so +proud to parade an engagement ring upon their finger, when the diamond +is too often the danger-light thrown out above the breakers? Now and +then, about as rarely as one picks up a ruby on the highway, or finds an +enchanted swan circling over the duck pond, there is a happy +marriage--at least such is the popular inference--as to the absolute +certainty of the statement, ask the skeleton closet. I have lived a +varied sort of life. I have wandered to and fro over the earth to some +extent; I have known a great many people, and have found happiness in +many ways, but looking back over all the path to-night and turning my +little bull's-eye lantern of experience up to the present moment, I can +neither remember nor record a dozen truly happy marriages. What +constitutes happiness? Peace. What brings peace? Content. Who is +contented? Not you and not I. What man or woman of all whom we know can +we bring out into the full light of day and say of them, "Behold the +contented one! The restful one! The happy pair!" You, my dear, have +attained the ambition of your youthful dreams. You have married a man +who dresses you splendidly, who gives you diamonds and never murmurs +when the bills come in. But are you happy? Do you never walk to and fro +with the restless countess in the sad old ballad, dreaming of "Alan +Percy?" Do you never, when all is still, go down into that cemetery +where life's "might have beens" lie buried in graves kept green forever +with your tears, and walk and dream alone? And you, my friend, have +married the man of your choice. Is there nothing in the handsome +exterior that palls a bit now and then when you find how sordid and +meager the soul is behind the smile you used to think so charming? Do +you never find scorn creeping into your heart in place of adoration when +you mark the unpaid bills and the shiftless endeavor that strew his idle +way? And you, sir, have a merry and a pretty wife and the world calls +you a lucky fellow. How many know of the sharp tongue that underlies her +laughter and the feather-filled head that never yet has donated an +earnest thought to the domestic economy? And you, my good sir, have +married a blue stocking in the old acceptance of the term. She can +swing off a leader or make a speech on a rostrum at short notice, but +how would you like to rise right up here, poor dear, and tell just what +comfort lies in being mated to a superior being who busies herself with +work which shall be remembered perhaps when the dust on the center +table, the holes in your stockings, the discomfort of the larder, and +the untidiness of the household are forgotten? And you, my good fellow, +have married a woman of "good form." She never does an indiscreet thing. +She is "icily faultless" and splendidly stupid. She has the neck of a +swan, the arms of a goddess, the foot of a patrician, and the soul of a +mouse! The scent of a wayside lilac, perhaps, is sadder than tears to +you, old comrade, when you look back across the years and see again the +sweet dead face of one you trifled with, or whom you deserted for this +woman with heart and body of snow, a purse filled with gold and a brain +filled with feathers. + + * * * * * + +There is entire hopelessness to many women in the blank monotony of life +after youth is past. An emotional nature, mercurial and restless, full +of aspirations and longings, as the trees this perfect month are full of +blossoms, and, like the trees, bearing a thousand blooms to one +fruition, finds the destiny prepared for it almost unendurable, and +often longs for death that shall end all. Because poverty grinds and +hosts of menial duties accumulate, because the walls of an unquiet home, +made unlovely perhaps by skeletons that no skill can quite conceal, +close like a dungeon upon hope and all the sweet promises of youth, +bright natures grow morose and bitter, warm hearts chill into apathy and +gloom, and sunny brows darken under the cloud of almost perpetual +irritability and discontent. It is useless to preach sermons to such +cases--as useless as to read a book of etiquette in a prison ward or +comfort the victims of a railroad disaster with a treatise upon reform +in the management of roads. The worn, the wasted, the erring, and the +cruelly maimed lie thick about us. Our business is to encourage, to +love, to bind up, and cheer. God, in His own time, shall lift the +discontented head above the power of conspiring cares to vex. It is for +us to lend a helping hand down here where the "slough of despond" is +deepest. When tides forget to obey the moon, or leaves to answer the +will of the wind, then, and not sooner, shall these restless hearts of +ours learn to be still, whatsoever destinies confront, or limitations +thwart. In looking upon the lives of some women, the mother of six +children, for instance, who takes boarders and keeps no help; the widow +supporting her little brood by endless drudgeries; the big-hearted woman +in whom the frolicsomeness and wit of girlhood die hard amid the sordid +miseries of a poverty-stricken life; the sensitive, poetic soul, doomed +to uncongenial companionships and the criticisms and ridicule of the +unfriendly--I am reminded of the score of eagles I saw lately, chained +in a dusty inclosure of Central Park. With clipped wings, and grand, +homesick eyes, they sat disconsolate upon their perches, and moped the +hours away. Would any sane being have reviled those sorry beings for a +lack of spirit? Would not the gentle-hearted spectator have proffered a +handful of fresh leaves rather, and turned away in pity that sympathy +could do no more? + +For these unhappy sisters of mine, the discontented, yearning +"Marthas," troubled with many cares, wherever my letter may find them +between the great seas, I have a word of comfort in my heart to-day. In +the first place, do not think, because you so often fall into +irritability and impatient speech, that God despises you as a sinner. He +understands, if friend, husband, or neighbor do not. Strive not to yield +to fretfulness then, but, when overcome by it, remember always God +understands it all. You may be able to see no light in all the shrouded +way, no lifting of the shadow, no promise of the dawn; but rest assured, +however long the probation, the infinite content of Heaven awaits us +very soon, if we strive as much as lies within us to overcome the +infirmities of our temper, and keep our faces set towards the shining of +His love. I know, dear heart, indeed I do, that to-morrow and to-morrow +are just alike to hopeless fancy--full of dish-washing, and drudging, +and back-bending toil--that the sparkle and song of life were long ago +merged in the humdrum beat of treadmill years; but through just this +test is your character building--through just its hard process is +shaping the conqueror's crown flashing with splendid light. As the root +tarries in the dark mold to burst by-and-by into radiant bloom above it, +so your poor life is hidden now to bloom to-morrow. You are not wicked +because you sometimes murmur, but try and think so much of what is going +to be that you shall forget what is. The Tender Heart above absolves +your beaten spirit from willful sin, though you are sometimes swept away +on currents of doubt and unfaith; but try and keep your eye fixed upon +the headlight of His love, whatever currents drift you away. Remember +how human parents deal with their children, and learn a lesson of God's +dealings. If my little girl has the ear-ache, or any other tormenting +ailment of childhood, do I stand over her and exact songs and smiles? +And do you think that when God, for some good reason of his own, lays +heavy burdens upon a life, He is going to demand unswerving sweetness of +speech or ethereal mildness of temper? When I see one scrubbing who was +fitted to adorn the drawing-room, washing dishes who was created an +artist or a genius, darning small boys' linsey pants and homespun +stockings who was intended by nature to reign the crowned priestess of +some high vocation; when I mark the furrows and zigzag footprints that +an army of besieging cares have left on the cheek that in girlhood +outblushed the wayside rose, or note how the hands that once drew +divinest music from obedient keys have twisted and warped in the +performance of homely duties, I feel impelled to kiss the faded cheek +with a love surpassing a lover's, to fold the poor hands in a reverent +grasp, for I tell you, however often she may faint and falter by the +way, however "fretty," and worn, and peevish she may become, the woman +who perseveres in the performance of uncongenial duties, who struggles +through the flatness of monotonous drudgeries, conquering adverse +circumstances, poverty, and destiny, by patience, love, and Christian +faith, is a heroine fit to rank with martyrs and saints. Remember, I am +not talking to women who find the burdens hard to bear and do not bear +them; to mere whimperers, who, because the road is full of stones, sit +down and refuse to travel; but to the brave, true hearts who "press +onward" although no rose blossoms and no bird sings, content to +faithfully perform the task of life, hoping that the fullness of time +shall read the riddle of incongruous destiny. I have seen the time when +household work seemed newly cursed--the very dew of the primal +malediction upon it; when to charge upon the dinner dishes, attack the +lamps, or descend into the vortex of family patching, seemed to call for +greater courage than average human nature possessed. And when I imagine +that shrinking carried on through dry years of monotonous experience, +the same formulas to be observed, the same distaste to be overcome +throughout a lifetime of toil, yet no duty shirked, no obligation set +aside, I wonder if Heaven holds a crown too bright for such faithful +lives. + + * * * * * + +The time of the year for violets and also for tramps is drawing near. +Did you ever stop and think just what it means to be a tramp? It means +no work, no money, no home, no shelter, no friends. Nobody in all the +world to care whether you live or die like a dog by the roadside. It +means no heaven for such rags to crawl into, no grave to hide them out +of sight and no hand stretched out in all the world to give the greeting +and the good-by of love. It means nobody in all the world to feel any +interest in you and no spot in all the world to call your own, not even +the mud wherein your vagrant footprint falls, no prospect ahead, and no +link unbroken to bind you to the past. I tell you, when we sit down and +figure out just what the term means, it will not be quite so easy next +time the wretched tramp calls at our door to set the dog upon him or +turn him empty-handed away. Let them work, you say. Look here, my good +friend, do you know how absolutely impossible a thing it is getting to +be in this overcrowded country for even a willing man to find work? It +used to be that "every dog had his day," but the dogs far outnumber the +days in free America. I know well educated, competent men who have been +out of employment for months and years. I know brave and earnest women, +with little children to support, who have worn beaten paths from place +to place seeking, not charity, but honest employment, and failed to find +it. What chance is there for a ragged tramp when such as these fail? +Remember, once in a while, if you can, that the most grizzled and +wretched tramp that ever plodded his way to a pauper's grave was once a +child and cradled in arms perhaps as fond as those that enfolded you and +me. Remember that your mother and his were made sisters by the pangs of +maternal pain, and perhaps in the heaven from which the saintly eyes of +your mother are watching for you his mother is looking out for him. +Perhaps--who knows?--the footfall of the ragged and despised tramp shall +gain upon yours and find the gate of deliverance first, in spite of your +money and your pride. + + * * * * * + +THE BROOK. + + Lifting its chalice of sun-kissed foam + Far up the heights where the wild winds roam, + Weaving a web of shadow and sheen + In lowland meadows of dewy green. + + Murmuring over the mossy stones, + In cool green dells where the gold bee drones, + Sudden and swift the showery fall, + Startling the wood bird's madrigal. + + Orbing itself in a crystal lake + Set round with thickets of tangled brake, + In waveless calm, an emerald stone, + In the lap of the dusky forest thrown. + + Silver flakes of tremulous light + Showering down from the fields of night, + Where the great white stars like lilies glow-- + Tossed on its tide as feathery snow. + + Hastening onward through troubled ways, + Forgotten for aye its woodland days, + Sullen and silent its banks beside + The free brook wanders, a mighty tide. + + Beyond where the forest's purple rim + Belts the horizon, hazy and dim, + Thundering down from the frowning steeps, + Into the arms of the sea it leaps. + + * * * * * + +Did it ever strike you, I wonder, this marvel of our individuality? +Alone we are born, alone we live, alone we die, alone we pay the penalty +or reap the reward of our evil or well doing. In the troubles that +assail us we stand singly, however many councillors may flock to the +door of our tent. Not one in all the world, the nearest, the dearest or +the best, can bear one pang of life's experience for us, love us as they +may. We often hear a mother say: "My child is so headstrong; she will +not take my advice; she will go her own way." Of course she will, and +she will not, simply because individual tact is the law of all +experience. It is not being headstrong, it is merely fulfilling destiny. + +In the fight we wage we do not fight by platoons or squads, under a +common leader, a thousand at a charge. We enter the lists one by one and +fight single handed. We choose our own colors and there is little of +pageantry or show. When we fall we fall as travelers disappear who walk +across a coast that is honeycombed with quicksand. We vanish, not in +crowds like men who are jostled out of life by earthquakes or flooded +like rats by tidal waves, but we slowly succumb to the inevitable in +solitudes where only the stars watch us and the spaces of a dim, +unsounded sea catch the fret of our mortal moan. + +I have always thought that I should love to have the world come to an +end, with a grand final bang, while I was yet living and sentient on the +surface. I would like to be flashed out of being in the conglomerate of +a mighty swarm, like the covey of birds a huntsman's rifle brings down +or the multitude a Pompeiian doom overtakes. Such dying would be like +riding out of an electric-lighted station, by the car full, rather than +sneaking a place on the back platform like a tramp. But after all, death +would not lose its awful individuality even then. Marshal the whole +world, and aim a single bullet at a hundred million souls, with power to +still each pulse beat in the same rifle flash of time, yet each man +would die alone. + +There is one final lesson to be gained through the doleful contemplation +of the world's flood-tide of sorrow, and that is the lesson of how to +bear our troubles so as to react as little as possible upon those with +whom life throws us in daily contact. Because the goblin bee has stung +our own souls, shall we seek to share the pain of its stateless sting +with all we meet? No more than we should endeavor to carry contagion in +our garments or put poison in our neighbor's well. I knew a man once, a +gallant, light-hearted soldier, who honored the blue and brass of his +country's uniform by wearing it. An awful sorrow suddenly smote his +life, like an Indian sortie from an ambush. Wife and children were swept +from his arms by a swift disaster and he was left alone. His friends +said: "He is a wrecked man! He will never lift his head again!" How did +he fulfill this prophecy of woe? He entered the chamber of his darkened +home and denied himself to everyone. He neither ate nor slept. He fought +by himself a greater battle than call of bugle ever summoned to any +field. He mastered his own soul, and emerged from that chamber after a +certain number of days a conqueror over his own sorrow. His smile was as +ready, his heart as tender, his genial speech as welcome at home and +abroad as it had ever been, and only when the goblin bee of memory stung +him in the silence of the companionless night did he live over again the +experience of his sorrow. None knew when that sting came, or how it +tarried; he bore it silently like a soldier and a man. The trifling +world called him light of love and easily consoled, but I think he was a +grand, unselfish hero, a benefactor rather than a destroyer of mankind. + +When we get so that we can hide our sorrow in a smile we attain that +attitude that brings us closest to the divine. The man or the woman who +goes up and down the ways of the world with a groan on his lips and a +weed on his arm is an infliction worse than an out of tune hand organ. +If the bee stings, hold still and bear the hurt by yourself as best you +may, but don't talk it over with everyone you meet, like an old woman +petitioning a recipe for a bad cough and flaunting her physical ailments +forever in your face. When you have bright things to talk about and +comforting things to say, talk; otherwise hold your peace. The reason, I +think, why animals are never wrinkled and drawn of feature and gray like +mankind is because they cannot talk. If they had the power of speech +they would go around as humans do and disseminate unpleasant topics, as +idle winds start thistle pollen. Silence is golden when you can find +nothing better to do than to clamor your own troubles; speech only is +blessed when, like a bird, it evolves a song or wings a feathered hope. + +It seems hardly the thing to do, perhaps, to single out the unhappy +folks in a present world so full of jollity and talk with them awhile +to-day. This bright autumn weather is so crowded with sights and sounds +to dazzle and enchant that to obtrude the leaf of rue within the garland +or breathe a minor tone into the music seems almost out of place. And +yet, for some reason or other, as I sit here at my desk to-day, the +thought of the hearts that are heavy in the midst of all the world's +fair pageant, and the eyes that cannot see the banners by reason of +their tears, come to me with a strong and resistless force. + +Alas, for the goblin bee that stings, yet all too often may not "state +its sting"! We walk with a crowd, and yet are conscious that our way is +not theirs. It lies apart, we know not why, and evermore dips into +shadow and threads the dark defiles of gloom. There are so many more +reasons for being sorry than for being glad, we think. Try to count the +causes for laughter, and then, over against them, set the reasons for +sorrow and see which way the balance falls. I take my seat on a bench +out at the big show and watch the crowd for an hour. Do I see many faces +that do not bear the scar of the "goblin bee"? From the little +four-year-old who is bitterly crying because somebody has jostled its +toy from its hand, to the woman whose eyes are sunken with sorrow +because death has jostled the one whom she loved into his grave, +everybody who passes, with but few exceptions, shows the scar of that +stateless sting. + + * * * * * + +Look at my window-garden, yonder! The sunshine, stealing in from the +south, has wooed a dozen pansies into bloom--"Johnny-jump-ups," they +used to call them when I was a girl. How bright and cheery and chatty +they look. We have those sort of faces (some of us) every day about our +breakfast tables. The little folks, God bless 'em! with their shining +hair, their bright eyes, and the soft velvet of their cheeks, are the +blessed heartsease of our home. And there is a fuchsia, turbaned like a +Turk, behind the pansies. Just such sumptuous, graceful women we see +every day. Like the fuchsia, they are beautiful and that is all. They +yield no fragrance. They attract the eye but fail to reach the heart. +Who wouldn't rather have mignonette growing in the window? There is a +yellow blossom in the window that reminds one of the patient shining of +certain homely souls I know, making sunshine in humble homes; cheerful +old maid aunts, sweet-hearted elder sisters, yielding the honey of their +hearts to others. A cluster of fading violets sets me thinking of frail +invalids and the host of "shut-in" ones, whose delicate and dying beauty +fills our eyes with unstayed tears and our hearts with the shadow of +coming sorrow. + + * * * * * + +There are gates that swing within your life and mine from day to day, +letting in rare opportunities that tarry but a moment and are gone, like +travelers bound for points remote. There is the opportunity to resist +the temptation to do a mean thing; improve it, for it is in a hurry, +like a man whose ticket is bought and whose time is up. It won't be back +this way, either, for opportunities for good are not like tourists who +travel on return tickets. There is the opportunity to say a pleasant +word to your wife, sir, or you, madam, to your husband, instead of +venting your temper and your "nerves" upon each other. Love's +opportunity travels by lightning express and has no time to dawdle +around the waiting-room. If you improve it at all it must be while the +gate swings to let it through. + + * * * * * + +My dear, let me implore you, whatever else you let go, hold on to your +enthusiasm. Grow old if you must; grow white-headed and bent and +care-furrowed, if such must needs be the process of years, but don't +grow to be a stick. If you must pass on from the green time of your +freshness, change into sweet hay and keep your fragrance. If the cage +must grow rusty and lose its brightness, there is a bird within, that it +were a pity to strangle to keep it from singing to the end. I don't care +how successful, or rich, or learned a man becomes, if he maintains a +grim repression of all romance and enthusiasm, and what some hard old +"Gradgrinds" call the "nonsense" within him, he is nothing more than a +fine cage with a dead bird in it. When I hear a person say of another, +"Oh, he is a substantial fellow; no nonsense about him!" I picture a +gold-fish in a glass globe. A glittering cuticle that covers anything so +bloodless as the anatomy of a fish is not worth much. There are a good +many types of men to be detected, but the bloodless, emotionless, +heart-paralytic, is the worst. Polish up a golden ball all you like. It +may ornament your mantel, or serve as a useless bit of glitter in some +corner, but when you begin to feel hungry and faint, and in need of +solace and cheer, you will turn from the golden ball and pick up the +veriest old rusty coat apple from an orchard's windfall, that has +mellowed under summer noon, and sweetened in summer rains and dews, +praising God for its flavor and its juices, even if you can buy forty +bushels of its counterpart, for the price of one of your polished golden +balls. Cultivate the "nonsense" in you, then, if it tends to enthusiasm +of the right sort. It is the sympathy we get from people, the +heartsomeness and cheer that keep our souls nourished, rather than the +mere dazzle of intellectual attainment, or the greatness of any worldly +achievement. Heart rather than head; nature rather than art; genuineness +rather than pretense; romance rather than absolute realism; enthusiasm +rather than petrifaction, will make a man rather than a gold fish, a +juicy apple rather than a ball of metallic and glittering nothingness. + + * * * * * + +We were gathered at the Norfolk Station awaiting the train that was to +carry us over the marshes to Virginia Beach and the sea. The crowd that +surrounded us was very different from a Chicago crowd. There was no +pushing, no bold assertiveness, no elbows. There were lots of pretty +women, and as for me everybody knows I simply adore the open sky, a tree +in blossom and a pretty woman. There were young girls with velvety brown +eyes within whose dusky shadows one might look fathom deep as into a +well of limpid water; girls with blue eyes like fringed gentians; women +with grand free curves of figure that would have made Hebe look +commonplace; women with shapely shoulders and long, aristocratic hands, +tinted at the finger-tips as though fresh from picking ripe +strawberries; girls all in white (for the day was warm), like June +lilies; women with snowy teeth and adorable smiles to disclose them; +little tots of girls with braided hair and soft, questioning eyes; +queenly girls, like tulips in bloom, all chatting together in subdued +but merry tones and laughing as delicately and airily as thrushes sing. +Oh, I lost my heart to you, my pretty southern maidens, and count the +time well spent I devoted to the contemplation of your many graces away +down in that little station by the torrid bay. + + * * * * * + +If I was a liar and wanted to reform I shouldn't quit lying all at once. +I would start out with a covenant to occasionally tell the truth. By and +by this spasmodic truth-telling, like the grain blown by the wind among +stones, would, perhaps, yield sufficient harvest to send me not quite +empty-handed up to St. Peter's gate. If I drank whisky I would commence +to reform by swearing off on one glass out of three, and perhaps the +manhood within me, having so much more chance to grow, would elbow its +way into heaven. If I was a gossip I would try to hold my tongue from +speaking evil half the time, and in that blissful interval perhaps my +dwarfed soul would get a start skyward. It is not by sudden achievement +that we consummate a long journey. It is step by step and mile by mile +over a stony road that brings us to the goal, and it is not by mere +resolving that we renounce the old and attain unto the new. He who +travels but a few steps and keeps his face heavenward is on the way, +and every small decision for the right, faithfully adhered to, is a +notable step toward a consummated journey. + + * * * * * + +I am often struck with the selfishness displayed by people who are +fortunate enough to be provided with umbrellas in time of sudden +showers. They calmly behold hosts of unhappy beings battling their way +through the storm, drenched to the bone, and with ruined garments, yet +never think of saying, "Accept a share of my umbrella," or "Walk with me +as far as our ways lie together." If I should hear such a speech I might +drop senseless with surprise, but all the same I should hail it as the +bugle note that heralded a new era of courteous kindness. + +We are not put into the world to be suspicious of one another. We were +put here to make the world pleasanter for our tarrying, and to cultivate +a fellowship with souls. If the guests at a mountain inn, sojourning +together for a stormy night, spend the time in reviling one another, or +in calling attention to each other's blemishes, we write them down as +snobs; but what shall we call the tenants of transitory time who spend +the span of mortal life in doing all they can to make one another +uncomfortable? We have only a watch in the night to tarry together; let +us try to make that hour a profitable one and a pleasant memory for +others when we have journeyed on. + +I have often wondered how Christian people got round the gospel command, +"Love thy neighbor as thyself." It doesn't say love him (or her) after a +proper introduction, or if agreeable, or congenial, or of good family +and established reputation--it simply gives the command on general +principles. I don't pretend to be good enough to obey the mandate +myself, for I honestly think it is a species of hypocrisy to say you +love everybody. One might as well say one were fond of all fruit alike, +whether specked, wormy or rotten. But let my good orthodox professor put +this in his pipe and smoke it. Let him remember it next time he sees his +neighbor plunged into an extremity, or handicapped by an annoyance of +any kind. If we love our neighbor we are bound to help him, and neighbor +in this sense means anyone who chances to be near us, whether black or +white, raggedly disreputable or sanctimoniously frilled. + +There is more selfishness perpetrated in the world under guise of family +ties than in almost any other way. The man who does good and unselfish +deeds only for his own children and for the immediate circle housed +beneath his roof, forgetful of the claims of the great, tormented, +harassed and struggling world, is a selfish man and accountable to +heaven for a great deal of meanness. I don't care how much he puts on +his children's backs, or how many luxuries he surrounds them with, the +Lord will not hold him guiltless if he does nothing for the stranger who +tugs by him in the stress of life's uncertain weather, or for the +neighbor who sits disconsolate outside his gates. + +I wish that vagabond and his dog who were brought before a west side +justice yesterday for vagrancy would travel up my way. I like that sort +of thing that leads a man to be faithful to his dog. It goes without +saying that the dog is faithful to the man, but it is not often that the +master shows the same spirit to the fond and steadfast brute. If the two +should journey my way I think they would have one white day in the +calendar. Good heavens, my dear, do you ever stop long enough in the +midst of your golf-playing and your tennis tournaments, your yachtings +and your outings to think what it is to be a tramp? To be unable to find +a stroke of work; to be sick and starved and homeless! Like "poor Joe," +to be told to "move on" every time you stop to rest; to eat the +grudgingly given crust of charity, and have no friend under the sun, +moon or stars but a flea-bitten dog? Did you ever stop to think, my +Christian friend, that that tramp is a neighbor whom you are to love? +And if you are going to love him I will love his dog! No doubt the +latter is the better man of the two. + + * * * * * + +Did you ever read of a battle siege in olden times? There were the +full-armored warriors, resplendent in shining metal and plumed crests; +there were the mighty battering rams, and the flash of battle axes, the +thunder of advancing feet and the trumpet call before the gates. But +more potent than all else in the doomed city's destruction was the +secret work of the sappers and miners--the patient forces which wrought +their work out of sight and hearing. And I have been thinking to-night, +as I sit here, where the firelight weaves its delicate tapestry within +the beautiful walls of home, that it is not going to be the pompous ones +who shall march triumphant at last into the "City of Gold," but they who +have worked patiently and humbly out of sight and with no need of +praise. The man who has held to the dictates of his own conscience, not +conforming to the company he marched with; the man who has dared to be +himself in a world where men are labeled in lots; the man who has held +it high honor to suffer for a principle or to be loyal to an unpopular +friend or cause; the man who has erected a standard made up between his +own heart and heaven, and, independent of the world's verdict of praise +or blame, followed it to the end, is going to wear a crown by and by, +when the epauletted general and the pompous staff are forgotten. Prayer +is not always a genuflexion and an address. It is oftener hard work. The +farmer praying at his weeds, the pilot praying from every spoke of his +wheel, the mother whose daily life of unselfish toil and far-reaching +influence is a prayer, do more to stir the divine heart, to keep the +world's prow headed for heaven than half the solicitations or +apologetic addresses made in our churches under the name of prayer. + + * * * * * + +When you and I get rich, my dear, as some day we surely shall, what are +we going to do with all our money? We will hunt up some of the +improvident ones, those who could never make the two ends meet, those +who through good heartedness, or lack of forethought or unselfish desire +to make other folks happy, have never laid by a cent, and we will give +those silly people such a good time they will carry its impress all +through their after lives, as a pat of butter carries the print. We will +slyly pay the bills for improvident ones who have grown gray in the +effort to make a decent funeral for dead horses. They shall forget how +to spell "care" and their new and happy dialect shall know no such words +as "monthly payments," "righteous dues" or "can't afford it." I am +convinced that as a rule it is not the sweet-hearted people who take on +this world's gain. There is many a poor beggar with not a change of +linen to his back who would make a more royal host, had the smiling +face of fortune turned his way, than the rightful owner of the vast +estates at whose gate he stands and begs. The big hearts too often go +with the empty purse, and the little, wizened, skin-flint souls, that it +would take a thousand of to crowd the passage through the eye of a +needle, gain all the golden favors of the god of plenty. + + * * * * * + +After dinner I said to the little folks, "Behold, I will buy me a pair +of stockings and hire a bathing suit, and the afternoon shall be devoted +to frolic and thee." So we went to the small booth, where an exceedingly +meek young man sold ginger pop and fancy shells, and paralyzed him with +a demand for ladies' hose. He didn't know what we meant until I came out +boldly and unblushingly and asked for women's stockings. He said he +didn't keep 'em. "Have you a mother?" said I. "No." "Have you a sister? +Or is there a nearer one yet and a dearer, from whom I could buy or +borrow a pair of stockings that I may go in bathing?" He didn't +understand that either, but finally, with the aid of lucre, I made the +matter clear so that he got me a pair of canary-striped woolen hose, +evidently laid by for some farmer's winter use, and I bought them for a +sum that made his eyes grow dim with rapture. We went down to the beach, +and after a season of prayer with the young person to induce her to put +on some horrid tights, we all went in and enjoyed such a dip as only +salt water yields. In the midst of it we had to go on shore several +times to stand the boy on his head and pump the ocean out of him, as he +was constantly getting drowned in the surf, and one of my expensive and +expansive stockings was captured out at sea and brought back by a son of +Belial, who seemed greatly affected by its size, but in spite of such +small drawbacks we had a glorious time. + + * * * * * + +"What is the matter, my darling?" asked John, the newly married, to the +wife of his bosom. + +"Nothing whatever," replied Mrs. John. + +"But you look like a funeral," exclaimed he. + +"I am not aware that I look more than usually unamiable; I certainly +never felt better," replied his wife, placidly folding down meanwhile +the hem to a distracting little apron she is making. John seizes his +hat, pushes it down over his eyes and rushes forth distracted with the +conjecture as to what terrible thing he has been guilty of to make his +wife look so like an injured martyr. For the time being love is dead, +joy wiped from the face of the earth, hope crucified and peace +assassinated, all because of bottled thunder. A word would have +explained all, a look has ruined everything. + +"Don't put on your fresh muslin this afternoon," suggests the prudent +mother. + +"But why not?" replied the sprightly Jane; "it is the only endurable +dress this warm weather." + +"Oh, very well, do as you like, of course," meekly replied the parent in +a tone that suggests a serpent's fang, a hoary head and a broken heart +all in one. + +Now, in my opinion it is not conducive to domestic harmony to have too +much of this sort of repression. It is like living in an exhaust +chamber. One would be certain to choke up and burst very soon. +Self-control does not consist in forever keeping one's mouth shut, +alone. A look, a sneer, a drooping mouth, a tilted nose, will do as much +mischief as a loosened tongue. Why I should go about like a disagreeable +old martyr or like a sneering Saul of Tarsus, and call myself pleasant +to live with, simply because I don't talk, is something not easily +understood. + +I would far rather be a target for flying saucepans every time I popped +my head into the kitchen than have a cook there who never says a word, +but is sullen and ugly enough to carve me up like cold meat. I would +rather be a constant attendant at funerals, a nurse in a fever-ward, a +girl in a circus, or a street car horse, than live with proper folks who +never make blunders, or commit indiscretions either of speech or manner, +but look at you every time you sneeze as though your featherheadedness +was the only thing that made life unbearable. Out with it then if you +have cause for offense. Don't let the clouds hang a single hour, but +turn on the weather faucet and let it rain. If your neighbor has +insulted you, either ask her why or ignore it. Ten to one the fancied +insult is only a wind cloud, and sunshine will break it away. If you +feel mad sail right in for a tempest and have done with it. Thunder and +lighten, blow and hail if you want to, but don't be a non-committal +dog-day. Bottled thunder is a bad thing to keep on the family shelves. +It is likely to turn sour on your hands, and before you get through with +it, you will wish you had died young. + + * * * * * + +Yonder goes a small and worthless yellow dog. He is young; you can tell +that from the abnormal size of his paws, and a certain remnant of +wistful trust in human kind, which displays itself in the furtive wag of +his tail and the cock of his limp and discouraged ear. He is as +absolutely friendless as anything to which God has granted life can be. +Of his existence there is no thought in the mind of any man or woman +beneath the stars. The boys grow mindful of him now and then, though, +and their manifested interest has made of his life one terrible specter +of cringing fear. He hears the hurrah of their cruel chase in every tone +of sudden speech; he sees the menace of a blow in every shadow. Do you +know, my dear, that I never spoke a truer word in all my life than when +I say that underneath the hide of that forlorn and friendless little +yellow dog there is something more valuable than beats under the +broadcloth vests and silken waists of many of the men and women who pass +him by! A grateful heart mindful of the smallest kindnesses, a faithful +instinct which keeps dogs loyal even to cruel masters. I sometimes think +I would rather take my chances with honest dogs than with half the men +who own them. They may not be able to pass up the stamped ticket which +transfers the human passenger from the earthly to the celestial railroad +and carries him through on the passport of an immortal soul; but no +ticket at all is quite as good as a forged or fraudulent one, as some of +us will find out, I am thinking, when we hand up our worthless checks! + + * * * * * + +Which would you rather be in the orchestra of human life, a flute or a +trombone? To be sure, the latter is heard the farthest, but the quality +of the flute tone reaches deeper down into the soul and awakens there +dreams without which a man's life is like bread without leaven, or a +laid fire without tinder. I don't like noisy people, do you? People who +talk and bluster and swagger. People who remind us of bladders filled to +the point of explosion with wind. We like sensitive people, +quiet-voiced, deep-hearted, earnest people, with the quality of the +flute rather than that of the fog-horn in their make-up. And yet how +much greater demand there is for bluster than there is for force. +Sometimes I am inclined to think that life is a farce played with an +earthly setting for the delectation of the angels, as we serve minstrel +shows and burlesques. It isn't the shy and the timid who get the +applause; the clown in tinsel and the end man in cork divide easy +honors. And yet, thank God for flutes! Thank God the orchestra isn't +entirely composed of trombones and bass drums. + + * * * * * + +WHAT I MISS. + + I can get used to my darling's dress + That hangs on the closet door; + And the little silent half-worn shoes + That patter no more on the floor. + + I can get used to the hopeless blank + That greets my waking eyes, + As they meet the sight of the empty crib + Where no little nestling lies. + + I can get used to the dreary hush, + In the home which my darling blest + With her prattling speech and her rippling laugh, + Ere we laid her away to rest. + + But, ah! the touch of those little hands + That wandered o'er my face, + Like the wavering fall of rose-leaves soft, + In some sunlit garden place. + + Those dimpled caressing baby hands! + I feel them again at night, + And in dreams I gather them back again + From their harp in the City of Light. + + My hungry heart will claim them still; + I cannot let them depart. + So I gather them back again in dreams + To my desolate, breaking heart. + + * * * * * + +The other day my strolling took me into a second-hand furniture shop. I +wanted to find an ice chest. "Have you any second-hand chests?" I asked +of the hoary-headed son of Erin who tended the place and raked in the +shekels. He didn't answer a word, but silently arose and beckoned me to +follow. Through ranks of withered tables and blighted chairs I picked my +way until my guide dived down a gruesome stairway and then I stopped. +Presently his head emerged like a grimy Jack-in-the-box. + +"Is it an ice chist yez want?" asked he. There was mold on his faded +cheeks and a cobweb on his brow as he awaited my answer. + +"Must I go down there to find it?" I inquired. He replied in the +affirmative. + +"Old man, I will go no further," said I, "but come back here and tell me +the price of this lovely desk." So saying, I designated a delightful old +claw-handled, brass-mounted, spider-legged piece of furniture, which +might have been used by Adam to cast up his accounts on. There was a +suggestion of secret drawers about it that was quite ravishing. The +doors were oddly shaped little panes of mirror glass, within which I +gazed pensively at a soot blemish on my nose. "Is it the price of that +yez'd be afther knowing?" said the old man, in the tone of one who dealt +with a harmless lunatic. "I thought it was ice chists yez was afther." +"Yes," said I, drawing out two long slabs as I spoke, such as were used +to support the shelf of the desk I remembered in my grandmother's house. +"That bit of furnichoor," said the old-man, gazing sadly meanwhile at +the grime of ages which I could not rub from off my nose, "is more than +two hundred years old." He stopped for a moment to see if I would +believe him, then went on: "Yis, ma'am, that same is nearer three +hundred years old, all told." + +Here I gave him a look which stopped him at the threshold of the fourth +century. + +"Yez may have it for $25," says he. + +"I'll give you five," says I. + +He turned away as one who found his mother tongue inadequate to express +the deep-seated scorn of his soul. I followed. + +"Did yez say twenty?" he asked stopping abruptly and facing me with the +blurred photograph of what was once an engaging smile. + +"I said five," I answered. + +"Well, take it thin," said he, "but it would be dirt chape at fifty. +It's not a day less than four hun--" + +"Stop," said I, "if you add another century I'll only pay you two and a +half for it." + +And so to-night it comes to pass that I am writing at my new old desk. I +am half conscious, as my pencil glides along the paper, of a laughing +face, half-hidden by showers of falling hair, that flickers like a +shadow in and out of the soft gloom that enfolds me. Fingers, light as +air, seem to follow the motion of my own, and the ghost of the mistress +who thought and wrote at this same desk, one, two, three, four hundred +years ago, seems whispering in my ear. I wonder what will be the effect +if I read to that sweet, gentle woman of "ye olden time" a few bits from +the morning paper. + +Madam, are you aware that a man kicked his wife to death yesterday +because she failed to have his supper ready for him? Are you not to be +congratulated that you are out of reach of this latter day development +of the human brute? Do you know that the Blank concerts began this last +week, and that the melodies that throng the beautiful hall yonder on the +avenue are like bands of singing angels charming a world's sorrows to +rest? Do not the gentle caprices of the flutes and the swing of the +fiddles make even you, flake of airy nothingness that you are! dance +like a thistle-down in a summer breeze? Madam, do you know, and how +does it affect you to know, that there are bargain sales in town where +you can buy a gown for a song, and a pair of all-wool blankets for the +worth of a dream? In your long time disembodied state have you yet +reached a point, I wonder, when such news as this can no longer thrill a +woman's heart? If so, madam, you are truly and undeniably dead, and your +room is better than your company. I bid you a gentle good evening. + + * * * * * + +Among the many things I shall be glad to find out some day will be why, +in spite of heroic effort to keep it straight, my hat always gets +crooked and my hair becomes disordered on the march. I thoroughly detest +the sight of a typical "blue-stocking," or a literary woman who affects +a sublime superiority to appearances, and yet Mrs. Jellyby was nowhere +as to general demoralization of raiment compared to my unfortunate self. +Taking my seat in a down-town restaurant the other day, I found myself +surrounded by half a dozen girls as bright and pretty and jolly as +girls go. No sooner was I seated than the whisper went round that a +newspaper woman had invaded the party. "Looks like one," murmured the +plumpest one of the lot, and I could have cried. "Girls," I wanted to +say, "judge not by appearances. The best christians sometimes have red +noses, just as the jolliest literary folks have frowsy hair and +abandoned hats. They can't help it, my dears, any more than a black cat +can help being somber. It is never safe to condemn anybody, not even a +poor, miserable scribbler for the press, on circumstantial evidence. You +see a crooked hat, electric hair, and that is all. Put on Titbottom +spectacles and look deeper. Perhaps you will then see an +anguish-stricken woman rising at 5 a. m. to make herself smart for the +day. You will note how carefully she adjusts the feeble adjuncts to her +toilet, how she places her hat on straight and secures it with a +cast-iron cable! How she combs out her curls and sticks a feathery +kerchief within her belt. Two hours later the cable hat-pin has been +struck by a tidal-wave and swept from its anchorage; the curls have +degenerated into wisps of wind-tossed hay; and the kerchief? Gone as a +feather is gone when the summer tempest gets behind it! We mean well, +girls. We want to look trim and slick and span. All of us poor literary +people do, but we can't bring it about. Life is so everlastingly full, +anyway, that it seems preposterous to spend more than half one's time in +getting fixed up. Sometimes I am foolish enough to believe that good St. +Peter, when we come toiling up to his gate, won't look so much to the +condition of our hats and our hair as he will to the way we wear our +souls. If they are tip-tilted and frowsy it may go a little bit hard +with us. Of course, it is a good thing to be able to wear a hat +straight, and be remarked for your pretty hair and generally pleasing +appearance, but I declare to you if it comes to a question of mental +array and soul-correction as opposed to style and good form, I am +willing to choose the former and be laughed at now and then by saucy +girls." + + * * * * * + +That's right. Stand on shore and beat him back when he attempts to make +a landing. If necessary, club him under water and congratulate yourself +that you are so self-righteous and everlastingly holy that nobody can +get a chance to swing a club at you. What is this half-dead thing that +is trying to force its way onto dry land from the whelming waters of +temptation and misery? A rat? Oh, no; only a human creature like +yourself. Sin overtaken and subdued by evil. He is young, perhaps, and +never had a mother's care or a father's training. He has drifted with +easy currents into dangerous waters, and the devil, who lurks beneath +the flood, is trying to snatch him down to hell! Raise your club and +give him a clip! The audacity of such a boy trying to be anything with +such a record behind him! Oh, I am sick of you all, you omniverous +feeders on reputation, you unveilers of past records of shame! I hope in +my heart that if ever you get your own foot on the threshold of some +haven of relief, after a tight tussle with danger and death, an angel +will stand over against the doorway with a flaming sword and demand to +see your credentials. No hope of that, though. Angels are not up to that +sort of work; it is left to men, and sometimes--God pity us all!--to +women. + + * * * * * + +If you expect to escape criticism, girls, in this world, you will put +yourselves very much in the plight of flower-roots that expect to grow +without the discipline of the hoe. Before we can amount to anything +either in blossom or as fruit, we must undergo much honest criticism, +and of such we need never be afraid. A candid and above-board enemy is +of far more benefit, often, than a timid friend, who, seeing our faults, +is afraid to tell us of them. The fact that boys stone certain trees and +pass others by, is explained when we find that the stones are always +thrown at the fruit-bearing trees. And so with character; the fact that +we are criticized proves that we are something better than scrub-oak +saplings. But all criticism that does not make us grow, and put forth +fairer and richer blossoms, is like a hoe made of wood, or a cultivator +without power applied to cause it to destroy the weeds. If the unanimous +verdict of the community in which we live asserts that we are proud, or +ill-natured, or lazy, we may be pretty sure that there is some cause +for the application of that particular stroke of the hoe, and the sooner +we set about seeking to remedy the evil, the better for our next world's +crop of blossoms. Nobody (save One) was ever yet maligned without some +little cause. Those who come in contact with you at home may not see +little blemishes upon your conduct or character which those who meet you +in business may detect. For instance, to the folks at home you never put +on that indifferent and languid air to which you treat the customer who +drops in to buy ribbon, or the woman who asks you a question at your +office desk. The customer and the questioner go away with an estimate of +your behavior very unlike the one held at home, where you are frank and +cheerful, and willing to please. And, on the other hand, the party with +whom you associate casually in business, or with whom you ride daily to +and from your office and your home, has no conception how snappy and +snarly you can be when none but familiar ears are open to your surly +complaints. + +The statement from your little brother or sister that you are a "cross +old thing" would hardly be believed by those who meet you away from +home. And yet the hoe in the little hands strikes at a weed that +threatens to make havoc in the garden. Better look to it, dearie, before +the ugly thing quite overtops the mignonette and the pinks! Whenever you +hear of an adverse criticism set to find the weed somewhere in your +character. I believe firmly that every one of us was born into the world +with capabilities for almost every evil under the sun if environment +favors the development. Like a garden patch, the roots of the weeds lie +already deep, the flower seeds must be sown. And no gardener ever +struggled with "pusley" and burdock as we must struggle with the evil +crop, heredity-sown. Thanks be to the quick eye, then, be it of friend +or foe, who discerns the weed before we do, and whips out the hoe to +attack it. We are not exactly pleased when it is borne in upon us +through the criticism of some acquaintance or neighbor, that we are +selfish in little things. Our folks don't say so, and we try to believe +the charge is a libel. Next time you throw your banana skin heedlessly +on the pavement, or crowd into a seat without a "by your leave," or +refuse to move up in a crowded car, or open your window without asking +if it be agreeable to the person behind you, or eat peanuts and throw +the shucks on the floor instead of out of the window, or see a lady +going by with a disarranged dress and don't tell her of it, or return an +indifferent answer to a civil question, or refuse the sweet service of a +smile and a gentle look to the humblest wayfarer that jostles you on the +road, just remember the criticism, and see if there is not occasion for +it. Set about correcting the little faults, and the great ones leave to +God. He will keep you, no doubt, from theft, and murder, and perjury, +but you don't ask or seem to stand in need of His help in getting rid of +temptations to be mean and selfish, and discourteous and lazy. + +What would you think of a gardener who went about with a spade seeking +to exterminate nothing but Canada thistles, and let all the rest of the +weeds go? It is not often that so big and determinate a thing as a +Canada thistle gets in among the roses, and when it does it is quickly +disposed of. But oh, the wee growths! The tiny shoots that come up +faster than flies swarm in dog-days, and need to be forever stood over +against with a steady hand and a hoe. If my neighbor comes out and +charges me with stealing a barrel of flour from her storehouse, or +attacking her first-born with a meat-axe, I can quickly disprove that +sort of a charge; but when she says that I am unprincipled because I +steal in and coax her girl away from her with the offer of higher +wages--how is that? Or that I am selfish because she sees me let my old +mother wait on me to what I am able to get myself; or cross, because I +am untender to the children; or untruthful, because I instruct the +servant to say I am "not at home" when I am, how am I going to dispose +of those charges? Sure as you live, there are weeds in front of such hoe +strokes, and with heaven's help we'll get rid of 'em. + +Cultivate your critics, then, provided they be honest and fair-dealing. +Avoid only such as strike in the dark. The man who goes out to hoe weeds +in the night time is not to be trusted, and the enemy who resorts to the +underhand methods of backbiting and scandal to do his work, is not worth +talking about, much less heeding. Take criticism that is fair and open, +as you occasionally take quinine, to tone up the system and dissipate +the malaria of sloth and inertia. Only they shall come into the +festival by and by, bearing garlands of roses, and wreaths of hearts' +delight and balm, who have welcomed the strong stroke of the hoe at the +root of every blossom to bear down the weeds and loosen the tough and +sun-baked soil. + +As Charles Kingsley says: + + "My fairest child, I have no song to give you; + No lark could pipe 'neath skies so dull and gray; + Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you + For every day: + + "Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; + Do noble things, not dream them, all day long, + And so make life, death and that vast forever + One grand, sweet song." + + * * * * * + +See that half-grown man? He never will know as much again as he does now +at the ripe age of twenty. When he gets to be fifty, when his hair is +grizzled and his hopes are like the dead leaves that cling to November +trees, he will look back upon these years of rare wisdom and colossal +effrontery and blush a little, perhaps, at the recollection. Now he has +no reverence for a woman or for God. He sneers at good in a world whose +threshold he has barely crossed, as a year-old child might stand in the +doorway of his nursery and denounce what was going on in the +drawing-room. Most of the scathing things that are said about domestic +felicity, and the sneers that are bestowed on love, and the gibes that +are flung at purity, and the scoffs that are launched at established +religions; all the jokes at the expense of noble womanhood and the +witticisms that are lavished upon the old-fashioned virtues, spring from +the gigantic brain of the youth of the period. + + * * * * * + +Often as I pass along the streets of this town I notice certain places +which I do not burn down, nor tear down, nor otherwise demolish, merely +because of inherent cowardice and inadequate strength. If I had a +wide-awake, growing boy I would no more turn him loose in your town, Mr. +Alderman, than I would cut his throat with my own hand. Not, certainly, +if there was a spark of human nature within him, and a boy without such +a spark is hardly worth raising. And more than that, I will say this, +that what with your saloons and your wide-open gambling resorts, and +your doorways of hell, wherein sit spiders luring flies, it has come to +pass that every mother whose boy encounters harm thereby should be +entitled to damages at least as great as juries award a careless +pedestrian who gets his legs cut off at a railway crossing. You say that +laws are inadequate to cope with evils of this kind; if that is so, then +an outraged citizenhood should rise superior to law, and enter upon a +crusade to destroy the infamous dens that decoy our boys. On a certain +downtown street there is a newly opened resort, the windows of which are +closely draped, and before the door of which a placard is suspended +which invites only men to enter within. Now and then a hideously ugly +man, with a yellow beard, comes to the ticket window and looks out like +a tarantula from its hole, but in the main the place seems absolutely +unfrequented. + +Take your stand and watch for awhile, though, and you will see young men +and small boys, old men and slouching reprobates of all conditions and +colors going in and coming out by dozens. Why doesn't some good citizen +enter a complaint of that place and break it up? We would pounce upon a +smallpox case soon enough wherever it might lurk, but we are strangely +indifferent where the menace is only to the soul. + +How can we expect to keep our boys pure and raise them to lives of +usefulness when such iniquitous places are run wide open on public +streets at noonday, granting admission to all masculinity between the +ages of 7 and 70? + +A well-guarded youth is supposed to be at home in the night time and not +to be frequenting shy neighborhoods at any hour. So that we might feel +comparatively safe about the boy we send out into the world at an early +age to begin his career as errand boy or messenger if these pernicious +decoys were maintained only at night and in low vicinities. When the +trap is set, however, right in the business center of the town by +daylight, what safety have we? Whenever I look into the face of an +eager, bright, curious, thoroughly alive boy I feel like shaking every +other duty of life and going forth to do battle with the devil for that +lad's soul. + +Why should evil have so much greater chance than good? For one reason I +don't believe we make the good attractive enough. The devil has stolen +the trademark of light for half his wares. Why not have more fun and +frolic in the home? Why not add a gymnasium and dancing hall to the +Sunday school and filter some of the world's innocent sunshine inside +its gloomy walls? Why may not the eager, active heart of youth find its +good cheer and jollity somewhere else than in forbidden places and among +smooth and unscrupulous knaves? If we made our churches less austere and +their gatherings more alluring to the young, these low and vicious +resorts might close for lack of patronage. + +God bless the boys. I love them next best to girls, and sometimes even a +little better, when they are especially frank and brave and true. I am +not going to see them harmed without a protest, either, and I would be +one of a crowd this very day to march upon the resorts of evil that lie +in wait, all over town, to destroy the bonnie fellows. If I had my way, +every man or woman who makes money by pandering to the curiosity of a +boy's nature, inciting to unworthy passion by means of lewd pictures +and the like, should be consigned to instant perdition. The earth is too +hallowed to receive their vile dust! + + * * * * * + +Dear girls, if you would be beautiful with the beauty that strikes root +in heaven, first of all be natural. Be true to something within you +higher than any conventional code or worldly wise mandate. If it is your +natural impulse to be courteous, and sympathetic, and sweet (and blessed +be the fact, it is the natural impulse of most girls so to be!), don't +let miserable conformity and its tricksters exchange your genuine +blossom for a mere shred of painted muslin, fashioned though it be after +even so perfect a similitude of a rose. The birds of the air nor the +angels in heaven will ever be fooled by any artificial rose, let me tell +you, however much dudes and society feather-heads may pretend to desire +it. Grow for something better than this world; wear your sweetness in +your heart rather than on your pocket handkerchief. + + * * * * * + +The great drawback to domestic felicity often lies in the fact that we +get too familiar with one another. There should be a certain reserve in +the most intimate relationships. Sisters and brothers have no right to +burst into one another's private rooms without knocking. Wives have no +more right to search their husband's pockets than they have to do the +same little service for a distant acquaintance. I have no right to read +the Young Person's letters without permission, although I have a right +to win her confidence so that she shows them freely. The Captain has no +more right to visit the Boy's bank for pennies because he is her +brother, than she has to abstract money from the grocery-man's till. You +have no more right to obtrude your conversation upon your wife, nor she +upon her husband, when either is in the middle of a thrilling story, +than you or she would have to interrupt the Queen of England at her +devotions. An "excuse me," if a mother is obliged to interrupt her +youngest child's babble, is quite as good a way to teach the baby +manners as a course of lectures later on etiquette. The man who gets up +and slams shut the ventilator in a crowded car to suit his own +convenience, or the woman who throws open a car-window regardless of the +occupants of the seat behind her, is no ruder than Bess is when she +ignores brother Tom's comfort at home, or Tom is when he pounces for the +biggest orange on the plate when only Bess and he are at table. When +either makes rude remarks to the other, they sin against the true code +of etiquette more than when they are discourteous at a party or +boisterously unkind with a comrade, just as he is more criminally +careless who pounds a piano to pieces with a hammer than he who batters +the pine case it was brought in. The greater the value of the article, +the choicer we are supposed to be of it, and in the same line of +argument, the dearer and closer the tie that binds us, the more +considerate we should be in the handling of it. I may hurt the feelings +of a society acquaintance, and there is restitution and forgiveness, but +when I stab the dear old mother's heart with an unkind word, or wound my +child's feelings with an injustice or a cruelty, or ridicule the +sensitive feelings of a brother or a sister, not eternity itself shall +be long enough to extract the sting from my memory when my dear ones are +dead and love's opportunity is vanished forever. + +Study politeness, then, which is the bodyguard of love, and build up for +yourself the structure of a happy home. + + * * * * * + +Has it been borne in upon you what radiant mornings and September nights +the last two weeks have brought in? Have you stopped, Mr. Busyman, to +note the wonder of the skies, never so glorious as of late? Did you see +the sunset the other evening when a gigantic cloud stood almost zenith +high against the flaming west, and took on for a time the panoply of a +king? Did you notice the purple center and the dazzling edge, with the +rose blush that fringed its borders? Did you see it pale to gray and +vanish like a ghost into the starry night? Do you ever stop, Mrs. +Featherhead, to mark the beauty of our wayside clover or the sparkle of +a buttercup in the dew? Have you found the nooks where, like shy +children, the violets cluster? Did you mark a certain day, a week or so +ago, when the heavens were full of cloud battalions, taking new shapes +every minute, and often dissolving in long lines of purple rain, shot +through with stitches of golden light? Have you seen the lake lately, as +blue as a heather bell, as wild as a wood-bird, as peaceful as a +brooding dove? Where were you the other night when out of the sullen +storm cloud the "light that never was on land or sea" enfolded us, and +the world hung like an emerald in a topaz sky? + + * * * * * + +No law of morals should be less arbitrary for men than it is for women. +An impure heart, a riotous appetite, a profane tongue, are no more +excusable in a man than they are in a woman. If a man is supposed to +shrink from selecting his wife among the unclean in thought and immoral +of practice, why should not a young girl be allowed an undefiled +selection? When girls grow so queenly natured that they demand that +their lover should be of the royal stock and never demean themselves to +stoop to mate with impurity and profligacy just because it carries a +handsome face and a well-filled pocketbook, there will be some chance +for happiness in the married estate. It is this placing white flowers in +smutty buttonholes, or, in other words, the wedding of pure women to +blasé and wicked men, that sows the seed of the tare in what was meant +by the primal law to be a harvest of golden grain. Do you pick +slug-eaten roses and wind-fall blossoms? When you go forth to buy +material for a new gown do you choose cotton warp fabrics and colors +that will fade in the first washing? Your answers to all these question +are prompt enough, but when I ask you what choice you make of gentlemen +friends, you are not quite so ready with a reply. Do you choose the +young man who has a clean record, who neither drinks nor wastes his +money in riotous practices? How about the tobacco chewers and the +swearers? How about the lewd jesters and the low-minded? Provided he +wears fine clothes, can dance well and make a good appearance in +society, and above all can give you a handsome diamond for an engagement +ring, are you not willing to accept a lover in spite of his known +reputation as a fast young man about town? Girls, you had much better +choose a specked peach for canning than such a man for a husband. Do you +imagine that by and by at the upper court, whither we are all hastening +as quickly as the old patrol wagon of time can carry us, there will be +any distinction made between men and women? Think you a man is going to +get off easier than a sorrowful and sinful woman merely because the +world falsely taught him that the exigencies of his nature demanded +greater latitude than hers? + + * * * * * + +You may retouch a faded picture, you may patch up an old piano, you may +mend a shattered vase, but you cannot make a plucked rose grow again; it +will wither and die in spite of every effort to restore it to the stem +from which it fell. And so with the heart from which a low desire in the +guise of an alluring temptation has snatched the flower of innocence. +That heart will fade into hopeless loss unless a greater love than yours +or mine intervenes to save. An impure soul never started out impure from +the first any more than a peach was decayed in the blossom. It is the +small beginnings, dear girls, that lead up to the bitter endings. The +impure book read on the sly, the questionable jest laughed at in secret, +the talk indulged in with a schoolmate or a friend which you would be +unwilling for "mother" to hear, the horrible card circulated under the +desk or behind the teacher's back, those are the beginnings of an ending +sadder than the blight of any desolation that storm or drought or frost +can bring upon the blossoms. If I only could, how gladly I would dip my +pen to-night in a light that should outshine the electric splendor of +our streets and write a message against the dark background of the sky, +to startle young girls into the realization of the danger that lurks in +the first indulgence of thoughts and companionships that are not pure. +Avoid all such as you would avoid the contagion of small-pox, and a +thousand times more. Small-pox, at its worst, can only mar the body, but +the friend who lends you bad books or tells you "smutty" stories +proffers a contagion to your soul which all the fountains of all your +tears can never cleanse away. + + * * * * * + +THIS BABY OF OURS. + + There's not a blossom of beautiful May, + Silver of daisy, or daffodil gay, + Nor the rosy bloom of apple tree flowers, + Fair as the face of this baby of ours. + + You could never find, on a bright June day, + A bit of fair sky so cheery and gay; + Nor the haze on the hills in noonday hours, + Blue as the eyes of this baby of ours. + + There's not a murmur of wakening bird-- + The clearest, sweetest, that ever was heard + In the tender hush of the dawn's still hours-- + Soft as the laugh of this baby of ours. + + There's no gossamer silk of tasseled corn, + Nor the flimsiest thread of the shy wood fern-- + Not even the cobwebs spread over the flowers-- + Fine as the hair of this baby of ours. + + There's no fairy shell by the sounding sea, + No wild rose that nods on the windy lea, + No blush of the sun through April's showers, + Pink as the palm of this baby of ours. + + * * * * * + +Don't you get awfully tired of people who are always croaking? A frog in +a big, damp, malarial pond is expected to make all the fuss he can in +protest of his surroundings. But a man! Destined for a crown, and born +that he may be educated for the court of a king! Placed in an emerald +world with a hither side of opaline shadow, and a fine dust of diamonds +to set it sparkling when winter days are flying; with ten million +singing birds to make it musical, and twice ten million flowers to make +it sweet; with countless stars to light it up with fiery splendor, and +white, new moons to wrap it round with mystery; with other souls within +it to love and make happy, and the hand of God to uphold it on its +rushing way among the countless worlds that crowd its path: what right +has a man to find fault with such a world? + +When the woodtick shall gain a hearing, as he complains that the grand +old century oak is unfit to shelter him, or the bluebird be hearkened to +when he murmurs that the horizon is off color, and does not match his +wings, then, I think, it will be time for man to find fault with the +appointments of the magnificent sphere he inhabits. + +"It is a fine day!" remarks Miss Cherrylips. + +"Too cold," says the croaker; "beastly wind, not fit for a dog to +breathe." + +Oh, yes, my dear, I heard him say it this very morning, and while I sat +and listened to him I could but think to myself, "What would become of +the croaker without the weather topic to fall back upon?" When all else +failed him, he is sure to have something to find fault with within the +range of this universal and inexhaustible topic. It is too warm or too +cold; there is too much rain, or there is a drought; the winters are +changing and microbes are on the increase; the peach buds are blighted +by a cold snap in spring, and the potatoes have failed or are about to +fail, owing to a wet June. + +That is the way the croaker holds forth whenever he can get anybody to +listen to him. I sometimes wonder what he would do if he really had +great things to fret about; if one of his beautiful children were to +die, or the faithful wife he loves so well in his heart, perhaps, but +never takes the trouble to acquaint with the fact, were to weary of his +endless faultfinding and steal away from it all into the quietude of the +grave. I wonder if he would not then look back upon these days of +"croaking" with amazement that he was ever so blind and stupid a fool. + +I knew a woman once who was very, very charming. She could sing "Allan +Percy" in a way that would melt the heart within you. She could paint on +china and decorate the panels of doors, and on the whole she was +calculated to enjoy life and make it enjoyable for others. But her home, +on the contrary, was utterly devoid of peace and comfort. Her husband +took no pleasure there, although he was lavish in the expenditure of +money to render the place attractive. Her children were glad to get away +from their home and find otherwhere the freedom and gaiety denied them +there. Why was all this, when the mother was so eminently fitted by +grace and accomplishments to create a beautiful and happy home? Simply +because she was always fretting and fussing about trifles. She was a +croaker and always finding fault. She fought flies until life was a +burden to everybody who watched her. She said that they would spoil the +paint, poison the food and ruin the curtains. She was after them at +early dawn nor gave over the chase until late at night. She would leave +the dinner table to chase a fly and kill it with a folded paper. She +would stop the lullaby song she was singing to her pretty baby, to get +up and call somebody to come in and hunt a stray blue-bottle that was +bunting its stupid head against the window screen. She said that her +life wasn't worth a farthing to her if the flies got into her home, and +she would sooner jump in the river than submit to the pestilential +infliction. Then she was forever prophesying some dreadful fate for +herself by reason of the muddy footprints that occasionally found their +way onto the carpets. + +"I declare," she would say, "if you boys don't stop tracking dirt into +the house I'll die before my time. If there is anything I hate it is a +careless boy!" + +And the boys took her at her word and stopped tracking mud. But they +were gradually lured to stay away from home, and the soil they took into +their hearts was perhaps harder to efface than the footmarks they left +upon the floor of mother's neatly kept hallways. + +She was always anticipating trouble that never came. She knew the girl +was going to leave. She was simply too great a treasure to keep. She was +absolutely certain that the milkman was watering his milk, and the baby +would get sick. She had no doubt whatever but what her husband was +going to ruin himself on 'Change, and then what would become of them +all? So she worried and fretted and fumed, until patience, like a hunted +bird, spread its wings and flew away, and what might have been a happy +home became a stranded wreck upon the rocks of contention. + +Oh, I tell you right now, girls, if you can only cultivate one +accomplishment out of the many that wait to crown a perfect womanhood, +cultivate a pleasant temper and cheerful disposition. The ability to +speak many languages, to paint, to dance, to sing, or even to wield a +graceful pen is nothing compared to the ability to make a lovely home. +Nobody ever yet succeeded in that noblest endeavor without abjuring +needless faultfinding, croaking and fretting. + + * * * * * + +As a general thing I don't believe in sermons served as restaurants +serve beef--in slices. I believe in teaching truths, rather, as one +whips cream, dropping in the moral as an almost imperceptible flavoring. +But I tell you there are times when I feel like mounting a pulpit and +thundering with old Calvin, until the air emits sulphur. Especially when +I see the inhumanities and outrages practiced upon children by witless +parents, do I feel stirred to my soul's depths. If we treated our flower +beds as we do our children there wouldn't be a blossom left in the +world. If we served our meals as we do our children, there would be +rampant indigestion and black-browed death at the heels of every one of +us. Now and then you see a wise mother and sensible father, but the +biggest half of humanity receive their children as youngsters receive +their Christmas toys, to be played with when in a good humor, and +bundled anywhere out of sight when out of sorts or engrossed with more +important matters. We forget, half of us, that a little child's sense of +injustice and sorrow and wrong is compatible with its own growth and +experience rather than with our own. What to us is a paltry trial is the +cause of keenest, unalleviated woe to the child of five. The possession +of uncounted gold at forty will not be more precious than the possession +at three of the apple or the book we so rudely snatch from the little +hands without a word of apology. Take the time to explain to the little +fellow why you deprive him of some cherished possession and you will +save the tender bit of a heart a vast amount of unnecessary aching. + + * * * * * + +I have many things to be thankful for this stormy winter night. One is +that the coal bin is full and the lock on the outer door secure. Another +is that the rooftree bends above an unbroken band, and that disease with +its fell touch lingers the other side of the threshold of the little +home. Another is that, as a family, we all have straight backs and +moderately developed intellects; that we are neither dime museum freaks, +lunatics, nor half-wits. Another is that none of us chew gum, carry +around dogs, nor make expectoration the chief business of a day's +outing. Another is that I am getting so used to the alarm clock that I +sleep through its wild clamor and escape the duties that fall to the lot +of that other member of the home circle whose ear and conscience are not +so sadly seared as mine. Another is that I know enough to detect butter +from oleomargarine, and am not roped in by Blank street vendors with +their dollar and a half tubs. Another is that I am not the sort of +fellow to be always hitting another fellow when he has been down and is +trying to stand steady again. Another is that I am modest enough to +question whether I could run a grip any better than he does? Another is +that I got one answer to the "ad." wherewith I sought to capture a gold +watch. It would have been an embarrassing thing to have received not one +solitary little nibble. Another is that the elevator boy who +occasionally carries me to the top floor and intermediate stations +around at Blank's is kind and does not treat me with the haughty scorn +he bestows on others. Another is that I have the serene equipoise of +nerve which renders me calm and even cheerful under the knowledge that +there is nothing in the house to eat, and two invited guests gently +sleeping the happy hours away in the chamber above, dreaming perchance +of toothsome viands not to be. Another is that in spite of weather I +take no colds, and am as impervious to catarrhal or pneumonic affections +as an eagle is impervious to the attack of tom-tits. Another is that I +live in a town where people sell no beer; they may steal and backbite, +and raise the old lad generally, but thank goodness the baleful glitter +of a glass beer bottle has never yet eclipsed the moral splendor of the +scene. Another is that I have been enabled to preserve a few staunch and +trusty friends through the evolution of that rainy-weather costume which +a few of my sex have joined me in essaying. I cannot speak for future +tests, but so far my henchmen have stood firm. And right here let me say +that any friend, man, woman or babe, who can remain loyal to you after +you have been seen in public in a dress-reform garment is worth +cultivating, and should be made the theme of special psalms of praise. +Another is that the picture I had taken the other day looks worse than I +do, and when I send it off to unsuspecting admirers I am not torn with +the thought that when they see the original they will drop scalding hot +tears of disappointment. This idea of raising false hopes in the minds +of confiding strangers savors too much of Ananias and Sapphira. Another +is that so far in life I have preserved a stern and unshaken resolution +not to wear a false front. A woman in a store bang is next worse to a +chromo in an art gallery, or a muslin rose among American beauties +fresh from the rose gardens. Artificiality, my dear, pretense and +assumption, are harder to put up with than anything else in the world, +unless it is corns. But far ahead of all the above enumerated causes for +gratitude is one which thrills me most profoundly, and which can be +summed up in half a dozen words, the echo of which, perhaps, will find a +lodgment in some other hearts. I am thankful, very, very thankful, that +I am not the mother, nor the aunt, nor the half-sister, nor the first +cousin, nor even the next-door neighbor, of the boy who kills sparrows +for two cents bounty on the little heads. If I had such a boy within +range of my voice to-night I should say to him, "Be poor, my man; be +unsuccessful in business, and not up to bargains all your life, but +don't be shrewd and sordid and cruel in seeking your gains. Better go by +the name of 'mollycoddle' and 'baby' among the other boys than get to be +a little ruffian with your arrow and your sling-shot, and the name of a +keen-killer tacked on to yourself. Let the sparrows alone, or if you +really feel that they are the nuisance they are made out to be, kill +them if you like, but do it in a gentlemanly way (if such a paradox is +possible), and don't take money for the job." The boy or the man who +will take a life for sordid ends, or, in other words, who will seek to +enrich himself on "blood money," is pretty low down in the human scale. + + * * * * * + +Laughter is a positive sweetness of life, but, like good coffee, it +should be well cleared of deleterious substance before use. Ill-will and +malice and the desire to wound are worse than chicory. Between a laugh +and a giggle there is the width of the horizons. I could sit all day and +listen to the hearty and heartsome ha! ha! of a lot of bright and jolly +people, but would rather be shot by a Winchester rifle at short range +than be forced to stay within earshot of a couple of silly gossips. +Cultivate that part of your nature that is quick to see the mirthful +side of things, so shall you be enabled to shed many of life's troubles, +as the plumage of the bird sheds rain. But discourage all tendencies to +seek your amusement at the expense of another's feelings or in aught +that is impure. It was Goethe who said: "Tell me what a man laughs at +and I will read you his character." + + * * * * * + +I'll take my chances any day to find heaven on earth, if I can have the +run of the woods up along our northern lake shore in early springtime. I +want no companions either, unless, perhaps, it be a child or a dog, for +artificial women and dudish men, let loose in the woods, are harder to +endure than gad-flies. It was scarcely more than sunrise, the other +morning, when I left the house and took my way toward the forest shrine +undesecrated as yet by surveyors or wood-choppers, the advent of either +of whom in a country town means good-bye to heaven on that particular +spot of earth! We found the air so full of sweetness, the instant we +struck the depths of the woods, that one could almost fancy the wise men +of the East had been there before us to greet the new-born Spring with +spices as they greeted another Heaven-born child a score of centuries +ago in Bethlehem. Every shrub held a softly-tinted leafbud half +unfolded, like a listless hand. The maple leaves were pink and glossy, +like rose petals wet with rain. The hickory trees were unfolding great +creamy buds that looked like magnolias. The hawthorns were all afloat +with silver blossoms, like loosened sails. The earth seemed singing to +the heavens, "God is here!" and from the blue depths of quietude, where +a few clouds spread their soft wings like brooding birds, came back the +answer, "He is here!" The lake claimed Him, and a thousand azure waves +murmured His presence on the deep. Wherever we looked, at our feet where +the June lilies whitened the ground like perfumed snow, and the moss was +bubbling like a wayside spring with sunshine in place of water; at the +misty foliage overhead, like shadowy spirit wings; at the circle of blue +that bounded the earth, or into the very heart of heaven above us, it +seemed as though God, visible and manifest, was there to give us +greeting. Finally, we found a point of high land, touched here and there +with shadows flung down from budding birches, and starred with +dandelions in flocks, like golden butterflies. Here, leaving the +material part of me leaning up against a tree-trunk to rest, as one +thrusts a cumbersome garment on a nail, my soul went wandering off into +Paradise, and forgot awhile its environment and its earth-born +responsibilities. Next time the world has failed to use you well and you +are smarting from the sense of injury undeserved, or the frets of +domestic life have worn you down to the minimum, like a blade that is +eternally upon the grindstone, start for the woods. Take a big basket +with you and fill it full of lilies, and, ten to one, before you get +home again the lilies will have taken root in your heart and your basket +will be full of contentment. + + * * * * * + +Educate the children to the expectation of sorrow, not as a monster who +is to devour them, but as an angel who is to meet them on the way and +lead them gently home to heaven. Teach them to hold themselves in +readiness for whatever life has in store, as soldiers are trained for a +battle whose end is certain peace. Teach them to endure all things, only +striving to sweeten and soften rather than to harden under the +discipline of sorrow. Unselfishness is the most rare and at the same +time the most Christian virtue possible for human nature to attain to, +but did anybody ever yet grow unselfish through a life of indolent +self-indulgence and ease? Did fruit ever amount to anything that was +left unacquainted with the sharp discipline of the gardener's shears? I +tell you, all the way up from an apple to a man it takes lots of pruning +and lopping off of superfluous branches to bring out the flavors and +sweeten the fiber of the fruit. + + * * * * * + +I can imagine a lot of way-worn pilgrims drawing up to heaven's gate. + +"What will you have?" asks old St. Peter, standing idle and calm in the +perpetual sunshine that lies beyond the swinging portal. + +"I will have my crown," says one. "I have earned it." + +"And I will have my harp," says another; "my fingers are eager to pick +out the heavenly tunes." + +"And I will hie me at once to my heavenly mansion," says a third. "Long +time I have plodded, foot-sore and weary, to gain the habitation of its +enduring rest." + +But if you can imagine "Amber" piping forth her small request, I think +you might hear her say: "Conduct me, oh, aged friend, to the nearest +sand-bank, where I may lie face downward in the sunshine for fifty years +to come, and hear the surf break on 'Sconsett's reef." That is what I +have been doing for the past fortnight, and both soul and body have +waxed strong in the process. + +What a tired passenger we carry around with us, sometimes, in this +marvelous Pullman coach of ours, wherein the soul takes passage for its +overland trip from the cradle to the grave. How restless it gets, and +how troublesome. How it turns from companionship, even that of books, +and finds no panacea for its torment, until some kind fate side-tracks +it and lets the noisy world rumble on with the clatter and clash of +conflicting cares beating the hours to dust beneath their flying wheels. + +When I went away for my yearly outing I was so cross that there was no +living within six miles of my own shadow. I hated everything on earth, +and everything on earth hated me. But I have come back as sweetly as the +breath of a rose steals through a lattice. That is the effect of a +jaunt, my dear; and let me say right now that if you are holding on to +your money in the hope of getting rich sometime, or if you are +traveling in a rut because you think you are too poor to avoid it, or if +you are grinding your soul into fine dust in the process of laying up +against a rainy day, just stop right where you are and listen to me. Any +money that is gained at the expense of health, either physical or +mental; any duty held to in the face of nervous breakdown; any gain +secured at the expense of peace of mind and growth of soul, is not worth +the holding. You cannot be of any use in the world if you are worn out +or sick. You may persist in holding on, but your grip is weak, and your +effect on affairs and people is simply that of an irritant. You owe it +to yourself, as well as to others, to go away and get rested. If it +costs money to do so, consider money well spent that gains so fair an +equivalent as rest and change, and renewed vigor. I tell you there are +few better uses to which you may put your dollars than in a yearly +outing. Your pockets may be lighter when you get back, but so will your +heart be, and the few sacrifices necessary in the way of less expensive +clothes and cigars, or less frequent gloves and bonnets, will be well +worth the making for the result gained. + + * * * * * + +I wish Columbus had never discovered us. I wish that he had never +steered his old bark westward and found the "land of the free and the +home of the brave." For with discovery came civilization, and I believe +we would have been better off without it. If we only could have been +left to ourselves and gone on sitting under lotus trees unaffected by +dressmaker and tailor bills, I believe the sum total of happiness would +have been far greater in the world than it is to-day. I would love to +return to my allegiance to nature and forever desert the haunts of +civilization and the marts of trade. I want to gather together a picked +band of kindred souls and go out and pitch tent by the Gunnison River. +Ever been there? Imagine a stream of gold flowing through hills colored +like an apple orchard in May, with a sky bending down above them like +the wing of an oriole. I want to forget the insolence of a class who may +be as good as I am in the eye of the law, but whom it would take a ton +of soap and God's grace to make my equal in point of cleanliness and +decency. I want to forget forever the clang of the cable car and the +rumble of its wheels. I want to return to the heathendom that worships +gods instead of dollars and loves mankind simply because it knows +nothing of faithlessness and fraud. + + * * * * * + +"Plaze, sor," said a servant to the head of a certain suburban household +the other morning, "the gintleman who sthole the chickens left his hat +in the hincoop." Just so, Bridget. And the lady who attends to the +affairs of the kitchen has her foot upon the neck of the miserable woman +who is nominally at the head of the house. Oh, no! I am not going to +enter into a disquisition upon the merits of the servant question. Years +ago, when I cantered lightly in my ride against windmills, I might have +undertaken it, but the question has grown too large to be settled by +talking. The state of things in this free country is growing just a +trifle too free. There are no longer any servants in this proud land. It +is not ladylike to serve. The person who superintends the domestic +affairs of our home merely condescends for a consideration. We no +longer have any rights as employers. The wind has tacked to another +quarter. Should we wish to discharge our lady cook or dispense with the +services of a gentleman artisan it stands in place for us to approach +them in a respectful manner, put the case before them clearly and ask +them humbly, without offense to their delicate sensibilities, if they +will kindly allow us to forego their so-called services. Question +yourself seriously, my dear; are you sufficiently considerate? Think how +these defenseless ladies and thin-skinned gentlemen who fill positions +of trust in your establishment must suffer sometimes from your boorish +impetuosity. Are you always cordial in your greeting when the worn face +of the cook appears at the delayed breakfast hour and she places before +you the hurried pancake and the underdone steak? Do you stop to think +how the poor creature has danced all night at a ball and has crept home +after your stiff-necked and rebellious husband has bounded away to catch +the early train, breakfastless and profane? And when the low-voiced and +timid second girl tells you that, as a lady who knows her place, she +really cannot demean herself to wipe off the paint or sweep the front +steps, do you take her by the hand and acknowledge the indiscretion of +your coarser nature in expecting her to do such menial service? How many +of us, clods that we are, have raged when the mild-mannered laundry maid +has appropriated our underclothing, or remonstrated when the number +seven foot of the blue-blooded cook has condescended to stretch our +silken hose? It behooves us to join the ranks of the "philanthropic +fiends" and look to it that we improve our methods of treating the +delicate gentry who tarry with us so briefly. + + * * * * * + +By the way, I think I occasionally hear a feeble pipe from a man to the +effect that the girls are responsible for all the tomfoolery in the +world. Don't you know that you are the very ones who tend to make them +so--you men? You follow after and woo and wed just that sort of girls. +You won't look at a sensible little woman who can make "lovely" bread, +abjures bangs, can't dance and has no "style." You laugh at and make sly +jokes at the expense of our big hats and our pronounced fashions, but +when you choose your company, and often your wives, I notice you pass +right by the home-keeping birds and take the peacocks. Of course, no one +lives in this age who doubts for a moment that woman's chief aim in life +and purpose of creation, as well as her hope of a blessed hereafter, is +to please the men and get a husband. If you won't have her modest and +simply gowned she is willing to make a feather-headed doll and a +travesty of herself to get you and win heaven! You know perfectly well, +you men, that you don't care half so much for brains as you do for +general "get-up," and the woman you honor with your choice is selected +for a pretty face and form, and a becoming costume rather than for a +clever head and an honest heart. I am not talking to old fogies who +cling to old-fashioned notions, but to young men who ridicule the +customs of their grandmothers, who shake their heads at salaries of two +and three thousand a year as inadequate to support wives; who rail +against woman's extravagance, yet do their best to maintain her in it. +When you, my fine and dapper gentleman, begin to seek out the modestly +appareled and the sedate girls, then shall folly and vain show fly over +seas for want of encouragement and the grand transformation of sawdust +dolls into women and pleasure-seekers into home-keepers take place. + + * * * * * + +TWO DAYS. + + I said to myself one golden day + When the world was bright and the world was gay, + "Though I live more lives than time has years + Either in this or the infinite spheres, + I will fear no blight and I'll bear no cross, + Against my gains I will write no loss, + But I and my soul, twin lilies together, + Shall whiten in endless summer weather!" + + I said to myself one weary day + When the world was old and the world was gray, + "Has God forgotten His wandering earth? + Are its tears His scorning, its groans His mirth? + There's no blue above where the torn clouds fly, + There's no bloom below where the dead leaves lie; + Would I and my soul were at rest together + Wrapped from the chill of this wintry weather." + + * * * * * + +There are some people who live in this world as a cucumber grows in a +garden. They cling to their own vine and serve no higher end than +rotundity and relish. There are others who live in the world as a summer +breeze lives in a meadow; they find out all the hidden flowers and set +the perfumes flying. There are others who live as the sea lives in a +shell; their existence is nothing but a sigh. There are others who live +as the fire lives in a diamond; they are all sparkle. And there are +others, and they outnumber all the rest, who live as a blind mole lives +in the soil; they see nothing, feel nothing, suffer and enjoy a little +now and then, perhaps, but know nothing to all eternity. Such people +walk through life as the mole walks through the glory of a summer day, +or burrows beneath the dazzle of a winter storm. They are as +irresponsive to the voices all about them as the mole is to the singing +of April robins. They are as untouched by the myriad influences of life +as the mole is by the light of a star or the flash of a comet. Their +only interest is in the question, "Wherewith shall we be clothed, and +what shall we have to eat?" They gather the ripened hours from the tree +of life as a child gathers fruit, merely for the gratification of an +instant appetite, not as the careful housewife does, who garners in a +store for wintry weather. Life to them is merely a fattening process. +They remind one of prize beef at a county fair; to-morrow brings the +shambles and the butcher's axe, but in the serene content of a +well-filled stall and a full stomach, they take no thought of the +future. We meet such people every day and everywhere. On the streets +they may see a brute tyrannizing over a helpless beast of burden, or a +mother (?) yanking a sobbing child along by the arm, as full of ugliness +herself as a thunder-cloud is of electricity, or a man following an +innocent young girl with the devil in his heart, or a big boy +tyrannizing over a smaller one; and they pass it all by as indifferently +as the mole would sneak across a battlefield the morning after a battle. +They have too much to do themselves to waste time in remedying other +people's grievances. They think too much of personal reputation to +involve themselves in an altercation with defilers of the innocent, and +tramplers of the weak. They are too respectable to get mixed up in +brawls, even if the disturbance is brought about by the devil's own +drummers looking up recruits among the championless and defenseless +working-girls, or the parentless and homeless children of a great city. +We meet them traveling through the mountains or loitering by the sea. +Their only use for mountains is that they may carve their precious +initials on the highest peaks, pick winter-greens and blue-berries and +display their fashionable suits and striped stockings. They look upon +the sea as a big bathing-tank, and the sky, with all its splendor of +cloud and its glory of sunrise and sunset, as a barometer to forecast +the weather. We meet them in business relations, and they never believe +that courtesy and business can go together. A merchant in his office or +a lady in her parlor will bluntly refuse to buy of a worn-out, +discouraged, heart-sick book-agent, ignoring the fact that a smile +accompanying even a refusal acts like a spoonful of sugar in bitter tea, +and costs less. Even a "lady" clerk, behind a counter, will be haughty +and unaccommodating and insolent to the woman who comes to buy, +forgetful that a customer will go a long distance out of her way to deal +with a polite and well-mannered clerk, and that, like honesty, +politeness is ever the best policy. And, on the other hand, a woman +shopper will be whimsical and captious and trying, forgetting that the +girl who serves her has human blood in her veins, and often carries a +troubled heart behind her smile or her frown. + + * * * * * + +They have come! Without the sound of a bugle, the bright hosts have +marched down and taken possession of the land. The southern slopes are +all alive with their wind-shaken tents, and when the sun comes out warm +and glowing from the cloudy pavilions of the April sky, he finds a +million blossoms on the hills that yesterday were white with snow. Some +of them are tinted like the flush that lingers in the evening sky before +the stars find it; some of them are stainless as unfallen snow; some of +them are purple as a nautillus sail adrift upon a twilight sea; and all +of them are joyfully welcome to hearts that are weary of Winter's long +reign. And after the hypatica shall come the violet, and after the +violet the trillium, and after the trillium the wild-rose, and after +the wild-rose the cardinal-flower and the wood-lily, and after them the +gentian and the golden rod, to mark the wane of the year. Oh, who would +not live in a world whose dial-plate is made of flowers and whose +circling seasons are told over with blossoming trees and gentian-buds? + + * * * * * + +I saw a great many things on the way this morning as I was coming to +town. Suppose, as the weather is too warm for preaching, I enumerate +them and let you strike the balance at the close, to see which way the +world is jogging. I saw a father, drunk, beside his little blue-eyed +daughter. His head was laid in maudlin sleep upon her shoulder, and with +blushes that came and went across her face like cloud shadows on the +slope of a hill, she sat and bore the burden of her childish shame like +a little angel. I saw a hard-faced, labor-grimed man step out of his way +to pick a wild rose that grew by the side of the road. I saw a young man +lash his horse because his own bungling driving came near colliding his +vehicle with a cable car. I saw a policeman spring to the rescue of an +old beggar woman who stumbled on a street crossing, and saw him fall and +trampled upon in the discharge of duty. I saw a pretty girl reach out +her white fingers and feed a discouraged street-car horse the banana she +was eating as she passed by. I saw a beaten dog turn and fawn beneath +his master's brutal kick, and I thought to myself, where is a more +faithful friendship than that? I saw a little golden-headed boy at the +window of a house as I rode by, and when I waved my hand he kissed his +in return. I saw a tired mother stoop to hug the child who fidgeted at +her knee in the tedious depot waiting-room, and I saw another slap her +baby because its sticky fingers sought to fondle her cheek. I saw a +little girl get up, without suggestion from her mother, and yield her +seat to an older person. I saw a lamed and dying bird just brought down +by a boy's sling-shot. (I saw that same boy in Sabbath-school last +Sunday!) I saw one woman in fifty thousand wearing the dress-reform. I +saw eleven girls out of nineteen with tightly-laced waists! I saw a hurt +kitten tenderly attended to by a soldier in blue, as I passed Fort +Sheridan Camp, and involuntarily I said to myself: "The bravest are the +tenderest; the loving are the daring." I saw a small boy beating his +mother with both fists because she carried him over the crowded and +dangerous way, and so, I thought, we treat the tender God who sometimes +lifts us, against our will, from evil ways. I saw a little coffin in an +undertaker's window, and thought, what child in this busy, bustling city +is doomed to fill that casket? What love-watched home shelters the head +that shall one day sleep upon that satin pillow? I saw a teacher in one +of our public schools and overheard a gross bit of slang as she passed +by. I see myself sending a child of mine to such a teacher if I knew it! +I saw a father wheeling his baby in a perambulator, with the sun blazing +straight into its blinking eyes. I saw one man out of every ten dodge +into a liquor saloon when he thought nobody was looking. I saw a homely +girl transformed into a beauty by a service of love accorded a stranger. +I saw a woman lean out of a Marshall Field 'bus to laugh at another who +wore shabby clothes and walked with a drooping head. I saw lots of +things besides, but how does the balance strike? + + * * * * * + +If we have been living on bad terms with a neighbor; if we have been +maintaining a chilling silence and a forbidding reserve with anybody +thrown often in our way, let us have done with such nonsense and live in +the world as God meant we should. + + * * * * * + +Out of the exuberance of a merry heart the housekeeper has loosened the +tacks in the parlor carpet, and the epoch of housecleaning begins. The +head of the family, pro tem. dweller in the land of desolation and +sojourner in the valley of wrath, hies him to town and wishes vainly for +the return of the days when he had no wife save in Spain and no family +outside of Elia's land of dreams. The calciminer comes and drops leprous +splashes all over the hallways and the bannisters. One paperhanger +taketh unto himself another, and the two scatter ringlets of snipped +paper all over the bed chambers, and cumber up the floors with sticky +paste-pots and brushes. The scrub woman breathes hard and devastates +the approaches of the front steps, while the hired girl skips playfully +here and there with damp cloths and bars of silvery soap. There is no +breakfast, no lunch, no dinner. We take what provender the gods deliver +to us in out of the way places, like stalled oxen or uncomplaining army +mules! We sleep by night in beds loosely put together and smelling of +soap. We awake betimes to the rattle of the scrubbing brush and the +sharp overthrow of stovepipes. We see the young person, like McStinger, +on the rampage from morn till night. We watch her hand to hand +encounters with the pictures that have been wont to hang upon the walls. +How she swoops upon them, bears them down, buffets them with dusters and +heaps them high like stumbling blocks in the path of the righteous! How +she sneers at our feeble, yet apt, suggestion, and pharisaically "thanks +goodness that she is good for something besides standing around and +giving unsolicited advice!" How she charges upon our cherished books and +whacks them together vindictively to loosen the dust and the bindings! +How she tosses the piano like a feather in her strength and probes its +sensitive heart-strings with a knitting needle in search of dirt and +pins! How she rebukes the Captain for idling away her time at +doll-playing while there is so much work to do, and drives that gallant +young field officer forth to do battle with the unresisting tomato can +in the backyard! What a pandemonium reigns over all the domain of +yesterday's content! Carlo, the dog, whose flippant youth is getting its +first severe taste of life's discipline, retires to an adjacent covert +and howls a fitful protest. The cat blinks sleepily in the sunshine and +dreams of a future unmarred by suds and a slippery foothold. When she +has occasion to walk across the kitchen floor she shakes her hind foot +gingerly, like a pilgrim delicately removing the dust of the enemy's +land from his members. The goblin brood of chickens chuckle with +amazement while the hired man beats the rugs like a snare drum and +charges upon the carpet that hangs like a vanquished foe across the +clothesline. But, like everything else, my dear, we take the trials of +spring housecleaning as the tourist takes the storms in the Alps or the +sailor meets the tempest on the sea. It has not come to stay; the +sun-lighted peaks of deliverance lie just ahead of us, and there is +fine sailing for another year when the squall is weathered. + + * * * * * + +I am tired of the endless dress parade of the great alike--aren't you? I +am tired of walking in file, as convicts walk together in +stripes--aren't you? I glory in cranks who have enough individuality to +refuse to be sewed up in the universal patchwork, like the calico blocks +we used to overcast with our poor little pricked fingers ever so long +ago when we were children--don't you? The onward sweep of progress in +this age has prepared the way for non-conformists, and, glory be to God! +they are swinging into line like beacon lights up the Maine coast. I +confess I have no heart-pining for emancipation that shall place me +alongside of Dr. Mary Walker or others of her ilk. I would like to +retain my womanliness, but I would like also to make a distinct mark +upon my times, be it ever so small and insignificant, as an individual +and an intelligence quite as distinct from the conventional masses as a +blackbird is when it leaves the flock and silhouettes itself in solitary +state against the deep blue sky from the top of a windy elm +tree--wouldn't you? + + * * * * * + +I want one good square fling on earth before I die. I want the chance to +know what it is to have enough money to be able to buy silk elastic +occasionally instead of cotton, and to have my teeth filled with gold +instead of concrete without feeling as though I had been robbing +hen-roosts for a month after. I want to go to the theater in a swell +carriage, and sit in the best box, with a pale pink ostrich boa draped +about my shoulders and the opera-glasses of the entire house leveled at +me for a stunning beauty. I want the sensation, for once, of knowing +that I am as handsome as I am bright, and as well-dressed as I am +virtuous. I want to have ice cream seven times a week and "Pommery Sec" +by the dozen in the cellar. I want to own a silk umbrella with a golden +crook, and wear a diamond ring on every finger. I want to buy candy +whenever I feel like it without having to register it in the family +account book under the head of "sundries" and "cough drops." I want to +see the time when I can call the average shop-girl out into the alley +and have it out with her with none to interfere. I want to settle with +her for the indignities I have long suffered with the pusillanimity of a +meek nature. I want to ask her between clips why she has always sold me +just what I didn't want, and sneered at me because I didn't buy more of +it. I want also to engage in hand to hand conflict with the female +gum-chewer. I want to convince her that I have endured all I will of her +facial contortions, and that the time has come for the extinction of her +type from the face of the blooming earth. I want the power to consign +every man who even mentions "nose bag" to a horse, to the guillotine, +and to imprison for life every brute who carries a snake-whip or uses a +check-rein. I want to solder the man or woman who objects to fresh air +inside a tin can and label them "sardines." I want to shoot on sight the +first human being who mentions the word "draught" in my hearing, and set +my dog on the fiend who blots the face of nature with his ear-muffs. I +want to live for a while in a country where there are neither +thunderstorms nor cyclones, but where I can sleep nights right through, +from March until November, without getting up to look for funnels or +shooing the whole family down cellar as a hen gathers her chickens from +the swooping hawk. I want to live in a community made up of people who +mind their own business. I want to be able now and then to receive a +letter from out of town (it is generally a bill!) without having the +village postmaster regard me as a burning fagot. I want to find a recipe +for making buckwheat cakes that do not taste like sand. I want to be +able to detect a hypocrite and a traitor on sight, without waiting for a +broken heart to evidence the fact that I am sold again. I want to rise +out of the range of small annoyances, and fly above the aim of inferior +people to disturb. I want to grow to be more like an eagle that wings +its way out of the habitat of gadflies, and less like a trembling hare +pursued by hounds. I want to take the lesson to my heart that the soul +that is constant to itself and aspires towards heaven shall never be +left a prey to care and unrest. I want to strike a dress reform which +shall make women look less like guys, and to encounter a rainy day in +which I shall not bite the dust, I and my umbrella, and my +flippety-floppety skirts, and my nineteen bundles. I want to cut down +the ballot privilege and make it impossible for an immigrant to vote +before he is a twenty-one-year resident of America. I want to convince +the woman suffragist that the greatest curse she can precipitate upon +her sex is the ballot. I want to teach my sisters that if they will pay +more attention to their homes and less to outside issues American +institutions will be more of a success. If the career of a politician +will spoil a man what would it do for a woman? On the principle that a +strawberry will decay sooner than a pumpkin, or that a violet is more +fragile than a sunflower, it would take about one election day to change +a woman into a harridan. I never knew but one out and out politician who +preserved intact the amenities of a gentleman, and he died early of +heart trouble. The thing killed him physically before it destroyed him +morally. If any politician reads this and wants to challenge the point I +want to meet him and either convince him or be slain. + + * * * * * + +If you are not glad to be alive such weather as this it is because you +are a clod and not a sentient being. Why, I never open my door these +radiant mornings and walk out into a world that is more golden than any +topaz and more radiant than any diamond that I do not hug myself for +very joy that I am alive! The grave has not got me yet! And, though I be +poor and quite alone and go hungry for the fleshpots that make my +neighbors great about the girth, I am happy as a queen and quite content +to cast my lot with clovers and birds and wayside weeds that feel the +vigor of summer weather in every fiber of prodigal life. To-night the +sky was like the flame of King Solomon's opal--did you see it? And just +as the glory was growing and deepening into an intensity of beauty that +made you want to shut your eyes and say Oh--h--h! as the little boys do +at the circus when the elephants go round, a thrush whipped out his +mellow flute and gave us a vesper song that made one think of heaven and +bands of singing angels! And yet we are discontented and feel ourselves +misused because we happen to be a little poverty-stricken now and then, +and it is hard work to find the plums in our pudding! + + * * * * * + +The other morning, before the town clock struck 7, I was riding over +country in a hack, driven by a courtly mannered colored boy and drawn by +a couple of discouraged mules. I was going over to Hampton and +Chesapeake City to see the sights. A robin was quarreling with a sparrow +for possession of a nest in a treetop hung with blossoms thick as +Monday's washing, and a small pickaninny stood in a doorway and held his +breath with terror as our driver slashed the air with his long whip. The +morning was superb. The sea lay like an opal with a dark setting of +hills shadowed like oxidized silver, the birds were out like blossoms of +the upper air with song in place of perfume, and the world seemed +altogether too jolly and bright a spot to link with thoughts of sorrow +and pain and death. We drove over to the soldiers' home, where from four +to five thousand veteran warriors have found shelter from the bombarding +storm of mundane care. Under the shadow of great willows in half-leaf +and still golden with April sap, in sunny corners of broad piazzas, on +benches by the slope of sluggish streams, or walking about the well-kept +paths, these old and battle-scarred warriors pass the time away. "What +a hero I might have been," says each one to himself, "if only----!" or, +"What a narrow miss I made of glory when that premature shell took off +my legs and stranded me here!" Peacefully they behold life's sun +decline, and peacefully in turn they take possession of the narrow beds +awaiting them in the near cemetery, where so many soldiers are sleeping +the unheeded years away. Without motive or purpose their life is +scarcely more eventless than their death shall finally be. Some way the +grounds where these patient old graybeards sit day after day with +nothing to do but muse upon the past remind me of the human heart with +its pensioned hopes, its stranded intentions and its crippled endeavors! +What heroisms, what subtle intents for good, what pretentious desires +were frustrated and made worthless by the destiny which changed life's +battlefield into a "soldiers' home" and the scene of action for the +shaded seat under the willows of a long regret! + + * * * * * + +I wonder if Eve, looking over the battlements of heaven now and then, +and seeing how tired we get down here and how discouraged and +broken-hearted we often are, is ever sorry for the heritage she left us, +all for the sake of an apple! Does she not curse the memory of the earth +fruit whose flavor has so embittered humanity! Think of it, oh +far-removed and perverse ancestress, if it were not for you we might +have lived in a world where dinners walked into the pot and boiled +themselves over fires that called for no replenishing; where rent +stockings lifted themselves on viewless hands and were deftly darned by +sunshine needles in the air; where last year's garments glided into this +year's styles without the snip of scissors or the whirr of sewing +machine wheels; where brooms swept and dust-cloths dusted unassisted by +human hands; where windows cleaned themselves as fogs lift from the +lake, and washing and ironing were spontaneous, like the growth of +flowers. I for one am heartily tired of having to suffer for Eve's +heartless stupidity. Hard work has too much of the blight of the primal +curse about it to suit me, and no matter what philosophy we call to our +aid the fact remains that labor of a certain sort is the heritage of +sin, and sin was, is and ever shall be accursed. But there is something +a great deal worse than hard work, and that is laziness. The man who +toils until the great muscles of his arm stand out like cords and his +broad shoulders are bent like the branches of a pine under the force of +a strong wind from the north is a king among his kind compared to the +shiftless do-nothings of life, between whose feet are spun the cobwebs +of sloth and within whose lily-white fingers nothing more burdensome +than a cigar finds its way. Give me a blacksmith any day rather than a +dude. Work is hard and sometimes thankless, but, like tough venison +served with jelly sauce, it is spiced with self-respect and smacks of +honest independence. + + * * * * * + +THE STORY OF A ROSE. + + A white rose grew in a garden place, + On a slender stem, with a royal grace; + The nursling of June and her gentle showers, + Fairest and sweetest of all her flowers. + + The south wind was out one day for a sail, + In a cloudy boat, so fleecy and frail, + And he chanced to spy, where musing she stood, + My dear little rose in her snowy hood. + + Oh, softly he whispered and tenderly sighed, + "Starry Eyes, Starry Eyes, I wait for my bride." + But she laughed in his face, and told him to go; + She didn't see why he bothered her so. + + A dewdrop fell in the starry hush, + Lured from heaven by her dreamy blush; + But the tender kiss of his balmy lip + She gave to a bee, next morning, to sip. + + A bobolink left the bloom of a tree + To tell her tale of whimsical glee; + The moon dropped a pearl to wear in her breast; + Dawn wove her a cloak of silvery mist. + + But her hard little heart was colder than ice, + She sent every suitor away in a trice; + Till the wind drew nigh, with a terrible roar, + And said: "Pretty Rose, your playtime is o'er." + + He shook her with might, and he drenched her with rain, + Till the poor little rose swooned away with her pain; + And her shiny crown, with its moonbeam glow, + He tossed far and wide, like the feathery snow. + + And all that is left of that splendid bloom, + The diadem gay, and the spicy perfume, + Is a handful of dust, that once was a rose-- + The sport of the wind, as it fitfully blows. + + * * * * * + +Once upon a time there lived a woman. She was not very young, nor was +she very old. She was neither handsome, homely, a genius, nor a fool. +She was just a commonplace, good-intentioned, fair type of the average +woman. This woman prided herself but little upon the various +accomplishments that contribute to the modern woman's popularity. She +could not dance a step, save in front of a northeast gale, or in a game +of romps with her little folks. She could not decorate a tea cup to save +her life, nor hand-paint a clam shell, nor embellish a canvas with +fleshy cupids and no less corpulent rosebuds. She could sing a few +insignificant ballads, such as "Annie Laurie," "Twilight Dews," and +"Nearer, My God, to Thee." These with a number like them, she was always +ready to furnish in a manner to bring down the house, but I doubt if she +would have been a success either in a comic opera or a church choir. She +could make bread and pieplant pie after a fashion that would make a man +wish that he had been born earlier to enjoy more of them. She could tidy +up a room quicker than a cat could wink its eyes, and in the matter of +housecleaning she was a regular four-in-hand coach and a tiger. If you +had asked her to lead a class in ethical culture or make a speech on +suffrage or score a point for reform, this woman would have ignobly +turned her back and run away, and yet perhaps she wielded an influence +in the world quite as strong as many a woman whose name is recorded on +the roll call of noisy fame. But there was one thing this woman abhorred +with all the might and strength of her soul, and that was slang. She had +been brought up to consider the use of anything more pronounced than the +"yea" and "nay" of the Quaker vernacular an outrage to refinement, and +although drifting far from her childhood's faith in many ways still +preserved an innate shrinking from the exuberance of vain speech. She +allowed no little boys to slide the cellar door with her own precious +yellow-heads who could be positively convicted of using naughty +language. Her husband left his worldly ways in town and only carried +home to this nice little woman the aroma of propriety and coriander +seeds. But who ever yet was assured of a firm foothold upon the pinnacle +of self-righteousness that the old boy did not whip out an arrow and +bring them low? It becomes my painful duty to chronicle the temptation +and downfall of the upright woman. + +It was a tempestuous day of early autumn. It not only rained, it poured! +It not only blew, but it tore, howled, twisted, cavorted! The woman had +to go to town. At the eleventh hour the family umbrella was kidnaped by +a demon. (When the prince of evil has nothing else to do he sends out +his imps to hide umbrellas, handkerchiefs, thimbles, scissors, and other +domestic essentials.) The woman had no time to track the umbrella to its +lair, so she pinned a newspaper over her bonnet and leaped for the +train. Arrived in town she bought a 50 cent umbrella from a man who was +peddling them on the street corner, and from that moment we date her +downfall. The umbrella proved to be fashioned of gum arabic and cobweb. +It leaked, it exuded, it faded away like a frost-flake in her hands, so +that ere half an hour had passed she gave it to a newsboy, and laughed +to see him kick it into an alley. Then she took off her plumed hat and +pinned it underneath her cloak, wrapped a lace scarf about her head and +proceeded on her way. Remarking the pleased expression on the faces of +all she met, she wondered at it, with an Indian outbreak so imminent. +Small boys danced by her in the rain to the sound of their own bright +laughter; strong men seemed overcome as she drew near, and even the +stern policemen at the street crossings turned aside to hide a 9×14 +smile. The woman lunched at a popular restaurant in the midst of a +mysterious carnival of glee, and finally took the train for home and, +leaving the city limits, skirted the northern shores of the lake to the +sound of muffled mirth. Reaching home and looking into the mirror she +was confronted by a countenance that bore all the seeming "of a demon +that is dreaming." The sea-green warp of cotton in the gum-arabic +umbrella had melted and run in long lines over brow and nose and chin. +For one moment the woman gazed at her frescoed charm, and as to what +follows we will drop the curtain. Suffice it to say, she fell, and the +shocked echoes of that little home put cotton in their ears and fainted +into lonely space at being called upon to repeat the strong language +that rent the air. Who shall blame the woman if she said "darn" with an +emphasis that might have made a pirate wan with envy? Who shall cast the +first stone at her until the day dawns that releases my sex from the +thralldom of its bondage to those demons who walk abroad and plot her +downfall in rainy weather? + + * * * * * + +Wear this bead upon your heart, girls; have nothing whatever to do with +so-called "fascinating" or "magnetic" men. Put no faith in mystery when +it comes to a question of the man you think you love. Rapt glances and +tender sighs that lead to nothing in the way of an honest declaration +are as despoiling to your womanhood as the breath of a furnace is to a +flower. There is no mystery in genuine love, and there is no +counterfeiting it, either. It is open-faced, ready-tongued and +clear-eyed. It is a virtue for heroes, not a platitude in the mouth of +fools. It is undefiled and set apart, like the snow on high hills. Allow +no man to make you a party to anything clandestine. A man who is afraid +to meet you at your own home, and appoints a tryst in the park, or a +down-town restaurant, is as much of a menace to your happiness as a +pestilence would be to your health. Remember, in all your experience +with so-called love, that the fewer adventures a young woman has, the +fewer flirtations and the fewer "affairs," the more glad she will be, by +and by, when she is a good man's wife and a brave boy's or sweet girl's +mother. A gown oft handled, you know, is seldom white, and each romance +you weave with idle fellows who roll their eyes and talk love, but never +show you the respect to offer you their hand in honest marriage--these +fascinating "Rochesters" and wicked "St. Elmos," already married, or +steeped to the lips in evil-doing--deprive you of your whiteness and +your bloom. + + * * * * * + +Do you ever get discouraged and feel like saying: "Oh, it's no use! I +want to amount to something! I have it in me to do great and grand +things, but the circumstances of poverty are against me. I can be +nothing but a drudge and the sooner I get over dreaming of anything +higher, the better!" Of course you have just such times of thinking and +talking, but did you ever comfort yourself with the thought that though +all these things you can not be, you are, really, in the sight of God? +A diamond is no less a diamond because it has been mislaid, and passed +off through ignorance as common glass. A tulip seed is no less the +sheath of a flower because through mistake somebody has labeled it as +common timothy. A silk fabric is no less the product of the +mulberry-feeding worm because somebody has wrapped it in a brown paper +parcel and valued it as domestic jeans. What you are, you are, and there +is no power on earth can gainsay it. Other folks may ignore it in you; +half the world, nay all the world, may fail to see it, but if nobility, +and strength, and sweetness are there you are worth just that much to +God! Blessed thought, isn't it, you poor, overworked clerk, with your +brain always in a muddle with the dry details of a business you hate! +Blessed thought, isn't it, you dear, tired woman with more burdens to +carry than a maple tree has leaves! No matter how impossible it may be +for you to live out what is in you, that something true and grand and +beautiful is deathless and shall have its chance of development by and +by. + +I shall never again meet the pretty maid with the larkspur eyes and the +corn silk hair who traveled with us a part of the way, but wherever she +goes, joy go with her! She was so modest and unspoiled and sweet, I +declare the sight of such a girl in this day of dancers and +high-steppers is like the sound of "Annie Laurie" between the carousals +of a break-down jig, or the taste of a wild strawberry after pepper tea. +God bless the old-fashioned girl with her helpful ways, her arch face +and her blithe and hearty laugh. May her type never vanish from the face +of the earth, and may the mold after which her soul was fashioned never +get mislaid and lost in the heavenly work-shop. + + * * * * * + +I think I shall be a little sorry when the commanding officer sends out +the word to break camp and leave this dear old earth forever. For I love +this world. I never walk out in the morning when all its radiant colors +are newly washed with dew, or at splendid noon, when, like an untired +racer the sun has flashed around his mid-day course, or at evening, when +a fringe of shadow, like the lash of a weary eye, droops over mountain +and valley and sea, or in the majestic pomp of night when stars swarm +together like bees and the moon clears its way through the golden fields +as a sickle through the ripened wheat, that I do not hug myself for very +joy that I am yet alive. The cruel grave has not got me! Those jaws of +darkness have not swallowed me up from the sweet light of mortal day! +What matter if I am poor and unsheltered and costumeless? Thank God, I +am yet alive! People who tire of this world before they are seventy and +pretend that they are ready to leave it are either crazy or stuck full +of bodily ailments as a cushion is of pins. The happy, the warm-blooded, +the sunny-natured and the loving cling to life as petals cling to the +calyx of a budding rose. By and by when the rose is over-ripe, or when +the frosts come and the November winds are trumpeting through all the +leafless spaces of the woods, will be the time to die. It is no time +now, while there is a dark space left on earth that love can brighten, +while there is a human lot to be alleviated by a smile, or a burden to +be lifted with a sympathizing tear. It will be time to die when you are +too old or too sick to be a comfort in the world, but if God has given +you a warm heart and a ready hand, look about you and be glad He lets +you live. Yesterday I was passing through the street and I saw a woman +stoop down and pick up a faded lilac from the middle of a crossing and +transfer it to a corner where it would not be trampled under foot. The +world wants such people alive in it, not buried under its green sods. +The heart that is not unmindful of a crushed flower will be a royal hand +in the ministrations of life. May the day tarry long on its way that +lays in the grave such helpful, tender hands that seek to do good. + + * * * * * + +The good book says, "Love thy neighbor as thyself," but it don't say, +Tell thy neighbor all thy secrets. We can love one another without +establishing an unsafe intimacy. In an age when so little remains set +apart and sacred, keep the treasury of your inmost heart intact. It is a +hard thing to believe that in every present friend is hidden a possible +future enemy, but it is safer to shape the conduct of our life upon that +belief than to live to see our inmost thoughts and the sanctities of +one's heart of hearts hawked about like green peas in a street vender's +basket by a spiteful and treacherous enemy. The safest course to pursue +in a world so full of unfaith and desertions is to be friendly and sweet +and helpful to all, but communicative and confiding to none. + + * * * * * + +Once when I was a child, with two long yellow braids down my back, and a +very great capacity for happiness in my heart, I lived in a remote +country with an aunt who didn't believe in any one having too good a +time here on earth. She thought they would appreciate the new Jerusalem +all the more, perhaps, for having a dismal experience here (there are +lots like her, too, in the world to-day). Well, once afterward when I +came home from school (and, ah! as I write how I can see the old road +where I walked, winding its way under silver birches by the side of a +trout-brook), somebody came out of the house and beckoned wildly, madly +for me to hurry up. It was my little cousin, and she looked as though +she had just skipped out of heaven! Her cheeks were all aglow and her +eyes were shining like stars. "Oh, come! Come quick!" she shouted. +"There's something in the parlor." I made haste to enter, and there +before me sat a doll, the biggest and most splendid it had ever entered +my young heart to imagine. It was dressed in pink tarletan, and had a +pair of jeweled earrings in its exceedingly life-like ears. At once I +became embarrassed. Self-consciousness sprang into full being. I was +painfully aware that my own dress and general appearance suffered by +contrast with the doll. Nor have I ever since experienced a keener +sensation of embarrassment than overcame me as I faced that gaudy image +in wax. My aunt's sarcastic remark, "No wonder that child's mother can't +lay up a cent for a rainy day when she throws away her dollars on a doll +like that!" gave me the sad impression that my darling mother was a +spendthrift, something after the pattern of the prodigal son. From the +first moment the doll was a source of disappointment and sorrow to me. I +never could play with it with any comfort because I was afraid of +soiling its splendid clothes, losing its earrings, or feeling myself and +my calico and homespun abashed by its superior attire. That doll did me +no good, and just what it did for me its costly and extravagantly +dressed sisterhood is doing for hundreds of little girls to-day. Too +fine to be played with, rigged out in all its paraphernalia of empty +headed flesh and blood women, with powder, puff and bustles, real +jewelry and costly lingerie, the modern doll is a demoralizer, a +torment. + + * * * * * + +Protracted broiling is, I think, on the whole, more wearing to the +sensibilities than sudden conflagration. A lightning stroke is soon +over, but who shall deliver us from the torments of dog-days? A bull of +Bashan encountered in a ten-acre lot may be outrun, but who shall escape +from a cloud of mosquitoes on a windless night? Give me any day a life +to live with a tempestuous, gusty sort of person, and I can endure it, +but deliver me from existence with one who bottles up his thunder and +looks like a storm that never breaks. A hearty shower, beating down the +flowers to call them up again in fresher beauty, brightening the hills +and swelling the brooks, treading with musical footfall the dusty +streets, and lashing the violet-tinted lake into a foam-flecked sea, +veining the hot air with sudden fire, and calling out a thousand echoes +to answer the thunder's call, is it not far better than lowering skies +that look rain and won't yield it, dragging, sultry days of neither +sunshine nor storm? + + * * * * * + + +LINES TO MY LOVE. + + When the salt has left the ocean, + And the moon forgets the sea, + When with gay and festive motion + Ox shall waltz with bee, + + When we wash our face in cinders, + And bake our meat on ice, + When tender mercy hinders + The cat from eating the mice, + + When gray heads grace young shoulders + And icicles form in June, + When Quakers all turn soldiers, + And bull frogs sing in tune, + + Then, and not till then, my treasure, + My darling, tender and true, + My heart shall claim the leisure + To think no more of you. + + * * * * * + +The other morning, lured by the splendor of a golden day, I started to +walk to town, a distance of twenty-four miles. But after the tenth mile +the truth was so forcibly and increasingly borne in upon me that "all +flesh is grass," and that the strength of a man (or woman either) "lieth +not in his heels," that I postponed the finish until another day. But +who shall take from me the glory of the start? Shall anybody forget that +a sunrise was fair and full of promise because the noon was clouded and +the evening declined into rain? Although my twenty-five-mile walk ended +at the tenth in a rocking-chair, yet those ten miles were beautiful and +full of glory. + +"It will certainly kill you!" wailed the martyr as I bade her good-bye. +"Oh, will it kill her?" echoed the poor little Captain, and lifted up +her voice in lamentation as I vanished from her sight and struck for the +bluff road. The morning was so beautiful that I could imagine the world +nothing but a big bunch of tulips standing within a crystal vase in the +sun. The maples glistened like gold, and were flecked with ruby drops +that burned and glowed like spilled wine. The oaks were russet brown and +dusky purple, cleft here and there with vivid green, like glimpses of a +windy sea through shadowed hills. The leaves that had fallen to the +earth were musical underneath the foot, and gave forth a faint fragrance +that made the air as sweet as any bakeshop. The odor of fallen leaves +and wood shrubs sinking into decay is not like any other fragrance so +much as the scent of well-baked bread, browned and finished in summer's +ruddy heat. + +The lake--but what can I say to fitly describe that translucent +sapphire, over which a mist hung like a gossamer web above a blue-bell, +or the haze of slumber upon a drowsy eye? As I stood upon the bluff, +before the road struck landward through the woods, I could but extend my +arm to the glorious expanse of waters and bless the Lord with all my +soul for so lovely a place to tarry in between times. If this world is +only a stopping-place, a country through which we march to heaven, as +Sherman marched overland to the sea, then thank God for so glorious a +prelude to eternity; and what shall the after harmonies be when the +broken sounds of idly-touched flutes and harps are so divine? + +After leaving Ravinia I proceeded to get lost in the woods. A very +small boy and a very large dog were standing by a fence. "Does that dog +bite?" I asked. "Yes'm," promptly replied the sweet and candid child. So +I climbed a fence and struck for the timber. I soon found that all +knowledge of the points of the compass had failed me. "If I am going +east," I mused, "I shall soon strike the lake; if west, the track; south +will eventually bring me to the Chicago River; but a northerly direction +will restore me to the sleuth-hound. I will say my prayers and endeavor +to keep to the south." The way grew denser. My hat gave me some trouble, +as it insisted upon hanging itself to every tree in the wilderness. The +twigs twitched the hair-pins from my hair and poked themselves into my +eyes. A few corpulent bugs toyed with my ankles and a large caterpillar +passed the blockade of my collar-button and basked in the warmth of my +neck. I nearly stepped on a snake and was confronted by a toad that +froze me with a glance of its basilisk eye. So I changed my course and +suddenly entered a little woodland graveyard--a handful of neglected +mounds of earth and silence. No tombstones marked the graves. A +rudely-constructed cross of wood, gray with lichens, alone told of +consecrated ground. There, away off from the road in the silence of the +woods, a few tired hearts were taking their rest. Silently I stood a +moment, then stole away and left the place to its hush of lonely peace. +What right had I, with my frets and feathers, my twig-punctured +eye-balls and my toad-perturbed nerves, to bring an unquiet presence +within this abode of silence and of rest? I sat down on a fence-rail a +moment while, like Miss Riderhood, I deftly twisted up my back hair and +mused briefly. When the time comes, oh, intensely alive and happy Amber, +for your feet to halt in the march, ask to be buried in the woods, where +your grave will be forgotten and the constant years with falling leaves +and driving snows may have a good chance to obliterate the earthly +record of your misspent years. + + "Sooner or later the shadows shall creep + Over my rest in the woods so deep; + Sooner or later--" + +But enough of this, my dear. I did not intend to incorporate a whole +cemetery, an obituary discourse, and "lines to the departed" in my +"Glints." After leaving the little graveyard I allowed my instincts to +carry me in a new direction, and soon a rustling among the dead leaves, +and the sound of hushed breathing, convinced me that I was approaching a +living presence. I felt for my revolver. It was there, but unloaded. (I +would sooner walk arm in arm with death than carry loaded firearms.) I +advanced bravely and became speedily aware of a score or so of large and +startled eyes, all fixed upon me. A half-score of woolly heads were +lifted, and a flock of sheep stood ready to take instant flight if I +showed sign of battle. "My dear young friends," said I, "it is a relief +to meet you, and I give you good morrow. I fully expected to encounter a +band of cutthroat tramps who should toss pennies for my heart's blood. +The blessings of a rescued woman rest upon your crinkly coats, my +beauties." A half-hour's walk through the woods brought me to a clearing +where a flock of bluebirds were holding council together among the +falling leaves. They seemed inclined to start southward, but tarried for +one last frolic. How beautiful they were as they flitted in and out +among the golden underbrush no eye but mine shall ever know. Bluebirds +have always been associated with thoughts of spring and apple-blossoms +heretofore. I could hardly believe my senses to find them here amid the +late and falling leaves. For a while I loitered in their midst and +wished for a fairy to change me into one of their winged company, that I +might forget care and find no need of revolvers; but time, as sternly +announced by my exquisite Waterbury, admitted of no delay, so I hied me +onward. At this point in my walk I approached a broken gate and a +stretch of shockingly muddy road. The vanity of confidence in any +strength that emanates alone from the "heels of a man" was by this time +beginning to make itself felt. I longed to sit down in the miry way and +go to sleep. A child could have played with me despite my revolver, and +a day-old lamb have gained the victory in a personal encounter. At this +moment, while I lingered, picking my way daintily from tuft to tuft of +the swamp, I was confronted by a tall, gaunt woman. Of course you don't +believe this; it reads too much like a dime novel. You think I am +painting my picture in lurid tints for public exhibition, but in spite +of your incredulity I repeat that I was confronted by a tall, gaunt +woman, who appeared as suddenly as though invoked by an evil spell from +the mud. The woman was shabbily dressed and wore an old-fashioned scoop +bonnet. She had a bundle on her arm, and was dragging by the hair of the +head, as it were, an indescribable umbrella. My voice sank out of sight, +like a stone in the sea, and my feet grew too heavy to lift. I stared in +silence. "Is your name Maria Hopkins?" asked the woman. + +"Indeed it is," I replied, prepared to get down on my knees and swear to +the truth of what I said, if need be. "I thought so," said my companion; +"let us pray." But I didn't stop for prayers. Convinced that my time had +come, and that I was in the presence of a lunatic, I fell over the fence +and ran. When I was out of breath I looked over my shoulder, but the +woman was nowhere in sight. To pursue my walk seemed unnecessary, +especially as I was nearing the house of a friend, so summoning what +strength was left me I toddled onward, completing my tenth mile in five +hours from the starting. After my sympathizing friend had emptied her +camphor bottle upon me I asked her if she knew a party of the name of +Hopkins anywhere in town, and if there was any resemblance between such +a person and myself. I saw she thought I was delirious, and no +explanation has ever dispelled that belief. Some day I shall complete +the walk and write up the finish. + + * * * * * + +Said some one to me the other day: "Amber, you have lots of good friends +among the girls." "Good," said I; "then I am all right." Anybody who +gains the friendly approval of the right sort of girls has a passport +right through to glory! I mean it. There is nothing on earth I love +better than a good, sweet girl. I would rather watch a crowd of them any +day than all the pictures Fra Angelica ever painted of saints in +paradise. But there are girls and girls. There is as much difference +between them as there is between griddle cakes made with yeast and +griddle cakes in which the careless cook forgot to put the leaven. Shall +I tell you the kind of girl I especially adore? Well, first of all, let +us take the working girl. She is not a "lady" in the acceptance of the +term by this latter day's hybrid democracy. She is just a blithe, +cheery, sweet-tempered young woman. She may have a father rich enough to +support her at home, but for all that she is a working girl. She is +never idle. She is studying or sewing or helping about the home part of +the day. She is romping or playing or swinging out of doors the other +part. She is never frowsy nor untidy nor lazy. She is never rude nor +slangy nor bold. And yet she is always full of fun and ready for frolic. +She does not depend upon a servant to do what she can do for herself. +She is considerate to all who serve her. She is reverent to the old and +thoughtful of the feeble. She never criticises when criticism can wound, +and she is ready with a helpful, loving word for every one. Sometimes +she has no father, or her parents are too poor to support her. Then she +goes out and earns her living by whatever her hands find to do. She +clerks in a store, or she counts out change at a cashier's desk, or she +teaches school, or she clicks a typewriter, or rather a telegrapher's +key, but always and everywhere she is modest and willing and sweet, +provided she doesn't get that meddlesome little "bee" of "lady"-hood in +her bonnet. If she tries to be a lady at the expense of all that is +honest and frank in her nature, she is like a black baby crying for a +black kitten in the dark--you can't tell what she is exactly, but you +know she is mighty disagreeable. She has too much dignity to be imposed +upon, or put to open affront, but she has humility also, and purity that +differs from prudishness as a dove in the air differs from a stuffed +bird in a showcase. She is quick to apologize when she knows she is in +the wrong, yet no young queen ever carried a higher head than she can +upon justifiable occasions. She is not always imagining herself looked +down upon because she is poor. She knows full well that out of her own +heart and mouth proceed the only witnesses that can absolve or condemn +her. If she eats peanuts in public places, and talks loud, and flirts +with strange boys, and chews gum or displays a toothpick she is common, +even though she wore a four-foot placard emblazoned with the misnomer, +"lady." If she is quick to be courteous, unselfish, gentle and retiring +in speech and manner in public places, she is true gold, even though her +dress be faded and her bonnet be old. You cannot mistake any girl any +more than you can mistake the sunshine that follows the rain or the +lark that springs from the hawthorn hedge. All things that are blooming +and sweet attend her! The earth is better for her passing through it and +heaven will be fairer for her habitation therein. God bless her! + + * * * * * + +Some day I am going gunning. In a reform dress suit, with the right to +vote in my pocket, and a shotgun delicately poised upon my enfranchised +shoulder, I shall start forth on my "safety" and proceed to lay low for +a few victims. The first to perforate with my murderous bullet shall be +the fiend in human guise who toys with my "copy" from time to time and +makes me spell whether without an "h," or so distorts the sense of what +I write that my best friends wouldn't know me from Martin Tupper. I +shall show no mercy to him. I shall continue to shoot until he is +perforated like a yard of mosquito netting, and I shall leave a little +note pinned to the lapel of his coat saying that I have more bullets +left for his "successor in trust." If there is one thing that has +survived the buffetings of a harsh and somewhat disconcerting bout with +fate it is the knowledge that I know how to spell. But even of this the +fiend in question would deprive me. He has brought his fate upon himself +and will excuse me if I remark that I thirst for his gore. + + * * * * * + +Dominated by that superfluous energy which has, so far, rendered my +earthly career cyclonic, I called together a confiding band during the +height of the recent snow carnival for the purpose of a sleigh ride. The +opening up of that sleigh ride was propitious. The caravan moved due +north, bound for a destination that shall be nameless. We tried to look +upon the attention we attracted as a public ovation, but it was far more +suggestive of the way they used to accompany outlaws beyond the limits +of a mining town, or of the children of Israel chased by Pharaoh's +mocking hosts. It was cold. Our noses, in the light of a wan old moon, +looked like doorknobs. Our ears cracked to the lightest touch, like harp +strings in the wind. Patient, long-suffering "doctor!" Shall I ever +forget how, turning to him when the carnival of sport was at its height, +I murmured: "Are you enjoying yourself, dear?" And he replied, with +ghastly sarcasm: "Tumultuously, my love!" So might an arctic frigate, +ice-bound, have hailed a polar bear. Suddenly, when all seemed +progressing serenely, we came to a standstill, something like what might +be expected from a runaway horse checked by the newly patented electric +button. What was the matter? Bare ground. Now, under ordinary +circumstances, the term "bare ground" is not synonymous of disaster. But +if ever in the dispensation of providence it falls to your lot to be one +of a band of sleigh-riding imbeciles then shall those two words be to +you what snags in the channel are to seaward-hastening keels. The driver +shouted and became distinctly profane. "Would you please get out and +walk over this bad place?" said he. With such speed as our petrified +members would allow we all got out, and the women sat on a wayside +fence, while the men "heaved to" and dragged the chariot over about a +mile and a quarter of bare ground. + +"Shall we make for the nearest line of street cars?" asked one of the +party, whose well-known position as Sunday-school superintendent kept +him in a state of abnormal calm. "What will become of the sleigh and the +poor, tired horses?" asked that one of the party directly responsible +for this mad jubilee. + +"Oh, you women can lead the horses while we men carry the old band wagon +on our shoulders back to shelter." "It is no time for jokes," cried one, +"I am going home," and we all followed suit, to vow later, in the +shelter of our happy homes, that our future attempts at sleigh riding +should be confined to wheels and the time of roses. + + * * * * * + +I think I would rather lose this serviceable old right hand of mine than +have it write a word that could be construed into defense or +encouragement of loud and blatant women. The over-dressed and slangy +sisterhood who parade in public places and storm the land these latter +days will meet with nothing from Amber and her pen but wholesale +denunciation while the lamp of an insignificant life holds out to burn. +I hate them as a Quaker hates gunpowder, and I am more than half +inclined to believe that the total extermination of the stock would be +one of the supremest blessings that could be vouchsafed to man. The +tendencies toward boldness and effrontery which characterize the present +day, the unabashed speech and action and the manifest lack of +old-fashioned courtesy and the reserve that springs from gentle breeding +are evils that grow rather than diminish. A gentlewoman, a pure, correct +and lovely gentlewoman, occupies a loftier place than any throne, and +wields an influence more potent than the swing of a jeweled scepter. Yet +it is never by vulgar assumption that she enters into her kingdom. The +parrot is not a bird we prize, although its plumage is resplendent with +green and purple and gold. In the proud breast of the homely and +unpretentious thrush is hidden the heavenly song. Wherever gentle +forbearance is found, wherever patience and tenderness and love idealize +and sweeten life, there you will find woman as heaven meant she should +be--the crowned queen of hearth and home. And in saying all this I do +not wish to be understood as advancing the idea that a woman has no +wider scope than home, or that she must be all sugar, without any spice. +Next to the loud and bold-mannered woman as a specimen to be detested I +would put the meek Griselda, with less spirit than a boneless herring +and less sparkle than tepid tea. There is no charm left to femininity +when you add idiocy to a pretty woman's make-up. A fool may be very +docile, but a fool is not good company. Of the two, perhaps, if a man +were forced to choose a comrade to share a life that was to be cast on a +South Sea island, he would do better to take the "loud" type. Either +would drive him to the "cups," if such relief were to be found upon an +island of the sea. But who would not rather go to wreck in a storm than +founder in becalmed waters? Or, to bring it nearer home, who would not +rather be drowned away out in the middle of Lake Michigan in a howling +gale than in a gentle 7×9 cistern? If circumstances call a woman out +into the thickest of the old bread-and-butter fight that has been waging +ever since Eve ran afoul of the apple, it is to her credit if she rolls +up her sleeves and goes into the thickest of the scrimmage and holds her +own with the pluckiest of them all. It is no disgrace to her to be +quick to seize an opportunity and shrewd to find a point of vantage. Let +her rank with the men, and make ever so fine a name for herself in +whatever business vocation she chooses to make her own, it will not +detract one whit from her womanliness, provided she keep herself +unsullied of soul and tender of heart. The moment she lends herself to +practices that lead men to forget to touch their hats when she passes by +she becomes unsexed, and a sexless woman is worse than a pestilence, a +cyclone and a strike condensed into one vast calamity. No sensible man +will think any less of a woman if she has spirit enough to get downright +mad at injustice, insult or iniquity. I don't know, though, why we women +should always get together and compare notes as to what course of +conduct will best please the men. They don't lie awake nights to conform +their behavior to ways and manners that shall please us; but, even +putting our argument on the basis of what shall win approval from men, I +repeat that I don't believe that there are many of them who would object +to a woman knowing how to use a pistol or to her carrying one in case of +an unprotected walk, or a night spent in an unguarded home. There would +be fewer tales to tell of assaults and woful disappearances of young +women if all our girls were versed in the ethics of the revolver. Ah, my +dear, you can never get a more adorable portrait of a woman to hang upon +the walls of glorified fancy than the pen-portrait drawn by the master +hand of Robert Browning when he wrote of beautiful Evelyn Hope: "God +made her of spirit, fire and dew." There is the swiftest and most +splendid stroke of the artist's brush ever given to literature. And yet +half the world would substitute "putty" for "spirit," "feathers" for +"fire" and "dough" for "dew." + + * * * * * + +The only way to rid the world of bubble-marriages--marriages that turn +out emptiness with one drop of water as the residuum, and that drop a +tear--is to educate our girls and boys to something higher than playing +with pipes and soapy water. Give them something more earnest to do, and +see that they do it. Compel men and women to choose their life +companions with at least a tithe of the solemnity they bring to the +selection of a carriage horse or a ribbon. Legislate laws against early +marriages. "I can't tolerate children," said a little idiot to me the +other day, "but I adore dogs!" And yet that girl had an engagement ring +on her finger. There should be a special seclusion for such girls until +they develop some instinct of womanliness, and they should no more be +allowed to marry than a Choctaw chief should be allowed to take charge +of a kindergarten. You nor I can hope to turn a bubble into substance +after it is once blown. + + * * * * * + +Last week I moved. At least I tried to, but I haven't fully accomplished +the feat yet. If it costs one woman a desk and an umbrella, the pangs of +a seven-horse torment to move one block, what must it cost a family of +fourteen to move seven wagonloads a mile? There is a problem that will +keep you awake nights. When they said to me: "Oh, it will be nothing for +you to move!" When they pointed with derision at my few belongings I +said to myself: "All right; perhaps it will be easier than my fears." So +I packed up my penknife, my mucilage pot, my paper cutter, my eleven +dozen pencils and my assortment of stub pens, my violet ink, my clock, +pictures, calendars, Japanese fans, scraps of poetry, magazines, books, +lemons, buttercups, blotting pads, and sundry trifles it were waste of +time to enumerate, and sallied forth to find a son of wrath to transport +them to new quarters. "How much will you charge to move two articles of +furniture one block?" I asked a guileless Scandinavian teamster. "Three +dollars," replied he with touching promptitude. I passed him by, and +after two days' search found a down-trodden African who said he would +undertake the job for $1.50. I wish you could have seen the look in the +darky's face when he tried to lift the desk. "Gor-a-mighty, Missus, +what's in that ar desk?" cried he. I had to unpack every blessed article +but the penknife and a postage stamp before he would move the thing, and +all the long day I trotted back and forth with market baskets full of +the original contents of that desk. When at last I had them moved I +couldn't find anything. I wanted my pencils, but haven't seen 'em yet. +The paperweight had smashed the ink bottle, and the mucilage had formed +a glassy pool in which my buttercups were anchored like islands. The +frizzes and hairpins and other little what-nots that I kept in the right +hand drawer had dabbled themselves in the ink and mucilage and fused +themselves into one indistinguishable horror. I haven't been able to +find one thing that I wanted since I moved but a toothpick, and that +don't look exactly natural. The overshoes, and gossamer, and jersey +waists, soap and chamois skins that I secreted in the left hand drawer +haven't been seen since they left in the market basket under convoy of +the Ethiopian. He has probably opened a costumer's shop on Halsted +street with them. When I move again I shall carry my pencils behind my +ear and my penknife between my teeth. I'll never be found a second time +stringing my beads with a toothpick and relying for time upon a clock +with the hour hand missing. When next I move may it be straight through +to glory, where the lease is long and the landlord never sublets. + + * * * * * + +Let anybody in this world really undertake to thoroughly do his duty; to +do it in the face of opposition, prejudice and the meddling +interference of fools, and he becomes a target set upon a hill for the +convenient aim of popular scorn. It is harder for a man to be true to a +principle than it is to face a gun. If an employe in the daily discharge +of duty aims to be prompt, faithful and fearless he is boycotted by his +associates in almost as conspicuous a way as was poor little David +Copperfield with the pasteboard motto on his back. We all of us have +known in early life the "pet scholar" of the school, the dear little +virtuous prig who never did anything out of the way, who never played a +prank or accomplished anything but a pattern pose. Small wonder that we +hated him! Good behavior, which has for its aim merely the disconcerting +of others and the aggrandizement of one's self, is snobbery and should +be loathed as such. But there is a courage of over-conviction which +leads a man to hold himself honest among thieves, pure among libertines +and faithful among time-servers and strikers. It was such a spirit as +this that made dear little "Tom," at "Rugby," loyal to his mother's +teachings, and led him to kneel amid a crowd of jeering boys to say the +prayers she taught him. It is such a spirit as this that holds a man or +woman true to the sense of justice in an unjust world, and keeps them +undaunted in the midst of enemies, who hate them for doing their duty +and caring as much for the work as they do for the wages that work +commands. The man who can hold himself beyond the reach of bribery, +uncorrupted in corruptible times, and sure to keep his colors flying, +with never a chance to trail them in the dust for politic purposes, is a +greater hero than many a blue-coat who marches to battle. Give us a few +more such heroes, oh, good and merciful dispenser of destinies, and +sweep off the track a hundred thousand or so of the eye-servants, +time-servers and money-graspers who keep the profitable places of the +world's giving away from honest men and faithful women. + + * * * * * + +A BOBOLINK'S SONG. + + The earth was awake, and like a gay rover, + His knapsack of sunshine loose strapped on his back, + Through mists, and through dews, and through fine purple clover + Was faring his way down the summer's green track. + + I sat all alone 'neath the shade of a willow, + And saw the old earth blithely jogging along, + While over the fields, like the foam on a billow, + The morning was breaking in blossom and song. + + O, list! and, O, hear! like the wing of a swallow, + Updarting from fields that are golden with corn; + With the ring and the swing of a huntsman's "view hallo," + Some fairy is winding his sweet elfin horn. + + Now up like a flame, and now down like a shower; + Now here and now there in its sparkle and gloom; + It rings and it swings like a bell in a tower, + Wide casting its notes as a wind-flower its bloom. + + 'Tis a bobolink singing among the sweet clover; + A bobolink whimsical, happy and free, + And its voice like new wine makes earth, the old rover, + Half tipsy with jollity, clean daft with his glee. + + * * * * * + +It fell to my lot the other day to witness a scene that I shall not soon +forget. Death has myriad ways of coming to the sons and daughters of +men, and it chanced that death had drawn near to a certain dear woman in +a way that well might blanch the cheek of the bravest hero. As surely +condemned to die as is the murderer when he hears the judge's sentence, +with absolute hopelessness of any cure, and with the certainty of no +more than a brief span of weeks wherein to live, this brave woman faced +her doom with all the condemned man's certainty, and yet without his +shame. Grown old in a life of peculiar usefulness, with not a single +abated enthusiasm and with a heart as keenly attuned to nature's as is +the flute to the master's touch, this dear old heroine calmly renounced +the world she had so loved and turned her face direct to "headquarters," +with no friend to interfere between herself and God. For one bitter +hour, perhaps, she wept and watched alone in her Gethsemane, then turned +about to await the chariot wheels of her deliverance with a heart as +glad and a faith as warm and bright as a little child's who waits in the +shadow the coming of a loving father to lead her home. Taken to the +hospital to die, knowing that those doors swung for her last entrance +within any earthly home, fully realizing that from beneath that roof +her soul should ascend to its home beyond the stars, bidding good-bye +forever to the sunset skies and the rural walks that she had so loved, +to all the bright company of wild flowers she had known by name, to the +pomp of seasons and the communion of happy homes, she took up her abode +in the ward of the incurables. Every day she sits in the sunshine and +reads her books or indites letters to her friends. Every day she +struggles with devastating pain, and every day she grows a little +thinner and a little weaker in the body, while her soul springs +heavenward like a white flower from the dust, which no earthly blight +can reach. As I sat by her side the other morning and held her wasted +hand in mine it seemed the most natural thing in the world to send a +message by this sweet soul to the unseen land, and we almost forgot the +pain of parting in the bright anticipation of the many who would throng +to meet the gray-headed voyager when at last her sail should beat across +the blue waters into the heavenly harbor. And as we talked there came a +message that a very old friend had called to see the sufferer; one who +had been the closest comrade of her brilliant youth and the companion +of her maturer years. Slowly the guest entered the shrine wherein a soul +awaited the sacrament of death, silently she stretched out her arms and +gathered that wasted frame within their close embrace. As a mother +comforts the baby at her breast, so they comforted one another with +tender words. The years of their life fell away from them as petals from +a rose which the wind lightly rocks, and they were girls again. "Oh, my +dear child, how sweet, how brave, how grand you are!" said the guest. +"My precious girl, my poor, dear one, how can I bear to see you here!" +she cried again and yet again, while her tears fell like rain, and the +turmoil of her sobs rent her very inmost heart. I shall live long before +I see so touching a sight again. In the presence of a love so perfect +and so true I felt to be almost an interloper and an alien, so I quietly +stole away and left these two old women, bowed with the weight of many +years, sustaining and sustained by the trust that the portals of the +tomb, within whose shadows they stood, were but the gates that usher the +soul into the full affluence of life and love. + + * * * * * + +It is almost impossible to get the average young person past the +florist's window nowadays. She has a way of clasping her hands and +pursing her lips over the roses that would make the average young man +shed his last dollar, as the almond tree shakes its blossoms. I am +always sorry for a poor young man in love with a pretty girl. He longs +to buy the world for her and she longs quite as ardently to receive it +as a gift, and so he is hurrying along his bankrupt career until +matrimony or estrangement checks him. Have you not a pitying remembrance +in your own heart of a certain youth of the long ago who deluged your +house with roses, confectionery and novels until his salary was wildly +wasted in the unequal contests? Girls, be a little less receptive, as it +were; be just a bit more thoughtful and delicate in your orders at the +restaurant and your selection from the florist's window, and I think +your matrimonial chances will be the better for it. How often have I +seen a young woman order a costly dinner when some young man whom she +well knew to be the recipient of a small salary was to foot the bill, +yet when ordering for herself I am told she never goes higher than +beans and bread and butter. Now, girls, don't think Amber is an +everlasting old grandmother! Not a bit of it, but she has tossed about +the world so much and heard so many "little birds" telling their secrets +that she has taken unto herself quite a pack of knowledge of the ways +and manners of mankind. I positively adore a young girl, and always +have, and, what is more, expect I always shall. But admiring and loving +them as I do, from the tip of their bangs to the click of their boot +heels, I cannot bear to see them do unlovely things. I want to see them +helpful, lovable, sweet. I want to see them slow to wound another's +feelings, and quick as sunshine after rain with tender smiles and +womanly ways. I want to see them brave, yet gentle; gay, yet kind; +fun-loving, yet never loud and rude. I want to hear the young men in +speaking of them speak of something besides their extravagance and their +greed. I want the very air to be the sweeter for their passing, as when +one carries roses through a room their fragrance lingers. And what shall +make you sweet, dear girls? Not fashionable gowns and dainty clothing; +not beauty nor grace nor wealth so much as womanliness and unselfish +thought for others. + + * * * * * + +The woman who can wear an arctic overshoe over a No. 5 shoe and make no +moan ought to have been born a Joan of Arc or a Charlotte Corday. She is +made of the "dust" that heroines have a corner on. At one time in my +life I owned a dog--a guileless pup--whose darling aim on earth was to +drag my colossal arctics before admiring gentlemen callers and lay them +by the fireside, where they overshadowed the big base-burner with their +bulk. I was rid of the dog long before I was rid of the feeling that it +was a disgrace for a woman to wear the feet God gave her. The most +colossal overshoe is neither so big nor so objectionable as an early +grave, and that is just what lies before some of you girls if you don't +quit wearing French heels and going about in damp and chilly weather +without protection for your feet. Burn up the high-heeled slippers, +then, with their atrocious shape; cultivate health and common-sense +rather than the empty flattery of a world that cares nothing for you. So +shall you be as beautiful as houris, as healthy as Hebes, as long lived +as Sarahs and as light-footed as the shadow that dances to a wind-blown +Columbine. + + * * * * * + +A graveyard never saddens me. It seems nothing more than one of the +flies behind the scenes when the actors have gone on in front. What +matters the room where we doff our toggery when we are once out of it? +So, not long since, when in rambling about one of the Apostle Islands, +away up in Lake Superior country, I ran across a sunshiny little +graveyard, and I was glad to loiter about for an hour and read the +inscriptions on the age-worn stones. It was a blue day--blue in the sky +above and blue in the haze on the hills, blue in the sparkling waters of +the lake and bluer yet in the far distance that marked a score of miles +from shore. Before the gateway of the graveyard a clump of golden rod +stood, like an angel barring the way with a sword of light. A tangle of +luxuriant vines had curtained most of the graves from sight A few, more +carefully tended than the rest, stood bravely out from behind fences of +ornamental woodwork, but most of them were sheltered and peaceful +within their neglected bowers of green. When my time comes to lie down +in my narrow home, I pray you, kind gentlefolks, grant me the seclusion +of an unremembered grave rather than the accentuated desolation of a +painted fence and a padlocked gate. There is rest in neglect, and +nature, if left alone, will never allow a grave to grow unsightly. She +folds it away in added coverings of mossy green from year to year as a +mother when the nights are long will tuck her sleeping children under +soft, warm blankets. She appoints her choristers from the leafy belfry +of the woods to keep the chimes ringing when the days are long and slow +and sweet, and lights her tapers nightly in the wavering shimmer of the +stars. In a secluded corner we found a handbreadth space where a baby +was laid to rest many a year ago. No chronicle of the little life +remains, and yet a stranger stands beside its grave and drops a tear. I +don't know why, I'm sure, for why should we cry when a baby dies? So +roses are picked before the frost finds them! Another stone was erected +to a young bride who died at twenty. Looking about at the +stoop-shouldered, care-lined and prematurely old women who toiled in +those island homes, we could not feel very sorry for the young bride who +died, perhaps, while life still held an illusion. With lingering step at +last we left the graveyard, repassed the golden sentry at the gate and +sought the little boat that awaited us on the beautiful bay. Long after +other details of that pleasant outing are forgotten the memory of that +blue day among the quiet graves on the island of the great lake shall +linger like a song within our hearts. + + * * * * * + +"If I had two loaves of bread," said Mahomet, "I would sell one of them +and buy white hyacinths, for they would feed my soul." I came across +that delightful saying the other day, and I thought to myself: There is +another one to be hunted up when I get over yonder! I shall have to make +the acquaintance of a man, prophet or not, who gave utterance to such a +sentiment as that. How many of us, poor earthworms that we are, would +rather spend our dollar for white hyacinths than for a big supper? How +many of us ever stop to think that there is something under the sleek +rotundity of our girth that demands food quite as eagerly as our stomach +does, and fails and faints and dies quite as surely without it? Take +less of the food that goes to fatten the perishable part of you, and +give more sustenance to that inner guest who, like a captive, sits and +starves with long and cruel neglect. Buy fewer glasses of beer and more +"white hyacinths." Smoke less tobacco and invest in a few sunsets and +dawns. Let cheap shows alone and go hear music of the right sort. So +shall your soul lift up its drooping head and grow less and less to +resemble one of Pharaoh's lean kine. I adore a man or a woman who has +enough sentiment to appreciate what dead and gone Mahomet said, and +hereafter will make it a point to buy less bread and more hyacinths. + + * * * * * + +I wonder if, when we get to the other world, we shall not occasionally +stroll into some sort of a celestial museum, where the relics of our +foregone existence, its wasted days and misspent years, may stare back +at us from glass cases where the angels have ticketed them and put them +all neatly on exhibition! There will be necklaces of ill-spent moments, +like the faded brilliants exhumed from old Pompeii, with lots of broken +hopes and thwarted destinies. There will be odd little freaks and +unreasoning caprices, like the "What is it?" and foolish deeds of daring +to turn our pulses faint with the old-time terror. There will be those +tendencies which kept us heavy-footed like the fat woman, and others +that made us blind, although the world was full of light. There will be +the disloyal deeds that made us a constant source of care and wonderment +to the angels who watched us, and the cowardice that kept us in leading +strings to conformity. There will be shelves full of the little white +lies we have told, all labeled and dated, like pebbles from the +Mediterranean or bits of shell from the sea. There will be fragments of +blighted lives ruined by wagging tongues and shafts of tea table gossip. +There will be the old-time masks wherein we masqueraded, and the flimsy +veils of deceit behind which we hid our individuality. There will be the +memories of little children we might have kept had we been wiser, and +snatches of lullaby songs. There will be jars full of love glances and +pots of preserved and honeyed kisses. There will be whole bales of +mistakes, a Gobelin tapestry to drape the world, and stacks of dead and +withered "might-have-beens." There will be peacock feathers of pride +tied together with faded ribbons of regret, and whole cabinets full of +closet skeletons and family contentions. There will be pedestals whereon +shall stand the "white days" we can never forget, and panorama chambers +wherein shall be unrolled the pictured scroll of our journey heavenward. +In cunningly devised music boxes we shall hear again the melody of our +youthful laughter and the patter of life's uncounted tears. I think the +shelves of that celestial museum would yield some odd surprises to the +most of us, like the finding of a bauble we counted worthless and threw +away glittering in the diadem of a crown, or the prize we bartered honor +for turned to worthless glitter and tinsel paste! + + * * * * * + +There is no use sitting here by this window any longer and trying to +believe that life is worth living. If I looked for five minutes more at +this November landscape I should shave my head and hie me to a Carmelite +convent. Dame Nature has forgotten her housewifely duties and gone off +to gossip with the good ladies who have charge of the other planets. +Where but yesterday the late asters bloomed in long rows of splendor, +and the chrysanthemums fringed the sunny borders with feathers of white +and gold, the unsightly stalks grovel in the clayey mold, and the +frost-nipped vines drop their dismantled tendrils in the chilly wind. +Fragments of old china lurk in the discovered spaces underneath the +denuded lilac bushes, and out by the oleander tub a cruel cat is +worrying a large and discouraged rat. That oleander tub reminds me of an +ordeal that is ushered in with every change of season. Twice a year we +are compelled to carry that large vegetable in and out of its winter +lair. About the last week of September we begin to wrap it in bed-quilts +every night, and from that time on until late autumn no delicate babe +was ever more tenderly guarded. Then, as there is no man in the country +who for love or lucre will condescend to the job, we begin to worry the +Doctor. We tell him the oleander will be blighted by the frost, and he +pays no heed. Then we ask him if he would just as lief bring in the +oleander after supper. He sneaks off and is gone until the 11 p. m. +train. Next we take to tears, and declare that we love that oleander as +one of the family, and it breaks our heart to see it perish for want of +care. We grow pale and wan and gray-headed as the days go by, and +finally with flashing eyes and muttered oaths the Doctor yanks the tub +and its colossal growth into the cellar, and we rest on our arms until +the advent of another spring. + + * * * * * + +Well, the summer has gathered up her corn-silk draperies, put on her +rose-trimmed hat, and tripped over the border land at last. From the +bend in the road that shall hide her from our view forever she lingers a +moment to throw back a sunny glance at September, as he comes whistling +down the lane, with plume of golden-rod in his hat. A glad good-bye to +you, long-to-be-remembered summer of 1890! We are so glad to see you go +that we are willing to forego your blossoms and your bird songs to be +well rid of you. For three long months we have endured heat without +precedent, drought and discomfort, flies and mosquitos, threatened +thunder gusts and devastating cyclones, and we are so tired that we feel +like shaking a stick at you now, to see you lingering to coquet with +September. Hasten on, oh bright autumn weather, with your comfortable +nights for sleep, and your royal days of sunshine and frost. We are +longing for the time to come when the lamps shall be lighted early in +the parlor, and the fire-glow shall once more shed its glory upon +grandma's lovely hair and upon the gold of the children's restless +heads; when the cat shall have leave to lie on the best cushion, and the +voice of the tea-kettle, droning its supper monologue, shall alternate +with the efforts of the older sister at the piano. By the way, do you +know there is lots of solace to be found in an old music book of twenty +years ago? Don't tell me that the music of to-day is as sweet all +through as the melodies of long ago. Who sings such soul-ravishing duets +to-day as "She Bloomed with the Roses," "Twilight Dews," or "Gently +Sighs the Breeze"? I declare to you, my dear, that although I shall be +considerably older some day than I am now, and although I have not +fallen so far into the "sere and yellow" as to count myself among the +old-fashioned and the queer, yet any one of those songs just mentioned +will start the tears from my eyes as showers start from summer clouds. + + * * * * * + +Two little motherless children! Do you know the thought of a baby +without a mother to cuddle it always brings the tears to my eyes? +Traveling to distant New England with a father who, although kind, +seemed some way unfitted to his duties, as a straight-legged chair might +if used for a lullaby rocker, were two bits of folks, a boy and a girl, +one four, the other two years old. The careful father brushed their hair +very nicely and washed their mites of faces with great regularity. When +he told them to sit still they sat still, and nobody was annoyed by +their antics, but, oh, how it made my heart ache to watch the motherless +chicks! If mamma had been there they would have climbed all over her, +and bothered her a good deal, perhaps, with their clinging arms and +kisses (it's a way babies have with their mammas!), but in the presence +of their dark-eyed and quiet papa they behaved like little weasels in +the presence of a fox. "Papa says we mustn't talk about mamma any more," +lisped the boy. "'Cause she's gone to heaven." In the name of love, +whose apostle I humbly claim to be, I longed to gather those little ones +in my arms and have a dear, sweet talk about the mamma who had left them +for a little while, and I wanted to say to the proper and punctilious +papa: "Good sir, if you attempt to bring up these motherless mites +without the demonstration of love you will meet with the same success +your gardener would should he set out roses in a pine forest. Children +need love as flowers need the southerly exposure and sunshine. When that +boy of yours bumped his head, sir, it was your place to comfort him in +something the way his dead mother might have done, rather than to have +bade him 'sit up and be a man.'" + + * * * * * + +SLEEP'S SERENADE. + + In cadence far, + From star to star, + Sleep's mellow horns are faintly calling; + Through dreamland halls + Sweet madrigals, + In liquid numbers drowsy falling. + + Noiseless and still, + O'er star-watched hill, + Beneath the white moon's tender glances, + A host of dreams, + By wind-blown streams, + March on with gleam of silver lances. + + A captive thou; + Then, yield thee, now, + While mellow horns are nearer calling; + And ringing bells, + And poppy spells, + Thy senses all in sleep enthralling. + + O, hark; O, hear, + My lady, dear, + O'er woods and hills and streamlets flying, + The winding note + Of horns remote, + In softest echo dying--dying. + + * * * * * + +I had a dream the other night which was like, and yet unlike, the vision +of fair women of which a poet once wrote. I dreamed that I sat within a +court-room. Before me passed the meanest men and women God ever +permitted to live, and upon them I was to pass the verdict as to which +should carry off the palm. The scandal-monger came first, he or she who +sits like a fly-catcher on a tree, snapping up morsels of news. He or +she who is swelled full of conjecture whenever anybody commits an +innocent indiscretion, as an owl blinks and ruffles up its feathers when +the bobolink sings. He or she who goes about the world like a lean cat +after a mouse. He or she who is always looking for clouds in a bright +June sky, and slugs in roses and flies in honey. He or she whose heart +is made of brass, and whose soul is so small it will take eleven cycles +of eternity to develop it to the dimension of a hayseed. I was about to +hand this specimen the banner without looking further when a being +glided by me with a noiseless tread. She wore felt shoes and a mask. She +spoke with the voice of a canary, yet had the talons of a vulture. She +wore a stomacher made from the fleece of a lamb, and between her bright +red lips were the tusks of a wolf. I recognized her as the hypocrite, +the false friend; she who hands over your living bones for your enemies +to pick, while you believe she is your champion and your defender. +Following her came the man who keeps his horse standing all day with its +nose in a nosebag. There was a groan like the sighing of wind in the +poplars as he went by. Then came the merciless man who oppresses and +torments the helpless and grinds the faces of the poor; and following +him I beheld yet another monster--the worst of all in male attire. He +came sneaking around a corner, with a smile on his lips and a devil in +his eye, seeking to entrap innocent girlhood and unsuspecting womanhood. +Then came the woman who gives her children to the care of servants while +she goes downtown with a dog in her arms. Then came a lean-faced, +weasel-eyed creature with the general expression of a sneak thief. I +discovered her to be the representative of that type of women who coaxes +her neighbor's hired girl away with promises of better wages. Then came +the envious person whose evil passions are kindled like the fires of +sheol at the prosperity of others, and who, because his own cup of life +holds vinegar, is determined no other shall contain wine. I suddenly +awoke without having bestowed the palm on any. Perhaps some of my +readers may find it easy to do that for themselves. + + * * * * * + +Do you know which, of all the sights that confronted me yesterday in my +rambles through the rainy weather, I pigeon-holed as the saddest? Not +the little white casket, gleaming like the petal of a fallen flower, +through the undertaker's rain-streaked window; not the woman with the +lack-luster eye and the flippety-floppety petticoats who went by me in +the rain silently cursing her bundles and the fact that she was not +three-handed; not the poor old cab horse with his nose in a wet bag, and +his stomach so tightly buckled in that he couldn't breathe below the +fifth rib; not the man out of a job, with his gloveless hands in his +pockets, trying to solve the problem of supper; not the little child +under convoy of a stern and relentless dragon who yanked it over the +crossings by the arm socket; not the starved and absolutely hopeless +yellow dog, who sat in a doorway and wondered to himself if there was +indeed a canine life that included occasional bones and no kicks; no, +not any of these impressed me as the most gruesome of a great city's +many sights. As I passed the corner of Washington and Dearborn streets I +came face to face with a red-cheeked, wholesome boy of barely twenty +years of age. He was leaning upon the arm of an elderly man, and at +first I thought him ill, but it took but a second glance to see that he +was drunk. Now, I consider that the very saddest sight a great city has +to offer. When the old men are wicked there is some comfort in the +thought that their day is nearly spent, and their worthless places may +be soon filled with a nobler and a better stock, but a drunken and +dissolute boy means just what it means for the fruit harvest when the +blight gets into the blossom. The gathered apple that rots in the bin is +bad enough, but the worm that destroys the fruit in the germ makes +greater loss. Be thankful that the grave has taken to its protecting +shelter the boy you loved so dearly, and of whom you were so proud, +rather than that he should have grown to be a drunkard before his +twentieth birthday. + + * * * * * + +We are each of us missing constant chances to bestow a kindness upon +some needy soul for the reason that we dread being imposed upon by a +case of causeless complaining. Is it worth while to keep our hearts +stolid merely because we may be cheated in the bestowal of a nickel's +worth of alms? I think not. You looked up from your work a few minutes +ago and saw a little boy not much bigger than your thumb looking through +the open doorway. He began at once a sing-song tale of woe about a sick +mother and a father out of work--or in his grave, it doesn't much +matter. At the same time he held out a paper of cheap pins to tempt a +nickel from your store. + +"I have no time to bother with such as you," you said, and turned your +eyes back to your ledger. But still the boy droned on. You looked at him +again and noticed that the small hand that held the pins was well kept +and very, very thin. Then your eyes followed the diminutive form down to +the feet; they, too, showed signs of somebody's care, although the shoes +were shabby and the stockings thin. + +"He is not an ordinary little beggar," you said to yourself. And then +your gaze traveled upward again until it met his long-lashed Irish eyes, +so full of trouble and of entreaty that they looked like twin Killarney +lakes getting ready for rain. + +"Poor little chap," you said, "of course I'll buy a paper of pins," and +in so doing you stooped over and patted his head, perhaps, or called him +"dear," so that he went away with the twin Killarney lakes all ready for +a sunburst to follow the rain. That was an opportunity you nearly +missed, but it brought a blessing sweeter than a Crawford peach. You +didn't want the pins, but the little desolate heart wanted the kind word +bestowed along with your nickel, and perhaps its bestowal shall be an +impulse toward the light to a soul that cross words and constant +refusals had already given a downward trend. + + * * * * * + +There stands a very young girl at the door of a drug store. She +hesitates a moment and enters. "May I sit here and wait for a friend?" +she inquires of the dapper clerk. "Certainly," he answers, and places a +chair for her near the window. + +That girl's father told her last night to have nothing more to do with +young Solomon Levi. "He is a worthless fellow," said he, "and I have +forbidden him the house." "Very well," said she, and this morning she +has made the excuse to go to the grocery for yeast, and is waiting here +for the graceless Solomon. By and by he will come, and she will listen +to him and form plans for clandestine meetings. My dear, there is a +stairway whose top lies in the sunshine, but whose lower steps lead down +to endless shadow. Your pretty foot is poising on the upper +stair--beware! And yet I think the father has been to blame also. These +stern, non-explanatory parents are responsible for much of the ruin +wrought in young people's lives. If the old rat would go with the young +one now and then to investigate the smell of cheese, his restraining +presence would do more good than all the warnings and threats +beforehand. Temptations are bound to besiege the girls and bewilder the +boys. Don't let us make a pit-fire out of moonshine and forbid every bit +of innocent fun and frolic because there is a gayety that takes hold on +death. Give the young folks a little more license, mingle with them in +many amusements which you have been wont to frown upon, do not be so +frightened if their light feet go dancing off the path now and then, and +ten to one the end of the journey will be Beulah Land and peace. A good +deal less faultfinding and a good deal more sympathy would be better all +around. + + * * * * * + +There is no lot on earth so hard to bear as the lot of wedlock where +love has failed. The slave's life is not comparable to it, for the +manacles that only bind the hands may be laid aside, but those that +fetter the heart not death itself holds the key to loosen. It fairly +makes me tremble when I see the thoughtless rush young people make to +enter what is by far the most solemn and responsible relation of life. +They are like mariners who put to sea in flimsy boats, or like explorers +who fit themselves with Prince Albert suits and buttonhole bouquets. +Before you get through the voyage, my dears, you will encounter tempests +as well as bonnie blue weather, and God pity you when your pleasure +craft strikes the first billow, if it was made of caprice and put +together with mucilage instead of rivets! As for the explorer and his +dress suit, where will he be when the tigers begin to scent him and the +air is full of great sorrows and little frets like flying buzzards and +cawing crows? + +Be an old maid in its most despised significance then; be a grubber and +a toiler all the days of your life rather than rush into marriage as a +hunted fox flies into a trap. There is some chance for the fox that +flies to the hills, and for the bird that soars above the huntsman's +aim, but what better off is the fox in the trap or the lark in a cage? +There is a love so pure and ennobling that eternity shall not be long +enough to cast its blossom, nor death sharp enough to loosen the +foundation of its hold. Such love is born in the spirit rather than +forced in the hot-house of the senses. It is an impulse toward the +stars, a striving toward things that are pure and perfect and true. It +grows in the heart as a rose grows in the garden, first a slip, then a +leaf and finally the perfect blossom. No rose ever put forth a flower +first, and then bethought itself of rooting and budding. Pray, dear +girls, that this love may come to you rather than its poor prototype, so +current in a world of shams and pretenses, whose luster corrodes with +daily usage and turns to pewter in your grasp. + + * * * * * + +Once there was an old woman who died and went to glory. Now a great many +old women have died and gone the same way, but this one was very tired +and very glad to go. She had worked hard ever since she could handle a +broom or flirt a duster. She had probably washed about 91,956,045 dishes +in her life, had baked something less than a million of pies, and turned +out anywhere between a quarter to half a million loaves of bread, to say +nothing of biscuits. These figures are steep, but I am writing under the +invigorating impulse of the grip! She had darned socks and hemmed towels +and patched old pantaloon-seats between times, until her fingers were +callous as agate. She had borne and reared lots of children and tended +to their myriad wants. For forty-seven years she had done a big washing +every week, and laundried more collars than a Canada thistle has +seed-pods. At last she died. The tired old body burst its withered husk +and let the flower free. The rusty old cage flew open and out went the +bird. And when they buried her I suppose they were foolish enough to +shed tears and put on mourning! As well expect all the birds to wear +crape when dawn sets out its primrose-pot on the ledge of the eastern +sky! But one friend of quicker perception than the rest, I am told, +placed the following inscription on the tired old woman's gravestone: + + Here lies a poor woman who always was tired, + For she lived in a world where much was required. + "Weep not for me, friends," she said, "for I'm going + Where there'll be neither washing, nor baking, nor sewing; + Then weep not for me; if death must us sever, + Rejoice that I'm going to do nothing forever." + + * * * * * + +There is just one thing in the latter part of the nineteenth century +that never fails to bring success, and that is assurance. If you are +going to make yourself known it is no longer the thing to quietly pass +out a visiting card--you must advance with a trumpet and blow a brazen +blast to shake the stars. The time has gone by when self-advancement +can be gained by modest and unassuming methods. To stand with a lifted +hat and solicit a hearing savors of mendicancy and an humble spirit. The +easily abashed and the diffident may starve in a garret, or go die on +the highways--there is no chance for them in the jostling rush of life. +The gilded circus chariot, with a full brass band and a plump goddess +distributing circulars, is what takes the popular heart by storm. Your +silent entry into town, depending upon the merits of your wares to gain +an audience or work up a custom, is chimerical and obsolete. We no +longer sit in the shadow and play flutes; we mount a pine platform and +blow on a trombone, and in that way we draw a crowd, and that is what we +live for. Who are the women who succeed in business ventures of any +sort? Mostly the mannish, bold, aggressive amazons who are unmindful of +rebuffs and impervious to contempt. Who are the men who wear diamonds +and live easy lives? Largely the politicians who have made their +reputation in bar-room rostrums and among sharpers. Oh, for a wind to +blow us forward a hundred years out of this age of sordid self-seeking +and impudent assertiveness into something larger and sweeter and finer. +Give us less yeast in our bread and more substance; fill our cups with +wine rather than froth, and for sweet pity's sake hang up the great +American trumpet and let "silence, like a poultice, come to heal the +blows of sound." + + * * * * * + +Every day, for months, as I have taken my morning ride to town I have +noticed a dog who bounds forth from a dooryard that overlooks the busy +highway of the steed of steam and barks himself weak at the rushing +trains. He really accomplishes nothing, but do you suppose you could +convince his canine brain that he was not at once a reproach and a +terror to the numerous trains that disturb his rest? He reminds me of +certain people we meet all the way through life. They bark at trains +continually while the Lord prolongs their breath, and the faster the +train and the more it carries the louder they bark. They fondly imagine +that the voice of their ranting protest accomplishes a purpose in the +world. They are always barking at capital and at rich men and at +corporations. They bark at people of courteous manners, and all the ways +and customs of polite and gentle society, with fierce and futile +yelpings. They bark at the swift advancement of the world from ignorance +to enlightenment, from superstition to liberalism. They bark at the +churches because they are on a train that has sidetracked Calvin. They +bark at polite young men who wear clean linen, and call them dudes; they +bark at women who have one or two ideas outside of fashionable folly and +inane conventionalism, and call them cranks; they bark at everything on +wheels, where wheels typify strength and achievement. They will go on +barking, too, while the world finds room and maintains patience for them +and their barking. + + * * * * * + +I think I have said before that I loathe meek people. But even if I have +I am going to say it again. Your half-wits who sit and turn first one +cheek and then the other to be slapped are not the sort for me. The man +or woman, boy or girl, child or otherwise, that will endure direct +insult day after day without resenting it ought to sell themselves at +so much a pint for illuminating oil--that is all they are good for. I +love a fighter, provided he foils gracefully and does not snatch out his +sword in every brawling and unworthy cause. In the defense of woman, in +the cause of honor, purity and truth; in battle against sordidness, and +greed, and a lying tongue, let your blade flash like summer rain and +your white plume outdistance the plume of Navarre! For God and mother, +justice and honor, self-respect and the approval of our own conscience, +let us go forward then with a chip, if need be, on each shoulder and a +standard copy of the celestial army tactics in our side pocket! The Lord +loves a good many things, cheerful givers and self-sacrificing widows +with their mites, merciful men and sweet and noble women, but most of +all, I think, he loves a valiant fighter in the cause of right. + + * * * * * + +Now it came to pass that there dwelt in a certain city of the land of +the great lakes a woman called Lydia, sister to Simon, the shipwright. +And Lydia, being comely and fair to look upon, was sought in marriage +by one John, a dealer in spices and fine teas. And the years of their +wedlock having outnumbered the fingers upon a man's two hands, it came +to pass that they dwelt together in exceeding prosperity in a town near +by the blue waters of a mighty lake. + +And Heaven sent unto them children to the number of three, so that their +hearts were exceeding glad, and the cords of their habitation were +stretched from year to year. And it came to pass that the home in which +they lived was spacious and full of salubrious air. Their beds, also, +were of curled hair, and all their bed-springs of beaten steel. And +bath-rooms made glad the heart of the dust-laden when summer dwelt in +the land. Also there were cunningly devised screens of fine wire in all +the windows, so that the marauding fly and the pestilential mosquito +might not enter. + +And the flesh increased from year to year upon the bones of Lydia and +the children that heaven sent her, while they remained in the home that +John, the tea merchant, had given them. + +But it came to pass that the neighbors of the woman Lydia closed up the +shutters of their dwellings, and one by one stole from town when the +heat descended upon the land. + +Then spake Lydia unto John, the vender of spices and fine teas, saying: + +"Arise, let us go hence and dwell within a farm-house, where the +children may leap together in the sweet-smelling hay, and I may comfort +myself with flagons of cream." + +But John, being a man among men, and accounted somewhat wise withal, +would have restrained Lydia, saying: "Not so; for verily I say unto you, +comfort abideth not in the dwelling of the farmer, neither does joy +linger in the shadow of his doorway." + +Now Lydia, being president of a Woman's Club and reputed of knowledge +beyond the generality of womankind, would not listen, but beat her hands +together, crying: "I prithee hold thy peace, for behold, I and the +children heaven sent me will depart hence by to-morrow's chariot of +steam, and will make our home with the gentle farmer and his +sweet-breathed kine." + +So John, being loth to war with the tongue, albeit he was heavy-hearted +and walked with a bent head, purchased tickets for Lydia and the +children heaven had given her. + +And it came to pass that they left town by the train which men call "the +limited." + +Now the way of that train through the land is like unto the way of a +ship at sea, or of a strong eagle that never wearieth. And the +sufferings of Lydia were such that she sought relief in peppermint and +found it not. + +And the babes by reason of the swiftness with which they traversed a +crooked land, were made ill and languished like sea-sick rangers of the +deep. + +Yet, after many hours, their torment abated not, so that, reaching their +destination, the bodies of Lydia and her children were removed in a hack +and hurried to an inn that was built near by. + +And in the inn where they were fain to tarry until strength should be +given them for further journeying, it chanced that a young babe lay +sorely stricken with the whooping-cough. + +Now, when Lydia knew this, her heart fainted with fear, and she +prophesied evil. + +For well she knew that her own babes had not had the disease, and that +the time of their prostration was at hand. + +So Lydia, being president of a Woman's Club, and accounted without a +peer in the gift of words, sent for the keeper of the inn, that she +might rebuke him. + +And she opened her mouth impulsively and questioned him saying: "Why +broughtest thou me and the children heaven gave me into thine inn +knowing that contagious disease lurked within its gates?" + +And the keeper of the inn shot out the lip at her and was undismayed. + +And he cried, "Go to! And what wouldst thou of a public house? Thou +talkest like one with little sense!" + +And it came to pass that Lydia and her children departed thence by stage +and sought the farm-house. And, arriving there, they would have laid +themselves down to rest, being sorely bruised by reason of protracted +stage-riding. + +But the beds were made of straw and corded underneath with ropes. So +that lying upon them caused the children to roar loudly, and they found +rest from their lamentations, four in a bed, on the bosom of Lydia. + +And, supper being served, it consisted of tinted warm water and +gooseberries sweetened with brown sugar. + +Now Lydia, by reason of her connection with the club, was enabled to +speak boldly, and she called for cream. + +But the wife of the farmer made answer, saying, "We have none." + +And Lydia spoke yet again, saying, "Why, O woman of many wiles, hast +thou no cream?" + +And the woman made way with an insect that swam gaily in a pitcher of +azure milk, and said gently, "Because we sell it to a neighboring +dairy." + +And Lydia said nothing, but remembering the words of John, the +tea-merchant, wept silently. + +And it came to pass that next morning the children went forth to leap in +the hay. + +And the farmer led them firmly away from the hay-mow by the tip of the +ear, saying, "I allow no children to spoil my fodder." + +And the morning of the second day, the woman Lydia, being starved for +nutritious food, wended her way with her babes across a stretch of +pasture land in search of wild blackberries. + +And a beast, whose voice was baritone and whose approach was like the +approach of a Kansas cyclone, bore down upon her and the children +heaven had given her, while yet they were midway in the meadow. Now only +by leaping could they save themselves. + +And it came to pass that they leaped mightily and flung themselves over +a five-barred fence. + +And a snake made free with the draperies of Lydia, so that her hair +whitened with fear, and between the beast with the baritone voice and +the serpent she knew not which way to turn. + +And the morning of the third day she wrote to John, the tea-merchant, +saying only: + +"My darling--Meet the first train that returns from this place to the +dear city by the lake, for behold! I and the children heaven sent me are +on our homeward way!" + + * * * * * + +IMPATIENCE. + + A sweet little crocus came up through the mold, + And hugged round her shoulders her mantle of gold, + While tears of distress fringed her delicate eye, + Like rain drops that start from a showery sky. + + "Where, pray, are those laggards, the violets blue? + The roses and lilies and daffodils too? + I really think it's a shame and a sin + This waiting so long for the spring to begin. + + "The first day of April and only one bird + Since I lifted my head has uttered a word! + And search as I may all over the meadow + Not even a cowslip has shown its bright head, O-- + + "Misery me! Sure there's no use in waiting, + For something, no doubt, is the summer belating; + So I'll go back to bed, put on my lace night cap, + And snatch, for a fortnight, a nice little cat-nap!" + + Down went little Gold-head, back to her pillow; + When, all in a twinkling, up over the hill, O, + The wind-flower host, with rose-tinted banners, + Marched into the world; Queen Summer's forerunners. + + Her rose maids of honor, in filmiest laces, + Loitered and lingered in shy woodland places; + And white-vested lilies were ever at prayer; + Their vespers, the perfume that sweetened the air. + + The apple trees blushed into delicate splendor; + The blue birds hung over in ecstasy tender, + While the gold powdered bee with helmet all dusty + Kept watch over the flowers, a sentinel trusty. + + The robin sang love to his shy little sweetheart; + The orioles lashed their nests in the tree top; + The willows drooped low over swift water courses, + And murmuring brooks started fresh from their sources. + + But down in the gloom, on her dream-haunted pillow, + As pale and as cold as the moon on the billow, + Forgot and unmissed by bird and by blossom, + The crocus slept sound in the earth's faithful bosom. + + When at last she awoke, the spring had been banished, + Her forerunner flowers from the hillside had vanished. + And all of the bees had turned into stock brokers. + And even the birds had changed into croakers. + + 'Tis only by waiting we find our fruition; + To learn how to wait is a needed tuition. + The faint-hearted people who go to sleep fretting, + Will wake up at last too late for the getting. + + * * * * * + +If there is anything more utterly desolate than a poorly-conducted farm, +preserve me from it. There is an ideal farm familiar to the writers of +pretty tales, where everything is kept in apple-pie order throughout +the year, and where one can walk broadcast, so to speak, in a spick and +span white gown without attracting so much as the shadow of a shade of +minutest defilement. We have seen pictures of such farms wherein sleek +cattle stood around knee-deep in dewy clover, or lay serenely on +polished hillsides, or meandered dreamily by crystal streams; wherein +pale pink farm-houses with green gables and yellow piazzas, fairly +scintillated from behind decorous foliage, and peacocks, with tails +nearly as long as the Mississippi River, posed on the gate-posts; +wherein neat little boys in variegated trousers rode prancing chargers +down blooming lanes, and correct little girls in ruffled underclothing +fed well-mannered chickens from morning till night. But the actual farm +of the remote rural districts is about as much like its ideal picture as +Esau was like a modern dude. Not long ago somebody suggested that I go +and board for a fortnight at a farm-house. "You will have perfect rest," +said my friend, "and that is what you need." So I went, and rather than +again undergo the torments of the five days spent in that restful (?) +spot I think I would cheerfully hire out with a Siberian chain-gang. In +the first place there was no such a thing as rest possible after the +first glimmer of each day's dawn. Every rooster on the farm, and there +were millions of them, was up "for keeps" long before sunrise. Their +united chorus smote the skies. One might as well have tried to sleep +through Gettysburg's battle. A score or so of bereaved cows lamented all +night for their murdered babies, and a couple of donkeys, kept purely +for ornamental purposes, made sounds every half hour or so that turned +my hair snow white with terror. After breakfast each day I used to walk +down the hill and fish for pickerel in a river that had no current, and +looked discouraged. "Walked," did I say? Nay, there was nothing so +decorous as a walk possible down the slippery, stony descent which led +to the haunts of the pickerel. When I didn't hurl myself down that hill, +I slid down, and between the two methods I wrecked both muscle and shoe +leather. The latter part of the way led through a pasture devoted to +several cows and a bull. As I am more afraid of the latter than of death +and all his cohorts, my morning walks ended in heart failures and had to +be abandoned. Occasionally I would take a book and go out and sit in my +hammock. Then the large roosters, each one of them at least seven feet +tall and highly ruffled about the legs, would come around and look at +me, so that I would have to go into the house to hide my embarrassment. +I know of nothing harder to endure than the stare of a Brahma fowl, +especially if one is a bit nervous and overworked. Nervous prostration +has sprung from lighter causes. + +Nothing happened while I was at the farm but meal time, and the +intervals were so long between those episodes that I used to wonder +daily at my own mission subsequent to the farm-life as one gropes for +prehistoric clues. There was a man about the premises who walked to and +from the village twice a day with a large brown jug. When I asked at +different times what he fetched in the jug, not because I wanted to +know, but merely to find a topic of conversation, I was successively +told that it was "kerosene," "maple molasses," "buttermilk," and +"vinegar." I wish I knew if I was told the truth every time, or if +somebody tried to impose upon me merely because I was town-bred. + +Occasionally we took rides over stony trails where boulders and ruts +marked the way, and only the creaking of our bones broke the primeval +silence. These rides were supposed to be part of the generous plan of +contemplated rest, but a few more of them would have resulted in the +rest from which there is no awaking. No, my dear, I am an ardent lover +of the country, and I love it as the epicure loves a good dinner, or the +musician loves music, but I will take it, please, without the +accessories of a poorly-kept hoosier farm. I do not yearn for the +defilements of a barn-yard that is never cleansed, nor for the +frolicsomeness of pigs that wander at their own sweet will, nor for the +clamor of aggressively alert poultry, nor for piscatorial delights. I +love the country as God made it before greed and gain and all the +abominations of man entered into and spoiled it. I love it clean and +wholesome and sweet, as it was turned out of the workshop; its streams +untainted, and their banks unbereft of beautiful trees; its hills still +covered with verdure, and its winds uncontaminated with the scent of +defiling drains and waterways. + + * * * * * + +I have seen him! Actually seen him! Shall I say the coming man? No, +rather let us call him the vanished type, the stalwart, full-blooded, +glorious "might have been" of nature. Not an exotic, but the indigenous +growth of a soil fed by breeze and sun. No earmuffs about him; no +cringing withdrawal into mufflers before the advance of winter blasts. +No cowardly retreat into furry overcoats, mittens and gum shoes. + +"Amber," said a fellow traveler the other day, "yonder is a man after +your own heart. He has not worn an overcoat or heavyweight flannels for +six years. He never buttons up his coat save when it rains. What do you +think of him?" + +"Think of him!" said I; "were it not for a lingering regard for the +conventionalities, I should walk right over to that man and say: 'Sir, I +thank you for the sight of a man--not a human lily bud! You have struck +the right way of living, and you will be a hale and handsome man when +the enfeebled race that surrounds you have toddled into the +consumptive's grave or are sneezing upon their catarrhal pilgrimage to +the tomb.'" The man was worth looking at, hale and hearty, his chest like +the convex curve of a barrel, his eye like a falcon's. + +"But," said my friend, "were I to throw aside my overcoat and go forth +unprotected this freezing weather, the exposure would surely kill me!" + +"No doubt it would," was my cheerful reply. "There are always a host to +die before any reform is achieved or victory accomplished. You have +coddled yourself so long between blankets and absorbed red-hot furnace +heat until you haven't the stamina of an aspen leaf. Take a hot-house +flower out of doors and it soon wilts. But mark the beautiful Edelweiss +of the Alps--it thrives in the pure breath of eternal snow." But what is +the use of talking? Although my tongue became a golden bell and my pen a +gleaming flame, I could never convince you, my dear old, shivery, shaky +public, of the advantage of fresh air and plenty of it, and the +advisability of a generous cultivation of nature and her free gifts. As +well expect to be nourished by looking at your food through an opera +glass as hope to be strong and stalwart upon a homeopathic allowance of +pure air and sunshine, or in spite of the devices you plan to shut +yourself away and hermetically seal your body, as it were, from the +sweet, health-giving influence of sun and wind and frost. Just stop a +moment before you turn away from this subject, my dear, and hear a +little story. I know the subject is a bore and that I am a crank, but +listen. Once there was a grand beneficent power--call it God if you +will--who planned a spot wherein to place some atom which he had shaped +out of dust and vivified with a spark of his own life. He looked about a +little, we will imagine, and finally settled upon a garden wherein to +place these precious pensioners on his care. A roofless, wall-less spot +full of draughts and dew, breezes and blossoms. He filled it with birds +and carpeted it with grass, set rivulets running through it for "water +works" and sunbeams and starbeams for "electric light" plants, etc. That +is all I have to say. Like the Mother Morey legend my story is done +before it is scarcely begun. But ask yourself the question, Why didn't +God put his well-beloved models of the forthcoming race into a more +sheltered place if there was so much danger in fresh air, draughts and +chilly weather? Why didn't he seal them up behind double windows in an +airless, sunless, hot and unhealthful home where the dear things could +keep warm? Because he was God and knew everything, and not man and knew +nothing. + + * * * * * + +Well, the old ship Time has put into port again to take on a new cargo +of good resolutions, earnest resolves and patented schemes, before +setting sail for the shores of a distant future. Ten to one she goes to +pieces on the breakers before ever sighting land again, and a hundred to +ninety-nine her cargo is thrown overboard before she reaches mid-sea. +The channel is narrow and the rocks lie thick as peas in a marrowfat +pod, and many more bales of choice merchandise find the bottom of the +sea each year than are ever delivered to the good angel consignee. "I am +going to be the best girl in all the world," says the poor little +Captain on New Year's eve. Behold! the hours have not swung around the +diurnal circle before there is a wild onslaught from shadowland, and the +brave captain is left wounded on the field. Only a tender hand and +tireless patience can set her on her feet again. + +"I will eschew debt as I would poison, and starve before I will commit +an indiscretion," cries the Doctor as he sets sail for the untried sea. +Within the first watch he hauls down his colors from the mast head, +captured by a pirate extravagance. + +"I will be gentle of speech and courteous and sweet to all!" says the +Young Person, and gayly steers for the open channel. Midway she +encounters a rock of annoyance and the air is stormy with irritable +words that fly and beat like stinging rain. Ah, well, my dear, thank the +good Lord there are life-saving stations all along the shore, and no +wreck was ever yet so hopeless but Infinite Love could set it afloat +again. + + * * * * * + +"There is just one person born who has a right to this thoroughfare, and +that is I!" muses the woman with the umbrella as she walks the crowded +streets on a rainy day. "I am in possession of that part of the universe +immediately contiguous to the spot on which I stand, and I shall make +myself just as much of a nuisance as I choose. I shall jab out your +eyes, and knock off your hat, and clip your ears, and stab your back +with my umbrella tip just as often and as violently as I choose. I shall +run into you from behind, and bump into you, and knock you down if I so +desire, and none shall say me nay. I am not very tall, but all the +better for my plans if I am not. If I were of the same height as you I +should not be able to take you under the hat-brim as I do, and jab you +in the nostril as I pass. If I choose to cut criss-cross through a +crowd, who shall forbid me, being a woman? I can be just as rude and +just as mean as I want to be, and who is going to hinder, so long as I +wear a gown and call myself a lady? If I were a man and manifested the +reckless thirst for universal carnage that I do you would call the +patrol and bear me away to the lock-up; but being a poor little, +innocent woman I have it all my own way." + + * * * * * + +I know a wife who is waiting, safe and sound in her father's home, for +her young husband to earn the money single-handed to make a home worthy +of her acceptance. She makes me think of the first mate of a ship who +should stay on shore until the captain tested the ability of his vessel +to weather the storm. Back to your ship, you cowardly one! If the boat +goes down, go down with it, but do not count yourself worthy of any fair +weather you did not help to gain! A woman who will do all she can to win +a man's love merely for the profit his purse is going to be to her, and +will desert him when the cash runs low, is a bad woman and carries a bad +heart in her bosom. Why, you are never really wedded until you have had +dark days together. What earthly purpose would a cable serve that never +was tested by a weight? Of what use is the tie that binds wedded hearts +together if like a filament of floss it parts when the strain is brought +to bear upon it? It is not when you are young, my dear, when the skies +are blue and every wayside weed flaunts a summer blossom, that the story +of your life is recorded. It is when "Darby and Joan" are faded and +wasted and old, when poverty has nipped the roses, when trouble and want +and care have flown like uncanny birds over their heads (but never yet +nested in their hearts, thank God!), that the completed chronicle of +their lives furnishes the record over which approving heaven smiles and +weeps. + + * * * * * + +There is one thing I learn day by day in my strollings about town, and +that is that nobody is going to give me dollar values for half-dollar +equivalents. In these days when the best of folks go mad on bargains we +seem to think it is an easy thing to get something for nothing, but I +have yet to see the day when we can. There are cheap restaurants where +they serve you roast turkey for a quarter, but don't fool yourself! It +is not the same kind of bird they serve in a high-class place for a +dollar. You look at your check when you come out from an economical +kitchen with a feeling of glee that you have got so much for so little. +But how about the flavor that lingers in your mouth? How about the +display of pine toothpicks and spotted linen? How about the +finger-marked drinking glasses and damp napkins? No, no; poor as I am I +would rather pay my dollar and get a dollar's worth of cleanliness and +daintiness and flavor than save seventy-five cents and do without them. +Sure as you live and sure as the world is operated on a +self-accommodative basis, you never will get a first-water diamond +without you pay first-water diamond equivalents. + + * * * * * + +The other day there was a little girl, scarce 16 years of age, who +started away for the first time from home and mother. She was brave and +gay in a new suit, new boots and a new hat with a feather the color of a +linnet's wing. She carried a bunch of the loveliest sweet peas at her +dainty waist and on her face there played a sunburst of smiles. She had +not been five hours in the place appointed her to visit when her mother +received the following letter: + +"My Precious Mamma: I am writing this in my room before I am called to +breakfast. None but God can know what I suffer! Not until I am in your +arms once more will you know what I am going through! If you love me let +me come home. Don't tell anyone, but let me come if you love me! Don't +send the shoes--I shall not need them--but let me come home! Think what +I must suffer so far away from you. I shall sell my ring and buy a +ticket if you do not telegraph that I may come!" + +And as I read the pathetic letter between my smiles and tears I thought +to myself, is there anything on earth so hard to bear as +homesickness--first homesickness, when the heart is new to sorrow? I +would rather have any disease the laboratory of evil keeps in stock than +one pang of what that little girl was suffering when she penciled that +letter. + + * * * * * + +Around in a picture store on one of the avenues I chanced upon a +painting that attracted not only myself, but a crowd of people from the +street. It represented a lion's cage barred with heavy barriers of iron. +On the floor of the den is the figure of a beautiful girl stretched in a +deathlike swoon. There are orange blossoms in her hair, and the flush on +her cheek has had no time to fade. Crouched by her side, one great paw +on her breast and another at her waist, is a wrathful lion whose evident +intention is to tear his victim into bonbon fragments. I wish somebody +would explain that picture to me. I am tired conjecturing how the bride +strayed into the lion's quarters, and where her husband was that he +shouldn't be taking better care of her, and why there was nobody on hand +to help at this critical moment portrayed on the canvas. Young married +women are not supposed to be visiting zoological gardens when they ought +to be changing their white satin favors for their traveling gowns. The +picture seems a puzzler to all who watch it, and as the crowd is great +the confusion of wits is catching. + + * * * * * + +THE TRYST. + + Where a woodland path, like a silver line, + Winds by a woodland river, + And half in shadow, and half in shine, + The alders lean and shiver, + Where a forest bird has built him a nest + Low in the springing grasses, + And all the day long, with her wings at rest, + His mate the slow time passes; + + Where a flood of gold through the forest dim + Tells when the noon is strongest, + And a purple fringe on the forest's rim + Proclaims when the shades are longest; + Where the dawn is only known from the night + By the birds that sing their sweetest, + And the twilight hush from the morning light + By the peace that is then completest; + + Where only the flood of silvery haze + Shall tell that the moon is risen, + When down from the sky, like a meteor blaze, + Shall flutter her snow-white ribbon,-- + I will meet you there, my lady love sweet, + When the weary world is sleeping, + And the frets of the day, that tireless beat, + Are hushed in the night's close keeping; + + Not missing the world--by the world unmissed-- + We two shall wander together, + And whether we chided, or whether we kissed, + There'll be none to forget or remember; + And when at the last asleep you shall fall, + By the shore of the musical river, + Of the crimson leaves I will weave you a pall, + And kiss you good-by, love, forever. + + But the stars up above, and the waters below, + Shall sing of us, over and over; + Of the tryst that we kept in the years long ago, + In the woods by the beautiful river. + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + + + Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from + the original. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as follows: + + Page 35: "blase" changed to "blasé" + Page 53: "neighors" changed to "neighbors" + Page 98: "patroled" changed to "patrolled" + Page 129: "meed" changed to "need" + + Punctuation has been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rosemary and Rue, by Amber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSEMARY AND RUE *** + +***** This file should be named 36168-8.txt or 36168-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/6/36168/ + +Produced by D Alexander, David E. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rosemary and Rue + +Author: Amber + +Release Date: May 19, 2011 [EBook #36168] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSEMARY AND RUE *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/icover.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="giant">Rosemary and Rue</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">By Amber</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/ititle.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center">Chicago and New York:<br /> +<span class="big">Rand McNally & Company,</span><br /> +Publishers</p> +<p> </p> + +<p class="center">Copyright, 1896, by Rand, McNally & Co.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">PREFACE.</span></p> +<p> </p> + + +<p>"Amber" was not to be classed with any society or any creed. In all +respects she was an individual. In good-humored contempt she held all +form, and with deep sincerity she revered all simple things. She smiled +upon error and frowned upon pretense. Her life was largely made up of +impulse and sacrifice. She was the constant "victim" of her own +generosity, needing the money and the time which sympathy impelled her +to give away. She was so devoted a lover of the moods of nature, noting +so closely the changing of the leaf or a new note sounded by the +whimsical wind, that her spirit itself must once have been an October +day. Year after year she toiled, and her reward was not money, but a +letter from the bedside of the invalid, telling of a heart that had been +lightened, of a care that had been driven from the door. None of the +newspaper writers of Chicago was more popular.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> Another column told the +news of the day; her column held the news of the heart. Her best +thoughts and warmest fancies are scattered throughout her prose. Her +verses are pleasant, and many of them are striking, but meter often +chained her fancy. But some of her unchained fancies, poetic conceits in +the guise of prose, will live long after the clasp, holding the +pretentious verses of a society laureate, shall have been eaten loose by +the constant nibble of time.</p> + +<p>When a church was crowded with friends, come to bid "Amber" good-bye, a +great thinker, a writer who knows the meaning of toil, said that she had +succeeded by the force and the industry of her genius. And so she had. +For others, influence searched out easy places, but "Amber" found her +own hard place and maintained it, struggling alone. Her words were for +the poor and the sorrowful, and they could but give a blessing. But in +the end, a blessing from the poor may be brighter than the silver of the +rich.</p> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 2em;">Opie Read.</span></p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">Rosemary and Rue.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="big">I WONDER.</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +I wonder, if I died to-night,<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And you should hear to-morrow,</span><br/> +You'd mourn to think this one dear friend<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had bid good-bye to sorrow.</span><br/> +<br/> +I wonder, if you saw a bird,<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hunter's dart outflying,</span><br/> +You'd lure it back with loving word<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To danger, pain, and dying.</span><br/> +<br/> +I wonder, if you saw a rose,<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Plucked quick in June's surrender,</span><br/> +You'd wish it back upon the bough,<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To wither in November.</span><br/> +<br/> +I wonder, if you watched the moon,<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tempest's rack outstripping,</span><br/> +You'd grieve to see its silver prow<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In cloudless ether dipping.</span><br/> +<br/> +I wonder, if you heard a thrush<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Laugh out amid the clover,</span><br/> +You'd weep because its cage door oped—<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its captive days were over.</span><br/> +<br/> +I wonder, if, some happy day,<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When you have found your haven,</span><br/> +You'll mourn to find this one dear friend<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Had been so long in heaven.</span></td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + + +<p>When I die bury me by the sea. Let my first hundred years in the spirit +be spent on a sunny sand-bank watching the sapphire tides break over a +bluff of lifted rocks. What is any earthly trouble but a dissolving +dream, when one may bury the face in golden moss and sniff the salt +spume of the sea! Over the blue verge of the horizon lies Spain, and I +build its castles hourly here in my heart. A distant echo rings in my +ears of trucks driven over stony streets, of the crack of the cabman's +whip and the shout of profane teamsters, but the only semblance to cruel +driver and jaded beast of burden seen in the seaside paradise of which I +write is a fat huckster and a still fatter donkey who draws the large +man where he (the donkey) listeth. Here on this lifted moorland, if one +wishes to go anywhere he rises up and goes forth on a carpet of crimson +moss and yellow grass and is driven by a chariot of untired winds. +Behind us are miles of purple moss swept by ragged shreds of September +fog, and musical, here and there, with bells of grazing herds; while +before us, behind us, and all around us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> stretches the boundless, +unfathomable and mysterious sea.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Did you ever hear of the island of Avilion? That enchanted place where +"falls not hail, or rain, nor ever wind blows loudly," whose orchard +lands and bowery hollows lie lapsed in summer seas? I found it one day +when I was sailing on Casco bay in a boat hardly bigger than a peanut +shell. Tennyson found it long ago in a dream, and to it he sent the good +King Arthur that he might "heal him of his grievous wound" within the +balm of its heavenly peace. But I found it in reality, and to it I took +a care-worn lady and a work-weary brain, that I might perchance renew +under its sunny spell a strength that was well-nigh spent. I found my +island under another name, to be sure, but I rechristened it within the +first hour of my landing. It is not the place, my dear, for featherheads +and butterflies, this island of Avilion. It is not the place for the +descendants of Flora McFlimsy to go with their new gowns and their +French heels. All such would vote my little island<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> a bore, and run up a +flag for the first inland-bound steamer to put into port and carry them +away. It has no ball-room, no promenade-hall under cover, no brass band, +no merry-go-round, but instead it has meadow-lands that are brimful of +bird songs; it has wild strawberries that bring their ruby wine to the +very lips of the laughing sea; it has such sunsets as visit the dreams +of poets and the skies of Italy; it has great rocks that are woven all +over with webs of wild convolvulus vine, whose airy goblets of pink and +blue hold nectar for the booming bee to sip; and it has marguerite +daisies by the tens of thousands, and wild roses that carry the tint of +your baby's palm and the honey of sugar-sweet dew within the inclosure +of their small curled cup. It is hardly bigger than a Cunarder, this +little Chebeague island, whose name I changed to Avilion, and from +wave-washed keel to flowery bowsprit the eye never lights upon a +defilement or a stain. It is the only place in all my wanderings where I +never found a peanut shell nor a tin can thrown out to defile nature's +beauty.</p> + +<p>There was not a single bad odor on my island during the whole ten days +of my tarrying,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> and I am told by those who are old inhabitants that +such a thing never was known to it. A soft wind is always blowing, but +the only merchandise it carries is wild thyme perfume and the fragrant +airs that waft from meadow-lands and old-fashioned gardens full of spice +pinks and cinnamon roses. Now and then a hunter's fog slips the leash of +its viewless hounds and with noiseless "halloo" scours the island for +the prey it tracks but seems never to corral. Now and then a sudden +tumult seizes the tides that climb and fall on the shiny rocks and the +air is full of the throb of soft drums and the music of flutes that are +beat and blown a moment, then die away as quickly as they came, like a +strolling band that marches through a village street, then over the +hills and far away. Now and then a troop of crows rise silently from out +the shadow of the pines and go sailing between the lazy eyes that follow +and the sun, until, settling down upon some meadow stacked with new-cut +hay, they break into clamorous laughter that taunts you with its shrill +derision. Always, from dawn to dewfall, the world about little Chebeague +is full of swallows that dart and soar and flit like shadows.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> They +seldom sing, and yet the few notes they thread upon the air sparkle like +diamonds where they fall. Some strange bird, with a low, sleepy song +like the crooning of a child that is half asleep, or like a shepherd +boy's pipe idly blown beneath the noonday willows, is always haunting +the groves of Avilion with an undiscovered presence. I have spent hours +looking for him, yet never found him. Sometimes I have been led to half +believe the fellow exists only in the fancy of a spellbound idler like +you and me.</p> + +<p>Just at sunset a little feathered violinist of the island whips out his +fiddle and draws the bow so delicately across its vibrant strings, while +the golden sun slips tranquilly beneath the tinted waters of Casco bay, +that the soul of the listener is fairly attenuated like a high C +diminuendo with the spell of so much beauty. I don't know the name of +the bird either, but he is going to sing for us all in heaven later on. +Such performers do not end all here any more than Beethoven did.</p> + +<p>It was my custom during the time I spent at Little Chebeague to devote +the entire day to strolling or lying at length upon the rocks—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nothing but me 'twixt earth and sky;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">An emerald and an amethyst stone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hung and hollowed for me alone.</span> +</p> + +<p>I grew to love the solitude with all my heart, and the thought of +returning to the mainland with its jargon and its bustle was like the +thought of tophet to the poor little peri for whom the gate of paradise +had swung. Sometimes I would board the small boat that two or three +times a day threads in and out of the blue water-way and visit adjacent +islands hardly less beautiful than my chosen home.</p> + +<p>There is Long Island, far more beautiful by reason of its East End, +where as yet the tide of a full-fledged summer resort has not come. +There is an old-fashioned country roadhouse, such as we knew before the +landscape gardener and the boulevard fiend were turned loose upon our +rural towns. To follow their windings is heaven enough for me. A fringe +of buttercups to fence the way, thickets of underbrush to darken the +near distance, constant little ups and downs where the road slips into +hollow to follow the call of a romping brook or climb a hill to watch +for the sea. Wintergreen berries and russet patches everywhere, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> +snow of blackberry bushes in bloom far as the eye can travel.</p> + +<p>"There is an old-time rail fence!" cried a visitor from the booming west +one day; "my God, let me get out and touch it! I haven't seen anything +but barbed wire since I left New England!" And he did get out of the +buckboard in which he was driving and chipped away a big brown fence +sliver as a memento. These roads I am talking about lead nowhere in +particular. They, as often as not, end in a fisherman's back dooryard, +but they are sweet as a young girl's caprice while they last.</p> + +<p>One day we strolled across one of the islands and found a battlement of +rocks on the seaside that it would have taken a solid month to explore. +Oh, there was enough on the bar at ebb tide at Avilion to while away an +age of idle time.</p> + +<p>Sometimes we took it into our heads to ride. Then the choice lay between +Charlie the Christian—so named for his good behavior and gentle +ways—and the one roadster the island produced, a nag in the rough, who +held his head high and cavorted with the stride of a jamboreeing boy.</p> + +<p>The choice made, the hour must be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> watched to catch the low tide over to +Big Chebeague, for there are no wagon roads in Avilion. Six hours of +safety, as to the low water mark, is the limit of one day's riding, and +much can be done in the way of riding in a half-dozen hours' time. A +spin across the bar, the climbing of a rocky road, a sweep of +seaward-facing pike, with dips into ferny hollows and ascents to +pine-crowned bluffs, make the trip worth recording, and if to the +exhilaration of the ride you add a dismount now and then to gather +wintergreen and pick roses, with a loiter through a church-yard where +many Hamiltons, both pre-Adamite and ante-historic, are sleeping the +sleep of the just, you have the whole meaning of an afternoon outing on +Big Chebeague.</p> + +<p>Every evening after supper there was a pilgrimage to the west side of +the island, not to be dispensed with by descendants of those remnant +tribes that once worshiped the sun. Ranging from north to south as far +as the eye can sweep, from westward, fronting little Chebeague, lies +Casco bay, the loveliest bit of water in all the world. I say +unhesitatingly the loveliest, because I do not believe that Naples, nor +Sorrento, nor<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> any far-famed Italian watering-place can match the coast +of Maine for beauty. Into this bay, like petals from a wind-shaken +blossom tree, are dropped hundreds of islands. Far to the west the White +mountains melt upon the horizon in airy outline of blue, and over all +each day is repeated the ancient miracle of the sun's decline. Sometimes +a single cloud, like a tomb, receives the bright embodiment of day and +hides it from our sight behind such draperies as orient never wrought +nor monarch dreamed. Sometimes this fair god lies at length upon a bier +of purple porphyry, while flakes of crushed gems strew his couch with +rainbow dust, and all the air is full of rose-red censers, edged with +gold. Sometimes he drops below the verge, holding to the last a wine cup +brimmed with sparkling vintage that spills and trickles down the hills. +Sometimes he returns in an afterglow, as the dead come back to us in +dreams, the tenderer and the sweeter for their second coming. However +the sun may set in Avilion, each setting is the most beautiful and best +to be desired.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>I heard someone bewailing the death of a friend the other day. The staff +on which he had leaned, the bread which had ministered to his needs, the +very light that had filled his eyes seemed caught away, and he mourned +as one for whom there was no comfort possible. I saw a mother leaning +above an empty crib, whose dainty pillow no nestling head should ever +press again. I marked the terrible yet voiceless grief that ate at a +bereaved father's self-control, until no wind-blown reed was ever so +shorn of self-reliant strength. I saw a wife whose love had sunk within +the grave where her young husband was laid, as the sun sets within a +cloud of stormy night. I saw an old man bow his snowy head because the +faithful one whose hand had lain in his for more than fifty years had +vanished from his sight forever. I heard a little child lamenting at +bed-time the lullaby song which its dead mother's tender lips should +never sing again. But sadder than all these things, more tragical than +any death which merely picks the blossom of life and bears it onward to +heaven, as the gardener plucks the choicest rose to grace some festival +of joy, is the scene when a trusted friendship dies; when faith which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +has endured the test of years gives up the breath of loyal life and +sinks to hopeless unawakened death. Never think that you have shed your +bitterest tears until you have stood at such a death-bed. Think not the +measurement of any mortal grief has been found until you have sunk the +plummet-line of such a sorrow. That grave shall never burst its sheath +to let the soul of friendship's betrayal free, like a lily on the Easter +air. That door shall never swing like the bars of a cage to let a +murdered faith flash forth like the plume of a singing bird to seek the +stars. Over the grave of a dead and buried trust no resurrection-note +can ever sound like a bugle-call across the dewy hills to rouse the +sleeper from his couch. God pity all who linger by the heaped-up mound +where love's forgotten dreams lie buried, and grant oblivion as the only +surcease for their bitter sorrow.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The days and nights swing equally upon the golden balance of time. The +year is whitening with its crop of frost-blossoms from which no +harvest-home has ever yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> been called. Like an unwritten page, the new +year lies before us in untrodden fields of shining snow. God grant the +footsteps of Death be not the first to track the unbroken path that lies +before us. May joy and peace and love, like the roots of the violets +under the snow, quicken and blossom for all of us as the year advances, +and may our progress be, like January's, right steadily onward unto +June!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>As I write there is a sudden break in the hush of night, and faint and +clear and sweet upon the listening ear falls the sound of "taps" from +the camp in Fort Sheridan woods. I drop my pencil and listen to it, as I +always do, with almost a spirit of reverent awe. The hard day's work is +done, the time for rest has come, and over all the busy camp silence +falls like the shadow of a brooding wing. The new moon, half hidden by +drifting clouds sends a rippling play of silver through the woodbine +leaves, and from the top of the maple tree, a thrush dreams forth a bar +of liquid music in its sleep. All the world is going to sleep, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> God +grant, say I, that when the time for the final good-night has come for +you and for me the call for "taps," blown from some celestial bugle the +other side the mystic gate may fall as sweetly upon our ears and find us +as ready to sink to slumber.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Did you ever hunt for eggs in a haymow? If you did you can remember just +how, with bated breath, you crept through the fragrant glooms of the old +barn and searched the dusty place for nests. You can recall, perhaps, +the shaft of sunlight that broke through the crevice of the door and +showed you old speckle-top in her corner. You can hear again her furious +cackle when you dislodged her from her nest and gathered the warm eggs +she had hovered under her wings. You remember the excitement of the +search and the perfection of content which settled within your soul as +you gathered the basketful of milk-white eggs upon your arm and picked +your way down the steep ladder which led to the main floor and "all out +doors." Scarcely any excitement or exhilaration of later years can +compare<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> with the joy of hen's-nest hunting when you were young.</p> + +<p>Did you ever go berrying? With a tin pail swinging from your wrist and +your oldest gown upon your back, have you climbed the hill, jumped the +fences and sought the side-hill pasture where the blackberries grew +purple in the shade? Can you recall much, in all the years that thread +between that happy time and this, which can transcend the pleasure of +those wildwood tramps? Even now I seem to fix my eyes upon a clump of +bushes by the old rail fence. They are domed high with verdure and show +dusky hollows underneath, where, my skilled eye tells me, lurk spoils +fit for Bacchus and all his nymphs. I part the leaves, a snowy moth +flutters out of the green dusk and wavers like a snowflake in the warm, +sweet air. I carefully reach my hand away inside the fairy bower of +crumpled leaf and twisted vine and draw it forth purple with the juice +of overripe berries that dissolve at a touch. With these I fill my pail, +and all too often, I blush to own it, my mouth also, until twilight +sends me home saturated with sunshine, late clover blooms and berry +juice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>Ah, my dear, all this was fun while it lasted, but there is a more +exciting quest than hunting eggs or finding berries, in which we all of +us engage as the years of our mortal pilgrimage go hurrying by. It is +the search for happiness—a search we never give up nor grow too old to +maintain. Forgetting the disappointments and the satieties of the dead +years, we look forward to the new as the hidden nestfull of unchipped +shells of fresh experience and untried delights. God bless us all, and +prosper us to find the eggs and the berries before we die. Perhaps the +service of love we do others shall prove the bush that bears the +sweetest and the ripest clusters, and the nestfull that shall develop +the whitest store of all life's opportunities.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>A genuine mother could no more raise a bad boy into a bad man than a +robin could raise a hawk. When I say "genuine mother" I mean something +more than a mother who prays with her boy, and teaches him Bible texts, +and sends him to Sunday-school. All those things are good and +indispensable as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> far as they go, but there is a lot more to do to train +a boy besides praying with him, just as there are things necessary to +the cultivation of a garden besides reading a manual. To succeed with +roses and corn one must prune, weed and hoe a great deal. To make a boy +into a pure man, a mother must do more than pray. She must live with him +in the sense of comrade and closest friend. She must stand by him in +time of temptation as the pilot sticks to the wheel when rapids are +ahead. She must never desert him to go off to superintend outside duties +any more than the engineer deserts his post and goes into the baggage +car to read up on engineering, when his train is pounding across the +country at forty miles an hour.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">A LITTLE GOLDENHEAD.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +Gay little Goldenhead lived within a town<br /> +Full of busy bobolinks, flitting up and down,<br /> +Pretty neighbor buttercups, cosy auntie clovers,<br /> +And shy groups of daisies, all whispering like lovers.<br /> +<br /> +A town that was builded on the borders of a stream,<br /> +By the loving hands of nature when she woke from winter's dream;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span><br /> +Sunbeams for the workingmen taking turns with showers,<br /> +Rearing fairy houses of fairy grass and flowers.<br /> +<br /> +Crowds of talking bumblebees, rushing up and down,<br /> +Wily little brokers of this busy little town,<br /> +Bearing bags of gold dust, always in a hurry,<br /> +Fussy bits of gentlemen, full of fret and flurry.<br /> +<br /> +Gay little Goldenhead fair and fairer grew,<br /> +Fed on flecks of sunshine, and sips of balmy dew,<br /> +Swinging on her slender foot all the happy day,<br /> +Chattering with bobolinks, gossips of the May.<br /> +<br /> +Underneath her lattice on starry summer eves,<br /> +By and by a lover came, with his harp of leaves;<br /> +Wooed and won the maiden, tender, sweet and shy,<br /> +For a little cloud home he was building in the sky.<br /> +<br /> +And one breezy morning, on a steed of might,<br /> +He bore his little Goldenhead out of mortal sight;<br /> +But still her gentle spirit, a puff of airy down,<br /> +Wanders through the mazes of that busy little town.</td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Where shall we go to find the fit symbol of Easter? To the encyclopedia +that we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> may post ourselves as to word derivations and root meanings? As +well send a child to a botanist to find the meaning of a rose! To fitly +understand the true significance of Easter time, find some slope in +early April that the sun has found a few short days before you. Lay your +ear close to the ground that you may hear the fine, soft stir within the +bosom of the warm earth. Note how the mold is filling with its new birth +of flowers. There is not a covert in all the awakening woods that has +not a little nestling head hidden behind the dead leaves. The breath of +a sleeping child is not more peaceful than the sway of the wind flower +upon its downy stem. The flush on a baby's cheek is not more delicate +than the tint of each gossamer petal. To what shall we liken the grass +blades already springing up along the loosened water ways? To fairy +bowmen, led by Robin Hood's ghost through winding ways from forest on to +the sparkling sea. To what shall we liken the violet buds spread thick +beneath the country children's feet? To constant thoughts of God that +bloom even in the grave's dark dust. To what shall we liken the +twinkling leaves that shine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> in the dim depths of the woods? To lights +at sea, that tell some fleet is sailing into port. To what shall we +liken the shy unfolding of the lilac buds? To the poise of a slender +maiden who leans from out her lattice to hearken to a lover's song. To +what shall we liken the cowslip's valiant gold? To the shining of a +contented spirit with a humble home. To what shall we liken the brooding +sky and the warmth of the all-loving sun? To the potency of a gentle +nature intent on doing good, and the yearning of a tender heart to bless +and save. Is there a nook so dark and forbidding that the beautiful +Easter sunshine cannot enter and woo forth a flower? Is there a rock so +impervious that the April wind may not find lodgment for a seed in some +crevice, and there uplift a bannered blossom? Is there a cold, resentful +bank wherein the late snow lingers that shall not finally cast off its +disdainful ice and flash into verdure in response to the patient shining +of the sun? Is there a grave in all the land so new and desolate that +Easter time cannot find a violet among its clods and paint a rainbow +within the tears that rain above it? To nature's lovers, then, as to the +truly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> Christian heart, the significance of Easter is found in the +reviving garden and in the awakening woods. It means resurrection after +death, blossom time after the bareness of woe, the cuckoo's cry after +the silence of songless days, and the smile of a pitying All-Father +after the orphan time of the soul's bereavement and seeming desertion.</p> + +<p>Another blessed thought to be gained in the contemplation of nature's +sure awakening from the long lethargy of her winter's sleep is that, +however fearful we may be that death's reign shall be eternal, as +constant as day dawn after midnight, or shining after storm, shall be +the Easter of the soul. We do not need to pray for April; it comes. Nor +do we need to pray for release from the first dark dominion of fear and +dread when our beloved are snatched from our arms. Such experience is +only the transient reign of winter in the heart, while yet the soft wing +of April stirs upon the horizon's misty verge and the promise of violets +is in the lingering darkness of the air. Remember this: The same power +that sends us November is planning an April to follow, and out of the +snowfall evolves the whiteness of the annunciation lily.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>It has always seemed to me that, beautiful as Christ's birthday ought to +be and full of tender significance as we may make the hallowed Christmas +time, a deeper tenderness attaches to these Easter days. The Sinless One +had lived out the span of his mortal years; he had suffered and been +betrayed; had struggled through Gethsemane, up to the thorn-crowned +heights of Calvary, and yet, through all, carried the whiteness of a +saintly soul, to cast its dying petals, like a white rose, wind-shaken +yet yielding perfume even in death, in the utterance of that prayer for +universal forgiveness, the most wonderful that ever ascended from earth +to heaven—"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!" The +song that ushered in the birthtime of those sanctified years was an +invocation of peace and good will, beneath which the morning stars were +shaken like banners before the oncoming of a glorious prince, but the +prayer that ascended from Calvary was the plea of a betrayed and +anguished soul for universal charity and forgiveness from God to man. +Let us rejoice, then, when Christmas days bring gladness to our hearts +and homes, but let us forgive and bless when Easter lays<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> its stainless +lily at our feet. There is constant need for charity and forgiveness in +a world so full of self-blinded and ignorant evil-doers. They do not +always know what they do, these rude and riotous betrayers of Christ; +and all the more need, then, for compassion, and that divine pity that, +even from the cross, could invoke heaven's pardoning love.</p> + +<p>If you have a friend who has wronged you, forgive him to-day, for +Christ's sweet sake. If you have a boy who has gone astray, reach out +your arm and win him back, while yet the Easter violets glow upon the +chancel rail. If you have a daughter who has been undutiful, take her in +your arms and ask God to forgive you both—you for your lack of +sympathy, as well as her for her waywardness. So shall you understand +the meaning of Easter, the resurrection time of love, the fulfillment of +its promise from out the icy negation of the grave.</p> + +<p>A few thoughts about death before we turn to other symbolizations of the +season. It is all a mistake, it seems to me, to make death a menace and +a dread in the minds of the young. Does the farmer go forth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> with tears +to plant the seed for the coming harvest? Does the scientist mourn above +the chrysalis that lets a rare butterfly go free? Does the navigator +rebel when a bark that has been tempest-tossed and storm-driven enters +port? Teach the children that death is all that makes life endurable; +that it is the sheaf of ripened wheat, or the budding flower, plucked +from the earth's dark mold; that it is the flight of the bird, the home +stretch of the yacht. We love each other, but what is it that makes +human love any nobler than the chirruping of birds if not its duration? +And it is only death that makes our loves immortal. Time enthrals them +with fear and environs them with alarms; death lifts them into the +region of eternal joy. Take away the reality of our faith in the life to +come and Easter would mean no more to us than it means to the browsing +cattle that munch the violet buds and trample the bright promises of the +year under foot. The comforting view of it all is, that here we are only +learning to love. We are like birds that sit upon the edge of the nest, +and flutter, and chirp, and dread to fly away. What shall the bough +whereon our nest was rocked with many a storm be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> when we have learned +to spread these tiresome wings and rejoice in the blue space of the +boundless air? The heroism of love, the faithfulness of love, the +grandeur, patience and magnificence of love shall only be revealed when +the soul has left the shadows and spread its wing in the empyrean of +heaven's blue.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There is a small boy who lives at our house with whom I wage an unending +warfare on the subject of clean hands. The sun never goes down nor yet +arises upon a harmonious adjustment of the mooted question. There are +more tears shed, more dire threats made, more promises broken, more +anguish endured on that one account than upon any other under the sun.</p> + +<p>The boy dwells under a ban as somber as the seven-fold curse of Rome. +His sisters nag him, his grandmother prays for him, his mother pleads +with him, his girl friends flout him, but in spite of all he continues +to wear his hands in half tints. But the other evening he made an +announcement that caused even the young person to remark:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> "Well, I'd +rather see you with your soiled hands than see you such a dude as that!"</p> + +<p>"Gee!" said the boy, "but some of the kids that go to our school are +queer ducks!"</p> + +<p>"Don't use so much slang," cried his mother; "why can't you call a boy a +boy as well as a 'kid' and a 'duck'; and whatever do you mean by 'Gee'?"</p> + +<p>"They bring little cushions to school," continued the boy with only a +swift hug in answer to his mother's question, "and they put 'em under +their hands when they play marbles, so's they won't get their hands +dirty. Gee whiz, but I'm glad I ain't such a fool!"</p> + +<p>And in spite of her desire to see him a bit more solicitous +as to personal elegance his mother could but echo the boy's +self-congratulatory remark.</p> + +<p>What on earth is going to become of us if this awful wave of effeminacy +which has struck the race does not soon subside? Earmuffs and galoshes, +heated street cars in April and double windows up to rose time have done +their best to make molly coddles out of men, but when we are starting a +generation of boys to play marbles with cushions to rest their hands on +the sex had better<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> abolish hats and trousers and take to hoods and +shoulder shawls. Give me a boy and not a pocket edition of an old woman. +He need not be a tough nor a bully, nor need he be cruel nor untender +because he is a boy, but I want him jolly and brave and up to every +harmless prank that's going. I want him to use slang and wear muddy +shoes, slam doors and make all sorts of futile feints at keeping his +hands clean, provided, always, he appreciates the opportunity offered to +show the gentleman that's in him by never appearing at table looking +like a tramp. Even that is better, though, than being a "sissy." Give +him time and the untidiest boy in the world will develop into a +gentleman, but eternity itself could not evolve a man out of a boy who +plays marbles with a cushion!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>As I was walking down Dearborn street the other day, close upon the +gloaming, I chanced to meet two pretty girls, not the only two in this +big city, perhaps, but two of the fairest. One had hair like the tassel +of ripe corn when the sunshine finds<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> it; the other's head was crowned +with dusky braids, and the eyes of the two were brimful of laughter as a +goblet new-filled with wine. Surely such pretty girls should carry +queenly hearts, thought I, and with my old trick of catching topics in +the air, I loitered a little on my way to hear what such fair lips might +be saying. Said one: "I really don't care to marry him; he is such a +darned fool! but he will give me everything I want, and I suppose I +shall." I stayed to hear no more. If I had caught a yellow-bird +swearing, or seen the first robin appear in Joliet stripes, the +revulsion from pleasure to disgust could not have been more sudden. Is +this all the lesson the world has taught you, my pretty maiden? To soil +your lips with slang and sell yourself for fine clothes and the chance +of unlimited display! Forecasting the life of such a girl is like +forecasting an April day that dawns in tints of purple and gold, and +ends in tempest and the blackness of night. Beauty is a glorious +heritage, indeed, but to see it worn by such types as you, my pretty +dears, is like seeing a queen's crown on the head of a parrot, or a +royal scepter in the grasp of a monkey.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + + +<p>Niagara Falls! What heart is so stolid, what appreciative spirit so +calloused over with the hard crust of stoicism not to rise and shout +before the wonder of its magnificence? When a man or woman gets so blasé +as to thrill no more over Niagara Falls, let them be salted down with +last year's hams and hung on a hook in the quiet seclusion of a +smokehouse.</p> + +<p>First we took our way over the bridge that leads to the beautifully kept +Goat Island and, alighting from the carriage, stood for a time with the +full splendor of the American fall in our faces. A fascination that +could not be shaken off held the eyes upon that never-stayed torrent of +sun-illumined jewels. Diamonds they were, and great uncut emeralds, with +here and there a rain of fiery rubies, that tumbled from off the lifted +ledge of imperishable rock. And where the volume widened, until it +became an avalanche of snowy foam, shot through and through with needles +of light, it seemed to us that the law of gravitation had been forever +abandoned, and falling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> tons of water, losing kinship drop with drop, +were floated skyward again to find a home in heaven. Down-shooting +rockets of silver foam unfallen, yet always in the air! Canopies of +cloud, dissolving into fine dust-like roadside pollen! Draperies of +spray unrolled in noiseless splendor from the blue background of an +endless day! Explosions in mid air of thunderous torrents that turned to +carded wool on the way from heaven to earth! While I stood and watched +it all somebody profaned the air with a vulgar word, and I looked for a +flaming sword from the omnipotent hand to smite him where he stood. To +swear, or even to think an unholy thought in such a holy of holies, +deserves the penalty of death as much as did the desecration of the +temple in ancient times.</p> + +<p>Shifting our place from point to point, we found ourselves at last +standing on the very verge of the Horseshoe falls, where, crowned with +living green, it slips over the crumbling ledge and loses itself in a +dazzling whirl of spray. Although I have stood in that same spot many +times I am proud to remark that I have never stood there yet without +saying my prayers. The sight is too much for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> puny ego that animates +this little capricious whiff of dust we call our mortal body, and now, +if never before, the soul that retains one particle of the divine within +it turns to God as the sunflower follows the sun. While we stood +entranced by the sublime beauty of the scene a mighty wind arose +suddenly and great clouds were called across the sky to the sending of a +swift alarm. Before the breath of the wind the mists were tumbled far +and wide like feathers, and a rainbow that arched the whole was +demolished into nothingness only to be kindled again as a flame in the +whimsical breath of the riotous air. One moment the atmosphere was a +fairy flower garden, full of violets, roses, green feathery ferns and +passion-tinted tulips brimming over with gold. The next some giant hand +reached forth and plucked and bore each flower away. A suffusion of +color followed every flood of sunshine, as a pomegranate runs with juice +at the touch of a knife, only to be succeeded by pale wafts of +colorless, interminable spray, where a cloud caught the too eager sun +within its soft eclipse.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p> +<p>If the Lord left any snakes in Paradise after the settlement of the +primal fuss they took the shape of the man who is a confirmed cynic and +pessimist. The man who has no faith, no enthusiasm, no candor, no +sentiment. The man who laughs at the mention of good in the world, or +virtue in women, or honor among men. The man who calls his wife a fool +because she teaches his little children to say their prayers, and curls +his lip at any belief in the world beyond the grave. The man who never +saw anything worth admiring in the sky when the dawn touches it, or the +stars illumine it, or the clouds sweep it, or the rain folds it in gray +mists of silence. The man who lives in this sparkling, shining world as +a frog lives in a pond or a toad in a cellar, only to croak and spit +venom. The man who never saw anything in a rose aglint in the sunlight +or in a lily asleep in the moonlight, but a species of useless +vegetable, the inferior of the cabbage and the onion. The world is +overfull of such men, and if I had the right sort of broom I'd sweep +them away as the new girl sweeps spiders.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p> + + +<p>Once I was sailing in a yacht close to the rock-bound coast of Maine.</p> + +<p>It was presumably a pleasure cruise, but if ever a poor wretch in +purgatory had a harder time of it I am sorry for him.</p> + +<p>The fog was thick, the ground swell was enough to unsettle the seven +hills of Rome, and something was wrong with the boat's machinery, so +that for hours we lay in the trough of the sea, making no headway and +fearful that each moment would be our last. Added to all this there came +at short intervals a demoniac blast from a fog horn which rent the air +with the clamor of a thousand tongues.</p> + +<p>"Look out!" it seemed to shriek over and over again. "Look out, poor +fragile wisps of gossamer! The hour strikes for your destruction. +Another wave, a little higher than the last, shall suck you down like a +shred of foam into the blackness of the sea's dark vortex. Brace up and +meet your doom. Look out! Look out! Look out!"</p> + +<p>I listened to that fog horn for hours, until the soul within me lay like +a spent bird weary with futile beating of useless wings, and I came +within a hair's breadth of madness. In fact, I think I had commenced to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +rave a bit when a brisk wind sprang up that blew the fog away, the crew +succeeded in righting the craft and onward we flew out of sound of the +terrible fog horn forever.</p> + +<p>There are many things in life that remind me of fog horns; there are +many occasions that beat upon the soul with just such vociferous clamor.</p> + +<p>There are those old-fashioned Bible texts, shouting "hell fire" and +"eternal damnation." What are they but fog horns warning us from off a +mist-enveloped shore? We cannot shut our ears to them while we lie a +furlong off the rocks and listen to their woeful reiteration. Perhaps +some chance wind may blow us out to sea, there to escape for the present +the unwelcome climax; but we know that underneath the shrouded stars and +through the hush of midnight forever and forevermore sounds the crash of +that brazen alarm. We may not heed it, but the fog horn is there, forget +and disown it though we may.</p> + +<p>Then there are our birthdays after we grow old enough to understand +their significance; what are they but fog horns that sound at intervals +to denote that we are drawing near to the final doom of all mankind?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>"Sport on," they seem to say, "a little longer; weave your garlands and +blow your pretty bubbles while you may, for to-morrow you shall surely +die!"</p> + +<p>Each year the fog horn blows a louder blast, until finally the softened +haze of creeping years, like a white fog in the sea air, muffles the +sound, and we sink to rest at last, some of us with the wild clamor +hushed to the measure of a good-night song.</p> + +<p>Then the holidays. Thanksgivings and Christmases with independence days, +like wine-red roses dropped between, what are they but fog horns on the +invisible shores of memory? How they mock us with the recollection of +vanished joys, and warn us of barren years yet to be.</p> + +<p>Gone forever are the dear ones who made gala times and festival +happenings bright, and still we linger like boats in the trough of a +sullen sea, our motive power wrecked, our sails rent, and listen, +listen, listen to the warning that sounds from far off the hazy shore.</p> + +<p>"Gone, forever gone," the fog horn cries; "gone down into the sea, the +boats that kept you company when the bright-winged fleet put out from +port! Lost forever, in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> storms it seems scarce worth the while to have +weathered, since here you toss, alone at last, like driftwood on the +chilly tide, and listen forever to the mournful warning of my voice from +off the sandbars, warning you that not even love can withstand the beat +of time's relentless years."</p> + +<p>Our desks are full of miniature fog horns in the shape of unanswered +letters.</p> + +<p>Our closets hang full of fog horns of varying fabrics. They warn us of +the folly of trusting to bargain sales of shoddy goods; they warn us +against extravagant tastes when times are hard; they warn us against the +lazy mood that neglects the stitch in time that saveth nine.</p> + +<p>Every time we are ill the occasion is a fog horn.</p> + +<p>Either we have disregarded some law of health and are in the trough of +the sea in consequence, or we are flying on to the breakers with ears +dulled to the fog horn's din.</p> + +<p>We speak with cruel harshness to the old mother who loves us, or to the +little child who trusts us. We are sorry for it afterward, and that +sorrow is the fog horn that warns us to keep off the reef of temper.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>"To-day may be the last day for the mother you have pained or the child +you have wronged," it seems to say; "the bed they lie down upon to-night +may be the bed of death. See to it, then, that you make each day of +life, if possible, the last day of love's opportunity." Did you ever +stop to think of what would become the instant concern of all this vast +human race if a sudden edict should go forth that only twenty-four hours +were left for each man to live? What if an angel should appear to-day at +sunset and proclaim in a voice that should reach from world's center to +world's rim, "To-morrow at set of sun this globe and all its race of +sentient life shall be folded up like a scroll and effaced from heaven's +chart!"</p> + +<p>What would we all begin to do then, I wonder? I think that everything +would be forgotten but love. Envy and hatred, covetousness, jealousy, +ambition, selfishness and cruelty would find no place in the hearts of +men. We would improve love's latest opportunity to be kind one to +another, tender-hearted and merciful. The husband would not be harsh +with his wife, nor the wife show waspish temper to her husband, if the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +last day had come for both. The father would not strike his boy in +uncontrolled temper, nor the mother rebuke her careless child, if the +knowledge that the end of love's opportunity lay between the uplifted +hand and the culprit. We should all be loving and fond and sweet if we +only knew. My dear, this very thought, carried out, is but another fog +horn. Perhaps death is already near, and the brazen clamor in our hearts +which takes shape of an uneasy conscience or of a nameless dread is but +the warning in the fog that we are close upon the fatal reef. Ah, the +air is full of them! They sound in every waking moment, they mingle with +our dreams, they greet our opening eyes, they accompany us when the +tired lids fall in slumber. The shore is lined with them and their +warning is as ceaseless as the beat of time's receding waves.</p> + +<p>But of what use is a fog horn to a vessel that gives no heed? Why uplift +them on dangerous reefs if the ship's crew sleeps through their warning +and the unconscious captain ignores their hoarse note of alarm?</p> + +<p>An unheeded fog horn might as well be silenced, and so, I sometimes +think, if we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> allow our hearts to grow callous to the call that +conscience makes, why not be thankful when the warning ceases and +silence follows the useless repetition of an unavailing appeal? If I am +to be shipwrecked at last I think I would rather run upon the reefs +without warning than to drift to destruction to the mocking cadence of +an alarm I would not heed. To go down with the sound in my ears of an +admonition that might have saved me had I but listened would be the +hardest sort of dying.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">HER CRADLE.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +There are tears on the gentian's eyelids,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As they lift them, fringed and fair.</span><br /> +Do they mourn for the vanished brightness<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of my baby's golden hair?</span><br /> +<br /> +There's a cloud a-droop in the heavens<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That shadows their sunny hue.</span><br /> +Does it dream of the lovelight tender<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In my baby's eyes so blue?</span><br /> +<br /> +The golden rod pines in the forest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The aster pales by the brook.</span><br /> +Do they miss her fairy footfall<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In each dim and flow'ry nook?</span><br /> +<br /> +Now, all through this beautiful weather,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wherever I walk, I weep;</span><br /> +For I think of the desolate cradle<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where my baby lies asleep.</span></td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The other night, as I was listening to "taps" in a neighboring military +camp, a longing came over me for a silver bugle of my own, that I might +blow a message to the drowsy world. We all listen to that fellow up at +Fort Sheridan, when he gives the command for "lights out!" just because +he blows it through a bugle. He might come out and say what he had to +say in tones anywhere between a cornet and a clap of thunder, and the +effect would be nothing to what it is when the notes filter through a +silver mouthpiece. And how exquisitely the last strains of that nightly +call linger on the ear! They melt into the starry glooms, and throb +through the dim spaces of the woods like golden bubbles or the wavering +flight of butterflies. Whenever we hear them we think of Grant, asleep +in his grave by the mighty river, of his work well done, and the rest +that dropped upon his pain-racked life at last like a soft and rainy +shadow on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> a thirsty land. We think of hosts of brave men who fill +soldiers' graves all over this blood-bought heritage of ours. We think +of hearts that once beat high, for long years silent as stones to all +our cries and tears. We think of a host of things, solemn and hushed, +and sacred, and drop to sleep at last with an indistinct purpose in our +hearts to so conduct ourselves that when the Death Angel blows "taps" +for us, we shall leave a record behind us to be read through fond, +regretful tears, and enshrined in golden characters upon the tablets of +memory.</p> + +<p>Now, if I had a bugle instead of a pen, to work with, and if I could +stand out under the stars on a hushed summer night and deliver my +message through its silver throat, perhaps the world that reads me might +be thrilled into earnest purpose more readily than it is when exhorted +from a pencil point or a quill. The first message I should ring through +that bugle of mine would be the command, "Don't fret!" However +comfortless and forlorn you may be, don't add to your own and the +world's misery by fretting. There never yet was a sorrow that could not +be lived down; there never yet was one that could be cured by worry. +When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> the cows get into the corn and the chickens into the flower-beds, +the sensible man chases 'em out first, repairs the damage next, and, +lastly, fastens up the break in the garden wall by which the marauders +got in. What would you think of a farmer who went into his bedroom to +pray before he chased out the cows, or of a woman who threw her apron +over her head and wept long and loud because the hens were scratching up +her pink roots, instead of "shooing" them a half-mile away with a broom? +Most troubles come upon us as the cattle and the hens get into the corn +and the garden patch, through a broken fence or a carelessly unguarded +gate. It is our own fault half the time that we are tormented, and the +sooner we repair the damage and mend the fence, the better. Time spent +in useless bewailing, in worry and disquietude, is lost time, and while +we wait the mischief thickens. Take life's trials one by one, as the +handful of heroes met the host at Thermopylae, and you will slay them +all; but allow them to marshal themselves on a broad field while you are +crying over their coming or praying for deliverance, instead of arming +yourselves to meet them, and they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> will make captives of you and keep +you forever in the dungeon of tears. Is your husband too poor to buy you +all the fine clothes you want, or to keep a carriage, or to surround you +with pleasant society and congenial friends? Very well, that is +certainly too bad, but what's the use of being forever in the dumps +about it? Get up and help him keep the cows out of the corn, and perhaps +you'll have a golden harvest yet. A sullen, discontented wife is a +millstone around any man's neck, and he may be thankful when the good +Lord delivers him from her. Whatsoever is worth having in this world's +gifts is worth working for, and wedlock is like an ox-team at the plow. +If the off-ox won't pull with the nigh one, it has no claim with him +upon the possible future of a comfortable stall and a full bin. Out upon +you, then, Madam Gruntle, if you sulk, and pout and fret your days away +because your husband is a poor man and spends most of his time chasing +the cattle, calamity and failure out of his wheat patch. He may possibly +be one of fortune's numerous ne'er-do-wells, but in that case all the +more reason you should not fail him. Bent reeds need careful handling, +and smoking flax gentle tending, else they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> will perish on your hands +and disappoint both you and heaven. All the more reason that you should +be cheery and strong and ready to do your part, if the man you married, +because you dearly loved him (remember!) is unable to do all that he +promised. That is, always provided he is weak and unfortunate, rather +than desperately wicked. A woman has no call to stand by any man if he +is a wretch and shows no desire to be anything else. The Lord himself +never helped a sinner until he showed some desire to be saved. Less +repining, then, a little more forbearance with one another's +shortcomings, and a little more loyalty to the promise "for better or +for worse," will ease up much of the burden of dissatisfied and +disappointed wedlock.</p> + +<p>Another message that I should blow through that bugle, if I had it at my +lips to-night, would be: "Be true!" And I should ring it out so long and +loud, I think, that the moon would stop to listen, and the sleepy heads +in every home in the land would rise from their pillows like +night-capped crocuses out of the snow. For heaven's sake, if you have a +principle or a friend, be true to them. Make up your mind,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> whether or +no your principle is solid and has God and justice on its side, and then +be true to it right down to death, or, what is harder, through +misunderstanding and obloquy. And if you have a friend, such as God +sometimes gives a woman or a man, faithful through all betiding, staunch +in your defense and tender in your blame, stand true to that friend +until the grave's green canopy is spread between you. He may be +unpopular and unfortunate, and all the feather-headed crew of society +may ignore him, but if you have ever tested his worth as a friend, stand +up for him, and stand by him forever. The sun may go down upon his +fortunes, and calumny may cloud his name, and you may know in your heart +that more than half the world says about him is true, but stand by the +man who has once been your true friend. Ingratitude is the blackest +crime that preys upon the human soul. The forgetfulness of a favor, or +the effacement of a bond sealed with an obligation, is capable only to +weak and cowardly natures.</p> + +<p>If you have a conviction, and are conscientious in the belief that you +are right, be true to your professions. If you are a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> rebel, be a rebel +out and out, and don't be a goat to leap nimbly back and forth over the +fence. Never apologize for either your faith or your profession, unless +you have reason to be ashamed of it; and, if you are ashamed of it, +renounce it and get one that will need no apology.</p> + +<p>There are lots of other messages I would like to stand on a hill and +blow through a bugle, but the weather is too warm to admit of further +effort just now; so we'll postpone the topic for another hearing.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I sat in a fashionable church the other day and listened to a sermon on +"The Prodigal Son." How often I have heard the same old story told in +the same old way. How familiar I have become with the kind father, the +bad son, refreshingly human heir, the veal and the ring! But the last +time I heard the story I felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to rise +up in meeting and ask the question, "How does the treatment accorded to +the prodigal son match the treatment we mete out to the prodigal +daughter?"</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>How far out of our way do we go to accompany his sister on her homeward +faring after a season spent among the swine and the husks?</p> + +<p>Do we put an 18-karat ring on her poor little soiled finger and place +her at the head of our table, even if by good chance she gains an +entrance to the home? Do we not more often meet her at the back door +when nobody is looking, rush her through the hallway and consign her to +the little third story rear room, taking her meals to her ourselves, on +the sly, that the neighbors may not find out the dreadful fact that she +is at home again?</p> + +<p>"Keep yourself very close," we say to her, "and by no manner of means be +seen at any of the windows, and you may stay here. You can wear some of +your virtuous sister's cast-off clothing, and sleep on the lounge in the +nursery, where the servants never think of going since the little folks +have grown up, but you must be very penitent, and very humble, and very +thankful to God for the mercy you so little deserve."</p> + +<p>I think somebody had better write a new parable and call it "The +Prodigal Daughter." Perhaps a sermon might be preached from it to touch +the unmoved heart.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>After all there are two sorts of prodigals—the prodigal who comes home +because the cash gives out, and the prodigal who comes because his heart +turns back to the old home with such longing as the thirsty feel for +water. Neither boy nor girl who comes back for the first-named reason +should find a maudlin love awaiting, nor partake of any banquet that the +old folks have had to pay for, but the prodigal who returns because +there is something left in his or her heart like the music in a shell, +which nothing can destroy or hush away to silence, be that prodigal +sinful man or erring woman, should find not only the home doors swung +wide in welcome, but every doorway in the land wreathed with flowers to +bid him enter.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>How few people know when to stop. If the preacher knew when to stop +preaching, how much more satisfactory the result of his sermon might be. +If the genial fellow knew just when to stop telling his good stories, +how much keener their relish would be. If the moralizer knew just when +to stop moralizing,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> how much longer the flavor of his philosophy would +endure. If the friend knew when to keep still, how grateful his silence +would be. If the candid creature who so glibly tells of our foibles knew +when to hold his tongue, how much less strong our impulse to slap him +would be. If the high-liver knew when to stop eating, how much less sure +dyspepsia would be. If the popular guest knew when to withdraw, how much +more regretfully we should see him go. If the politician knew when to +retire into private life, how much whiter his record would be. If we all +knew just when to die, and could opportunely bring the event about, how +much truer our epitaphs would be. The court fool who prayed, "Oh God, be +merciful to me, a fool!" prayed deeper than he knew, and the man who +prays, "Oh God, teach me to know when I have said enough," prays deeper +still.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>You may talk about California all you will, but match, if you can, the +beauty of spring as it comes to us in these northerly latitudes. There +is the coy advance and retreat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> of a woman hard to win; there is the +crescendo and diminuendo of heavenly harmonies; there is the dissolving +view that glimmers and glows like an opal, or like the mirage of a misty +sea. I was in California a year ago, in April time. I found the month +that poets love in full splendor, like a queen who never doffs her +crown. Violets, roses, lilacs and carnations came all together in a +riotous rush. One did not have to woo the season; it was already won. +Like a matron crowned with the mid-splendor of her years, the earth +received the homage that is due achievement. Nobody caught the sound of +the first robin on a rainy morning and heralded it with a shout; the +first robin, like the first principle in creation, never existed, for +the reason that he was always there. There were no foretellings of green +along the watercourses; no prophetic thrills of violets in the air; no +uplifting of the hypatica's downy head above the lattice of fuzzy +leaves; everything was right where you discovered it, and had been all +the year round. Without beginning and without end, spring exists +forever, like a picture bound within a book, in the lovely land of the +Gringos. But walk out some April morning in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> suburbs that surround +Chicago. Catch the tonic of the air, like wine ever so delicately +chilled with ice. View the lake, like a gentian flower fringed with a +horizon fine as silk. Scrape away the leaves and hail the valiant Robin +Hood in his suit of green, leading his legion upward to the sun. Without +the sound of a footfall or the gleam of a lance, they come to take +possession of the earth. Woo the violet to turn her dewy eye upon you, +and listen to the minstrel in the tower, where the winds are harping to +the new buds. Mark the maple twigs, like silhouettes cut in coral, and +the sheath of the wood lily, like a ribbon half unrolled. Rejoice in the +flash of the blue bird's wing as it startles the still air, and then say +to me, if you dare, that you prefer any other climate to this one that +belts the zone of these northern lakes.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Thank the Lord, all ye who can call yourselves healthy. The day has gone +by for physically delicate women. This age demands Hebes and young +Venuses with ample waists and veritable muscles. Specked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> fruit and +specked people go in the same category in the popular taste. To the +question, "How are you to-day?" I for one, always feel like replying in +the words of an old Irish servant we once had (God rest her faithful +soul wherever it be this windy day!), "First-rate, glory be to God!" It +is such a grand thing to be well and strong, to feel that your soul is +riding on its way to glory in a chariot, and not in a broken-down old +mud-cart. Talk about happiness! Why, a well beggar has a better time of +it than a sick king, any day. If, then, like a bird, your strong wing +uplifts you above the countless shafts of pain which that grim old +sportsman, Death, is ever aiming at poor humanity, count yourself an +ingrate if the song of thanksgiving is not always welling from your +heart like the constant song of a bobolink singing for very joy above +the clover.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>What would be thought of a ship that was launched from its docks with +flourish of music and flowing wine, built to sail the roughest and +deepest sea, yet manned for an unending cruise along shore? Never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +leaving harbor for dread of storm. Never swinging out of the land-girt +bay because over the bar, the waters were deep and rough. You would say +of such a ship that its captain was a coward and the company that built +it were fools.</p> + +<p>And yet these souls of ours were fashioned for bottomless soundings. +There is no created thing that draws as deep as the soul of man; our +life lies straight across the ocean and not along shore, but we are +afraid to venture; we hang upon the coast and explore shallow lagoons or +swing at anchor in idle bays. Some of us strike the keel into riches and +cruise about therein, like men-of-war in a narrow river. Some of us are +contented all our days to ride at anchor in the becalmed waters of +selfish ease. There are guns at every port-hole of the ship we sail, but +we use them for pegs to hang clothes upon, or pigeon-holes to stack full +of idle hours. We shall never smell powder, although the magazine is +stocked with holy wrath wherewith to fight the devil and his deeds. When +I see a man strolling along at his ease, while under his very nose some +brute is maltreating a horse, or some coward venting his ignoble wrath<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> +upon a creature more helpless than he, whether it be a child or a dog, I +involuntarily think of a double-decked whaler content to fish for +minnows. Their uselessness in the world is more apparent than the +uselessness of a Cunarder in a park pond.</p> + +<p>What did God give you muscle and girth and brain for, if not to launch +you on the high seas? Up and away with you then into the deep soundings +where you belong, oh, belittled soul! Find the work to do for which you +were fitted and do it, or else run yourself on the first convenient snag +and founder.</p> + +<p>Some great writer has said that we ought to begin life as at the source +of a river, growing deeper every league to the sea, whereas, in fact, +thousands enter the river at its mouth, and sail inland, finding less +and less water every day, until in old age they lie shrunk and gasping +upon dry ground.</p> + +<p>But there are more who do not sail at all than there are of those who +make the mistake of sailing up stream. There are the women who devote +their lives to the petty business of pleasing worthless men. What +progress do they make even inland? With sails set and brassy stanchions +polished to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> the similitude of gold, they hover a lifetime chained to a +dock and decay of their own uselessness at last, like keels that are +mud-slugged. It is not the most profitable thing in the world to please. +Suppose it shall please the inmates of a bedlam-house to see you set +fire to your clothing and burn to death, or break your bones one by one +upon a rack, or otherwise destroy your bodily parts that the poor +lunatics might be entertained. Would it pay to be pleasing to such an +audience at such a sacrifice? But the destruction of the loveliest body +in the world is nothing compared to the demoralization of soul that +takes place when women subvert everything lofty and noble within their +nature to win the transient regard of a few worthless men of the world. +They learn to smoke cigarettes because such men profess to like to see a +pretty woman affect the toughness of a rowdy. They drink in public +places and barter their honor all too often for handsome clothes in +which to make a vain parade, all to please some heathen man, who in +reality counts them a great way inferior to the value of a good horse. +The right sort of a sweetheart, my dear, never desires to bring a woman +down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> to his own level. He prefers to put her on a pedestal and say his +prayers to her. Never think that you are winning an admiration that +counts for much if you have to abate one whit of your womanhood to win +it. Every time I see a woman drinking in a public resort, making herself +conspicuous by loud talk and louder laughter, I think of some fair ship +that should be making for the eternal city, with all its snow-white +canvas set, rotting at its docks, or cruising, arm's length from a +barren land. We were put into this world with a clean way bill for +another port than this. Across the ocean of life our way lies, straight +to the harbor of the city of gold. We are freighted with a consignment +from quarter-deck to keel which is bound to be delivered sooner or later +at the great master's wharf. Let us be alert, then, to recognize the +seriousness of our own destinies and content ourselves no longer with +shallow soundings. Spread the sails, weigh the anchor and point the prow +for the country that lies the other side a deep and restless sea. Sooner +or later the voyage must be made; let us make it, then, while the timber +is stanch and the rudder true. With a resolute will at the wheel, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> +the great God himself to furnish the chart, our ship shall weather the +wildest gale and find entrance at last to the harbor of peace.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>When you look at a picture and find it good or bad, as the case may be, +whom do you praise or blame—the owner of the picture or the artist who +painted it? When you hear a strain of music and are either lifted to +heaven or cast into the other place by its harmonies or its discord, +whom do you thank or curse for the benefaction or the infliction, +whichever it may have proved to be—the man who wrote the score or the +music dealer who sold it? You go to a restaurant and order spring +chicken which turns out to be the primeval fowl. Who is to blame—the +waiter who serves it or the business man of the concern who does the +marketing? And so when you encounter the bad boy, whom do you hold +responsible for his badness—the boy himself or the mother who trained +him? I declare, as I look about me from day to day and see the men and +women who play so poor a part in life, it is not the poverty of their +performance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> that astonishes me so much as the fact that it is as good +as it is.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I did think I would keep out of the controversy on the low-neck dress +question. But there is just one thing I want to say. Did you ever know a +sweet young girl yet, one who was rightly trained and modestly brought +up, who took to decollete dresses naturally? Is not the first wearing of +one a trial, and a special ordeal? It is after the bloom is off the +peach that a young woman is willing to show her pretty shoulders and +neck to the crowd; and who cares much for a rubbed plum or a brushed +peach? I cannot imagine a sweet, wholesome-hearted woman, be she young +or old, divesting herself of half her clothes and thrusting herself upon +the notice of ribald men. I can sooner imagine a rose tree bearing frog. +The conjunction is not possible. The cheek that will blush at the story +of repentant shame, that will flame with indignant protest when the +skirts of a Magdalene brush too near, yet deepens not its rose at +thought of uncovering neck and bust in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> crowded theater or public +reception is not the cheek of modest and natural womanhood. It is not +necessary to be a prude or a skinny old harridan either, to inveigh +against the custom. I know full well how contemptible the affectations +and hypocrisies of life are. Half that is yielded to evil was meant for +good. The high chancellor of Hades has put his seal on much that was +originally invoiced for the Lord's own people. But there are some things +so palpably shameless that to argue about them is like trying to prove +by demonstration that a crow is white. It needs no argument.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE VETERANS.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +Scarce had the bugle note sounded<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the call of their last defeat;</span><br /> +And still on the lowland meadow<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lie the prints of their quick retreat.</span><br /> +<br /> +Above us the bright skies sparkle,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And around us the same winds blow</span><br /> +That rippled their golden banners<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In that battle so long ago,</span><br /> +<br /> +When the southwind challenged winter,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the rose-ranks routed the snow,</span><br /> +And the hosts of tiny gold coats<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sprang up from their campfires below,</span><br /> +<br /> +To charge on the insolent frost king,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shatter his lance of ice,</span><br /> +While back to the desolate northland<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They wheeled him about in a trice.</span><br /> +<br /> +The battle is hardly ended,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The victory only begun,</span><br /> +Yet I saw the gray-bearded vet'rans,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-day, sitting out in the sun.</span><br /> +<br /> +They nod by wind-rippled rivers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They shake in the shade of the oak,</span><br /> +And all the day long they murmur<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And whisper, and gossip, and croak.</span><br /> +<br /> +And often in wondering rapture,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They recount the charge they made,</span><br /> +When down from the windy hillsides,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And up through the dewy glade,</span><br /> +<br /> +The sheen of their golden bonnets<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shone out from the green of the leaves,</span><br /> +Like the flight of a glancing swallow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the flash of a wave on the seas.</span><br /> +<br /> +They muse in sleepy contentment,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or flutter in endless dispute.</span><br /> +For this was a brave cadet, sir,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And that one a crippled recruit.</span><br /> +<br /> +Fight over again your battles,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O veterans, withered and gray;</span><br /> +For a band of northwind chasseurs<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To-morrow shall blow you away.</span></td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> +<p>Once upon a time it came to pass that a woman, being weary with much +running to and fro, fell asleep and dreamed a dream.</p> + +<p>And in her dream she beheld a mighty host, more than man could number. +And of that host, all were women, and spake with varying tongues.</p> + +<p>And they bent the body, and sitting on hard benches wailed mightily, so +that the air was full of the sound of lamentation, like a garden that +wooeth many bees.</p> + +<p>And the woman who dreamed, being tender of heart and disposed kindly +toward the suffering ones, lifted up her voice saying:</p> + +<p>"Why bendest thou the body, oh, daughters of despair, and why art thine +eyelids red with tears?</p> + +<p>"Yea, why rockest thou like boats that find no anchor, and like poplars +which the north wind smiteth?"</p> + +<p>And one from among the host greater than man could number made answer, +saying:</p> + +<p>"Wouldst know who we are, and why we spend our days like a weaver's +shuttle that flitteth to and fro in a web of tears?</p> + +<p>"Behold we are the faithless and unregenerate<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> handmaids who have served +thee, and women like unto thee, bringing desolation unto thy larders, +and gray hairs among the braids with which nature hath crowned thee.</p> + +<p>"Yea, verily, by reason of our misdemeanors lift we the voice of +lamentation in a land that knoweth not comfort."</p> + +<p>Now, the woman who dreamed, being full of amazement, replied anon, and +these were the words that fell from her lips:</p> + +<p>"Sayest thou so? And dwellest thou and thy sisters in Hades by reason of +the evil thou hast wrought?"</p> + +<p>"Nay, not forever," replied she who had spoken. "We remain but for a +season, that our remorse may cleanse our record before we go hence to +sit with the blessed ones in glory.</p> + +<p>"Not from everlasting unto everlasting is the duration of the penalty we +pay for what we have done unto thee, else were there no peace between +the stars by reason of our torment and our tears."</p> + +<p>And the woman who dreamed beheld many whose fame yet lingered within the +shadows of her home.</p> + +<p>There was Ann, the fumble-witted, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> piled the backyard high with +broken china, yet stayed not her hand when rebuked therefor.</p> + +<p>There was Sarah, the high-headed, who refused to clean the paint because +she had dwelt long in the tents of such as hired the housecleaning done +by other hands, that the labors of the handmaid might be few;</p> + +<p>Yea, verily, with such as believed that Sarah and her ilk might have +time wherein to be merry rather than toil.</p> + +<p>There was Karen, the Swede, who wrapped the bread in her petticoat and +refused to be convinced of the error of her ways.</p> + +<p>There was Jane, the Erinite, who broke the pump, and Caroline, the +Teuton, who combed her locks with the comb of the woman who dreamed.</p> + +<p>There was Adaline, the hoosier, who failed to answer the summons of the +stranger who knocked at the gates unless she were in full dress and +carried a perfumed handkerchief.</p> + +<p>There was Louise, who smote the youngest born of the household because +he prattled of her dealings with the frequent cousin who called often +and sought to deplete the larder.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>There was the girl who desired her evenings out and never came home +before cock crow.</p> + +<p>There was the girl who threw up her place in the family of the woman who +dreamed because she was asked to hurry her ways.</p> + +<p>There was the girl who wore the hose of her mistress, and took it as an +affront when asked to desist.</p> + +<p>There was the girl who swore when the chariot of the sometime guest drew +nigh, and likewise the girl who refused to remain over night in a +dwelling where she was summoned to serve by means of a call bell.</p> + +<p>There was the girl who found it too lonesome in the country and left the +garments in the washtub that she might hie her to the great city, the +social center of which she was the joy and the pride.</p> + +<p>There was the girl who was made mad by means of the request that she +wash her hands before breakfast.</p> + +<p>There was the girl who entertained her callers in the drawing-room while +the family was afar off, sojourning in the hills or by the waves of the +sea;</p> + +<p>Yea, who thought it no evil to bring forth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> the flesh-pot and the +brandied comfit, that the heart of the district policeman might leap +thereat, as the young buck leapeth at sight of the water courses.</p> + +<p>There was also the girl who wasted, and the girl who stole; the girl who +never tried, and the girl who never cared.</p> + +<p>And seeing the multitude the spirit of the woman who dreamed arose +within her and she asked of a certain veiled one who seemed to be in +charge:</p> + +<p>"Tell me, O shrouded one, is there never to be any diminution in the +throng that cometh to take their abode in these halls of penitential +regret?"</p> + +<p>And the spirit in charge made answer, saying:</p> + +<p>"No, nor never shall be while fools live and folly thrives.</p> + +<p>"It is by reason of the babbling of busy-bodies that havoc has overtaken +the land of thy forefathers.</p> + +<p>"There is honor in faithful service, and an uncorruptible crown awaiteth +the forehead of her who serveth well.</p> + +<p>"It is no disgrace to the comely daughters of men who toil and are put +to that they bring in the wherewithal to fill the mouths of the children +who call them father—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>"It is no disgrace, I say unto you, if such maidens take unto themselves +the position of servants in the family of him who prospereth,</p> + +<p>"Remembering that one who lived long since and has slept these many +years in the tomb of his fathers, spake truly when he uttered these +words, albeit framed in rhyme:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Honor and shame from no condition rise;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Act well your part, there all the honor lies."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>And it came to pass that the woman who dreamed took comfort to herself +by reason of her dream.</p> + +<p>And she arose from slumber like a strong man who desireth to run a race.</p> + +<p>And buckling on more tightly the armor wherein she moved, yea, even with +a free hand buttoning the boot and drawing the string, she cogitated +unto herself, and these were the words of her cogitation:</p> + +<p>"Behold, I will learn a new wisdom that I may be unto my handmaids a +friend rather than a taskmistress, that in so doing I may win unto my +household the damsel who hath intelligence. And my treatment of her +shall be such that many wise ones who call that damsel friend shall +decide to do even as she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> hath done and choose domestic service with a +woman who is kind even to the showing of interest in her handmaid's +affairs, rather than linger in bondage with the shop girl and her who +rattles the tinkling keys of the typewriter machine.</p> + +<p>"So doing, my days shall increase mightily in the land, as also the days +of her who cometh after me."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Women are either the noblest creation of God or the meanest. A good +woman is little less than an angel; a bad woman is considerably more +than a devil. And by bad women I do not mean women who drink, or steal, +or frequent brothels. The chief weapon of a bad woman is her tongue. +With a lie she can do more deadly work than the fellow in the bible did +with the jawbone of an ass. Untruth is the fundamental strata of all +evil in a bad woman's nature, and with it she is more to be dreaded than +many men with revolvers. There is absolutely no protection from a lie. +The courts cannot protect from its venom, and to kill a defamer and a +falsifier is not yet adjudged as legalized slaughter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There is one awfully homely woman in Chicago. I met her the other day +over in Blank's art gallery. Our acquaintance was brief but sensational. +I looked at her, tucked her into my handbag and wept. She didn't seem to +mind it, and when, a few hours later, in the seclusion of my chamber, I +took her out of the bag and looked at her again, she was more hideous +than before.</p> + +<p>"You horrible creature!" said I. "If you look like me, better that the +uttermost depths of the sea had me."</p> + +<p>"But I do look like you," said she, and her voice was weak and low by +reason of prolonged exposure to the sun and air, "and Mr. Blank says I +will finish up very nicely."</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to tell me," I asked, "that my nose is as big as yours?"</p> + +<p>"Of course it is," said she; "pictures cannot lie. But comfort yourself +with the assurance that a large nose is always an indication of +intelligence."</p> + +<p>"Intelligence be blessed!" said I, for I was getting excited; +"intelligence without beauty is like bread without butter, or a peacock<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +without a tail! If I possess such a nose as yours, madam, I shall take +to tract-distributing, galoshes and a cotton umbrella, and forget that I +was ever human."</p> + +<p>"You talk wildly, as all the rest of them do," said my thin companion. +"Listen, for my time on earth is short, I am rapidly fading away, and +what I say must be said briefly. If you look about you you will see that +there exists, more or less hidden in every breast, the belief of one's +own beauty. The mirror, although a faithful friend, can never quite +disabuse the mind of that belief, and when the honest camera holds up +the actual presentation of one's self as an incontrovertible fact, the +disappointment is keen and hard to bear."</p> + +<p>"All that may be true," said I, "but not all your assertions can ever +make me believe that that dusky mass of hair, brushed back so wildly +from those beetling brows, is like my own. You know that mine is soft +and brown, and yours looks like the bristles of an enraged stove brush."</p> + +<p>"That's the way they all talk," responded the dissolving view, "but you +do not stop to consider that under the artist's pencil the shadows will +all be toned and softened.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> And let me say right here, that that +'beetling brow' is a sign of rare intelligence, much more to be desired +than the lower and more——"</p> + +<p>"Stop, right there!" I interrupted. "It is not necessary to have a brow +like a plate-glass show-window, or like an overhanging cliff, or like a +granite paving-stone, to denote intelligence! No, my friend, do not try +to lift this shadow from my soul. That mouth that looks like a dark +biscuit, that nose that looks like a promontory overhanging an unseen +sea, that hair that looks like the ruff of an excited chicken, that brow +that looks like a skating-rink, all make me sad. I shall never have my +picture taken again. If I look like that it is time I died. In the round +of an eventful life I may forget that I even saw you, but until I do I +am a tired woman. My mirror may assuage my sorrow, for that either lies +or catches me from a different point of view. Vanish then, oh, yellow +shade of an unhappy reality. Back to oblivion with you, and heaven grant +I never look upon your like again!" So saying, I calmly held the poor +but hideous creature in the flame of a gas-jet and smilingly cremated +her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>A fairer day than last Sunday was never cradled to rest behind the +curtains of night. It began with a flute obligato of sunrise, orbed +itself into a full orchestra wherein color took the part of first and +second violins, and declined at last into the hush of sunset like the +mellow notes of a cello under old Paul Schessling's master touch. Such +days visit the earth rarely. They are advance sheets of a story that is +going to be told in heaven; preludes to a song that we shall hear in its +perfection only when we have got through with the clattering discords of +time. Thank God for all such days. They do us more good than we know. +The sight of the woods, adorned as only queens are adorned for the court +of the king, the sound of falling leaves and lonely bird songs, of +hidden lutes, of unseen brooks, tremulous and sweet and low under the +russet shadows, uplift our souls and help us to forget, for the time +being at least, how tired we are, how worn with the fret of sordid toil +and how tormented and misjudged and calumniated we are by those who fain +would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> do us harm. I think if I had time to do some of the things I want +to do the first consummation of that happy time would be to build me a +little cabin in the woods, where, in utter loneliness, I could forget +how full the world is growing to be of folks and how prone they are to +do each other harm and hinder rather than help each other on the stony +way to heaven.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The other evening, while sitting in the gallery of the Auditorium and +looking over the balcony edge at the crowd waiting for the curtain to +rise, a strange thought came to my mind. How could hell be more quickly +created than by the unmasking of such a crowd as this? Suddenly remove +from humanity all power of self-control and conventional dissimulation; +force men and women to be natural, and act out every evil impulse latent +in their souls, and could Dante himself portray a blacker Inferno? The +man whose heart is full of murderous hatred—tear off the mask that +hides his perturbed soul, and what a demon would look forth! The woman +behind whose amiable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> seeming lurks malicious envy and snarling temper +and crafty deceit—what a pandemonium would ensue when such passion +broke forth like straining dogs from the leash! The old man with the +saintly face and the crown of hoary hair—could an open cage of foul +birds send forth a blacker brood than should fly out from his soul when +some omnipotent hand unlatched the bars of its prison and let the +unclean thoughts go free? The young man with the perfumed breath and the +suave and courtly manner—does any storied hell hold captive blacker +demons than the cruel selfishness, the impurities and the secret vices +that walk to and fro in his soul like tigers behind their bars? The +young girl with face like a rose and the form of a Juno—could anything +that hades holds strike greater dismay to the hearts of men than the +unmasking of her hidden thoughts? Ah, when the hour strikes for +unmasking time in life's parade ball, when death steps forth and with +cool, relentless touch unties the knot that holds the silken thing in +place that has hidden our true selves from our beautiful seeming, we +shall find no more fiery hell awaiting us than that we have carried so +long in our hearts.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>I would not like to be regarded as a pessimist from the writing of such +a paragraph as the above. Sometimes I seek to turn my thoughts upon the +crowd and unmask the angel as well as the demon. But I find that the +angels, as a general thing, wear no face concealers. They go disguised +in poor clothes and scant bravery of attire, but the angel within them +is like a singing bird rather than like a silent and chained beast. It +reveals itself in songs, like a caged lark. It looks from out the window +of the eyes in loving glances and tender smiles; it manifests itself in +sweet and cheerful service, like the sunshine that can neither be hidden +nor concealed.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Of all the pleasant things to look upon in this fair earth, I sometimes +query which is the best, a little child, a fruit orchard in early June, +or a young girl. I think the latter carries the day. Did you ever watch +a flock of birds sitting for a moment on the mossy gable of a sloping +roof? How they flutter and fuss and chirp; how they preen their delicate +feathers and get all mixed up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> with the sunshine and the shadow, until +which is bird and which is sunbeam one can scarcely tell. There is a +flock of girls with whom I ride every morning, and they make me think of +birds and sunbeams. They are so bewitching with their changeful moods +and graces that I sit and watch them as one listens to the twitter of +swallows. They sweeten up life, these girls, as sugar sweetens dough; +they fill it with music as sleigh bells fill a winter night. God bless +the girls, the bonnie, sweet and winsome girls, and may womanhood be for +them but as the "swell of some sweet time," morning gliding into noon, +May merging into June.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There are so many things in this world to be tired of! The poor little +persecuted boy in pinafores, sent to school to get him out of the way, +doomed to dangle his plump legs all day long from a hard bench, rubbing +his grimy knuckles into his sleepy blue eyes and wondering if eternity +can last any longer than a public school session, grows no more tired of +watching the flies on the ceiling and the shadows on the wall than some +folks get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> of life. Let me mention a few of the things I, for one, am +horribly tired of, and see if before my bead is half strung you do not +look up from the strand and cry, "Amber, I am with you!"</p> + +<p>My dear, I am tired to-day of civilization and all modern improvements. +I am tired of the speaking tube within my chamber where the new girl and +myself wage daily our battle of the new Babel. She speaks Volapuk, and I +do not, consequently she takes my demand for coal as an insult or an +encouraging remark, just as the mood may be upon her, and pays no more +attention to my request for drinking water than the unweaned child pays +to the sighing wind. I am tired of sewer gas and what the scientists +call "bacteria" and "germs." I am tired of going about with frescoed +tonsils, the result of the three. I am tired of gargling my own throat +and the throats of my helpless babes, and the throat of the casual +visitor within my gates, with diluted phenic acid to ward off deadly +disease. I am tired of nosing drains and buying copperas and hounding +the latent plumber that he adjust the water-pipes. I am tired of boiling +the cistern<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> water and waiting for it to cool. I am tired of skipping +from Dan to Beersheba daily for men to remove the tin-cans, the ashes +and the unsightly rubbish that have emerged from long retirement +underneath the snow. I am tired of imploring the small boy to keep his +mother's chickens off my porch. I am tired of digging graves upon the +common wherein to bury useless potato-parings, the unsightly +cheese-rind, and the shattered egg-shell. I am tired of being told that +my neighbor's calf and my neighbor's pet cat, and my neighbor's blooded +stock of poultry are dying because of the copperas I scatter broadcast +about the mouth of drains. I am tired of being a martyr to hygiene and a +monomaniac on the subject of sanitary science. I am tired of sharpening +lead pencils. I am tired of speaking pleasantly when I want to be cross. +I am tired of the ceaseless grind of life, which like the upper and +nether mill-stones, wears the heart to powder and the spirit to dust. I +am tired of being told that the mark on my left ear is a spot of soil, +and of being implored in thrilling whispers to wipe it away. I am tired +of last year's seed-pods in spring gardens and of all two-legged +donkeys. I am tired of awaiting a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> change in the methods of doing +business around at the postoffice, and for the dawn of that blessed day +when I shall be permitted to dance upon the grave of the aged being who +peddles stamps at the retail window. I am tired of hosts of things +besides, but have no time to enumerate them all to-day.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I have tested the rainy weather dress reform. It was pouring when I +started from my humble home in the morning, and in spite of the prayers +of the Young Person and the sobs of the "Martyr," I arrayed myself in my +new, highly sensible and demoniacally ugly suit and weathered the +elements. Within two hours it stopped raining; the sun came out and the +streets filled with festively attired men and women, and where was I? +Stranded on a clear day in garments befitting a castaway! My flannel +dress, short skirts and top-boots wasted on fair weather. "In the name +of heaven," exclaimed a friend, as I bore down upon him beneath a +cloudless sky, "what have you got on?" "Go home! for the love of +humanity, go home!" said another. And what was I to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> do? Await another +storm like a crab in its shell, or venture forth and become the byword +of an overwrought populace, the scorn of old men and matrons? Next time +I start out in a reform dress I will take along the robes of +civilization in a grip-sack.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There is something that is getting to be awfully scarce in this world. +Shall I tell you what it is? It is girls. That is what is missing out of +the sentient, breathing, living world just now. We have lots of young +ladies and lots of society misses, but the sweet, old-fashioned girls of +ever so long ago are vanished with the poke bonnets and the cinnamon +cookies. Let me enumerate a few of the kinds of girls that are wanted. +In the first place we want home girls—girls who are mothers' right +hand; girls who can cuddle the little ones next best to mamma, and +smooth out the tangles in the domestic skein when things get twisted; +girls whom father takes comfort in for something better than beauty, and +the big brothers are proud of for something that outranks the ability to +dance or shine in society. Next, we want girls of sense—girls who have +a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> standard of their own regardless of conventionalities, and are +independent enough to live up to it; girls who simply won't wear a +trailing dress on the street to gather up microbes and all sorts of +defilement; girls who won't wear a high hat to the theater, or lacerate +their feet and endanger their health with high heels and corsets; girls +who will wear what is pretty and becoming and snap their fingers at the +dictates of fashion when fashion is horrid and silly. And we want good +girls—girls who are sweet, right straight out from the heart to the +lips; innocent and pure and simple girls with less knowledge of sin and +duplicity and evil-doing at twenty than the pert little school girl at +ten has all too often; girls who say their prayers and read their Bibles +and love God and keep his commandments. (We want these girls "awful +bad!") And we want careful girls and prudent girls, who think enough of +the generous father who toils to maintain them in comfort, and of the +gentle mother who denies herself much that they may have so many pretty +things, to count the cost and draw the line between the essentials and +the non-essentials; girls who strive to save and not to spend; girls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> +who are unselfish and eager to be a joy and a comfort in the home rather +than an expensive and a useless burden. We want girls with hearts—girls +who are full of tenderness and sympathy, with tears that flow for other +people's ills, and smiles that light outward their own beautiful +thoughts. We have lots of clever girls, and brilliant girls, and witty +girls. Give us a consignment of jolly girls, warm-hearted and impulsive +girls; kind and entertaining to their own folks, and with little desire +to shine in the garish world. With a few such girls scattered around +life would freshen up for all of us, as the weather does under the spell +of summer showers. Speed the day when this sort of girls fill the world +once more, overrunning the spaces where God puts them as climbing roses +do when they break through the trellis to glimmer and glint above the +common highway, a blessing and a boon to all who pass them by.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Is there any flower that grows that can compare with the pansy for color +and richness? Others appeal more closely to the heart with fragrance +that like a sweet and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> pure soul more than compensates for lack of +exterior beauty, but in all the gorgeous category none rank this velvet +flower that lies just now upon my window-sill. There is the purple of +Queen Sheba mantled in its soft and shiny texture; the gold of Ophir was +not more sumptuous; the light that breaks at dawn across a reef of +dove-gray clouds was never more delicate than the violet heart of this +lovely blossom. When I want to think of the ideal court of kings, of a +royal meeting-place for blameless scions and unsullied princes of the +blood, I do not think of old-world palaces and coronation halls—I think +rather of a pansy bed in June in full and perfect bloom, a soft wind +just bending bright heads crowned with crowns that never yet were +pressed on aching brows, and fluttering mantles of more than royal +splendor that never yet were wrapped above a corrupt and breaking heart.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">MY ROSE AND MY CHILD.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +I held in my bosom a beautiful rose,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All gay with the splendor of June;</span><br /> +Its dew-laden petals like sheen of soft snows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its blush like the sunshine at noon.</span><br /> +<br /> +But e'en as I held it, I knew it must fade;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Its bloom was as brief as the hour.</span><br /> +The dews of the evening like soft tears were laid<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On the grave of my beauteous flower.</span><br /> +<br /> +I held in my bosom a beautiful child,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The splendor of love in her eyes;</span><br /> +No snow on high hills was more undefiled<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than her soul in its innocent guise.</span><br /> +<br /> +But I knew that my angel in heaven was missed;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I knew, like my rose, she must go;</span><br /> +So with heartbreak and anguish her sweet lips I kissed—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">She sleeps with my rose in the snow.</span></td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>It was not so very long ago that I chanced to overhear a lively young +woman make this remark about her mother:</p> + +<p>"Oh, mamma is nearly always taken for my sister. She never seems like +anything more than one of my girl friends."</p> + +<p>Poor child, thought I, your state is only another phase of orphanhood, +for the young life that has no counsel of motherhood is bereft indeed.</p> + +<p>No girlish comradeship, however juvenile and delightful it may be, can +possibly take the place of protecting, counseling, mother-love.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> Not but +what the sweetest relationship possible exists where the mother keeps +her heart young and in sympathy with her daughter, but there is +something else requisite to mother-love.</p> + +<p>The best mothers are those who have roomy laps where the big girls love +to sit while they whisper the confidences they never could reveal to +sister-mothers. They have all-enfolding arms, these right kind of +mothers, wherein they gather the tired girl, yes, and the tired boys, +too, and rock them to rest and peace, long after their "feet touch the +floor."</p> + +<p>They used to tell me I must never sit on anybody's lap after my feet +reached the carpet, but, thank God, that rule never applied to my +mother.</p> + +<p>You are never afraid of disturbing mother's "beauty sleep" when you come +in late at night if she is of the good reliable sort, as far removed +from frisky girl companionship as the moon is from its reflection.</p> + +<p>No matter how tardy your home-faring may be she is always up with a +lunch and a warm fire in winter or a glass of something cool and fresh +in summer to soothe your overexcited nerves, a thing she cannot do if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +she is forever dancing about with you in your youthful larks. She has a +way of calming your tempers with a joke and a caress, of which the +sister-mother never dreams. She has also a way of smoothing your hair, +which your girl comrade never caught the trick of, for the reason that +she is kept too busy curling her own love-locks. When your head aches, +the right sort of mother knows just how to pet you to sleep and leave +you in a darkened room with a rose on your pillow to greet your waking +eyes; if you have a bad cold she knows the cuddly way to coax you to +take bitter medicine. She bathes your feet and dries them on nice warm +towels. She keeps the younger children from guying you, because your +nose is red; in short, she does a thousand nice things of which the +sister-mother has no knack whatever.</p> + +<p>When great trouble falls to your share, when sharp betrayal pierces your +heart, and trusted affection turns to ashes in your hold of what good is +the juvenile mother with her girlish tremors and tears? You want +somebody next in tenderness to God, to hold you fast and tight. You want +somebody who has suffered and grown strong,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> to soothe your breaking +heart. Somebody who can be silent and brave and steady until your fever +is passed. The shipwrecked sailor wants a rope rather than a feint of +throwing one; the shipwrecked soul wants a heart like rock, rather than +a handclasp and a promise. The sister-mother may be all right to go to +parties with, but you want something stronger and more steadfast to lean +upon in time of perplexity. You want a mother in all the holy +significance of the name. However sweet the tie of sisterhood, it cannot +be so blessed as the bond of patient, long-suffering, sanctified +motherhood.</p> + +<p>Seek to keep yourself in sympathy with your girls, then, mothers, but be +content to occupy a generation removed from the path they tread. Don't +make up in emulation of their beauty; don't seek to win away their beaus +and outdress them. Don't go decollete to parties where your girls should +be the reigning belles; don't aim to vie with them in fascination or in +charm. Be guider and ready counselor, but don't try to be rival. If God +has given you a girl child, and that child has grown to womanhood, +accept the condition of things and give over being a society belle +yourself, abdicating your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> place for the infinitely sweeter one of +mother. You cannot be the right sort of mother and ignore your duty to +your child. That duty lies in giving her her rightful place in the line +of march from which you are crowded out. Let her carry the banner while +you fall back a little. Watch over her, make things easy for her, smooth +the little difficulties out of her way, be on hand when she comes home +tired and excited to soothe her to rest and calm; counsel her how to +pick her way through the snares that are laid for youth and beauty, be a +refuge where she can run when the rainy weather sets in, which is sure +to fall in the summer time of youth, somewhere and somehow. In short, be +just as sympathetic and chummy and sociable as possible, but at the same +time make your daughter feel that you are older and stronger and wiser +than she, by reason of your motherhood, and that next to God you stand +ready to shield her, to guide her, to receive her in time of trouble, to +forgive her if she needs forgiveness, and to shrive her if she needs +confessing. Teach her that your love can never fail, that your heart is +a rock and a fortress and a shield for her to seek in all life's +bewilderment, far<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> surer and more steadfast than any other love beneath +the stars can ever yield.</p> + +<p>When I think of all it means to be a mother I tremble to think how far +short of the standard the best of us fall. I would rather have it said +of me when I die, "She was a good mother," than that men should get +together and exploit my deeds as poet, reformer, artist or story-teller. +I would rather feel the dewfall of a child's loving tear upon my face +than wear a laureate's crown.</p> + +<p>Don't be critical, or censorious, or reserved with your daughters; don't +hold them far off and cultivate respect and fear rather than love; don't +be self-assertive and cause them to feel their dependence upon you in an +unpleasant way; don't be too eager to keep them in the background in +little things relating to the home, such as giving them no voice in the +arrangement of the room and the domestic regulations. Indeed, I have +known more attrition caused in the home circle from this last mentioned +point of difference between mother and daughters than almost any other. +I know a family, presided over by a good, unselfish woman, who, as a +mother, is the most complete failure I ever ran across. Her daughter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> is +of mature age and pronounced opinions, but she is kept in the background +and her life rendered most unhappy by the dominant will of the mother +whose old-fashioned views as to running the house are directly opposed +to more modern customs. The two wrangle continually over the +establishment of a dinner hour, the disposal of a light, the drapery of +a window, the adjustment of furniture, until there is less harmony under +the roof than there is music in a hurdy-gurdy. How much better it would +be if that mother would yield a little to the wishes of her daughter; +give the latter a chance to display her own taste and carry out her +inclination. I don't believe in the mothers and fathers of grown-up +daughters always insisting upon the occupancy of the front seats and the +leadership of the orchestra.</p> + +<p>The mother who can preserve the respect of her children without chilling +their love; who can be one with them, and yet apart, in the sense of +guiding, aiding and consoling, who can hold their confidence while she +maintains the superiority of her wisdom, is the happy and successful +mother. The title is a sacred one, made by the chrism of pain and +suffering, sanctified by the humanity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> of Christ and set apart as one of +the three of earth's tenderest utterances: "Mother, home and heaven."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Now that the days draw nigh for the return of the birds to our northern +woods and dales it is borne in upon me to hold a little "love feast" +with the boys. You know what a love feast is, if there was ever a +Methodist in your family. It is a good, cozy talk among the brethren and +sisters in regard to the best way of putting down the devil, and giving +the good angels a chance. And if there was ever need of downing the +devil it is in the particular instance of a boy's inhumanity to birds +and beasts. I have expressed myself as to horses, and to-day I shall +talk about birds. On these spring mornings, when the world is enveloped +in a golden halo, from out of which, like angel voices from the quiet +depths of heaven, the birds are singing their impromptu of praise, +imagine a lot of half-grown men and brutal boys going forth with guns +and sling-shots to break up the concert and murder the choristers. I +would as soon turn a lot of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> sharp-shooters into a cathedral at early +mass to bring down the surpliced boys and the chanting novices. I tell +you, O race of good-for-nothing fathers and mothers, whom God holds +directly responsible for the bad boys who desecrate this beautiful +world, you are no more fit for the training of immortal souls than a +hawk is fitted to teach music to a thrush. You ought to have had a +bear-skin and been the trainer of cubs. That your boys develop into +brutes and go to state's prison, and perhaps die at the end of a rope +eventually, is nobody's fault but your own. If you chance to own a horse +or a dog you show some care in its training, but God gives you a boy and +you let him run wild. There is no more reason why a boy should be cruel +than that a properly-broken colt should kick. The tendency may have been +born with him, but good training eliminates it to a great extent, if not +entirely. When I was a woman and lived at home, in the happy days before +I entered the arena to fight for bread and butter, to say nothing of +shoe leather and fuel, I used to gather the village boys about me every +spring and try to sow the good seeds of tenderness with one hand, while +carefully<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> eliminating the tares with the other. I offered prizes for +the best record at the end of the summer. I formed classes, the +membership of which pledged themselves, to a boy, to abstain from +sling-shots, to cultivate the birds' nests and to withhold their hands +from the commission of a single deed of cruelty. Many is the gallon of +ice-cream I have paid for to keep those youngsters in the narrow path of +rectitude, and many is the time that I have patrolled the woods with my +boy comrades, keeping watch over the family of a blue-bird or a robin, +when the alarm went forth that some unregenerate boy was on the rampage. +All the boys whom I could get to join the club I was sure of, for I know +the way to a boy's heart, if I can only get the chance at him. For what +other purpose did nature turn me out a born cook? And why did she make +me a master hand at doughnuts and turnover pies? I have a large and +undying faith in the boys, if you will only start them right. The first +thing a boy needs is a good mother. He can get along without a +father—and I was going to say without a God—for the first few years of +his life, but he needs a mother. Not a mere nurse maid to look after +his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> clothes and see that he has plenty to eat at the right intervals, +but a good, sweet, companionable mother, with a good, soft breast for +him to cry on and two arms to hug him with. He needs a mother who can +talk with him and answer his questions, who is not stern and severe, but +responsive and get-at-able. With such a mother our boys will be gentle +and our birds will be safe.</p> + +<p>Try to think, boys, what a world this would be without any robins, or +larks, or thrushes; without any songs in the apple trees getting all +tangled up with the sunshine and the blossoms; without any canaries to +sing in the window, or any meadow larks to whip out their flutes among +the clover heads. If you should wake up some morning and experience the +ghastly silence of a songless world you would want to hire somebody to +thrash you that you ever used a sling-shot. Do you remember the minister +down New York way whom they fined for shooting robins? I never wanted to +get up on a mountain top so much in all my life and shout glory as I did +over that verdict. I have heard of immorality among ministers, and I +have heard of hypocrisy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> and lying and all sorts of offenses against +good taste and morals, but I never heard of anything so contemptibly and +causelessly mean as for one of God's especial teachers to get up in the +morning, put on top boots, cross the river in the sunshine and dew of +early morning, lift his gun, take deliberate aim and bring down a robin. +If I was the Lord I would never forgive it. Men are not to blame +sometimes when their blood gets too warm and they do impetuous things, +but to deliberately descend to the ignominy of shooting a robin and +calling it sport is to sink too low for justification.</p> + +<p>Whatever else you be, boys, be brave. If you must sail in and fight, if +your superfluous zeal is too much for you, go out in the field and +square off at a bull. There is some glory in whipping anything bigger +and stronger than yourself, but to show fight to a bird is a little too +much like sneaking out and tripping up a cripple in the dark. I am going +to write down a verse for you to write in your copy books this very day, +and then good-night to you:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"The bravest are the tenderest;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The loving are the daring."</span></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Isn't it heavenly to see the primrose around again? And the daffodils? +And the hyacinths? Last night I went home with a rose in my button which +cost me just five cents. At that rate, by careful abstaining from +anything more expensive than a ten-cent lunch, one can go on wearing +roses until next November. The robins have come back, too, and this +morning a couple of them awoke me with their "Cheer-up" song. The +indications are that they are prospecting for spring housekeeping. If +the cat kills them I shall kill the cat. I shall close my eyes and do +the deed in the name of mercy, for I detest cats, both two-legged and +four-legged, and I love robins both feathered and human.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I wonder why it is that the average woman can walk and talk, breathe and +laugh, suffer and cry, and finally die and be buried, and all the way +through make such a botch of her life! Why is it that we fall in love, +so many of us, just on the verge of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> a life that opens like a summer's +day, and change that life thereby, as a June morning is changed when +great clouds rush into the sky and obscure the sun? Why are girls so +proud to parade an engagement ring upon their finger, when the diamond +is too often the danger-light thrown out above the breakers? Now and +then, about as rarely as one picks up a ruby on the highway, or finds an +enchanted swan circling over the duck pond, there is a happy +marriage—at least such is the popular inference—as to the absolute +certainty of the statement, ask the skeleton closet. I have lived a +varied sort of life. I have wandered to and fro over the earth to some +extent; I have known a great many people, and have found happiness in +many ways, but looking back over all the path to-night and turning my +little bull's-eye lantern of experience up to the present moment, I can +neither remember nor record a dozen truly happy marriages. What +constitutes happiness? Peace. What brings peace? Content. Who is +contented? Not you and not I. What man or woman of all whom we know can +we bring out into the full light of day and say of them, "Behold the +contented one! The restful one! The happy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> pair!" You, my dear, have +attained the ambition of your youthful dreams. You have married a man +who dresses you splendidly, who gives you diamonds and never murmurs +when the bills come in. But are you happy? Do you never walk to and fro +with the restless countess in the sad old ballad, dreaming of "Alan +Percy?" Do you never, when all is still, go down into that cemetery +where life's "might have beens" lie buried in graves kept green forever +with your tears, and walk and dream alone? And you, my friend, have +married the man of your choice. Is there nothing in the handsome +exterior that palls a bit now and then when you find how sordid and +meager the soul is behind the smile you used to think so charming? Do +you never find scorn creeping into your heart in place of adoration when +you mark the unpaid bills and the shiftless endeavor that strew his idle +way? And you, sir, have a merry and a pretty wife and the world calls +you a lucky fellow. How many know of the sharp tongue that underlies her +laughter and the feather-filled head that never yet has donated an +earnest thought to the domestic economy? And you, my good sir, have +married a blue stocking in the old acceptance<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> of the term. She can +swing off a leader or make a speech on a rostrum at short notice, but +how would you like to rise right up here, poor dear, and tell just what +comfort lies in being mated to a superior being who busies herself with +work which shall be remembered perhaps when the dust on the center +table, the holes in your stockings, the discomfort of the larder, and +the untidiness of the household are forgotten? And you, my good fellow, +have married a woman of "good form." She never does an indiscreet thing. +She is "icily faultless" and splendidly stupid. She has the neck of a +swan, the arms of a goddess, the foot of a patrician, and the soul of a +mouse! The scent of a wayside lilac, perhaps, is sadder than tears to +you, old comrade, when you look back across the years and see again the +sweet dead face of one you trifled with, or whom you deserted for this +woman with heart and body of snow, a purse filled with gold and a brain +filled with feathers.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There is entire hopelessness to many women in the blank monotony of life +after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> youth is past. An emotional nature, mercurial and restless, full +of aspirations and longings, as the trees this perfect month are full of +blossoms, and, like the trees, bearing a thousand blooms to one +fruition, finds the destiny prepared for it almost unendurable, and +often longs for death that shall end all. Because poverty grinds and +hosts of menial duties accumulate, because the walls of an unquiet home, +made unlovely perhaps by skeletons that no skill can quite conceal, +close like a dungeon upon hope and all the sweet promises of youth, +bright natures grow morose and bitter, warm hearts chill into apathy and +gloom, and sunny brows darken under the cloud of almost perpetual +irritability and discontent. It is useless to preach sermons to such +cases—as useless as to read a book of etiquette in a prison ward or +comfort the victims of a railroad disaster with a treatise upon reform +in the management of roads. The worn, the wasted, the erring, and the +cruelly maimed lie thick about us. Our business is to encourage, to +love, to bind up, and cheer. God, in His own time, shall lift the +discontented head above the power of conspiring cares to vex. It is for +us to lend a helping<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> hand down here where the "slough of despond" is +deepest. When tides forget to obey the moon, or leaves to answer the +will of the wind, then, and not sooner, shall these restless hearts of +ours learn to be still, whatsoever destinies confront, or limitations +thwart. In looking upon the lives of some women, the mother of six +children, for instance, who takes boarders and keeps no help; the widow +supporting her little brood by endless drudgeries; the big-hearted woman +in whom the frolicsomeness and wit of girlhood die hard amid the sordid +miseries of a poverty-stricken life; the sensitive, poetic soul, doomed +to uncongenial companionships and the criticisms and ridicule of the +unfriendly—I am reminded of the score of eagles I saw lately, chained +in a dusty inclosure of Central Park. With clipped wings, and grand, +homesick eyes, they sat disconsolate upon their perches, and moped the +hours away. Would any sane being have reviled those sorry beings for a +lack of spirit? Would not the gentle-hearted spectator have proffered a +handful of fresh leaves rather, and turned away in pity that sympathy +could do no more?</p> + +<p>For these unhappy sisters of mine, the discontented,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> yearning +"Marthas," troubled with many cares, wherever my letter may find them +between the great seas, I have a word of comfort in my heart to-day. In +the first place, do not think, because you so often fall into +irritability and impatient speech, that God despises you as a sinner. He +understands, if friend, husband, or neighbor do not. Strive not to yield +to fretfulness then, but, when overcome by it, remember always God +understands it all. You may be able to see no light in all the shrouded +way, no lifting of the shadow, no promise of the dawn; but rest assured, +however long the probation, the infinite content of Heaven awaits us +very soon, if we strive as much as lies within us to overcome the +infirmities of our temper, and keep our faces set towards the shining of +His love. I know, dear heart, indeed I do, that to-morrow and to-morrow +are just alike to hopeless fancy—full of dish-washing, and drudging, +and back-bending toil—that the sparkle and song of life were long ago +merged in the humdrum beat of treadmill years; but through just this +test is your character building—through just its hard process is +shaping the conqueror's crown flashing with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> splendid light. As the root +tarries in the dark mold to burst by-and-by into radiant bloom above it, +so your poor life is hidden now to bloom to-morrow. You are not wicked +because you sometimes murmur, but try and think so much of what is going +to be that you shall forget what is. The Tender Heart above absolves +your beaten spirit from willful sin, though you are sometimes swept away +on currents of doubt and unfaith; but try and keep your eye fixed upon +the headlight of His love, whatever currents drift you away. Remember +how human parents deal with their children, and learn a lesson of God's +dealings. If my little girl has the ear-ache, or any other tormenting +ailment of childhood, do I stand over her and exact songs and smiles? +And do you think that when God, for some good reason of his own, lays +heavy burdens upon a life, He is going to demand unswerving sweetness of +speech or ethereal mildness of temper? When I see one scrubbing who was +fitted to adorn the drawing-room, washing dishes who was created an +artist or a genius, darning small boys' linsey pants and homespun +stockings who was intended by nature to reign the crowned priestess of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> +some high vocation; when I mark the furrows and zigzag footprints that +an army of besieging cares have left on the cheek that in girlhood +outblushed the wayside rose, or note how the hands that once drew +divinest music from obedient keys have twisted and warped in the +performance of homely duties, I feel impelled to kiss the faded cheek +with a love surpassing a lover's, to fold the poor hands in a reverent +grasp, for I tell you, however often she may faint and falter by the +way, however "fretty," and worn, and peevish she may become, the woman +who perseveres in the performance of uncongenial duties, who struggles +through the flatness of monotonous drudgeries, conquering adverse +circumstances, poverty, and destiny, by patience, love, and Christian +faith, is a heroine fit to rank with martyrs and saints. Remember, I am +not talking to women who find the burdens hard to bear and do not bear +them; to mere whimperers, who, because the road is full of stones, sit +down and refuse to travel; but to the brave, true hearts who "press +onward" although no rose blossoms and no bird sings, content to +faithfully perform the task of life, hoping that the fullness of time +shall read the riddle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> of incongruous destiny. I have seen the time when +household work seemed newly cursed—the very dew of the primal +malediction upon it; when to charge upon the dinner dishes, attack the +lamps, or descend into the vortex of family patching, seemed to call for +greater courage than average human nature possessed. And when I imagine +that shrinking carried on through dry years of monotonous experience, +the same formulas to be observed, the same distaste to be overcome +throughout a lifetime of toil, yet no duty shirked, no obligation set +aside, I wonder if Heaven holds a crown too bright for such faithful +lives.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The time of the year for violets and also for tramps is drawing near. +Did you ever stop and think just what it means to be a tramp? It means +no work, no money, no home, no shelter, no friends. Nobody in all the +world to care whether you live or die like a dog by the roadside. It +means no heaven for such rags to crawl into, no grave to hide them out +of sight and no hand stretched out in all the world to give the greeting +and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> good-by of love. It means nobody in all the world to feel any +interest in you and no spot in all the world to call your own, not even +the mud wherein your vagrant footprint falls, no prospect ahead, and no +link unbroken to bind you to the past. I tell you, when we sit down and +figure out just what the term means, it will not be quite so easy next +time the wretched tramp calls at our door to set the dog upon him or +turn him empty-handed away. Let them work, you say. Look here, my good +friend, do you know how absolutely impossible a thing it is getting to +be in this overcrowded country for even a willing man to find work? It +used to be that "every dog had his day," but the dogs far outnumber the +days in free America. I know well educated, competent men who have been +out of employment for months and years. I know brave and earnest women, +with little children to support, who have worn beaten paths from place +to place seeking, not charity, but honest employment, and failed to find +it. What chance is there for a ragged tramp when such as these fail? +Remember, once in a while, if you can, that the most grizzled and +wretched tramp that ever plodded his way to a pauper's grave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> was once a +child and cradled in arms perhaps as fond as those that enfolded you and +me. Remember that your mother and his were made sisters by the pangs of +maternal pain, and perhaps in the heaven from which the saintly eyes of +your mother are watching for you his mother is looking out for him. +Perhaps—who knows?—the footfall of the ragged and despised tramp shall +gain upon yours and find the gate of deliverance first, in spite of your +money and your pride.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE BROOK.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +Lifting its chalice of sun-kissed foam<br /> +Far up the heights where the wild winds roam,<br /> +Weaving a web of shadow and sheen<br /> +In lowland meadows of dewy green.<br /> +<br /> +Murmuring over the mossy stones,<br /> +In cool green dells where the gold bee drones,<br /> +Sudden and swift the showery fall,<br /> +Startling the wood bird's madrigal.<br /> +<br /> +Orbing itself in a crystal lake<br /> +Set round with thickets of tangled brake,<br /> +In waveless calm, an emerald stone,<br /> +In the lap of the dusky forest thrown.<br /> +<br /> +Silver flakes of tremulous light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span><br /> +Showering down from the fields of night,<br /> +Where the great white stars like lilies glow—<br /> +Tossed on its tide as feathery snow.<br /> +<br /> +Hastening onward through troubled ways,<br /> +Forgotten for aye its woodland days,<br /> +Sullen and silent its banks beside<br /> +The free brook wanders, a mighty tide.<br /> +<br /> +Beyond where the forest's purple rim<br /> +Belts the horizon, hazy and dim,<br /> +Thundering down from the frowning steeps,<br /> +Into the arms of the sea it leaps.</td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Did it ever strike you, I wonder, this marvel of our individuality? +Alone we are born, alone we live, alone we die, alone we pay the penalty +or reap the reward of our evil or well doing. In the troubles that +assail us we stand singly, however many councillors may flock to the +door of our tent. Not one in all the world, the nearest, the dearest or +the best, can bear one pang of life's experience for us, love us as they +may. We often hear a mother say: "My child is so headstrong; she will +not take my advice; she will go her own way." Of course<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> she will, and +she will not, simply because individual tact is the law of all +experience. It is not being headstrong, it is merely fulfilling destiny.</p> + +<p>In the fight we wage we do not fight by platoons or squads, under a +common leader, a thousand at a charge. We enter the lists one by one and +fight single handed. We choose our own colors and there is little of +pageantry or show. When we fall we fall as travelers disappear who walk +across a coast that is honeycombed with quicksand. We vanish, not in +crowds like men who are jostled out of life by earthquakes or flooded +like rats by tidal waves, but we slowly succumb to the inevitable in +solitudes where only the stars watch us and the spaces of a dim, +unsounded sea catch the fret of our mortal moan.</p> + +<p>I have always thought that I should love to have the world come to an +end, with a grand final bang, while I was yet living and sentient on the +surface. I would like to be flashed out of being in the conglomerate of +a mighty swarm, like the covey of birds a huntsman's rifle brings down +or the multitude a Pompeiian doom overtakes. Such dying would be like +riding out of an electric-lighted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> station, by the car full, rather than +sneaking a place on the back platform like a tramp. But after all, death +would not lose its awful individuality even then. Marshal the whole +world, and aim a single bullet at a hundred million souls, with power to +still each pulse beat in the same rifle flash of time, yet each man +would die alone.</p> + +<p>There is one final lesson to be gained through the doleful contemplation +of the world's flood-tide of sorrow, and that is the lesson of how to +bear our troubles so as to react as little as possible upon those with +whom life throws us in daily contact. Because the goblin bee has stung +our own souls, shall we seek to share the pain of its stateless sting +with all we meet? No more than we should endeavor to carry contagion in +our garments or put poison in our neighbor's well. I knew a man once, a +gallant, light-hearted soldier, who honored the blue and brass of his +country's uniform by wearing it. An awful sorrow suddenly smote his +life, like an Indian sortie from an ambush. Wife and children were swept +from his arms by a swift disaster and he was left alone. His friends +said: "He is a wrecked man! He will never lift his head again!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> How did +he fulfill this prophecy of woe? He entered the chamber of his darkened +home and denied himself to everyone. He neither ate nor slept. He fought +by himself a greater battle than call of bugle ever summoned to any +field. He mastered his own soul, and emerged from that chamber after a +certain number of days a conqueror over his own sorrow. His smile was as +ready, his heart as tender, his genial speech as welcome at home and +abroad as it had ever been, and only when the goblin bee of memory stung +him in the silence of the companionless night did he live over again the +experience of his sorrow. None knew when that sting came, or how it +tarried; he bore it silently like a soldier and a man. The trifling +world called him light of love and easily consoled, but I think he was a +grand, unselfish hero, a benefactor rather than a destroyer of mankind.</p> + +<p>When we get so that we can hide our sorrow in a smile we attain that +attitude that brings us closest to the divine. The man or the woman who +goes up and down the ways of the world with a groan on his lips and a +weed on his arm is an infliction worse than an out of tune hand organ. +If the bee<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> stings, hold still and bear the hurt by yourself as best you +may, but don't talk it over with everyone you meet, like an old woman +petitioning a recipe for a bad cough and flaunting her physical ailments +forever in your face. When you have bright things to talk about and +comforting things to say, talk; otherwise hold your peace. The reason, I +think, why animals are never wrinkled and drawn of feature and gray like +mankind is because they cannot talk. If they had the power of speech +they would go around as humans do and disseminate unpleasant topics, as +idle winds start thistle pollen. Silence is golden when you can find +nothing better to do than to clamor your own troubles; speech only is +blessed when, like a bird, it evolves a song or wings a feathered hope.</p> + +<p>It seems hardly the thing to do, perhaps, to single out the unhappy +folks in a present world so full of jollity and talk with them awhile +to-day. This bright autumn weather is so crowded with sights and sounds +to dazzle and enchant that to obtrude the leaf of rue within the garland +or breathe a minor tone into the music seems almost out of place. And +yet, for some reason or other, as I sit here at my desk to-day, the +thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> of the hearts that are heavy in the midst of all the world's +fair pageant, and the eyes that cannot see the banners by reason of +their tears, come to me with a strong and resistless force.</p> + +<p>Alas, for the goblin bee that stings, yet all too often may not "state +its sting"! We walk with a crowd, and yet are conscious that our way is +not theirs. It lies apart, we know not why, and evermore dips into +shadow and threads the dark defiles of gloom. There are so many more +reasons for being sorry than for being glad, we think. Try to count the +causes for laughter, and then, over against them, set the reasons for +sorrow and see which way the balance falls. I take my seat on a bench +out at the big show and watch the crowd for an hour. Do I see many faces +that do not bear the scar of the "goblin bee"? From the little +four-year-old who is bitterly crying because somebody has jostled its +toy from its hand, to the woman whose eyes are sunken with sorrow +because death has jostled the one whom she loved into his grave, +everybody who passes, with but few exceptions, shows the scar of that +stateless sting.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Look at my window-garden, yonder! The sunshine, stealing in from the +south, has wooed a dozen pansies into bloom—"Johnny-jump-ups," they +used to call them when I was a girl. How bright and cheery and chatty +they look. We have those sort of faces (some of us) every day about our +breakfast tables. The little folks, God bless 'em! with their shining +hair, their bright eyes, and the soft velvet of their cheeks, are the +blessed heartsease of our home. And there is a fuchsia, turbaned like a +Turk, behind the pansies. Just such sumptuous, graceful women we see +every day. Like the fuchsia, they are beautiful and that is all. They +yield no fragrance. They attract the eye but fail to reach the heart. +Who wouldn't rather have mignonette growing in the window? There is a +yellow blossom in the window that reminds one of the patient shining of +certain homely souls I know, making sunshine in humble homes; cheerful +old maid aunts, sweet-hearted elder sisters, yielding the honey of their +hearts to others. A cluster of fading violets sets me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> thinking of frail +invalids and the host of "shut-in" ones, whose delicate and dying beauty +fills our eyes with unstayed tears and our hearts with the shadow of +coming sorrow.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There are gates that swing within your life and mine from day to day, +letting in rare opportunities that tarry but a moment and are gone, like +travelers bound for points remote. There is the opportunity to resist +the temptation to do a mean thing; improve it, for it is in a hurry, +like a man whose ticket is bought and whose time is up. It won't be back +this way, either, for opportunities for good are not like tourists who +travel on return tickets. There is the opportunity to say a pleasant +word to your wife, sir, or you, madam, to your husband, instead of +venting your temper and your "nerves" upon each other. Love's +opportunity travels by lightning express and has no time to dawdle +around the waiting-room. If you improve it at all it must be while the +gate swings to let it through.</p> + + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>My dear, let me implore you, whatever else you let go, hold on to your +enthusiasm. Grow old if you must; grow white-headed and bent and +care-furrowed, if such must needs be the process of years, but don't +grow to be a stick. If you must pass on from the green time of your +freshness, change into sweet hay and keep your fragrance. If the cage +must grow rusty and lose its brightness, there is a bird within, that it +were a pity to strangle to keep it from singing to the end. I don't care +how successful, or rich, or learned a man becomes, if he maintains a +grim repression of all romance and enthusiasm, and what some hard old +"Gradgrinds" call the "nonsense" within him, he is nothing more than a +fine cage with a dead bird in it. When I hear a person say of another, +"Oh, he is a substantial fellow; no nonsense about him!" I picture a +gold-fish in a glass globe. A glittering cuticle that covers anything so +bloodless as the anatomy of a fish is not worth much. There are a good +many types of men to be detected, but the bloodless, emotionless, +heart-paralytic, is the worst. Polish up a golden ball all you like. It +may ornament your mantel, or serve as a useless bit of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> glitter in some +corner, but when you begin to feel hungry and faint, and in need of +solace and cheer, you will turn from the golden ball and pick up the +veriest old rusty coat apple from an orchard's windfall, that has +mellowed under summer noon, and sweetened in summer rains and dews, +praising God for its flavor and its juices, even if you can buy forty +bushels of its counterpart, for the price of one of your polished golden +balls. Cultivate the "nonsense" in you, then, if it tends to enthusiasm +of the right sort. It is the sympathy we get from people, the +heartsomeness and cheer that keep our souls nourished, rather than the +mere dazzle of intellectual attainment, or the greatness of any worldly +achievement. Heart rather than head; nature rather than art; genuineness +rather than pretense; romance rather than absolute realism; enthusiasm +rather than petrifaction, will make a man rather than a gold fish, a +juicy apple rather than a ball of metallic and glittering nothingness.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>We were gathered at the Norfolk Station awaiting the train that was to +carry us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> over the marshes to Virginia Beach and the sea. The crowd that +surrounded us was very different from a Chicago crowd. There was no +pushing, no bold assertiveness, no elbows. There were lots of pretty +women, and as for me everybody knows I simply adore the open sky, a tree +in blossom and a pretty woman. There were young girls with velvety brown +eyes within whose dusky shadows one might look fathom deep as into a +well of limpid water; girls with blue eyes like fringed gentians; women +with grand free curves of figure that would have made Hebe look +commonplace; women with shapely shoulders and long, aristocratic hands, +tinted at the finger-tips as though fresh from picking ripe +strawberries; girls all in white (for the day was warm), like June +lilies; women with snowy teeth and adorable smiles to disclose them; +little tots of girls with braided hair and soft, questioning eyes; +queenly girls, like tulips in bloom, all chatting together in subdued +but merry tones and laughing as delicately and airily as thrushes sing. +Oh, I lost my heart to you, my pretty southern maidens, and count the +time well spent I devoted to the contemplation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> of your many graces away +down in that little station by the torrid bay.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>If I was a liar and wanted to reform I shouldn't quit lying all at once. +I would start out with a covenant to occasionally tell the truth. By and +by this spasmodic truth-telling, like the grain blown by the wind among +stones, would, perhaps, yield sufficient harvest to send me not quite +empty-handed up to St. Peter's gate. If I drank whisky I would commence +to reform by swearing off on one glass out of three, and perhaps the +manhood within me, having so much more chance to grow, would elbow its +way into heaven. If I was a gossip I would try to hold my tongue from +speaking evil half the time, and in that blissful interval perhaps my +dwarfed soul would get a start skyward. It is not by sudden achievement +that we consummate a long journey. It is step by step and mile by mile +over a stony road that brings us to the goal, and it is not by mere +resolving that we renounce the old and attain unto the new. He who +travels but a few steps and keeps his face heavenward<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> is on the way, +and every small decision for the right, faithfully adhered to, is a +notable step toward a consummated journey.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I am often struck with the selfishness displayed by people who are +fortunate enough to be provided with umbrellas in time of sudden +showers. They calmly behold hosts of unhappy beings battling their way +through the storm, drenched to the bone, and with ruined garments, yet +never think of saying, "Accept a share of my umbrella," or "Walk with me +as far as our ways lie together." If I should hear such a speech I might +drop senseless with surprise, but all the same I should hail it as the +bugle note that heralded a new era of courteous kindness.</p> + +<p>We are not put into the world to be suspicious of one another. We were +put here to make the world pleasanter for our tarrying, and to cultivate +a fellowship with souls. If the guests at a mountain inn, sojourning +together for a stormy night, spend the time in reviling one another, or +in calling attention to each other's blemishes, we write them down as +snobs; but what shall we call the tenants of transitory time who spend +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> span of mortal life in doing all they can to make one another +uncomfortable? We have only a watch in the night to tarry together; let +us try to make that hour a profitable one and a pleasant memory for +others when we have journeyed on.</p> + +<p>I have often wondered how Christian people got round the gospel command, +"Love thy neighbor as thyself." It doesn't say love him (or her) after a +proper introduction, or if agreeable, or congenial, or of good family +and established reputation—it simply gives the command on general +principles. I don't pretend to be good enough to obey the mandate +myself, for I honestly think it is a species of hypocrisy to say you +love everybody. One might as well say one were fond of all fruit alike, +whether specked, wormy or rotten. But let my good orthodox professor put +this in his pipe and smoke it. Let him remember it next time he sees his +neighbor plunged into an extremity, or handicapped by an annoyance of +any kind. If we love our neighbor we are bound to help him, and neighbor +in this sense means anyone who chances to be near us, whether black or +white, raggedly disreputable or sanctimoniously frilled.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>There is more selfishness perpetrated in the world under guise of family +ties than in almost any other way. The man who does good and unselfish +deeds only for his own children and for the immediate circle housed +beneath his roof, forgetful of the claims of the great, tormented, +harassed and struggling world, is a selfish man and accountable to +heaven for a great deal of meanness. I don't care how much he puts on +his children's backs, or how many luxuries he surrounds them with, the +Lord will not hold him guiltless if he does nothing for the stranger who +tugs by him in the stress of life's uncertain weather, or for the +neighbor who sits disconsolate outside his gates.</p> + +<p>I wish that vagabond and his dog who were brought before a west side +justice yesterday for vagrancy would travel up my way. I like that sort +of thing that leads a man to be faithful to his dog. It goes without +saying that the dog is faithful to the man, but it is not often that the +master shows the same spirit to the fond and steadfast brute. If the two +should journey my way I think they would have one white day in the +calendar. Good heavens, my dear, do you ever stop long enough in the +midst of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> your golf-playing and your tennis tournaments, your yachtings +and your outings to think what it is to be a tramp? To be unable to find +a stroke of work; to be sick and starved and homeless! Like "poor Joe," +to be told to "move on" every time you stop to rest; to eat the +grudgingly given crust of charity, and have no friend under the sun, +moon or stars but a flea-bitten dog? Did you ever stop to think, my +Christian friend, that that tramp is a neighbor whom you are to love? +And if you are going to love him I will love his dog! No doubt the +latter is the better man of the two.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Did you ever read of a battle siege in olden times? There were the +full-armored warriors, resplendent in shining metal and plumed crests; +there were the mighty battering rams, and the flash of battle axes, the +thunder of advancing feet and the trumpet call before the gates. But +more potent than all else in the doomed city's destruction was the +secret work of the sappers and miners—the patient forces which wrought +their work out of sight and hearing. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> I have been thinking to-night, +as I sit here, where the firelight weaves its delicate tapestry within +the beautiful walls of home, that it is not going to be the pompous ones +who shall march triumphant at last into the "City of Gold," but they who +have worked patiently and humbly out of sight and with no need of +praise. The man who has held to the dictates of his own conscience, not +conforming to the company he marched with; the man who has dared to be +himself in a world where men are labeled in lots; the man who has held +it high honor to suffer for a principle or to be loyal to an unpopular +friend or cause; the man who has erected a standard made up between his +own heart and heaven, and, independent of the world's verdict of praise +or blame, followed it to the end, is going to wear a crown by and by, +when the epauletted general and the pompous staff are forgotten. Prayer +is not always a genuflexion and an address. It is oftener hard work. The +farmer praying at his weeds, the pilot praying from every spoke of his +wheel, the mother whose daily life of unselfish toil and far-reaching +influence is a prayer, do more to stir the divine heart, to keep the +world's prow headed for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> heaven than half the solicitations or +apologetic addresses made in our churches under the name of prayer.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>When you and I get rich, my dear, as some day we surely shall, what are +we going to do with all our money? We will hunt up some of the +improvident ones, those who could never make the two ends meet, those +who through good heartedness, or lack of forethought or unselfish desire +to make other folks happy, have never laid by a cent, and we will give +those silly people such a good time they will carry its impress all +through their after lives, as a pat of butter carries the print. We will +slyly pay the bills for improvident ones who have grown gray in the +effort to make a decent funeral for dead horses. They shall forget how +to spell "care" and their new and happy dialect shall know no such words +as "monthly payments," "righteous dues" or "can't afford it." I am +convinced that as a rule it is not the sweet-hearted people who take on +this world's gain. There is many a poor beggar with not a change of +linen to his back who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> would make a more royal host, had the smiling +face of fortune turned his way, than the rightful owner of the vast +estates at whose gate he stands and begs. The big hearts too often go +with the empty purse, and the little, wizened, skin-flint souls, that it +would take a thousand of to crowd the passage through the eye of a +needle, gain all the golden favors of the god of plenty.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>After dinner I said to the little folks, "Behold, I will buy me a pair +of stockings and hire a bathing suit, and the afternoon shall be devoted +to frolic and thee." So we went to the small booth, where an exceedingly +meek young man sold ginger pop and fancy shells, and paralyzed him with +a demand for ladies' hose. He didn't know what we meant until I came out +boldly and unblushingly and asked for women's stockings. He said he +didn't keep 'em. "Have you a mother?" said I. "No." "Have you a sister? +Or is there a nearer one yet and a dearer, from whom I could buy or +borrow a pair of stockings that I may go in bathing?" He didn't +understand that either, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> finally, with the aid of lucre, I made the +matter clear so that he got me a pair of canary-striped woolen hose, +evidently laid by for some farmer's winter use, and I bought them for a +sum that made his eyes grow dim with rapture. We went down to the beach, +and after a season of prayer with the young person to induce her to put +on some horrid tights, we all went in and enjoyed such a dip as only +salt water yields. In the midst of it we had to go on shore several +times to stand the boy on his head and pump the ocean out of him, as he +was constantly getting drowned in the surf, and one of my expensive and +expansive stockings was captured out at sea and brought back by a son of +Belial, who seemed greatly affected by its size, but in spite of such +small drawbacks we had a glorious time.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>"What is the matter, my darling?" asked John, the newly married, to the +wife of his bosom.</p> + +<p>"Nothing whatever," replied Mrs. John.</p> + +<p>"But you look like a funeral," exclaimed he.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>"I am not aware that I look more than usually unamiable; I certainly +never felt better," replied his wife, placidly folding down meanwhile +the hem to a distracting little apron she is making. John seizes his +hat, pushes it down over his eyes and rushes forth distracted with the +conjecture as to what terrible thing he has been guilty of to make his +wife look so like an injured martyr. For the time being love is dead, +joy wiped from the face of the earth, hope crucified and peace +assassinated, all because of bottled thunder. A word would have +explained all, a look has ruined everything.</p> + +<p>"Don't put on your fresh muslin this afternoon," suggests the prudent +mother.</p> + +<p>"But why not?" replied the sprightly Jane; "it is the only endurable +dress this warm weather."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well, do as you like, of course," meekly replied the parent in +a tone that suggests a serpent's fang, a hoary head and a broken heart +all in one.</p> + +<p>Now, in my opinion it is not conducive to domestic harmony to have too +much of this sort of repression. It is like living in an exhaust +chamber. One would be certain to choke up and burst very soon. +Self-control<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> does not consist in forever keeping one's mouth shut, +alone. A look, a sneer, a drooping mouth, a tilted nose, will do as much +mischief as a loosened tongue. Why I should go about like a disagreeable +old martyr or like a sneering Saul of Tarsus, and call myself pleasant +to live with, simply because I don't talk, is something not easily +understood.</p> + +<p>I would far rather be a target for flying saucepans every time I popped +my head into the kitchen than have a cook there who never says a word, +but is sullen and ugly enough to carve me up like cold meat. I would +rather be a constant attendant at funerals, a nurse in a fever-ward, a +girl in a circus, or a street car horse, than live with proper folks who +never make blunders, or commit indiscretions either of speech or manner, +but look at you every time you sneeze as though your featherheadedness +was the only thing that made life unbearable. Out with it then if you +have cause for offense. Don't let the clouds hang a single hour, but +turn on the weather faucet and let it rain. If your neighbor has +insulted you, either ask her why or ignore it. Ten to one the fancied +insult is only a wind cloud, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> sunshine will break it away. If you +feel mad sail right in for a tempest and have done with it. Thunder and +lighten, blow and hail if you want to, but don't be a non-committal +dog-day. Bottled thunder is a bad thing to keep on the family shelves. +It is likely to turn sour on your hands, and before you get through with +it, you will wish you had died young.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Yonder goes a small and worthless yellow dog. He is young; you can tell +that from the abnormal size of his paws, and a certain remnant of +wistful trust in human kind, which displays itself in the furtive wag of +his tail and the cock of his limp and discouraged ear. He is as +absolutely friendless as anything to which God has granted life can be. +Of his existence there is no thought in the mind of any man or woman +beneath the stars. The boys grow mindful of him now and then, though, +and their manifested interest has made of his life one terrible specter +of cringing fear. He hears the hurrah of their cruel chase in every tone +of sudden speech; he sees the menace of a blow in every shadow. Do you +know, my dear,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> that I never spoke a truer word in all my life than when +I say that underneath the hide of that forlorn and friendless little +yellow dog there is something more valuable than beats under the +broadcloth vests and silken waists of many of the men and women who pass +him by! A grateful heart mindful of the smallest kindnesses, a faithful +instinct which keeps dogs loyal even to cruel masters. I sometimes think +I would rather take my chances with honest dogs than with half the men +who own them. They may not be able to pass up the stamped ticket which +transfers the human passenger from the earthly to the celestial railroad +and carries him through on the passport of an immortal soul; but no +ticket at all is quite as good as a forged or fraudulent one, as some of +us will find out, I am thinking, when we hand up our worthless checks!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Which would you rather be in the orchestra of human life, a flute or a +trombone? To be sure, the latter is heard the farthest, but the quality +of the flute tone reaches deeper down into the soul and awakens there +dreams without which a man's life<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> is like bread without leaven, or a +laid fire without tinder. I don't like noisy people, do you? People who +talk and bluster and swagger. People who remind us of bladders filled to +the point of explosion with wind. We like sensitive people, +quiet-voiced, deep-hearted, earnest people, with the quality of the +flute rather than that of the fog-horn in their make-up. And yet how +much greater demand there is for bluster than there is for force. +Sometimes I am inclined to think that life is a farce played with an +earthly setting for the delectation of the angels, as we serve minstrel +shows and burlesques. It isn't the shy and the timid who get the +applause; the clown in tinsel and the end man in cork divide easy +honors. And yet, thank God for flutes! Thank God the orchestra isn't +entirely composed of trombones and bass drums.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">WHAT I MISS.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> +I can get used to my darling's dress<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That hangs on the closet door;</span><br /> +And the little silent half-worn shoes<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That patter no more on the floor.</span><br /> +<br /> +I can get used to the hopeless blank<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That greets my waking eyes,</span><br /> +As they meet the sight of the empty crib<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where no little nestling lies.</span><br /> +<br /> +I can get used to the dreary hush,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the home which my darling blest</span><br /> +With her prattling speech and her rippling laugh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere we laid her away to rest.</span><br /> +<br /> +But, ah! the touch of those little hands<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That wandered o'er my face,</span><br /> +Like the wavering fall of rose-leaves soft,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In some sunlit garden place.</span><br /> +<br /> +Those dimpled caressing baby hands!<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I feel them again at night,</span><br /> +And in dreams I gather them back again<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From their harp in the City of Light.</span><br /> +<br /> +My hungry heart will claim them still;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I cannot let them depart.</span><br /> +So I gather them back again in dreams<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To my desolate, breaking heart.</span></td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The other day my strolling took me into a second-hand furniture shop. I +wanted to find an ice chest. "Have you any second-hand chests?" I asked +of the hoary-headed son of Erin who tended the place and raked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> in the +shekels. He didn't answer a word, but silently arose and beckoned me to +follow. Through ranks of withered tables and blighted chairs I picked my +way until my guide dived down a gruesome stairway and then I stopped. +Presently his head emerged like a grimy Jack-in-the-box.</p> + +<p>"Is it an ice chist yez want?" asked he. There was mold on his faded +cheeks and a cobweb on his brow as he awaited my answer.</p> + +<p>"Must I go down there to find it?" I inquired. He replied in the +affirmative.</p> + +<p>"Old man, I will go no further," said I, "but come back here and tell me +the price of this lovely desk." So saying, I designated a delightful old +claw-handled, brass-mounted, spider-legged piece of furniture, which +might have been used by Adam to cast up his accounts on. There was a +suggestion of secret drawers about it that was quite ravishing. The +doors were oddly shaped little panes of mirror glass, within which I +gazed pensively at a soot blemish on my nose. "Is it the price of that +yez'd be afther knowing?" said the old man, in the tone of one who dealt +with a harmless lunatic. "I thought it was ice chists yez<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> was afther." +"Yes," said I, drawing out two long slabs as I spoke, such as were used +to support the shelf of the desk I remembered in my grandmother's house. +"That bit of furnichoor," said the old-man, gazing sadly meanwhile at +the grime of ages which I could not rub from off my nose, "is more than +two hundred years old." He stopped for a moment to see if I would +believe him, then went on: "Yis, ma'am, that same is nearer three +hundred years old, all told."</p> + +<p>Here I gave him a look which stopped him at the threshold of the fourth +century.</p> + +<p>"Yez may have it for $25," says he.</p> + +<p>"I'll give you five," says I.</p> + +<p>He turned away as one who found his mother tongue inadequate to express +the deep-seated scorn of his soul. I followed.</p> + +<p>"Did yez say twenty?" he asked stopping abruptly and facing me with the +blurred photograph of what was once an engaging smile.</p> + +<p>"I said five," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Well, take it thin," said he, "but it would be dirt chape at fifty. +It's not a day less than four hun—"</p> + +<p>"Stop," said I, "if you add another century I'll only pay you two and a +half for it."</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>And so to-night it comes to pass that I am writing at my new old desk. I +am half conscious, as my pencil glides along the paper, of a laughing +face, half-hidden by showers of falling hair, that flickers like a +shadow in and out of the soft gloom that enfolds me. Fingers, light as +air, seem to follow the motion of my own, and the ghost of the mistress +who thought and wrote at this same desk, one, two, three, four hundred +years ago, seems whispering in my ear. I wonder what will be the effect +if I read to that sweet, gentle woman of "ye olden time" a few bits from +the morning paper.</p> + +<p>Madam, are you aware that a man kicked his wife to death yesterday +because she failed to have his supper ready for him? Are you not to be +congratulated that you are out of reach of this latter day development +of the human brute? Do you know that the Blank concerts began this last +week, and that the melodies that throng the beautiful hall yonder on the +avenue are like bands of singing angels charming a world's sorrows to +rest? Do not the gentle caprices of the flutes and the swing of the +fiddles make even you, flake of airy nothingness that you are! dance +like a thistle-down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> in a summer breeze? Madam, do you know, and how +does it affect you to know, that there are bargain sales in town where +you can buy a gown for a song, and a pair of all-wool blankets for the +worth of a dream? In your long time disembodied state have you yet +reached a point, I wonder, when such news as this can no longer thrill a +woman's heart? If so, madam, you are truly and undeniably dead, and your +room is better than your company. I bid you a gentle good evening.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Among the many things I shall be glad to find out some day will be why, +in spite of heroic effort to keep it straight, my hat always gets +crooked and my hair becomes disordered on the march. I thoroughly detest +the sight of a typical "blue-stocking," or a literary woman who affects +a sublime superiority to appearances, and yet Mrs. Jellyby was nowhere +as to general demoralization of raiment compared to my unfortunate self. +Taking my seat in a down-town restaurant the other day, I found myself +surrounded by half a dozen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> girls as bright and pretty and jolly as +girls go. No sooner was I seated than the whisper went round that a +newspaper woman had invaded the party. "Looks like one," murmured the +plumpest one of the lot, and I could have cried. "Girls," I wanted to +say, "judge not by appearances. The best christians sometimes have red +noses, just as the jolliest literary folks have frowsy hair and +abandoned hats. They can't help it, my dears, any more than a black cat +can help being somber. It is never safe to condemn anybody, not even a +poor, miserable scribbler for the press, on circumstantial evidence. You +see a crooked hat, electric hair, and that is all. Put on Titbottom +spectacles and look deeper. Perhaps you will then see an +anguish-stricken woman rising at 5 a. m. to make herself smart for the +day. You will note how carefully she adjusts the feeble adjuncts to her +toilet, how she places her hat on straight and secures it with a +cast-iron cable! How she combs out her curls and sticks a feathery +kerchief within her belt. Two hours later the cable hat-pin has been +struck by a tidal-wave and swept from its anchorage; the curls have +degenerated into wisps of wind-tossed hay;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> and the kerchief? Gone as a +feather is gone when the summer tempest gets behind it! We mean well, +girls. We want to look trim and slick and span. All of us poor literary +people do, but we can't bring it about. Life is so everlastingly full, +anyway, that it seems preposterous to spend more than half one's time in +getting fixed up. Sometimes I am foolish enough to believe that good St. +Peter, when we come toiling up to his gate, won't look so much to the +condition of our hats and our hair as he will to the way we wear our +souls. If they are tip-tilted and frowsy it may go a little bit hard +with us. Of course, it is a good thing to be able to wear a hat +straight, and be remarked for your pretty hair and generally pleasing +appearance, but I declare to you if it comes to a question of mental +array and soul-correction as opposed to style and good form, I am +willing to choose the former and be laughed at now and then by saucy +girls."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>That's right. Stand on shore and beat him back when he attempts to make +a landing.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> If necessary, club him under water and congratulate yourself +that you are so self-righteous and everlastingly holy that nobody can +get a chance to swing a club at you. What is this half-dead thing that +is trying to force its way onto dry land from the whelming waters of +temptation and misery? A rat? Oh, no; only a human creature like +yourself. Sin overtaken and subdued by evil. He is young, perhaps, and +never had a mother's care or a father's training. He has drifted with +easy currents into dangerous waters, and the devil, who lurks beneath +the flood, is trying to snatch him down to hell! Raise your club and +give him a clip! The audacity of such a boy trying to be anything with +such a record behind him! Oh, I am sick of you all, you omniverous +feeders on reputation, you unveilers of past records of shame! I hope in +my heart that if ever you get your own foot on the threshold of some +haven of relief, after a tight tussle with danger and death, an angel +will stand over against the doorway with a flaming sword and demand to +see your credentials. No hope of that, though. Angels are not up to that +sort of work; it is left to men, and sometimes—God pity us all!—to +women.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>If you expect to escape criticism, girls, in this world, you will put +yourselves very much in the plight of flower-roots that expect to grow +without the discipline of the hoe. Before we can amount to anything +either in blossom or as fruit, we must undergo much honest criticism, +and of such we need never be afraid. A candid and above-board enemy is +of far more benefit, often, than a timid friend, who, seeing our faults, +is afraid to tell us of them. The fact that boys stone certain trees and +pass others by, is explained when we find that the stones are always +thrown at the fruit-bearing trees. And so with character; the fact that +we are criticized proves that we are something better than scrub-oak +saplings. But all criticism that does not make us grow, and put forth +fairer and richer blossoms, is like a hoe made of wood, or a cultivator +without power applied to cause it to destroy the weeds. If the unanimous +verdict of the community in which we live asserts that we are proud, or +ill-natured, or lazy, we may be pretty sure that there is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> some cause +for the application of that particular stroke of the hoe, and the sooner +we set about seeking to remedy the evil, the better for our next world's +crop of blossoms. Nobody (save One) was ever yet maligned without some +little cause. Those who come in contact with you at home may not see +little blemishes upon your conduct or character which those who meet you +in business may detect. For instance, to the folks at home you never put +on that indifferent and languid air to which you treat the customer who +drops in to buy ribbon, or the woman who asks you a question at your +office desk. The customer and the questioner go away with an estimate of +your behavior very unlike the one held at home, where you are frank and +cheerful, and willing to please. And, on the other hand, the party with +whom you associate casually in business, or with whom you ride daily to +and from your office and your home, has no conception how snappy and +snarly you can be when none but familiar ears are open to your surly +complaints.</p> + +<p>The statement from your little brother or sister that you are a "cross +old thing" would hardly be believed by those who meet you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> away from +home. And yet the hoe in the little hands strikes at a weed that +threatens to make havoc in the garden. Better look to it, dearie, before +the ugly thing quite overtops the mignonette and the pinks! Whenever you +hear of an adverse criticism set to find the weed somewhere in your +character. I believe firmly that every one of us was born into the world +with capabilities for almost every evil under the sun if environment +favors the development. Like a garden patch, the roots of the weeds lie +already deep, the flower seeds must be sown. And no gardener ever +struggled with "pusley" and burdock as we must struggle with the evil +crop, heredity-sown. Thanks be to the quick eye, then, be it of friend +or foe, who discerns the weed before we do, and whips out the hoe to +attack it. We are not exactly pleased when it is borne in upon us +through the criticism of some acquaintance or neighbor, that we are +selfish in little things. Our folks don't say so, and we try to believe +the charge is a libel. Next time you throw your banana skin heedlessly +on the pavement, or crowd into a seat without a "by your leave," or +refuse to move up in a crowded car, or<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> open your window without asking +if it be agreeable to the person behind you, or eat peanuts and throw +the shucks on the floor instead of out of the window, or see a lady +going by with a disarranged dress and don't tell her of it, or return an +indifferent answer to a civil question, or refuse the sweet service of a +smile and a gentle look to the humblest wayfarer that jostles you on the +road, just remember the criticism, and see if there is not occasion for +it. Set about correcting the little faults, and the great ones leave to +God. He will keep you, no doubt, from theft, and murder, and perjury, +but you don't ask or seem to stand in need of His help in getting rid of +temptations to be mean and selfish, and discourteous and lazy.</p> + +<p>What would you think of a gardener who went about with a spade seeking +to exterminate nothing but Canada thistles, and let all the rest of the +weeds go? It is not often that so big and determinate a thing as a +Canada thistle gets in among the roses, and when it does it is quickly +disposed of. But oh, the wee growths! The tiny shoots that come up +faster than flies swarm in dog-days, and need to be forever stood over +against with a steady hand and a hoe. If my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> neighbor comes out and +charges me with stealing a barrel of flour from her storehouse, or +attacking her first-born with a meat-axe, I can quickly disprove that +sort of a charge; but when she says that I am unprincipled because I +steal in and coax her girl away from her with the offer of higher +wages—how is that? Or that I am selfish because she sees me let my old +mother wait on me to what I am able to get myself; or cross, because I +am untender to the children; or untruthful, because I instruct the +servant to say I am "not at home" when I am, how am I going to dispose +of those charges? Sure as you live, there are weeds in front of such hoe +strokes, and with heaven's help we'll get rid of 'em.</p> + +<p>Cultivate your critics, then, provided they be honest and fair-dealing. +Avoid only such as strike in the dark. The man who goes out to hoe weeds +in the night time is not to be trusted, and the enemy who resorts to the +underhand methods of backbiting and scandal to do his work, is not worth +talking about, much less heeding. Take criticism that is fair and open, +as you occasionally take quinine, to tone up the system and dissipate +the malaria of sloth and inertia.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> Only they shall come into the +festival by and by, bearing garlands of roses, and wreaths of hearts' +delight and balm, who have welcomed the strong stroke of the hoe at the +root of every blossom to bear down the weeds and loosen the tough and +sun-baked soil.</p> + +<p>As Charles Kingsley says:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"My fairest child, I have no song to give you;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No lark could pipe 'neath skies so dull and gray;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">For every day:</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Do noble things, not dream them, all day long,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And so make life, death and that vast forever</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">One grand, sweet song."</span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>See that half-grown man? He never will know as much again as he does now +at the ripe age of twenty. When he gets to be fifty, when his hair is +grizzled and his hopes are like the dead leaves that cling to November +trees, he will look back upon these years of rare wisdom and colossal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +effrontery and blush a little, perhaps, at the recollection. Now he has +no reverence for a woman or for God. He sneers at good in a world whose +threshold he has barely crossed, as a year-old child might stand in the +doorway of his nursery and denounce what was going on in the +drawing-room. Most of the scathing things that are said about domestic +felicity, and the sneers that are bestowed on love, and the gibes that +are flung at purity, and the scoffs that are launched at established +religions; all the jokes at the expense of noble womanhood and the +witticisms that are lavished upon the old-fashioned virtues, spring from +the gigantic brain of the youth of the period.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Often as I pass along the streets of this town I notice certain places +which I do not burn down, nor tear down, nor otherwise demolish, merely +because of inherent cowardice and inadequate strength. If I had a +wide-awake, growing boy I would no more turn him loose in your town, Mr. +Alderman, than I would cut his throat with my own hand. Not, certainly, +if there was a spark<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> of human nature within him, and a boy without such +a spark is hardly worth raising. And more than that, I will say this, +that what with your saloons and your wide-open gambling resorts, and +your doorways of hell, wherein sit spiders luring flies, it has come to +pass that every mother whose boy encounters harm thereby should be +entitled to damages at least as great as juries award a careless +pedestrian who gets his legs cut off at a railway crossing. You say that +laws are inadequate to cope with evils of this kind; if that is so, then +an outraged citizenhood should rise superior to law, and enter upon a +crusade to destroy the infamous dens that decoy our boys. On a certain +downtown street there is a newly opened resort, the windows of which are +closely draped, and before the door of which a placard is suspended +which invites only men to enter within. Now and then a hideously ugly +man, with a yellow beard, comes to the ticket window and looks out like +a tarantula from its hole, but in the main the place seems absolutely +unfrequented.</p> + +<p>Take your stand and watch for awhile, though, and you will see young men +and small boys, old men and slouching reprobates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> of all conditions and +colors going in and coming out by dozens. Why doesn't some good citizen +enter a complaint of that place and break it up? We would pounce upon a +smallpox case soon enough wherever it might lurk, but we are strangely +indifferent where the menace is only to the soul.</p> + +<p>How can we expect to keep our boys pure and raise them to lives of +usefulness when such iniquitous places are run wide open on public +streets at noonday, granting admission to all masculinity between the +ages of 7 and 70?</p> + +<p>A well-guarded youth is supposed to be at home in the night time and not +to be frequenting shy neighborhoods at any hour. So that we might feel +comparatively safe about the boy we send out into the world at an early +age to begin his career as errand boy or messenger if these pernicious +decoys were maintained only at night and in low vicinities. When the +trap is set, however, right in the business center of the town by +daylight, what safety have we? Whenever I look into the face of an +eager, bright, curious, thoroughly alive boy I feel like shaking every +other duty of life and going forth to do battle with the devil for that +lad's soul.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>Why should evil have so much greater chance than good? For one reason I +don't believe we make the good attractive enough. The devil has stolen +the trademark of light for half his wares. Why not have more fun and +frolic in the home? Why not add a gymnasium and dancing hall to the +Sunday school and filter some of the world's innocent sunshine inside +its gloomy walls? Why may not the eager, active heart of youth find its +good cheer and jollity somewhere else than in forbidden places and among +smooth and unscrupulous knaves? If we made our churches less austere and +their gatherings more alluring to the young, these low and vicious +resorts might close for lack of patronage.</p> + +<p>God bless the boys. I love them next best to girls, and sometimes even a +little better, when they are especially frank and brave and true. I am +not going to see them harmed without a protest, either, and I would be +one of a crowd this very day to march upon the resorts of evil that lie +in wait, all over town, to destroy the bonnie fellows. If I had my way, +every man or woman who makes money by pandering to the curiosity of a +boy's nature, inciting to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> unworthy passion by means of lewd pictures +and the like, should be consigned to instant perdition. The earth is too +hallowed to receive their vile dust!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Dear girls, if you would be beautiful with the beauty that strikes root +in heaven, first of all be natural. Be true to something within you +higher than any conventional code or worldly wise mandate. If it is your +natural impulse to be courteous, and sympathetic, and sweet (and blessed +be the fact, it is the natural impulse of most girls so to be!), don't +let miserable conformity and its tricksters exchange your genuine +blossom for a mere shred of painted muslin, fashioned though it be after +even so perfect a similitude of a rose. The birds of the air nor the +angels in heaven will ever be fooled by any artificial rose, let me tell +you, however much dudes and society feather-heads may pretend to desire +it. Grow for something better than this world; wear your sweetness in +your heart rather than on your pocket handkerchief.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The great drawback to domestic felicity often lies in the fact that we +get too familiar with one another. There should be a certain reserve in +the most intimate relationships. Sisters and brothers have no right to +burst into one another's private rooms without knocking. Wives have no +more right to search their husband's pockets than they have to do the +same little service for a distant acquaintance. I have no right to read +the Young Person's letters without permission, although I have a right +to win her confidence so that she shows them freely. The Captain has no +more right to visit the Boy's bank for pennies because he is her +brother, than she has to abstract money from the grocery-man's till. You +have no more right to obtrude your conversation upon your wife, nor she +upon her husband, when either is in the middle of a thrilling story, +than you or she would have to interrupt the Queen of England at her +devotions. An "excuse me," if a mother is obliged to interrupt her +youngest child's babble, is quite as good a way to teach the baby +manners<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> as a course of lectures later on etiquette. The man who gets up +and slams shut the ventilator in a crowded car to suit his own +convenience, or the woman who throws open a car-window regardless of the +occupants of the seat behind her, is no ruder than Bess is when she +ignores brother Tom's comfort at home, or Tom is when he pounces for the +biggest orange on the plate when only Bess and he are at table. When +either makes rude remarks to the other, they sin against the true code +of etiquette more than when they are discourteous at a party or +boisterously unkind with a comrade, just as he is more criminally +careless who pounds a piano to pieces with a hammer than he who batters +the pine case it was brought in. The greater the value of the article, +the choicer we are supposed to be of it, and in the same line of +argument, the dearer and closer the tie that binds us, the more +considerate we should be in the handling of it. I may hurt the feelings +of a society acquaintance, and there is restitution and forgiveness, but +when I stab the dear old mother's heart with an unkind word, or wound my +child's feelings with an injustice or a cruelty, or ridicule the +sensitive<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> feelings of a brother or a sister, not eternity itself shall +be long enough to extract the sting from my memory when my dear ones are +dead and love's opportunity is vanished forever.</p> + +<p>Study politeness, then, which is the bodyguard of love, and build up for +yourself the structure of a happy home.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Has it been borne in upon you what radiant mornings and September nights +the last two weeks have brought in? Have you stopped, Mr. Busyman, to +note the wonder of the skies, never so glorious as of late? Did you see +the sunset the other evening when a gigantic cloud stood almost zenith +high against the flaming west, and took on for a time the panoply of a +king? Did you notice the purple center and the dazzling edge, with the +rose blush that fringed its borders? Did you see it pale to gray and +vanish like a ghost into the starry night? Do you ever stop, Mrs. +Featherhead, to mark the beauty of our wayside clover or the sparkle of +a buttercup in the dew? Have you found the nooks where, like shy +children,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> the violets cluster? Did you mark a certain day, a week or so +ago, when the heavens were full of cloud battalions, taking new shapes +every minute, and often dissolving in long lines of purple rain, shot +through with stitches of golden light? Have you seen the lake lately, as +blue as a heather bell, as wild as a wood-bird, as peaceful as a +brooding dove? Where were you the other night when out of the sullen +storm cloud the "light that never was on land or sea" enfolded us, and +the world hung like an emerald in a topaz sky?</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>No law of morals should be less arbitrary for men than it is for women. +An impure heart, a riotous appetite, a profane tongue, are no more +excusable in a man than they are in a woman. If a man is supposed to +shrink from selecting his wife among the unclean in thought and immoral +of practice, why should not a young girl be allowed an undefiled +selection? When girls grow so queenly natured that they demand that +their lover should be of the royal stock and never demean themselves<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> to +stoop to mate with impurity and profligacy just because it carries a +handsome face and a well-filled pocketbook, there will be some chance +for happiness in the married estate. It is this placing white flowers in +smutty buttonholes, or, in other words, the wedding of pure women to +blasé and wicked men, that sows the seed of the tare in what was meant +by the primal law to be a harvest of golden grain. Do you pick +slug-eaten roses and wind-fall blossoms? When you go forth to buy +material for a new gown do you choose cotton warp fabrics and colors +that will fade in the first washing? Your answers to all these question +are prompt enough, but when I ask you what choice you make of gentlemen +friends, you are not quite so ready with a reply. Do you choose the +young man who has a clean record, who neither drinks nor wastes his +money in riotous practices? How about the tobacco chewers and the +swearers? How about the lewd jesters and the low-minded? Provided he +wears fine clothes, can dance well and make a good appearance in +society, and above all can give you a handsome diamond for an engagement +ring, are you not willing to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> accept a lover in spite of his known +reputation as a fast young man about town? Girls, you had much better +choose a specked peach for canning than such a man for a husband. Do you +imagine that by and by at the upper court, whither we are all hastening +as quickly as the old patrol wagon of time can carry us, there will be +any distinction made between men and women? Think you a man is going to +get off easier than a sorrowful and sinful woman merely because the +world falsely taught him that the exigencies of his nature demanded +greater latitude than hers?</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>You may retouch a faded picture, you may patch up an old piano, you may +mend a shattered vase, but you cannot make a plucked rose grow again; it +will wither and die in spite of every effort to restore it to the stem +from which it fell. And so with the heart from which a low desire in the +guise of an alluring temptation has snatched the flower of innocence. +That heart will fade into hopeless loss unless a greater love than yours +or mine intervenes to save. An impure soul never started out impure from +the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> first any more than a peach was decayed in the blossom. It is the +small beginnings, dear girls, that lead up to the bitter endings. The +impure book read on the sly, the questionable jest laughed at in secret, +the talk indulged in with a schoolmate or a friend which you would be +unwilling for "mother" to hear, the horrible card circulated under the +desk or behind the teacher's back, those are the beginnings of an ending +sadder than the blight of any desolation that storm or drought or frost +can bring upon the blossoms. If I only could, how gladly I would dip my +pen to-night in a light that should outshine the electric splendor of +our streets and write a message against the dark background of the sky, +to startle young girls into the realization of the danger that lurks in +the first indulgence of thoughts and companionships that are not pure. +Avoid all such as you would avoid the contagion of small-pox, and a +thousand times more. Small-pox, at its worst, can only mar the body, but +the friend who lends you bad books or tells you "smutty" stories +proffers a contagion to your soul which all the fountains of all your +tears can never cleanse away.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THIS BABY OF OURS.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +There's not a blossom of beautiful May,<br /> +Silver of daisy, or daffodil gay,<br /> +Nor the rosy bloom of apple tree flowers,<br /> +Fair as the face of this baby of ours.<br /> +<br /> +You could never find, on a bright June day,<br /> +A bit of fair sky so cheery and gay;<br /> +Nor the haze on the hills in noonday hours,<br /> +Blue as the eyes of this baby of ours.<br /> +<br /> +There's not a murmur of wakening bird—<br /> +The clearest, sweetest, that ever was heard<br /> +In the tender hush of the dawn's still hours—<br /> +Soft as the laugh of this baby of ours.<br /> +<br /> +There's no gossamer silk of tasseled corn,<br /> +Nor the flimsiest thread of the shy wood fern—<br /> +Not even the cobwebs spread over the flowers—<br /> +Fine as the hair of this baby of ours.<br /> +<br /> +There's no fairy shell by the sounding sea,<br /> +No wild rose that nods on the windy lea,<br /> +No blush of the sun through April's showers,<br /> +Pink as the palm of this baby of ours.</td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Don't you get awfully tired of people who are always croaking? A frog in +a big,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> damp, malarial pond is expected to make all the fuss he can in +protest of his surroundings. But a man! Destined for a crown, and born +that he may be educated for the court of a king! Placed in an emerald +world with a hither side of opaline shadow, and a fine dust of diamonds +to set it sparkling when winter days are flying; with ten million +singing birds to make it musical, and twice ten million flowers to make +it sweet; with countless stars to light it up with fiery splendor, and +white, new moons to wrap it round with mystery; with other souls within +it to love and make happy, and the hand of God to uphold it on its +rushing way among the countless worlds that crowd its path: what right +has a man to find fault with such a world?</p> + +<p>When the woodtick shall gain a hearing, as he complains that the grand +old century oak is unfit to shelter him, or the bluebird be hearkened to +when he murmurs that the horizon is off color, and does not match his +wings, then, I think, it will be time for man to find fault with the +appointments of the magnificent sphere he inhabits.</p> + +<p>"It is a fine day!" remarks Miss Cherrylips.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span>"Too cold," says the croaker; "beastly wind, not fit for a dog to +breathe."</p> + +<p>Oh, yes, my dear, I heard him say it this very morning, and while I sat +and listened to him I could but think to myself, "What would become of +the croaker without the weather topic to fall back upon?" When all else +failed him, he is sure to have something to find fault with within the +range of this universal and inexhaustible topic. It is too warm or too +cold; there is too much rain, or there is a drought; the winters are +changing and microbes are on the increase; the peach buds are blighted +by a cold snap in spring, and the potatoes have failed or are about to +fail, owing to a wet June.</p> + +<p>That is the way the croaker holds forth whenever he can get anybody to +listen to him. I sometimes wonder what he would do if he really had +great things to fret about; if one of his beautiful children were to +die, or the faithful wife he loves so well in his heart, perhaps, but +never takes the trouble to acquaint with the fact, were to weary of his +endless faultfinding and steal away from it all into the quietude of the +grave. I wonder if he would not then look back upon these days of +"croaking" with amazement that he was ever so blind and stupid a fool.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>I knew a woman once who was very, very charming. She could sing "Allan +Percy" in a way that would melt the heart within you. She could paint on +china and decorate the panels of doors, and on the whole she was +calculated to enjoy life and make it enjoyable for others. But her home, +on the contrary, was utterly devoid of peace and comfort. Her husband +took no pleasure there, although he was lavish in the expenditure of +money to render the place attractive. Her children were glad to get away +from their home and find otherwhere the freedom and gaiety denied them +there. Why was all this, when the mother was so eminently fitted by +grace and accomplishments to create a beautiful and happy home? Simply +because she was always fretting and fussing about trifles. She was a +croaker and always finding fault. She fought flies until life was a +burden to everybody who watched her. She said that they would spoil the +paint, poison the food and ruin the curtains. She was after them at +early dawn nor gave over the chase until late at night. She would leave +the dinner table to chase a fly and kill it with a folded paper. She +would stop the lullaby song she was singing to her pretty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> baby, to get +up and call somebody to come in and hunt a stray blue-bottle that was +bunting its stupid head against the window screen. She said that her +life wasn't worth a farthing to her if the flies got into her home, and +she would sooner jump in the river than submit to the pestilential +infliction. Then she was forever prophesying some dreadful fate for +herself by reason of the muddy footprints that occasionally found their +way onto the carpets.</p> + +<p>"I declare," she would say, "if you boys don't stop tracking dirt into +the house I'll die before my time. If there is anything I hate it is a +careless boy!"</p> + +<p>And the boys took her at her word and stopped tracking mud. But they +were gradually lured to stay away from home, and the soil they took into +their hearts was perhaps harder to efface than the footmarks they left +upon the floor of mother's neatly kept hallways.</p> + +<p>She was always anticipating trouble that never came. She knew the girl +was going to leave. She was simply too great a treasure to keep. She was +absolutely certain that the milkman was watering his milk, and the baby +would get sick. She had no doubt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> whatever but what her husband was +going to ruin himself on 'Change, and then what would become of them +all? So she worried and fretted and fumed, until patience, like a hunted +bird, spread its wings and flew away, and what might have been a happy +home became a stranded wreck upon the rocks of contention.</p> + +<p>Oh, I tell you right now, girls, if you can only cultivate one +accomplishment out of the many that wait to crown a perfect womanhood, +cultivate a pleasant temper and cheerful disposition. The ability to +speak many languages, to paint, to dance, to sing, or even to wield a +graceful pen is nothing compared to the ability to make a lovely home. +Nobody ever yet succeeded in that noblest endeavor without abjuring +needless faultfinding, croaking and fretting.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>As a general thing I don't believe in sermons served as restaurants +serve beef—in slices. I believe in teaching truths, rather, as one +whips cream, dropping in the moral as an almost imperceptible flavoring. +But I tell you there are times when I feel like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> mounting a pulpit and +thundering with old Calvin, until the air emits sulphur. Especially when +I see the inhumanities and outrages practiced upon children by witless +parents, do I feel stirred to my soul's depths. If we treated our flower +beds as we do our children there wouldn't be a blossom left in the +world. If we served our meals as we do our children, there would be +rampant indigestion and black-browed death at the heels of every one of +us. Now and then you see a wise mother and sensible father, but the +biggest half of humanity receive their children as youngsters receive +their Christmas toys, to be played with when in a good humor, and +bundled anywhere out of sight when out of sorts or engrossed with more +important matters. We forget, half of us, that a little child's sense of +injustice and sorrow and wrong is compatible with its own growth and +experience rather than with our own. What to us is a paltry trial is the +cause of keenest, unalleviated woe to the child of five. The possession +of uncounted gold at forty will not be more precious than the possession +at three of the apple or the book we so rudely snatch from the little +hands without a word of apology. Take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> the time to explain to the little +fellow why you deprive him of some cherished possession and you will +save the tender bit of a heart a vast amount of unnecessary aching.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I have many things to be thankful for this stormy winter night. One is +that the coal bin is full and the lock on the outer door secure. Another +is that the rooftree bends above an unbroken band, and that disease with +its fell touch lingers the other side of the threshold of the little +home. Another is that, as a family, we all have straight backs and +moderately developed intellects; that we are neither dime museum freaks, +lunatics, nor half-wits. Another is that none of us chew gum, carry +around dogs, nor make expectoration the chief business of a day's +outing. Another is that I am getting so used to the alarm clock that I +sleep through its wild clamor and escape the duties that fall to the lot +of that other member of the home circle whose ear and conscience are not +so sadly seared as mine. Another is that I know enough to detect butter +from oleomargarine, and am not roped in by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> Blank street vendors with +their dollar and a half tubs. Another is that I am not the sort of +fellow to be always hitting another fellow when he has been down and is +trying to stand steady again. Another is that I am modest enough to +question whether I could run a grip any better than he does? Another is +that I got one answer to the "ad." wherewith I sought to capture a gold +watch. It would have been an embarrassing thing to have received not one +solitary little nibble. Another is that the elevator boy who +occasionally carries me to the top floor and intermediate stations +around at Blank's is kind and does not treat me with the haughty scorn +he bestows on others. Another is that I have the serene equipoise of +nerve which renders me calm and even cheerful under the knowledge that +there is nothing in the house to eat, and two invited guests gently +sleeping the happy hours away in the chamber above, dreaming perchance +of toothsome viands not to be. Another is that in spite of weather I +take no colds, and am as impervious to catarrhal or pneumonic affections +as an eagle is impervious to the attack of tom-tits. Another is that I +live in a town where people sell no beer; they may<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> steal and backbite, +and raise the old lad generally, but thank goodness the baleful glitter +of a glass beer bottle has never yet eclipsed the moral splendor of the +scene. Another is that I have been enabled to preserve a few staunch and +trusty friends through the evolution of that rainy-weather costume which +a few of my sex have joined me in essaying. I cannot speak for future +tests, but so far my henchmen have stood firm. And right here let me say +that any friend, man, woman or babe, who can remain loyal to you after +you have been seen in public in a dress-reform garment is worth +cultivating, and should be made the theme of special psalms of praise. +Another is that the picture I had taken the other day looks worse than I +do, and when I send it off to unsuspecting admirers I am not torn with +the thought that when they see the original they will drop scalding hot +tears of disappointment. This idea of raising false hopes in the minds +of confiding strangers savors too much of Ananias and Sapphira. Another +is that so far in life I have preserved a stern and unshaken resolution +not to wear a false front. A woman in a store bang is next worse to a +chromo in an art gallery,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> or a muslin rose among American beauties +fresh from the rose gardens. Artificiality, my dear, pretense and +assumption, are harder to put up with than anything else in the world, +unless it is corns. But far ahead of all the above enumerated causes for +gratitude is one which thrills me most profoundly, and which can be +summed up in half a dozen words, the echo of which, perhaps, will find a +lodgment in some other hearts. I am thankful, very, very thankful, that +I am not the mother, nor the aunt, nor the half-sister, nor the first +cousin, nor even the next-door neighbor, of the boy who kills sparrows +for two cents bounty on the little heads. If I had such a boy within +range of my voice to-night I should say to him, "Be poor, my man; be +unsuccessful in business, and not up to bargains all your life, but +don't be shrewd and sordid and cruel in seeking your gains. Better go by +the name of 'mollycoddle' and 'baby' among the other boys than get to be +a little ruffian with your arrow and your sling-shot, and the name of a +keen-killer tacked on to yourself. Let the sparrows alone, or if you +really feel that they are the nuisance they are made out to be, kill +them if you like, but do it in a gentlemanly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> way (if such a paradox is +possible), and don't take money for the job." The boy or the man who +will take a life for sordid ends, or, in other words, who will seek to +enrich himself on "blood money," is pretty low down in the human scale.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Laughter is a positive sweetness of life, but, like good coffee, it +should be well cleared of deleterious substance before use. Ill-will and +malice and the desire to wound are worse than chicory. Between a laugh +and a giggle there is the width of the horizons. I could sit all day and +listen to the hearty and heartsome ha! ha! of a lot of bright and jolly +people, but would rather be shot by a Winchester rifle at short range +than be forced to stay within earshot of a couple of silly gossips. +Cultivate that part of your nature that is quick to see the mirthful +side of things, so shall you be enabled to shed many of life's troubles, +as the plumage of the bird sheds rain. But discourage all tendencies to +seek your amusement at the expense of another's feelings or in aught +that is impure. It was Goethe who said:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> "Tell me what a man laughs at +and I will read you his character."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I'll take my chances any day to find heaven on earth, if I can have the +run of the woods up along our northern lake shore in early springtime. I +want no companions either, unless, perhaps, it be a child or a dog, for +artificial women and dudish men, let loose in the woods, are harder to +endure than gad-flies. It was scarcely more than sunrise, the other +morning, when I left the house and took my way toward the forest shrine +undesecrated as yet by surveyors or wood-choppers, the advent of either +of whom in a country town means good-bye to heaven on that particular +spot of earth! We found the air so full of sweetness, the instant we +struck the depths of the woods, that one could almost fancy the wise men +of the East had been there before us to greet the new-born Spring with +spices as they greeted another Heaven-born child a score of centuries +ago in Bethlehem. Every shrub held a softly-tinted leafbud half +unfolded, like a listless hand. The maple leaves were pink<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> and glossy, +like rose petals wet with rain. The hickory trees were unfolding great +creamy buds that looked like magnolias. The hawthorns were all afloat +with silver blossoms, like loosened sails. The earth seemed singing to +the heavens, "God is here!" and from the blue depths of quietude, where +a few clouds spread their soft wings like brooding birds, came back the +answer, "He is here!" The lake claimed Him, and a thousand azure waves +murmured His presence on the deep. Wherever we looked, at our feet where +the June lilies whitened the ground like perfumed snow, and the moss was +bubbling like a wayside spring with sunshine in place of water; at the +misty foliage overhead, like shadowy spirit wings; at the circle of blue +that bounded the earth, or into the very heart of heaven above us, it +seemed as though God, visible and manifest, was there to give us +greeting. Finally, we found a point of high land, touched here and there +with shadows flung down from budding birches, and starred with +dandelions in flocks, like golden butterflies. Here, leaving the +material part of me leaning up against a tree-trunk to rest, as one +thrusts a cumbersome garment on a nail, my soul<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> went wandering off into +Paradise, and forgot awhile its environment and its earth-born +responsibilities. Next time the world has failed to use you well and you +are smarting from the sense of injury undeserved, or the frets of +domestic life have worn you down to the minimum, like a blade that is +eternally upon the grindstone, start for the woods. Take a big basket +with you and fill it full of lilies, and, ten to one, before you get +home again the lilies will have taken root in your heart and your basket +will be full of contentment.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Educate the children to the expectation of sorrow, not as a monster who +is to devour them, but as an angel who is to meet them on the way and +lead them gently home to heaven. Teach them to hold themselves in +readiness for whatever life has in store, as soldiers are trained for a +battle whose end is certain peace. Teach them to endure all things, only +striving to sweeten and soften rather than to harden under the +discipline of sorrow. Unselfishness is the most rare and at the same +time the most Christian virtue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> possible for human nature to attain to, +but did anybody ever yet grow unselfish through a life of indolent +self-indulgence and ease? Did fruit ever amount to anything that was +left unacquainted with the sharp discipline of the gardener's shears? I +tell you, all the way up from an apple to a man it takes lots of pruning +and lopping off of superfluous branches to bring out the flavors and +sweeten the fiber of the fruit.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I can imagine a lot of way-worn pilgrims drawing up to heaven's gate.</p> + +<p>"What will you have?" asks old St. Peter, standing idle and calm in the +perpetual sunshine that lies beyond the swinging portal.</p> + +<p>"I will have my crown," says one. "I have earned it."</p> + +<p>"And I will have my harp," says another; "my fingers are eager to pick +out the heavenly tunes."</p> + +<p>"And I will hie me at once to my heavenly mansion," says a third. "Long +time I have plodded, foot-sore and weary, to gain the habitation of its +enduring rest."</p> + +<p>But if you can imagine "Amber" piping forth her small request, I think +you might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> hear her say: "Conduct me, oh, aged friend, to the nearest +sand-bank, where I may lie face downward in the sunshine for fifty years +to come, and hear the surf break on 'Sconsett's reef." That is what I +have been doing for the past fortnight, and both soul and body have +waxed strong in the process.</p> + +<p>What a tired passenger we carry around with us, sometimes, in this +marvelous Pullman coach of ours, wherein the soul takes passage for its +overland trip from the cradle to the grave. How restless it gets, and +how troublesome. How it turns from companionship, even that of books, +and finds no panacea for its torment, until some kind fate side-tracks +it and lets the noisy world rumble on with the clatter and clash of +conflicting cares beating the hours to dust beneath their flying wheels.</p> + +<p>When I went away for my yearly outing I was so cross that there was no +living within six miles of my own shadow. I hated everything on earth, +and everything on earth hated me. But I have come back as sweetly as the +breath of a rose steals through a lattice. That is the effect of a +jaunt, my dear; and let me say right now that if you are holding on to +your money in the hope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> of getting rich sometime, or if you are +traveling in a rut because you think you are too poor to avoid it, or if +you are grinding your soul into fine dust in the process of laying up +against a rainy day, just stop right where you are and listen to me. Any +money that is gained at the expense of health, either physical or +mental; any duty held to in the face of nervous breakdown; any gain +secured at the expense of peace of mind and growth of soul, is not worth +the holding. You cannot be of any use in the world if you are worn out +or sick. You may persist in holding on, but your grip is weak, and your +effect on affairs and people is simply that of an irritant. You owe it +to yourself, as well as to others, to go away and get rested. If it +costs money to do so, consider money well spent that gains so fair an +equivalent as rest and change, and renewed vigor. I tell you there are +few better uses to which you may put your dollars than in a yearly +outing. Your pockets may be lighter when you get back, but so will your +heart be, and the few sacrifices necessary in the way of less expensive +clothes and cigars, or less frequent gloves and bonnets, will be well +worth the making for the result gained.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I wish Columbus had never discovered us. I wish that he had never +steered his old bark westward and found the "land of the free and the +home of the brave." For with discovery came civilization, and I believe +we would have been better off without it. If we only could have been +left to ourselves and gone on sitting under lotus trees unaffected by +dressmaker and tailor bills, I believe the sum total of happiness would +have been far greater in the world than it is to-day. I would love to +return to my allegiance to nature and forever desert the haunts of +civilization and the marts of trade. I want to gather together a picked +band of kindred souls and go out and pitch tent by the Gunnison River. +Ever been there? Imagine a stream of gold flowing through hills colored +like an apple orchard in May, with a sky bending down above them like +the wing of an oriole. I want to forget the insolence of a class who may +be as good as I am in the eye of the law, but whom it would take a ton +of soap and God's grace to make my equal in point of cleanliness and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> +decency. I want to forget forever the clang of the cable car and the +rumble of its wheels. I want to return to the heathendom that worships +gods instead of dollars and loves mankind simply because it knows +nothing of faithlessness and fraud.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>"Plaze, sor," said a servant to the head of a certain suburban household +the other morning, "the gintleman who sthole the chickens left his hat +in the hincoop." Just so, Bridget. And the lady who attends to the +affairs of the kitchen has her foot upon the neck of the miserable woman +who is nominally at the head of the house. Oh, no! I am not going to +enter into a disquisition upon the merits of the servant question. Years +ago, when I cantered lightly in my ride against windmills, I might have +undertaken it, but the question has grown too large to be settled by +talking. The state of things in this free country is growing just a +trifle too free. There are no longer any servants in this proud land. It +is not ladylike to serve. The person who superintends the domestic +affairs of our home merely condescends<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> for a consideration. We no +longer have any rights as employers. The wind has tacked to another +quarter. Should we wish to discharge our lady cook or dispense with the +services of a gentleman artisan it stands in place for us to approach +them in a respectful manner, put the case before them clearly and ask +them humbly, without offense to their delicate sensibilities, if they +will kindly allow us to forego their so-called services. Question +yourself seriously, my dear; are you sufficiently considerate? Think how +these defenseless ladies and thin-skinned gentlemen who fill positions +of trust in your establishment must suffer sometimes from your boorish +impetuosity. Are you always cordial in your greeting when the worn face +of the cook appears at the delayed breakfast hour and she places before +you the hurried pancake and the underdone steak? Do you stop to think +how the poor creature has danced all night at a ball and has crept home +after your stiff-necked and rebellious husband has bounded away to catch +the early train, breakfastless and profane? And when the low-voiced and +timid second girl tells you that, as a lady who knows her place, she +really cannot demean<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> herself to wipe off the paint or sweep the front +steps, do you take her by the hand and acknowledge the indiscretion of +your coarser nature in expecting her to do such menial service? How many +of us, clods that we are, have raged when the mild-mannered laundry maid +has appropriated our underclothing, or remonstrated when the number +seven foot of the blue-blooded cook has condescended to stretch our +silken hose? It behooves us to join the ranks of the "philanthropic +fiends" and look to it that we improve our methods of treating the +delicate gentry who tarry with us so briefly.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>By the way, I think I occasionally hear a feeble pipe from a man to the +effect that the girls are responsible for all the tomfoolery in the +world. Don't you know that you are the very ones who tend to make them +so—you men? You follow after and woo and wed just that sort of girls. +You won't look at a sensible little woman who can make "lovely" bread, +abjures bangs, can't dance and has no "style." You laugh at and make sly +jokes at the expense of our big hats and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> our pronounced fashions, but +when you choose your company, and often your wives, I notice you pass +right by the home-keeping birds and take the peacocks. Of course, no one +lives in this age who doubts for a moment that woman's chief aim in life +and purpose of creation, as well as her hope of a blessed hereafter, is +to please the men and get a husband. If you won't have her modest and +simply gowned she is willing to make a feather-headed doll and a +travesty of herself to get you and win heaven! You know perfectly well, +you men, that you don't care half so much for brains as you do for +general "get-up," and the woman you honor with your choice is selected +for a pretty face and form, and a becoming costume rather than for a +clever head and an honest heart. I am not talking to old fogies who +cling to old-fashioned notions, but to young men who ridicule the +customs of their grandmothers, who shake their heads at salaries of two +and three thousand a year as inadequate to support wives; who rail +against woman's extravagance, yet do their best to maintain her in it. +When you, my fine and dapper gentleman, begin to seek out the modestly +appareled and the sedate girls,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> then shall folly and vain show fly over +seas for want of encouragement and the grand transformation of sawdust +dolls into women and pleasure-seekers into home-keepers take place.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">TWO DAYS.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +I said to myself one golden day<br /> +When the world was bright and the world was gay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Though I live more lives than time has years</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Either in this or the infinite spheres,</span><br /> +I will fear no blight and I'll bear no cross,<br /> +Against my gains I will write no loss,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I and my soul, twin lilies together,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall whiten in endless summer weather!"</span><br /> +<br /> +I said to myself one weary day<br /> +When the world was old and the world was gray,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Has God forgotten His wandering earth?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are its tears His scorning, its groans His mirth?</span><br /> +There's no blue above where the torn clouds fly,<br /> +There's no bloom below where the dead leaves lie;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would I and my soul were at rest together</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wrapped from the chill of this wintry weather."</span></td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> are some people who live in this world as a cucumber grows in a +garden. They cling to their own vine and serve no higher end than +rotundity and relish. There are others who live in the world as a summer +breeze lives in a meadow; they find out all the hidden flowers and set +the perfumes flying. There are others who live as the sea lives in a +shell; their existence is nothing but a sigh. There are others who live +as the fire lives in a diamond; they are all sparkle. And there are +others, and they outnumber all the rest, who live as a blind mole lives +in the soil; they see nothing, feel nothing, suffer and enjoy a little +now and then, perhaps, but know nothing to all eternity. Such people +walk through life as the mole walks through the glory of a summer day, +or burrows beneath the dazzle of a winter storm. They are as +irresponsive to the voices all about them as the mole is to the singing +of April robins. They are as untouched by the myriad influences of life +as the mole is by the light of a star or the flash of a comet. Their +only interest is in the question, "Wherewith shall we be clothed, and +what shall we have to eat?" They gather the ripened hours from the tree<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +of life as a child gathers fruit, merely for the gratification of an +instant appetite, not as the careful housewife does, who garners in a +store for wintry weather. Life to them is merely a fattening process. +They remind one of prize beef at a county fair; to-morrow brings the +shambles and the butcher's axe, but in the serene content of a +well-filled stall and a full stomach, they take no thought of the +future. We meet such people every day and everywhere. On the streets +they may see a brute tyrannizing over a helpless beast of burden, or a +mother (?) yanking a sobbing child along by the arm, as full of ugliness +herself as a thunder-cloud is of electricity, or a man following an +innocent young girl with the devil in his heart, or a big boy +tyrannizing over a smaller one; and they pass it all by as indifferently +as the mole would sneak across a battlefield the morning after a battle. +They have too much to do themselves to waste time in remedying other +people's grievances. They think too much of personal reputation to +involve themselves in an altercation with defilers of the innocent, and +tramplers of the weak. They are too respectable to get mixed up in +brawls, even if the disturbance is brought about by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> the devil's own +drummers looking up recruits among the championless and defenseless +working-girls, or the parentless and homeless children of a great city. +We meet them traveling through the mountains or loitering by the sea. +Their only use for mountains is that they may carve their precious +initials on the highest peaks, pick winter-greens and blue-berries and +display their fashionable suits and striped stockings. They look upon +the sea as a big bathing-tank, and the sky, with all its splendor of +cloud and its glory of sunrise and sunset, as a barometer to forecast +the weather. We meet them in business relations, and they never believe +that courtesy and business can go together. A merchant in his office or +a lady in her parlor will bluntly refuse to buy of a worn-out, +discouraged, heart-sick book-agent, ignoring the fact that a smile +accompanying even a refusal acts like a spoonful of sugar in bitter tea, +and costs less. Even a "lady" clerk, behind a counter, will be haughty +and unaccommodating and insolent to the woman who comes to buy, +forgetful that a customer will go a long distance out of her way to deal +with a polite and well-mannered clerk, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> that, like honesty, +politeness is ever the best policy. And, on the other hand, a woman +shopper will be whimsical and captious and trying, forgetting that the +girl who serves her has human blood in her veins, and often carries a +troubled heart behind her smile or her frown.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>They have come! Without the sound of a bugle, the bright hosts have +marched down and taken possession of the land. The southern slopes are +all alive with their wind-shaken tents, and when the sun comes out warm +and glowing from the cloudy pavilions of the April sky, he finds a +million blossoms on the hills that yesterday were white with snow. Some +of them are tinted like the flush that lingers in the evening sky before +the stars find it; some of them are stainless as unfallen snow; some of +them are purple as a nautillus sail adrift upon a twilight sea; and all +of them are joyfully welcome to hearts that are weary of Winter's long +reign. And after the hypatica shall come the violet, and after the +violet the trillium, and after the trillium the wild-rose,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> and after +the wild-rose the cardinal-flower and the wood-lily, and after them the +gentian and the golden rod, to mark the wane of the year. Oh, who would +not live in a world whose dial-plate is made of flowers and whose +circling seasons are told over with blossoming trees and gentian-buds?</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I saw a great many things on the way this morning as I was coming to +town. Suppose, as the weather is too warm for preaching, I enumerate +them and let you strike the balance at the close, to see which way the +world is jogging. I saw a father, drunk, beside his little blue-eyed +daughter. His head was laid in maudlin sleep upon her shoulder, and with +blushes that came and went across her face like cloud shadows on the +slope of a hill, she sat and bore the burden of her childish shame like +a little angel. I saw a hard-faced, labor-grimed man step out of his way +to pick a wild rose that grew by the side of the road. I saw a young man +lash his horse because his own bungling driving came near colliding his +vehicle with a cable car. I saw a policeman spring to the rescue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> of an +old beggar woman who stumbled on a street crossing, and saw him fall and +trampled upon in the discharge of duty. I saw a pretty girl reach out +her white fingers and feed a discouraged street-car horse the banana she +was eating as she passed by. I saw a beaten dog turn and fawn beneath +his master's brutal kick, and I thought to myself, where is a more +faithful friendship than that? I saw a little golden-headed boy at the +window of a house as I rode by, and when I waved my hand he kissed his +in return. I saw a tired mother stoop to hug the child who fidgeted at +her knee in the tedious depot waiting-room, and I saw another slap her +baby because its sticky fingers sought to fondle her cheek. I saw a +little girl get up, without suggestion from her mother, and yield her +seat to an older person. I saw a lamed and dying bird just brought down +by a boy's sling-shot. (I saw that same boy in Sabbath-school last +Sunday!) I saw one woman in fifty thousand wearing the dress-reform. I +saw eleven girls out of nineteen with tightly-laced waists! I saw a hurt +kitten tenderly attended to by a soldier in blue, as I passed Fort +Sheridan Camp, and involuntarily I said to myself: "The bravest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> are the +tenderest; the loving are the daring." I saw a small boy beating his +mother with both fists because she carried him over the crowded and +dangerous way, and so, I thought, we treat the tender God who sometimes +lifts us, against our will, from evil ways. I saw a little coffin in an +undertaker's window, and thought, what child in this busy, bustling city +is doomed to fill that casket? What love-watched home shelters the head +that shall one day sleep upon that satin pillow? I saw a teacher in one +of our public schools and overheard a gross bit of slang as she passed +by. I see myself sending a child of mine to such a teacher if I knew it! +I saw a father wheeling his baby in a perambulator, with the sun blazing +straight into its blinking eyes. I saw one man out of every ten dodge +into a liquor saloon when he thought nobody was looking. I saw a homely +girl transformed into a beauty by a service of love accorded a stranger. +I saw a woman lean out of a Marshall Field 'bus to laugh at another who +wore shabby clothes and walked with a drooping head. I saw lots of +things besides, but how does the balance strike?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>If we have been living on bad terms with a neighbor; if we have been +maintaining a chilling silence and a forbidding reserve with anybody +thrown often in our way, let us have done with such nonsense and live in +the world as God meant we should.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Out of the exuberance of a merry heart the housekeeper has loosened the +tacks in the parlor carpet, and the epoch of housecleaning begins. The +head of the family, pro tem. dweller in the land of desolation and +sojourner in the valley of wrath, hies him to town and wishes vainly for +the return of the days when he had no wife save in Spain and no family +outside of Elia's land of dreams. The calciminer comes and drops leprous +splashes all over the hallways and the bannisters. One paperhanger +taketh unto himself another, and the two scatter ringlets of snipped +paper all over the bed chambers, and cumber up the floors with sticky +paste-pots and brushes. The scrub<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> woman breathes hard and devastates +the approaches of the front steps, while the hired girl skips playfully +here and there with damp cloths and bars of silvery soap. There is no +breakfast, no lunch, no dinner. We take what provender the gods deliver +to us in out of the way places, like stalled oxen or uncomplaining army +mules! We sleep by night in beds loosely put together and smelling of +soap. We awake betimes to the rattle of the scrubbing brush and the +sharp overthrow of stovepipes. We see the young person, like McStinger, +on the rampage from morn till night. We watch her hand to hand +encounters with the pictures that have been wont to hang upon the walls. +How she swoops upon them, bears them down, buffets them with dusters and +heaps them high like stumbling blocks in the path of the righteous! How +she sneers at our feeble, yet apt, suggestion, and pharisaically "thanks +goodness that she is good for something besides standing around and +giving unsolicited advice!" How she charges upon our cherished books and +whacks them together vindictively to loosen the dust and the bindings! +How she tosses the piano like a feather in her strength and probes its +sensitive heart-strings with a knitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> needle in search of dirt and +pins! How she rebukes the Captain for idling away her time at +doll-playing while there is so much work to do, and drives that gallant +young field officer forth to do battle with the unresisting tomato can +in the backyard! What a pandemonium reigns over all the domain of +yesterday's content! Carlo, the dog, whose flippant youth is getting its +first severe taste of life's discipline, retires to an adjacent covert +and howls a fitful protest. The cat blinks sleepily in the sunshine and +dreams of a future unmarred by suds and a slippery foothold. When she +has occasion to walk across the kitchen floor she shakes her hind foot +gingerly, like a pilgrim delicately removing the dust of the enemy's +land from his members. The goblin brood of chickens chuckle with +amazement while the hired man beats the rugs like a snare drum and +charges upon the carpet that hangs like a vanquished foe across the +clothesline. But, like everything else, my dear, we take the trials of +spring housecleaning as the tourist takes the storms in the Alps or the +sailor meets the tempest on the sea. It has not come to stay; the +sun-lighted peaks of deliverance lie just ahead of us, and there is +fine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> sailing for another year when the squall is weathered.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I am tired of the endless dress parade of the great alike—aren't you? I +am tired of walking in file, as convicts walk together in +stripes—aren't you? I glory in cranks who have enough individuality to +refuse to be sewed up in the universal patchwork, like the calico blocks +we used to overcast with our poor little pricked fingers ever so long +ago when we were children—don't you? The onward sweep of progress in +this age has prepared the way for non-conformists, and, glory be to God! +they are swinging into line like beacon lights up the Maine coast. I +confess I have no heart-pining for emancipation that shall place me +alongside of Dr. Mary Walker or others of her ilk. I would like to +retain my womanliness, but I would like also to make a distinct mark +upon my times, be it ever so small and insignificant, as an individual +and an intelligence quite as distinct from the conventional masses as a +blackbird is when it leaves the flock and silhouettes itself in solitary +state<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> against the deep blue sky from the top of a windy elm +tree—wouldn't you?</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I want one good square fling on earth before I die. I want the chance to +know what it is to have enough money to be able to buy silk elastic +occasionally instead of cotton, and to have my teeth filled with gold +instead of concrete without feeling as though I had been robbing +hen-roosts for a month after. I want to go to the theater in a swell +carriage, and sit in the best box, with a pale pink ostrich boa draped +about my shoulders and the opera-glasses of the entire house leveled at +me for a stunning beauty. I want the sensation, for once, of knowing +that I am as handsome as I am bright, and as well-dressed as I am +virtuous. I want to have ice cream seven times a week and "Pommery Sec" +by the dozen in the cellar. I want to own a silk umbrella with a golden +crook, and wear a diamond ring on every finger. I want to buy candy +whenever I feel like it without having to register it in the family +account book under the head of "sundries" and "cough drops." I want to +see the time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> when I can call the average shop-girl out into the alley +and have it out with her with none to interfere. I want to settle with +her for the indignities I have long suffered with the pusillanimity of a +meek nature. I want to ask her between clips why she has always sold me +just what I didn't want, and sneered at me because I didn't buy more of +it. I want also to engage in hand to hand conflict with the female +gum-chewer. I want to convince her that I have endured all I will of her +facial contortions, and that the time has come for the extinction of her +type from the face of the blooming earth. I want the power to consign +every man who even mentions "nose bag" to a horse, to the guillotine, +and to imprison for life every brute who carries a snake-whip or uses a +check-rein. I want to solder the man or woman who objects to fresh air +inside a tin can and label them "sardines." I want to shoot on sight the +first human being who mentions the word "draught" in my hearing, and set +my dog on the fiend who blots the face of nature with his ear-muffs. I +want to live for a while in a country where there are neither +thunderstorms nor cyclones, but where I can sleep nights right through, +from March until November,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> without getting up to look for funnels or +shooing the whole family down cellar as a hen gathers her chickens from +the swooping hawk. I want to live in a community made up of people who +mind their own business. I want to be able now and then to receive a +letter from out of town (it is generally a bill!) without having the +village postmaster regard me as a burning fagot. I want to find a recipe +for making buckwheat cakes that do not taste like sand. I want to be +able to detect a hypocrite and a traitor on sight, without waiting for a +broken heart to evidence the fact that I am sold again. I want to rise +out of the range of small annoyances, and fly above the aim of inferior +people to disturb. I want to grow to be more like an eagle that wings +its way out of the habitat of gadflies, and less like a trembling hare +pursued by hounds. I want to take the lesson to my heart that the soul +that is constant to itself and aspires towards heaven shall never be +left a prey to care and unrest. I want to strike a dress reform which +shall make women look less like guys, and to encounter a rainy day in +which I shall not bite the dust, I and my umbrella, and my +flippety-floppety skirts, and my nineteen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> bundles. I want to cut down +the ballot privilege and make it impossible for an immigrant to vote +before he is a twenty-one-year resident of America. I want to convince +the woman suffragist that the greatest curse she can precipitate upon +her sex is the ballot. I want to teach my sisters that if they will pay +more attention to their homes and less to outside issues American +institutions will be more of a success. If the career of a politician +will spoil a man what would it do for a woman? On the principle that a +strawberry will decay sooner than a pumpkin, or that a violet is more +fragile than a sunflower, it would take about one election day to change +a woman into a harridan. I never knew but one out and out politician who +preserved intact the amenities of a gentleman, and he died early of +heart trouble. The thing killed him physically before it destroyed him +morally. If any politician reads this and wants to challenge the point I +want to meet him and either convince him or be slain.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>If you are not glad to be alive such weather as this it is because you +are a clod and not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span> a sentient being. Why, I never open my door these +radiant mornings and walk out into a world that is more golden than any +topaz and more radiant than any diamond that I do not hug myself for +very joy that I am alive! The grave has not got me yet! And, though I be +poor and quite alone and go hungry for the fleshpots that make my +neighbors great about the girth, I am happy as a queen and quite content +to cast my lot with clovers and birds and wayside weeds that feel the +vigor of summer weather in every fiber of prodigal life. To-night the +sky was like the flame of King Solomon's opal—did you see it? And just +as the glory was growing and deepening into an intensity of beauty that +made you want to shut your eyes and say Oh—h—h! as the little boys do +at the circus when the elephants go round, a thrush whipped out his +mellow flute and gave us a vesper song that made one think of heaven and +bands of singing angels! And yet we are discontented and feel ourselves +misused because we happen to be a little poverty-stricken now and then, +and it is hard work to find the plums in our pudding!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The other morning, before the town clock struck 7, I was riding over +country in a hack, driven by a courtly mannered colored boy and drawn by +a couple of discouraged mules. I was going over to Hampton and +Chesapeake City to see the sights. A robin was quarreling with a sparrow +for possession of a nest in a treetop hung with blossoms thick as +Monday's washing, and a small pickaninny stood in a doorway and held his +breath with terror as our driver slashed the air with his long whip. The +morning was superb. The sea lay like an opal with a dark setting of +hills shadowed like oxidized silver, the birds were out like blossoms of +the upper air with song in place of perfume, and the world seemed +altogether too jolly and bright a spot to link with thoughts of sorrow +and pain and death. We drove over to the soldiers' home, where from four +to five thousand veteran warriors have found shelter from the bombarding +storm of mundane care. Under the shadow of great willows in half-leaf +and still golden with April sap, in sunny corners of broad piazzas, on +benches by the slope of sluggish streams, or walking about the well-kept +paths, these old and battle-scarred warriors pass the time away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> "What +a hero I might have been," says each one to himself, "if only——!" or, +"What a narrow miss I made of glory when that premature shell took off +my legs and stranded me here!" Peacefully they behold life's sun +decline, and peacefully in turn they take possession of the narrow beds +awaiting them in the near cemetery, where so many soldiers are sleeping +the unheeded years away. Without motive or purpose their life is +scarcely more eventless than their death shall finally be. Some way the +grounds where these patient old graybeards sit day after day with +nothing to do but muse upon the past remind me of the human heart with +its pensioned hopes, its stranded intentions and its crippled endeavors! +What heroisms, what subtle intents for good, what pretentious desires +were frustrated and made worthless by the destiny which changed life's +battlefield into a "soldiers' home" and the scene of action for the +shaded seat under the willows of a long regret!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I wonder if Eve, looking over the battlements of heaven now and then, +and seeing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> how tired we get down here and how discouraged and +broken-hearted we often are, is ever sorry for the heritage she left us, +all for the sake of an apple! Does she not curse the memory of the earth +fruit whose flavor has so embittered humanity! Think of it, oh +far-removed and perverse ancestress, if it were not for you we might +have lived in a world where dinners walked into the pot and boiled +themselves over fires that called for no replenishing; where rent +stockings lifted themselves on viewless hands and were deftly darned by +sunshine needles in the air; where last year's garments glided into this +year's styles without the snip of scissors or the whirr of sewing +machine wheels; where brooms swept and dust-cloths dusted unassisted by +human hands; where windows cleaned themselves as fogs lift from the +lake, and washing and ironing were spontaneous, like the growth of +flowers. I for one am heartily tired of having to suffer for Eve's +heartless stupidity. Hard work has too much of the blight of the primal +curse about it to suit me, and no matter what philosophy we call to our +aid the fact remains that labor of a certain sort is the heritage of +sin, and sin was, is and ever shall be accursed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> But there is something +a great deal worse than hard work, and that is laziness. The man who +toils until the great muscles of his arm stand out like cords and his +broad shoulders are bent like the branches of a pine under the force of +a strong wind from the north is a king among his kind compared to the +shiftless do-nothings of life, between whose feet are spun the cobwebs +of sloth and within whose lily-white fingers nothing more burdensome +than a cigar finds its way. Give me a blacksmith any day rather than a +dude. Work is hard and sometimes thankless, but, like tough venison +served with jelly sauce, it is spiced with self-respect and smacks of +honest independence.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE STORY OF A ROSE.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +A white rose grew in a garden place,<br /> +On a slender stem, with a royal grace;<br /> +The nursling of June and her gentle showers,<br /> +Fairest and sweetest of all her flowers.<br /> +<br /> +The south wind was out one day for a sail,<br /> +In a cloudy boat, so fleecy and frail,<br /> +And he chanced to spy, where musing she stood,<br /> +My dear little rose in her snowy hood.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, softly he whispered and tenderly sighed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span><br /> +"Starry Eyes, Starry Eyes, I wait for my bride."<br /> +But she laughed in his face, and told him to go;<br /> +She didn't see why he bothered her so.<br /> +<br /> +A dewdrop fell in the starry hush,<br /> +Lured from heaven by her dreamy blush;<br /> +But the tender kiss of his balmy lip<br /> +She gave to a bee, next morning, to sip.<br /> +<br /> +A bobolink left the bloom of a tree<br /> +To tell her tale of whimsical glee;<br /> +The moon dropped a pearl to wear in her breast;<br /> +Dawn wove her a cloak of silvery mist.<br /> +<br /> +But her hard little heart was colder than ice,<br /> +She sent every suitor away in a trice;<br /> +Till the wind drew nigh, with a terrible roar,<br /> +And said: "Pretty Rose, your playtime is o'er."<br /> +<br /> +He shook her with might, and he drenched her with rain,<br /> +Till the poor little rose swooned away with her pain;<br /> +And her shiny crown, with its moonbeam glow,<br /> +He tossed far and wide, like the feathery snow.<br /> +<br /> +And all that is left of that splendid bloom,<br /> +The diadem gay, and the spicy perfume,<br /> +Is a handful of dust, that once was a rose—<br /> +The sport of the wind, as it fitfully blows.</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Once upon a time there lived a woman. She was not very young, nor was +she very old. She was neither handsome, homely, a genius, nor a fool. +She was just a commonplace, good-intentioned, fair type of the average +woman. This woman prided herself but little upon the various +accomplishments that contribute to the modern woman's popularity. She +could not dance a step, save in front of a northeast gale, or in a game +of romps with her little folks. She could not decorate a tea cup to save +her life, nor hand-paint a clam shell, nor embellish a canvas with +fleshy cupids and no less corpulent rosebuds. She could sing a few +insignificant ballads, such as "Annie Laurie," "Twilight Dews," and +"Nearer, My God, to Thee." These with a number like them, she was always +ready to furnish in a manner to bring down the house, but I doubt if she +would have been a success either in a comic opera or a church choir. She +could make bread and pieplant pie after a fashion that would make a man +wish that he had been born earlier to enjoy more of them. She could tidy +up a room quicker than a cat could wink its eyes, and in the matter of +housecleaning she was a regular four-in-hand coach and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> tiger. If you +had asked her to lead a class in ethical culture or make a speech on +suffrage or score a point for reform, this woman would have ignobly +turned her back and run away, and yet perhaps she wielded an influence +in the world quite as strong as many a woman whose name is recorded on +the roll call of noisy fame. But there was one thing this woman abhorred +with all the might and strength of her soul, and that was slang. She had +been brought up to consider the use of anything more pronounced than the +"yea" and "nay" of the Quaker vernacular an outrage to refinement, and +although drifting far from her childhood's faith in many ways still +preserved an innate shrinking from the exuberance of vain speech. She +allowed no little boys to slide the cellar door with her own precious +yellow-heads who could be positively convicted of using naughty +language. Her husband left his worldly ways in town and only carried +home to this nice little woman the aroma of propriety and coriander +seeds. But who ever yet was assured of a firm foothold upon the pinnacle +of self-righteousness that the old boy did not whip out an arrow and +bring them low? It becomes my painful duty to chronicle the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> temptation +and downfall of the upright woman.</p> + +<p>It was a tempestuous day of early autumn. It not only rained, it poured! +It not only blew, but it tore, howled, twisted, cavorted! The woman had +to go to town. At the eleventh hour the family umbrella was kidnaped by +a demon. (When the prince of evil has nothing else to do he sends out +his imps to hide umbrellas, handkerchiefs, thimbles, scissors, and other +domestic essentials.) The woman had no time to track the umbrella to its +lair, so she pinned a newspaper over her bonnet and leaped for the +train. Arrived in town she bought a 50 cent umbrella from a man who was +peddling them on the street corner, and from that moment we date her +downfall. The umbrella proved to be fashioned of gum arabic and cobweb. +It leaked, it exuded, it faded away like a frost-flake in her hands, so +that ere half an hour had passed she gave it to a newsboy, and laughed +to see him kick it into an alley. Then she took off her plumed hat and +pinned it underneath her cloak, wrapped a lace scarf about her head and +proceeded on her way. Remarking the pleased expression on the faces of +all she met, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> wondered at it, with an Indian outbreak so imminent. +Small boys danced by her in the rain to the sound of their own bright +laughter; strong men seemed overcome as she drew near, and even the +stern policemen at the street crossings turned aside to hide a 9×14 +smile. The woman lunched at a popular restaurant in the midst of a +mysterious carnival of glee, and finally took the train for home and, +leaving the city limits, skirted the northern shores of the lake to the +sound of muffled mirth. Reaching home and looking into the mirror she +was confronted by a countenance that bore all the seeming "of a demon +that is dreaming." The sea-green warp of cotton in the gum-arabic +umbrella had melted and run in long lines over brow and nose and chin. +For one moment the woman gazed at her frescoed charm, and as to what +follows we will drop the curtain. Suffice it to say, she fell, and the +shocked echoes of that little home put cotton in their ears and fainted +into lonely space at being called upon to repeat the strong language +that rent the air. Who shall blame the woman if she said "darn" with an +emphasis that might have made a pirate wan with envy? Who shall cast the +first stone at her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> until the day dawns that releases my sex from the +thralldom of its bondage to those demons who walk abroad and plot her +downfall in rainy weather?</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Wear this bead upon your heart, girls; have nothing whatever to do with +so-called "fascinating" or "magnetic" men. Put no faith in mystery when +it comes to a question of the man you think you love. Rapt glances and +tender sighs that lead to nothing in the way of an honest declaration +are as despoiling to your womanhood as the breath of a furnace is to a +flower. There is no mystery in genuine love, and there is no +counterfeiting it, either. It is open-faced, ready-tongued and +clear-eyed. It is a virtue for heroes, not a platitude in the mouth of +fools. It is undefiled and set apart, like the snow on high hills. Allow +no man to make you a party to anything clandestine. A man who is afraid +to meet you at your own home, and appoints a tryst in the park, or a +down-town restaurant, is as much of a menace to your happiness as a +pestilence would be to your health. Remember, in all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> your experience +with so-called love, that the fewer adventures a young woman has, the +fewer flirtations and the fewer "affairs," the more glad she will be, by +and by, when she is a good man's wife and a brave boy's or sweet girl's +mother. A gown oft handled, you know, is seldom white, and each romance +you weave with idle fellows who roll their eyes and talk love, but never +show you the respect to offer you their hand in honest marriage—these +fascinating "Rochesters" and wicked "St. Elmos," already married, or +steeped to the lips in evil-doing—deprive you of your whiteness and +your bloom.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Do you ever get discouraged and feel like saying: "Oh, it's no use! I +want to amount to something! I have it in me to do great and grand +things, but the circumstances of poverty are against me. I can be +nothing but a drudge and the sooner I get over dreaming of anything +higher, the better!" Of course you have just such times of thinking and +talking, but did you ever comfort yourself with the thought that though +all these things you can not be, you are, really,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> in the sight of God? +A diamond is no less a diamond because it has been mislaid, and passed +off through ignorance as common glass. A tulip seed is no less the +sheath of a flower because through mistake somebody has labeled it as +common timothy. A silk fabric is no less the product of the +mulberry-feeding worm because somebody has wrapped it in a brown paper +parcel and valued it as domestic jeans. What you are, you are, and there +is no power on earth can gainsay it. Other folks may ignore it in you; +half the world, nay all the world, may fail to see it, but if nobility, +and strength, and sweetness are there you are worth just that much to +God! Blessed thought, isn't it, you poor, overworked clerk, with your +brain always in a muddle with the dry details of a business you hate! +Blessed thought, isn't it, you dear, tired woman with more burdens to +carry than a maple tree has leaves! No matter how impossible it may be +for you to live out what is in you, that something true and grand and +beautiful is deathless and shall have its chance of development by and +by.</p> + +<p>I shall never again meet the pretty maid with the larkspur eyes and the +corn silk hair<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> who traveled with us a part of the way, but wherever she +goes, joy go with her! She was so modest and unspoiled and sweet, I +declare the sight of such a girl in this day of dancers and +high-steppers is like the sound of "Annie Laurie" between the carousals +of a break-down jig, or the taste of a wild strawberry after pepper tea. +God bless the old-fashioned girl with her helpful ways, her arch face +and her blithe and hearty laugh. May her type never vanish from the face +of the earth, and may the mold after which her soul was fashioned never +get mislaid and lost in the heavenly work-shop.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I think I shall be a little sorry when the commanding officer sends out +the word to break camp and leave this dear old earth forever. For I love +this world. I never walk out in the morning when all its radiant colors +are newly washed with dew, or at splendid noon, when, like an untired +racer the sun has flashed around his mid-day course, or at evening, when +a fringe of shadow, like the lash of a weary eye, droops over mountain +and valley and sea, or in the majestic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> pomp of night when stars swarm +together like bees and the moon clears its way through the golden fields +as a sickle through the ripened wheat, that I do not hug myself for very +joy that I am yet alive. The cruel grave has not got me! Those jaws of +darkness have not swallowed me up from the sweet light of mortal day! +What matter if I am poor and unsheltered and costumeless? Thank God, I +am yet alive! People who tire of this world before they are seventy and +pretend that they are ready to leave it are either crazy or stuck full +of bodily ailments as a cushion is of pins. The happy, the warm-blooded, +the sunny-natured and the loving cling to life as petals cling to the +calyx of a budding rose. By and by when the rose is over-ripe, or when +the frosts come and the November winds are trumpeting through all the +leafless spaces of the woods, will be the time to die. It is no time +now, while there is a dark space left on earth that love can brighten, +while there is a human lot to be alleviated by a smile, or a burden to +be lifted with a sympathizing tear. It will be time to die when you are +too old or too sick to be a comfort in the world, but if God has given +you a warm heart and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> ready hand, look about you and be glad He lets +you live. Yesterday I was passing through the street and I saw a woman +stoop down and pick up a faded lilac from the middle of a crossing and +transfer it to a corner where it would not be trampled under foot. The +world wants such people alive in it, not buried under its green sods. +The heart that is not unmindful of a crushed flower will be a royal hand +in the ministrations of life. May the day tarry long on its way that +lays in the grave such helpful, tender hands that seek to do good.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The good book says, "Love thy neighbor as thyself," but it don't say, +Tell thy neighbor all thy secrets. We can love one another without +establishing an unsafe intimacy. In an age when so little remains set +apart and sacred, keep the treasury of your inmost heart intact. It is a +hard thing to believe that in every present friend is hidden a possible +future enemy, but it is safer to shape the conduct of our life upon that +belief than to live to see our inmost thoughts and the sanctities of +one's heart of hearts hawked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> about like green peas in a street vender's +basket by a spiteful and treacherous enemy. The safest course to pursue +in a world so full of unfaith and desertions is to be friendly and sweet +and helpful to all, but communicative and confiding to none.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Once when I was a child, with two long yellow braids down my back, and a +very great capacity for happiness in my heart, I lived in a remote +country with an aunt who didn't believe in any one having too good a +time here on earth. She thought they would appreciate the new Jerusalem +all the more, perhaps, for having a dismal experience here (there are +lots like her, too, in the world to-day). Well, once afterward when I +came home from school (and, ah! as I write how I can see the old road +where I walked, winding its way under silver birches by the side of a +trout-brook), somebody came out of the house and beckoned wildly, madly +for me to hurry up. It was my little cousin, and she looked as though +she had just skipped out of heaven! Her cheeks were all aglow and her +eyes were shining like stars. "Oh, come!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> Come quick!" she shouted. +"There's something in the parlor." I made haste to enter, and there +before me sat a doll, the biggest and most splendid it had ever entered +my young heart to imagine. It was dressed in pink tarletan, and had a +pair of jeweled earrings in its exceedingly life-like ears. At once I +became embarrassed. Self-consciousness sprang into full being. I was +painfully aware that my own dress and general appearance suffered by +contrast with the doll. Nor have I ever since experienced a keener +sensation of embarrassment than overcame me as I faced that gaudy image +in wax. My aunt's sarcastic remark, "No wonder that child's mother can't +lay up a cent for a rainy day when she throws away her dollars on a doll +like that!" gave me the sad impression that my darling mother was a +spendthrift, something after the pattern of the prodigal son. From the +first moment the doll was a source of disappointment and sorrow to me. I +never could play with it with any comfort because I was afraid of +soiling its splendid clothes, losing its earrings, or feeling myself and +my calico and homespun abashed by its superior attire. That doll did me +no good, and just what it did for me its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> costly and extravagantly +dressed sisterhood is doing for hundreds of little girls to-day. Too +fine to be played with, rigged out in all its paraphernalia of empty +headed flesh and blood women, with powder, puff and bustles, real +jewelry and costly lingerie, the modern doll is a demoralizer, a +torment.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Protracted broiling is, I think, on the whole, more wearing to the +sensibilities than sudden conflagration. A lightning stroke is soon +over, but who shall deliver us from the torments of dog-days? A bull of +Bashan encountered in a ten-acre lot may be outrun, but who shall escape +from a cloud of mosquitoes on a windless night? Give me any day a life +to live with a tempestuous, gusty sort of person, and I can endure it, +but deliver me from existence with one who bottles up his thunder and +looks like a storm that never breaks. A hearty shower, beating down the +flowers to call them up again in fresher beauty, brightening the hills +and swelling the brooks, treading with musical footfall the dusty +streets, and lashing the violet-tinted lake into a foam-flecked sea,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span> +veining the hot air with sudden fire, and calling out a thousand echoes +to answer the thunder's call, is it not far better than lowering skies +that look rain and won't yield it, dragging, sultry days of neither +sunshine nor storm?</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + + +<p class="center"><span class="big">LINES TO MY LOVE.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +When the salt has left the ocean,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the moon forgets the sea,</span><br /> +When with gay and festive motion<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ox shall waltz with bee,</span><br /> +<br /> +When we wash our face in cinders,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bake our meat on ice,</span><br /> +When tender mercy hinders<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cat from eating the mice,</span><br /> +<br /> +When gray heads grace young shoulders<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And icicles form in June,</span><br /> +When Quakers all turn soldiers,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bull frogs sing in tune,</span><br /> +<br /> +Then, and not till then, my treasure,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My darling, tender and true,</span><br /> +My heart shall claim the leisure<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To think no more of you.</span></td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span></p> + +<p>The other morning, lured by the splendor of a golden day, I started to +walk to town, a distance of twenty-four miles. But after the tenth mile +the truth was so forcibly and increasingly borne in upon me that "all +flesh is grass," and that the strength of a man (or woman either) "lieth +not in his heels," that I postponed the finish until another day. But +who shall take from me the glory of the start? Shall anybody forget that +a sunrise was fair and full of promise because the noon was clouded and +the evening declined into rain? Although my twenty-five-mile walk ended +at the tenth in a rocking-chair, yet those ten miles were beautiful and +full of glory.</p> + +<p>"It will certainly kill you!" wailed the martyr as I bade her good-bye. +"Oh, will it kill her?" echoed the poor little Captain, and lifted up +her voice in lamentation as I vanished from her sight and struck for the +bluff road. The morning was so beautiful that I could imagine the world +nothing but a big bunch of tulips standing within a crystal vase in the +sun. The maples glistened like gold, and were flecked with ruby drops +that burned and glowed like spilled wine. The oaks were russet brown and +dusky purple,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> cleft here and there with vivid green, like glimpses of a +windy sea through shadowed hills. The leaves that had fallen to the +earth were musical underneath the foot, and gave forth a faint fragrance +that made the air as sweet as any bakeshop. The odor of fallen leaves +and wood shrubs sinking into decay is not like any other fragrance so +much as the scent of well-baked bread, browned and finished in summer's +ruddy heat.</p> + +<p>The lake—but what can I say to fitly describe that translucent +sapphire, over which a mist hung like a gossamer web above a blue-bell, +or the haze of slumber upon a drowsy eye? As I stood upon the bluff, +before the road struck landward through the woods, I could but extend my +arm to the glorious expanse of waters and bless the Lord with all my +soul for so lovely a place to tarry in between times. If this world is +only a stopping-place, a country through which we march to heaven, as +Sherman marched overland to the sea, then thank God for so glorious a +prelude to eternity; and what shall the after harmonies be when the +broken sounds of idly-touched flutes and harps are so divine?</p> + +<p>After leaving Ravinia I proceeded to get<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> lost in the woods. A very +small boy and a very large dog were standing by a fence. "Does that dog +bite?" I asked. "Yes'm," promptly replied the sweet and candid child. So +I climbed a fence and struck for the timber. I soon found that all +knowledge of the points of the compass had failed me. "If I am going +east," I mused, "I shall soon strike the lake; if west, the track; south +will eventually bring me to the Chicago River; but a northerly direction +will restore me to the sleuth-hound. I will say my prayers and endeavor +to keep to the south." The way grew denser. My hat gave me some trouble, +as it insisted upon hanging itself to every tree in the wilderness. The +twigs twitched the hair-pins from my hair and poked themselves into my +eyes. A few corpulent bugs toyed with my ankles and a large caterpillar +passed the blockade of my collar-button and basked in the warmth of my +neck. I nearly stepped on a snake and was confronted by a toad that +froze me with a glance of its basilisk eye. So I changed my course and +suddenly entered a little woodland graveyard—a handful of neglected +mounds of earth and silence. No tombstones marked the graves. A +rudely-constructed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> cross of wood, gray with lichens, alone told of +consecrated ground. There, away off from the road in the silence of the +woods, a few tired hearts were taking their rest. Silently I stood a +moment, then stole away and left the place to its hush of lonely peace. +What right had I, with my frets and feathers, my twig-punctured +eye-balls and my toad-perturbed nerves, to bring an unquiet presence +within this abode of silence and of rest? I sat down on a fence-rail a +moment while, like Miss Riderhood, I deftly twisted up my back hair and +mused briefly. When the time comes, oh, intensely alive and happy Amber, +for your feet to halt in the march, ask to be buried in the woods, where +your grave will be forgotten and the constant years with falling leaves +and driving snows may have a good chance to obliterate the earthly +record of your misspent years.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Sooner or later the shadows shall creep</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Over my rest in the woods so deep;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sooner or later—"</span></p> + +<p>But enough of this, my dear. I did not intend to incorporate a whole +cemetery, an obituary discourse, and "lines to the departed"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> in my +"Glints." After leaving the little graveyard I allowed my instincts to +carry me in a new direction, and soon a rustling among the dead leaves, +and the sound of hushed breathing, convinced me that I was approaching a +living presence. I felt for my revolver. It was there, but unloaded. (I +would sooner walk arm in arm with death than carry loaded firearms.) I +advanced bravely and became speedily aware of a score or so of large and +startled eyes, all fixed upon me. A half-score of woolly heads were +lifted, and a flock of sheep stood ready to take instant flight if I +showed sign of battle. "My dear young friends," said I, "it is a relief +to meet you, and I give you good morrow. I fully expected to encounter a +band of cutthroat tramps who should toss pennies for my heart's blood. +The blessings of a rescued woman rest upon your crinkly coats, my +beauties." A half-hour's walk through the woods brought me to a clearing +where a flock of bluebirds were holding council together among the +falling leaves. They seemed inclined to start southward, but tarried for +one last frolic. How beautiful they were as they flitted in and out +among the golden underbrush no eye but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> mine shall ever know. Bluebirds +have always been associated with thoughts of spring and apple-blossoms +heretofore. I could hardly believe my senses to find them here amid the +late and falling leaves. For a while I loitered in their midst and +wished for a fairy to change me into one of their winged company, that I +might forget care and find no need of revolvers; but time, as sternly +announced by my exquisite Waterbury, admitted of no delay, so I hied me +onward. At this point in my walk I approached a broken gate and a +stretch of shockingly muddy road. The vanity of confidence in any +strength that emanates alone from the "heels of a man" was by this time +beginning to make itself felt. I longed to sit down in the miry way and +go to sleep. A child could have played with me despite my revolver, and +a day-old lamb have gained the victory in a personal encounter. At this +moment, while I lingered, picking my way daintily from tuft to tuft of +the swamp, I was confronted by a tall, gaunt woman. Of course you don't +believe this; it reads too much like a dime novel. You think I am +painting my picture in lurid tints for public exhibition,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> but in spite +of your incredulity I repeat that I was confronted by a tall, gaunt +woman, who appeared as suddenly as though invoked by an evil spell from +the mud. The woman was shabbily dressed and wore an old-fashioned scoop +bonnet. She had a bundle on her arm, and was dragging by the hair of the +head, as it were, an indescribable umbrella. My voice sank out of sight, +like a stone in the sea, and my feet grew too heavy to lift. I stared in +silence. "Is your name Maria Hopkins?" asked the woman.</p> + +<p>"Indeed it is," I replied, prepared to get down on my knees and swear to +the truth of what I said, if need be. "I thought so," said my companion; +"let us pray." But I didn't stop for prayers. Convinced that my time had +come, and that I was in the presence of a lunatic, I fell over the fence +and ran. When I was out of breath I looked over my shoulder, but the +woman was nowhere in sight. To pursue my walk seemed unnecessary, +especially as I was nearing the house of a friend, so summoning what +strength was left me I toddled onward, completing my tenth mile in five +hours from the starting. After my sympathizing friend had emptied her +camphor bottle upon me I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> asked her if she knew a party of the name of +Hopkins anywhere in town, and if there was any resemblance between such +a person and myself. I saw she thought I was delirious, and no +explanation has ever dispelled that belief. Some day I shall complete +the walk and write up the finish.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Said some one to me the other day: "Amber, you have lots of good friends +among the girls." "Good," said I; "then I am all right." Anybody who +gains the friendly approval of the right sort of girls has a passport +right through to glory! I mean it. There is nothing on earth I love +better than a good, sweet girl. I would rather watch a crowd of them any +day than all the pictures Fra Angelica ever painted of saints in +paradise. But there are girls and girls. There is as much difference +between them as there is between griddle cakes made with yeast and +griddle cakes in which the careless cook forgot to put the leaven. Shall +I tell you the kind of girl I especially adore? Well, first of all, let +us take the working girl. She is not a "lady" in the acceptance of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> +term by this latter day's hybrid democracy. She is just a blithe, +cheery, sweet-tempered young woman. She may have a father rich enough to +support her at home, but for all that she is a working girl. She is +never idle. She is studying or sewing or helping about the home part of +the day. She is romping or playing or swinging out of doors the other +part. She is never frowsy nor untidy nor lazy. She is never rude nor +slangy nor bold. And yet she is always full of fun and ready for frolic. +She does not depend upon a servant to do what she can do for herself. +She is considerate to all who serve her. She is reverent to the old and +thoughtful of the feeble. She never criticises when criticism can wound, +and she is ready with a helpful, loving word for every one. Sometimes +she has no father, or her parents are too poor to support her. Then she +goes out and earns her living by whatever her hands find to do. She +clerks in a store, or she counts out change at a cashier's desk, or she +teaches school, or she clicks a typewriter, or rather a telegrapher's +key, but always and everywhere she is modest and willing and sweet, +provided she doesn't get that meddlesome little "bee" of "lady"-hood in +her bonnet.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> If she tries to be a lady at the expense of all that is +honest and frank in her nature, she is like a black baby crying for a +black kitten in the dark—you can't tell what she is exactly, but you +know she is mighty disagreeable. She has too much dignity to be imposed +upon, or put to open affront, but she has humility also, and purity that +differs from prudishness as a dove in the air differs from a stuffed +bird in a showcase. She is quick to apologize when she knows she is in +the wrong, yet no young queen ever carried a higher head than she can +upon justifiable occasions. She is not always imagining herself looked +down upon because she is poor. She knows full well that out of her own +heart and mouth proceed the only witnesses that can absolve or condemn +her. If she eats peanuts in public places, and talks loud, and flirts +with strange boys, and chews gum or displays a toothpick she is common, +even though she wore a four-foot placard emblazoned with the misnomer, +"lady." If she is quick to be courteous, unselfish, gentle and retiring +in speech and manner in public places, she is true gold, even though her +dress be faded and her bonnet be old. You cannot mistake any girl any +more than you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> can mistake the sunshine that follows the rain or the +lark that springs from the hawthorn hedge. All things that are blooming +and sweet attend her! The earth is better for her passing through it and +heaven will be fairer for her habitation therein. God bless her!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Some day I am going gunning. In a reform dress suit, with the right to +vote in my pocket, and a shotgun delicately poised upon my enfranchised +shoulder, I shall start forth on my "safety" and proceed to lay low for +a few victims. The first to perforate with my murderous bullet shall be +the fiend in human guise who toys with my "copy" from time to time and +makes me spell whether without an "h," or so distorts the sense of what +I write that my best friends wouldn't know me from Martin Tupper. I +shall show no mercy to him. I shall continue to shoot until he is +perforated like a yard of mosquito netting, and I shall leave a little +note pinned to the lapel of his coat saying that I have more bullets +left for his "successor in trust." If there is one thing that has +survived the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> buffetings of a harsh and somewhat disconcerting bout with +fate it is the knowledge that I know how to spell. But even of this the +fiend in question would deprive me. He has brought his fate upon himself +and will excuse me if I remark that I thirst for his gore.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Dominated by that superfluous energy which has, so far, rendered my +earthly career cyclonic, I called together a confiding band during the +height of the recent snow carnival for the purpose of a sleigh ride. The +opening up of that sleigh ride was propitious. The caravan moved due +north, bound for a destination that shall be nameless. We tried to look +upon the attention we attracted as a public ovation, but it was far more +suggestive of the way they used to accompany outlaws beyond the limits +of a mining town, or of the children of Israel chased by Pharaoh's +mocking hosts. It was cold. Our noses, in the light of a wan old moon, +looked like doorknobs. Our ears cracked to the lightest touch, like harp +strings in the wind. Patient, long-suffering<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> "doctor!" Shall I ever +forget how, turning to him when the carnival of sport was at its height, +I murmured: "Are you enjoying yourself, dear?" And he replied, with +ghastly sarcasm: "Tumultuously, my love!" So might an arctic frigate, +ice-bound, have hailed a polar bear. Suddenly, when all seemed +progressing serenely, we came to a standstill, something like what might +be expected from a runaway horse checked by the newly patented electric +button. What was the matter? Bare ground. Now, under ordinary +circumstances, the term "bare ground" is not synonymous of disaster. But +if ever in the dispensation of providence it falls to your lot to be one +of a band of sleigh-riding imbeciles then shall those two words be to +you what snags in the channel are to seaward-hastening keels. The driver +shouted and became distinctly profane. "Would you please get out and +walk over this bad place?" said he. With such speed as our petrified +members would allow we all got out, and the women sat on a wayside +fence, while the men "heaved to" and dragged the chariot over about a +mile and a quarter of bare ground.</p> + +<p>"Shall we make for the nearest line of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> street cars?" asked one of the +party, whose well-known position as Sunday-school superintendent kept +him in a state of abnormal calm. "What will become of the sleigh and the +poor, tired horses?" asked that one of the party directly responsible +for this mad jubilee.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you women can lead the horses while we men carry the old band wagon +on our shoulders back to shelter." "It is no time for jokes," cried one, +"I am going home," and we all followed suit, to vow later, in the +shelter of our happy homes, that our future attempts at sleigh riding +should be confined to wheels and the time of roses.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I think I would rather lose this serviceable old right hand of mine than +have it write a word that could be construed into defense or +encouragement of loud and blatant women. The over-dressed and slangy +sisterhood who parade in public places and storm the land these latter +days will meet with nothing from Amber and her pen but wholesale +denunciation while the lamp of an insignificant life holds out to burn. +I hate them as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> Quaker hates gunpowder, and I am more than half +inclined to believe that the total extermination of the stock would be +one of the supremest blessings that could be vouchsafed to man. The +tendencies toward boldness and effrontery which characterize the present +day, the unabashed speech and action and the manifest lack of +old-fashioned courtesy and the reserve that springs from gentle breeding +are evils that grow rather than diminish. A gentlewoman, a pure, correct +and lovely gentlewoman, occupies a loftier place than any throne, and +wields an influence more potent than the swing of a jeweled scepter. Yet +it is never by vulgar assumption that she enters into her kingdom. The +parrot is not a bird we prize, although its plumage is resplendent with +green and purple and gold. In the proud breast of the homely and +unpretentious thrush is hidden the heavenly song. Wherever gentle +forbearance is found, wherever patience and tenderness and love idealize +and sweeten life, there you will find woman as heaven meant she should +be—the crowned queen of hearth and home. And in saying all this I do +not wish to be understood as advancing the idea that a woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> has no +wider scope than home, or that she must be all sugar, without any spice. +Next to the loud and bold-mannered woman as a specimen to be detested I +would put the meek Griselda, with less spirit than a boneless herring +and less sparkle than tepid tea. There is no charm left to femininity +when you add idiocy to a pretty woman's make-up. A fool may be very +docile, but a fool is not good company. Of the two, perhaps, if a man +were forced to choose a comrade to share a life that was to be cast on a +South Sea island, he would do better to take the "loud" type. Either +would drive him to the "cups," if such relief were to be found upon an +island of the sea. But who would not rather go to wreck in a storm than +founder in becalmed waters? Or, to bring it nearer home, who would not +rather be drowned away out in the middle of Lake Michigan in a howling +gale than in a gentle 7×9 cistern? If circumstances call a woman out +into the thickest of the old bread-and-butter fight that has been waging +ever since Eve ran afoul of the apple, it is to her credit if she rolls +up her sleeves and goes into the thickest of the scrimmage and holds her +own with the pluckiest of them all. It is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> no disgrace to her to be +quick to seize an opportunity and shrewd to find a point of vantage. Let +her rank with the men, and make ever so fine a name for herself in +whatever business vocation she chooses to make her own, it will not +detract one whit from her womanliness, provided she keep herself +unsullied of soul and tender of heart. The moment she lends herself to +practices that lead men to forget to touch their hats when she passes by +she becomes unsexed, and a sexless woman is worse than a pestilence, a +cyclone and a strike condensed into one vast calamity. No sensible man +will think any less of a woman if she has spirit enough to get downright +mad at injustice, insult or iniquity. I don't know, though, why we women +should always get together and compare notes as to what course of +conduct will best please the men. They don't lie awake nights to conform +their behavior to ways and manners that shall please us; but, even +putting our argument on the basis of what shall win approval from men, I +repeat that I don't believe that there are many of them who would object +to a woman knowing how to use a pistol or to her carrying one in case of +an unprotected walk, or a night spent in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> an unguarded home. There would +be fewer tales to tell of assaults and woful disappearances of young +women if all our girls were versed in the ethics of the revolver. Ah, my +dear, you can never get a more adorable portrait of a woman to hang upon +the walls of glorified fancy than the pen-portrait drawn by the master +hand of Robert Browning when he wrote of beautiful Evelyn Hope: "God +made her of spirit, fire and dew." There is the swiftest and most +splendid stroke of the artist's brush ever given to literature. And yet +half the world would substitute "putty" for "spirit," "feathers" for +"fire" and "dough" for "dew."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The only way to rid the world of bubble-marriages—marriages that turn +out emptiness with one drop of water as the residuum, and that drop a +tear—is to educate our girls and boys to something higher than playing +with pipes and soapy water. Give them something more earnest to do, and +see that they do it. Compel men and women to choose their life +companions with at least a tithe of the solemnity they bring to the +selection<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span> of a carriage horse or a ribbon. Legislate laws against early +marriages. "I can't tolerate children," said a little idiot to me the +other day, "but I adore dogs!" And yet that girl had an engagement ring +on her finger. There should be a special seclusion for such girls until +they develop some instinct of womanliness, and they should no more be +allowed to marry than a Choctaw chief should be allowed to take charge +of a kindergarten. You nor I can hope to turn a bubble into substance +after it is once blown.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Last week I moved. At least I tried to, but I haven't fully accomplished +the feat yet. If it costs one woman a desk and an umbrella, the pangs of +a seven-horse torment to move one block, what must it cost a family of +fourteen to move seven wagonloads a mile? There is a problem that will +keep you awake nights. When they said to me: "Oh, it will be nothing for +you to move!" When they pointed with derision at my few belongings I +said to myself: "All right; perhaps it will be easier than my fears." So +I packed up my penknife, my mucilage pot,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> my paper cutter, my eleven +dozen pencils and my assortment of stub pens, my violet ink, my clock, +pictures, calendars, Japanese fans, scraps of poetry, magazines, books, +lemons, buttercups, blotting pads, and sundry trifles it were waste of +time to enumerate, and sallied forth to find a son of wrath to transport +them to new quarters. "How much will you charge to move two articles of +furniture one block?" I asked a guileless Scandinavian teamster. "Three +dollars," replied he with touching promptitude. I passed him by, and +after two days' search found a down-trodden African who said he would +undertake the job for $1.50. I wish you could have seen the look in the +darky's face when he tried to lift the desk. "Gor-a-mighty, Missus, +what's in that ar desk?" cried he. I had to unpack every blessed article +but the penknife and a postage stamp before he would move the thing, and +all the long day I trotted back and forth with market baskets full of +the original contents of that desk. When at last I had them moved I +couldn't find anything. I wanted my pencils, but haven't seen 'em yet. +The paperweight had smashed the ink bottle, and the mucilage had formed +a glassy pool in which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> my buttercups were anchored like islands. The +frizzes and hairpins and other little what-nots that I kept in the right +hand drawer had dabbled themselves in the ink and mucilage and fused +themselves into one indistinguishable horror. I haven't been able to +find one thing that I wanted since I moved but a toothpick, and that +don't look exactly natural. The overshoes, and gossamer, and jersey +waists, soap and chamois skins that I secreted in the left hand drawer +haven't been seen since they left in the market basket under convoy of +the Ethiopian. He has probably opened a costumer's shop on Halsted +street with them. When I move again I shall carry my pencils behind my +ear and my penknife between my teeth. I'll never be found a second time +stringing my beads with a toothpick and relying for time upon a clock +with the hour hand missing. When next I move may it be straight through +to glory, where the lease is long and the landlord never sublets.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Let anybody in this world really undertake to thoroughly do his duty; to +do it in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> the face of opposition, prejudice and the meddling +interference of fools, and he becomes a target set upon a hill for the +convenient aim of popular scorn. It is harder for a man to be true to a +principle than it is to face a gun. If an employe in the daily discharge +of duty aims to be prompt, faithful and fearless he is boycotted by his +associates in almost as conspicuous a way as was poor little David +Copperfield with the pasteboard motto on his back. We all of us have +known in early life the "pet scholar" of the school, the dear little +virtuous prig who never did anything out of the way, who never played a +prank or accomplished anything but a pattern pose. Small wonder that we +hated him! Good behavior, which has for its aim merely the disconcerting +of others and the aggrandizement of one's self, is snobbery and should +be loathed as such. But there is a courage of over-conviction which +leads a man to hold himself honest among thieves, pure among libertines +and faithful among time-servers and strikers. It was such a spirit as +this that made dear little "Tom," at "Rugby," loyal to his mother's +teachings, and led him to kneel amid a crowd of jeering boys to say the +prayers she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> taught him. It is such a spirit as this that holds a man or +woman true to the sense of justice in an unjust world, and keeps them +undaunted in the midst of enemies, who hate them for doing their duty +and caring as much for the work as they do for the wages that work +commands. The man who can hold himself beyond the reach of bribery, +uncorrupted in corruptible times, and sure to keep his colors flying, +with never a chance to trail them in the dust for politic purposes, is a +greater hero than many a blue-coat who marches to battle. Give us a few +more such heroes, oh, good and merciful dispenser of destinies, and +sweep off the track a hundred thousand or so of the eye-servants, +time-servers and money-graspers who keep the profitable places of the +world's giving away from honest men and faithful women.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">A BOBOLINK'S SONG.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +The earth was awake, and like a gay rover,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His knapsack of sunshine loose strapped on his back,</span><br /> +Through mists, and through dews, and through fine purple clover<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was faring his way down the summer's green track.</span><br /> +<br /> +I sat all alone 'neath the shade of a willow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And saw the old earth blithely jogging along,</span><br /> +While over the fields, like the foam on a billow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The morning was breaking in blossom and song.</span><br /> +<br /> +O, list! and, O, hear! like the wing of a swallow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Updarting from fields that are golden with corn;</span><br /> +With the ring and the swing of a huntsman's "view hallo,"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some fairy is winding his sweet elfin horn.</span><br /> +<br /> +Now up like a flame, and now down like a shower;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now here and now there in its sparkle and gloom;</span><br /> +It rings and it swings like a bell in a tower,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wide casting its notes as a wind-flower its bloom.</span><br /> +<br /> +'Tis a bobolink singing among the sweet clover;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A bobolink whimsical, happy and free,</span><br /> +And its voice like new wine makes earth, the old rover,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Half tipsy with jollity, clean daft with his glee.</span></td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>It fell to my lot the other day to witness a scene that I shall not soon +forget. Death has myriad ways of coming to the sons and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> daughters of +men, and it chanced that death had drawn near to a certain dear woman in +a way that well might blanch the cheek of the bravest hero. As surely +condemned to die as is the murderer when he hears the judge's sentence, +with absolute hopelessness of any cure, and with the certainty of no +more than a brief span of weeks wherein to live, this brave woman faced +her doom with all the condemned man's certainty, and yet without his +shame. Grown old in a life of peculiar usefulness, with not a single +abated enthusiasm and with a heart as keenly attuned to nature's as is +the flute to the master's touch, this dear old heroine calmly renounced +the world she had so loved and turned her face direct to "headquarters," +with no friend to interfere between herself and God. For one bitter +hour, perhaps, she wept and watched alone in her Gethsemane, then turned +about to await the chariot wheels of her deliverance with a heart as +glad and a faith as warm and bright as a little child's who waits in the +shadow the coming of a loving father to lead her home. Taken to the +hospital to die, knowing that those doors swung for her last entrance +within any earthly home, fully realizing that from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> beneath that roof +her soul should ascend to its home beyond the stars, bidding good-bye +forever to the sunset skies and the rural walks that she had so loved, +to all the bright company of wild flowers she had known by name, to the +pomp of seasons and the communion of happy homes, she took up her abode +in the ward of the incurables. Every day she sits in the sunshine and +reads her books or indites letters to her friends. Every day she +struggles with devastating pain, and every day she grows a little +thinner and a little weaker in the body, while her soul springs +heavenward like a white flower from the dust, which no earthly blight +can reach. As I sat by her side the other morning and held her wasted +hand in mine it seemed the most natural thing in the world to send a +message by this sweet soul to the unseen land, and we almost forgot the +pain of parting in the bright anticipation of the many who would throng +to meet the gray-headed voyager when at last her sail should beat across +the blue waters into the heavenly harbor. And as we talked there came a +message that a very old friend had called to see the sufferer; one who +had been the closest comrade of her brilliant youth and the companion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +of her maturer years. Slowly the guest entered the shrine wherein a soul +awaited the sacrament of death, silently she stretched out her arms and +gathered that wasted frame within their close embrace. As a mother +comforts the baby at her breast, so they comforted one another with +tender words. The years of their life fell away from them as petals from +a rose which the wind lightly rocks, and they were girls again. "Oh, my +dear child, how sweet, how brave, how grand you are!" said the guest. +"My precious girl, my poor, dear one, how can I bear to see you here!" +she cried again and yet again, while her tears fell like rain, and the +turmoil of her sobs rent her very inmost heart. I shall live long before +I see so touching a sight again. In the presence of a love so perfect +and so true I felt to be almost an interloper and an alien, so I quietly +stole away and left these two old women, bowed with the weight of many +years, sustaining and sustained by the trust that the portals of the +tomb, within whose shadows they stood, were but the gates that usher the +soul into the full affluence of life and love.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> + +<p>It is almost impossible to get the average young person past the +florist's window nowadays. She has a way of clasping her hands and +pursing her lips over the roses that would make the average young man +shed his last dollar, as the almond tree shakes its blossoms. I am +always sorry for a poor young man in love with a pretty girl. He longs +to buy the world for her and she longs quite as ardently to receive it +as a gift, and so he is hurrying along his bankrupt career until +matrimony or estrangement checks him. Have you not a pitying remembrance +in your own heart of a certain youth of the long ago who deluged your +house with roses, confectionery and novels until his salary was wildly +wasted in the unequal contests? Girls, be a little less receptive, as it +were; be just a bit more thoughtful and delicate in your orders at the +restaurant and your selection from the florist's window, and I think +your matrimonial chances will be the better for it. How often have I +seen a young woman order a costly dinner when some young man whom she +well knew to be the recipient of a small salary was to foot the bill, +yet when ordering for herself I am told she never goes higher than +beans<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> and bread and butter. Now, girls, don't think Amber is an +everlasting old grandmother! Not a bit of it, but she has tossed about +the world so much and heard so many "little birds" telling their secrets +that she has taken unto herself quite a pack of knowledge of the ways +and manners of mankind. I positively adore a young girl, and always +have, and, what is more, expect I always shall. But admiring and loving +them as I do, from the tip of their bangs to the click of their boot +heels, I cannot bear to see them do unlovely things. I want to see them +helpful, lovable, sweet. I want to see them slow to wound another's +feelings, and quick as sunshine after rain with tender smiles and +womanly ways. I want to see them brave, yet gentle; gay, yet kind; +fun-loving, yet never loud and rude. I want to hear the young men in +speaking of them speak of something besides their extravagance and their +greed. I want the very air to be the sweeter for their passing, as when +one carries roses through a room their fragrance lingers. And what shall +make you sweet, dear girls? Not fashionable gowns and dainty clothing; +not beauty nor grace nor wealth so much as womanliness and unselfish +thought for others.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The woman who can wear an arctic overshoe over a No. 5 shoe and make no +moan ought to have been born a Joan of Arc or a Charlotte Corday. She is +made of the "dust" that heroines have a corner on. At one time in my +life I owned a dog—a guileless pup—whose darling aim on earth was to +drag my colossal arctics before admiring gentlemen callers and lay them +by the fireside, where they overshadowed the big base-burner with their +bulk. I was rid of the dog long before I was rid of the feeling that it +was a disgrace for a woman to wear the feet God gave her. The most +colossal overshoe is neither so big nor so objectionable as an early +grave, and that is just what lies before some of you girls if you don't +quit wearing French heels and going about in damp and chilly weather +without protection for your feet. Burn up the high-heeled slippers, +then, with their atrocious shape; cultivate health and common-sense +rather than the empty flattery of a world that cares nothing for you. So +shall you be as beautiful as houris, as healthy as Hebes, as long lived +as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> Sarahs and as light-footed as the shadow that dances to a wind-blown +Columbine.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>A graveyard never saddens me. It seems nothing more than one of the +flies behind the scenes when the actors have gone on in front. What +matters the room where we doff our toggery when we are once out of it? +So, not long since, when in rambling about one of the Apostle Islands, +away up in Lake Superior country, I ran across a sunshiny little +graveyard, and I was glad to loiter about for an hour and read the +inscriptions on the age-worn stones. It was a blue day—blue in the sky +above and blue in the haze on the hills, blue in the sparkling waters of +the lake and bluer yet in the far distance that marked a score of miles +from shore. Before the gateway of the graveyard a clump of golden rod +stood, like an angel barring the way with a sword of light. A tangle of +luxuriant vines had curtained most of the graves from sight A few, more +carefully tended than the rest, stood bravely out from behind fences of +ornamental woodwork, but most of them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> were sheltered and peaceful +within their neglected bowers of green. When my time comes to lie down +in my narrow home, I pray you, kind gentlefolks, grant me the seclusion +of an unremembered grave rather than the accentuated desolation of a +painted fence and a padlocked gate. There is rest in neglect, and +nature, if left alone, will never allow a grave to grow unsightly. She +folds it away in added coverings of mossy green from year to year as a +mother when the nights are long will tuck her sleeping children under +soft, warm blankets. She appoints her choristers from the leafy belfry +of the woods to keep the chimes ringing when the days are long and slow +and sweet, and lights her tapers nightly in the wavering shimmer of the +stars. In a secluded corner we found a handbreadth space where a baby +was laid to rest many a year ago. No chronicle of the little life +remains, and yet a stranger stands beside its grave and drops a tear. I +don't know why, I'm sure, for why should we cry when a baby dies? So +roses are picked before the frost finds them! Another stone was erected +to a young bride who died at twenty. Looking about at the +stoop-shouldered, care-lined and prematurely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> old women who toiled in +those island homes, we could not feel very sorry for the young bride who +died, perhaps, while life still held an illusion. With lingering step at +last we left the graveyard, repassed the golden sentry at the gate and +sought the little boat that awaited us on the beautiful bay. Long after +other details of that pleasant outing are forgotten the memory of that +blue day among the quiet graves on the island of the great lake shall +linger like a song within our hearts.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>"If I had two loaves of bread," said Mahomet, "I would sell one of them +and buy white hyacinths, for they would feed my soul." I came across +that delightful saying the other day, and I thought to myself: There is +another one to be hunted up when I get over yonder! I shall have to make +the acquaintance of a man, prophet or not, who gave utterance to such a +sentiment as that. How many of us, poor earthworms that we are, would +rather spend our dollar for white hyacinths than for a big supper? How +many of us ever stop to think that there<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> is something under the sleek +rotundity of our girth that demands food quite as eagerly as our stomach +does, and fails and faints and dies quite as surely without it? Take +less of the food that goes to fatten the perishable part of you, and +give more sustenance to that inner guest who, like a captive, sits and +starves with long and cruel neglect. Buy fewer glasses of beer and more +"white hyacinths." Smoke less tobacco and invest in a few sunsets and +dawns. Let cheap shows alone and go hear music of the right sort. So +shall your soul lift up its drooping head and grow less and less to +resemble one of Pharaoh's lean kine. I adore a man or a woman who has +enough sentiment to appreciate what dead and gone Mahomet said, and +hereafter will make it a point to buy less bread and more hyacinths.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I wonder if, when we get to the other world, we shall not occasionally +stroll into some sort of a celestial museum, where the relics of our +foregone existence, its wasted days and misspent years, may stare back +at us from glass cases where the angels have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> ticketed them and put them +all neatly on exhibition! There will be necklaces of ill-spent moments, +like the faded brilliants exhumed from old Pompeii, with lots of broken +hopes and thwarted destinies. There will be odd little freaks and +unreasoning caprices, like the "What is it?" and foolish deeds of daring +to turn our pulses faint with the old-time terror. There will be those +tendencies which kept us heavy-footed like the fat woman, and others +that made us blind, although the world was full of light. There will be +the disloyal deeds that made us a constant source of care and wonderment +to the angels who watched us, and the cowardice that kept us in leading +strings to conformity. There will be shelves full of the little white +lies we have told, all labeled and dated, like pebbles from the +Mediterranean or bits of shell from the sea. There will be fragments of +blighted lives ruined by wagging tongues and shafts of tea table gossip. +There will be the old-time masks wherein we masqueraded, and the flimsy +veils of deceit behind which we hid our individuality. There will be the +memories of little children we might have kept had we been wiser, and +snatches of lullaby<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> songs. There will be jars full of love glances and +pots of preserved and honeyed kisses. There will be whole bales of +mistakes, a Gobelin tapestry to drape the world, and stacks of dead and +withered "might-have-beens." There will be peacock feathers of pride +tied together with faded ribbons of regret, and whole cabinets full of +closet skeletons and family contentions. There will be pedestals whereon +shall stand the "white days" we can never forget, and panorama chambers +wherein shall be unrolled the pictured scroll of our journey heavenward. +In cunningly devised music boxes we shall hear again the melody of our +youthful laughter and the patter of life's uncounted tears. I think the +shelves of that celestial museum would yield some odd surprises to the +most of us, like the finding of a bauble we counted worthless and threw +away glittering in the diadem of a crown, or the prize we bartered honor +for turned to worthless glitter and tinsel paste!</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There is no use sitting here by this window any longer and trying to +believe that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> life is worth living. If I looked for five minutes more at +this November landscape I should shave my head and hie me to a Carmelite +convent. Dame Nature has forgotten her housewifely duties and gone off +to gossip with the good ladies who have charge of the other planets. +Where but yesterday the late asters bloomed in long rows of splendor, +and the chrysanthemums fringed the sunny borders with feathers of white +and gold, the unsightly stalks grovel in the clayey mold, and the +frost-nipped vines drop their dismantled tendrils in the chilly wind. +Fragments of old china lurk in the discovered spaces underneath the +denuded lilac bushes, and out by the oleander tub a cruel cat is +worrying a large and discouraged rat. That oleander tub reminds me of an +ordeal that is ushered in with every change of season. Twice a year we +are compelled to carry that large vegetable in and out of its winter +lair. About the last week of September we begin to wrap it in bed-quilts +every night, and from that time on until late autumn no delicate babe +was ever more tenderly guarded. Then, as there is no man in the country +who for love or lucre will condescend to the job, we begin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> to worry the +Doctor. We tell him the oleander will be blighted by the frost, and he +pays no heed. Then we ask him if he would just as lief bring in the +oleander after supper. He sneaks off and is gone until the 11 p. m. +train. Next we take to tears, and declare that we love that oleander as +one of the family, and it breaks our heart to see it perish for want of +care. We grow pale and wan and gray-headed as the days go by, and +finally with flashing eyes and muttered oaths the Doctor yanks the tub +and its colossal growth into the cellar, and we rest on our arms until +the advent of another spring.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Well, the summer has gathered up her corn-silk draperies, put on her +rose-trimmed hat, and tripped over the border land at last. From the +bend in the road that shall hide her from our view forever she lingers a +moment to throw back a sunny glance at September, as he comes whistling +down the lane, with plume of golden-rod in his hat. A glad good-bye to +you, long-to-be-remembered summer of 1890! We are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> so glad to see you go +that we are willing to forego your blossoms and your bird songs to be +well rid of you. For three long months we have endured heat without +precedent, drought and discomfort, flies and mosquitos, threatened +thunder gusts and devastating cyclones, and we are so tired that we feel +like shaking a stick at you now, to see you lingering to coquet with +September. Hasten on, oh bright autumn weather, with your comfortable +nights for sleep, and your royal days of sunshine and frost. We are +longing for the time to come when the lamps shall be lighted early in +the parlor, and the fire-glow shall once more shed its glory upon +grandma's lovely hair and upon the gold of the children's restless +heads; when the cat shall have leave to lie on the best cushion, and the +voice of the tea-kettle, droning its supper monologue, shall alternate +with the efforts of the older sister at the piano. By the way, do you +know there is lots of solace to be found in an old music book of twenty +years ago? Don't tell me that the music of to-day is as sweet all +through as the melodies of long ago. Who sings such soul-ravishing duets +to-day as "She Bloomed with the Roses," "Twilight<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span> Dews," or "Gently +Sighs the Breeze"? I declare to you, my dear, that although I shall be +considerably older some day than I am now, and although I have not +fallen so far into the "sere and yellow" as to count myself among the +old-fashioned and the queer, yet any one of those songs just mentioned +will start the tears from my eyes as showers start from summer clouds.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Two little motherless children! Do you know the thought of a baby +without a mother to cuddle it always brings the tears to my eyes? +Traveling to distant New England with a father who, although kind, +seemed some way unfitted to his duties, as a straight-legged chair might +if used for a lullaby rocker, were two bits of folks, a boy and a girl, +one four, the other two years old. The careful father brushed their hair +very nicely and washed their mites of faces with great regularity. When +he told them to sit still they sat still, and nobody was annoyed by +their antics, but, oh, how it made my heart ache to watch the motherless +chicks! If mamma had been there they would have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> climbed all over her, +and bothered her a good deal, perhaps, with their clinging arms and +kisses (it's a way babies have with their mammas!), but in the presence +of their dark-eyed and quiet papa they behaved like little weasels in +the presence of a fox. "Papa says we mustn't talk about mamma any more," +lisped the boy. "'Cause she's gone to heaven." In the name of love, +whose apostle I humbly claim to be, I longed to gather those little ones +in my arms and have a dear, sweet talk about the mamma who had left them +for a little while, and I wanted to say to the proper and punctilious +papa: "Good sir, if you attempt to bring up these motherless mites +without the demonstration of love you will meet with the same success +your gardener would should he set out roses in a pine forest. Children +need love as flowers need the southerly exposure and sunshine. When that +boy of yours bumped his head, sir, it was your place to comfort him in +something the way his dead mother might have done, rather than to have +bade him 'sit up and be a man.'"</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">SLEEP'S SERENADE.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In cadence far,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From star to star,</span><br /> +Sleep's mellow horns are faintly calling;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through dreamland halls</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sweet madrigals,</span><br /> +In liquid numbers drowsy falling.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Noiseless and still,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O'er star-watched hill,</span><br /> +Beneath the white moon's tender glances,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A host of dreams,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By wind-blown streams,</span><br /> +March on with gleam of silver lances.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A captive thou;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then, yield thee, now,</span><br /> +While mellow horns are nearer calling;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And ringing bells,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And poppy spells,</span><br /> +Thy senses all in sleep enthralling.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">O, hark; O, hear,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My lady, dear,</span><br /> +O'er woods and hills and streamlets flying,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The winding note</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of horns remote,</span><br /> +In softest echo dying—dying.</td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I had a dream the other night which was like, and yet unlike, the vision +of fair women<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> of which a poet once wrote. I dreamed that I sat within a +court-room. Before me passed the meanest men and women God ever +permitted to live, and upon them I was to pass the verdict as to which +should carry off the palm. The scandal-monger came first, he or she who +sits like a fly-catcher on a tree, snapping up morsels of news. He or +she who is swelled full of conjecture whenever anybody commits an +innocent indiscretion, as an owl blinks and ruffles up its feathers when +the bobolink sings. He or she who goes about the world like a lean cat +after a mouse. He or she who is always looking for clouds in a bright +June sky, and slugs in roses and flies in honey. He or she whose heart +is made of brass, and whose soul is so small it will take eleven cycles +of eternity to develop it to the dimension of a hayseed. I was about to +hand this specimen the banner without looking further when a being +glided by me with a noiseless tread. She wore felt shoes and a mask. She +spoke with the voice of a canary, yet had the talons of a vulture. She +wore a stomacher made from the fleece of a lamb, and between her bright +red lips were the tusks of a wolf. I recognized her as the hypocrite, +the false<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> friend; she who hands over your living bones for your enemies +to pick, while you believe she is your champion and your defender. +Following her came the man who keeps his horse standing all day with its +nose in a nosebag. There was a groan like the sighing of wind in the +poplars as he went by. Then came the merciless man who oppresses and +torments the helpless and grinds the faces of the poor; and following +him I beheld yet another monster—the worst of all in male attire. He +came sneaking around a corner, with a smile on his lips and a devil in +his eye, seeking to entrap innocent girlhood and unsuspecting womanhood. +Then came the woman who gives her children to the care of servants while +she goes downtown with a dog in her arms. Then came a lean-faced, +weasel-eyed creature with the general expression of a sneak thief. I +discovered her to be the representative of that type of women who coaxes +her neighbor's hired girl away with promises of better wages. Then came +the envious person whose evil passions are kindled like the fires of +sheol at the prosperity of others, and who, because his own cup of life +holds vinegar, is determined no other shall contain wine. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> suddenly +awoke without having bestowed the palm on any. Perhaps some of my +readers may find it easy to do that for themselves.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Do you know which, of all the sights that confronted me yesterday in my +rambles through the rainy weather, I pigeon-holed as the saddest? Not +the little white casket, gleaming like the petal of a fallen flower, +through the undertaker's rain-streaked window; not the woman with the +lack-luster eye and the flippety-floppety petticoats who went by me in +the rain silently cursing her bundles and the fact that she was not +three-handed; not the poor old cab horse with his nose in a wet bag, and +his stomach so tightly buckled in that he couldn't breathe below the +fifth rib; not the man out of a job, with his gloveless hands in his +pockets, trying to solve the problem of supper; not the little child +under convoy of a stern and relentless dragon who yanked it over the +crossings by the arm socket; not the starved and absolutely hopeless +yellow dog, who sat in a doorway and wondered to himself if there was +indeed a canine life that included occasional<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> bones and no kicks; no, +not any of these impressed me as the most gruesome of a great city's +many sights. As I passed the corner of Washington and Dearborn streets I +came face to face with a red-cheeked, wholesome boy of barely twenty +years of age. He was leaning upon the arm of an elderly man, and at +first I thought him ill, but it took but a second glance to see that he +was drunk. Now, I consider that the very saddest sight a great city has +to offer. When the old men are wicked there is some comfort in the +thought that their day is nearly spent, and their worthless places may +be soon filled with a nobler and a better stock, but a drunken and +dissolute boy means just what it means for the fruit harvest when the +blight gets into the blossom. The gathered apple that rots in the bin is +bad enough, but the worm that destroys the fruit in the germ makes +greater loss. Be thankful that the grave has taken to its protecting +shelter the boy you loved so dearly, and of whom you were so proud, +rather than that he should have grown to be a drunkard before his +twentieth birthday.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span></p> + +<p>We are each of us missing constant chances to bestow a kindness upon +some needy soul for the reason that we dread being imposed upon by a +case of causeless complaining. Is it worth while to keep our hearts +stolid merely because we may be cheated in the bestowal of a nickel's +worth of alms? I think not. You looked up from your work a few minutes +ago and saw a little boy not much bigger than your thumb looking through +the open doorway. He began at once a sing-song tale of woe about a sick +mother and a father out of work—or in his grave, it doesn't much +matter. At the same time he held out a paper of cheap pins to tempt a +nickel from your store.</p> + +<p>"I have no time to bother with such as you," you said, and turned your +eyes back to your ledger. But still the boy droned on. You looked at him +again and noticed that the small hand that held the pins was well kept +and very, very thin. Then your eyes followed the diminutive form down to +the feet; they, too, showed signs of somebody's care, although the shoes +were shabby and the stockings thin.</p> + +<p>"He is not an ordinary little beggar," you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span> said to yourself. And then +your gaze traveled upward again until it met his long-lashed Irish eyes, +so full of trouble and of entreaty that they looked like twin Killarney +lakes getting ready for rain.</p> + +<p>"Poor little chap," you said, "of course I'll buy a paper of pins," and +in so doing you stooped over and patted his head, perhaps, or called him +"dear," so that he went away with the twin Killarney lakes all ready for +a sunburst to follow the rain. That was an opportunity you nearly +missed, but it brought a blessing sweeter than a Crawford peach. You +didn't want the pins, but the little desolate heart wanted the kind word +bestowed along with your nickel, and perhaps its bestowal shall be an +impulse toward the light to a soul that cross words and constant +refusals had already given a downward trend.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There stands a very young girl at the door of a drug store. She +hesitates a moment and enters. "May I sit here and wait for a friend?" +she inquires of the dapper clerk. "Certainly," he answers, and places a +chair for her near the window.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span>That girl's father told her last night to have nothing more to do with +young Solomon Levi. "He is a worthless fellow," said he, "and I have +forbidden him the house." "Very well," said she, and this morning she +has made the excuse to go to the grocery for yeast, and is waiting here +for the graceless Solomon. By and by he will come, and she will listen +to him and form plans for clandestine meetings. My dear, there is a +stairway whose top lies in the sunshine, but whose lower steps lead down +to endless shadow. Your pretty foot is poising on the upper +stair—beware! And yet I think the father has been to blame also. These +stern, non-explanatory parents are responsible for much of the ruin +wrought in young people's lives. If the old rat would go with the young +one now and then to investigate the smell of cheese, his restraining +presence would do more good than all the warnings and threats +beforehand. Temptations are bound to besiege the girls and bewilder the +boys. Don't let us make a pit-fire out of moonshine and forbid every bit +of innocent fun and frolic because there is a gayety that takes hold on +death. Give the young folks a little more license, mingle with them in +many amusements<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> which you have been wont to frown upon, do not be so +frightened if their light feet go dancing off the path now and then, and +ten to one the end of the journey will be Beulah Land and peace. A good +deal less faultfinding and a good deal more sympathy would be better all +around.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There is no lot on earth so hard to bear as the lot of wedlock where +love has failed. The slave's life is not comparable to it, for the +manacles that only bind the hands may be laid aside, but those that +fetter the heart not death itself holds the key to loosen. It fairly +makes me tremble when I see the thoughtless rush young people make to +enter what is by far the most solemn and responsible relation of life. +They are like mariners who put to sea in flimsy boats, or like explorers +who fit themselves with Prince Albert suits and buttonhole bouquets. +Before you get through the voyage, my dears, you will encounter tempests +as well as bonnie blue weather, and God pity you when your pleasure +craft strikes the first billow, if it was made of caprice and put +together<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> with mucilage instead of rivets! As for the explorer and his +dress suit, where will he be when the tigers begin to scent him and the +air is full of great sorrows and little frets like flying buzzards and +cawing crows?</p> + +<p>Be an old maid in its most despised significance then; be a grubber and +a toiler all the days of your life rather than rush into marriage as a +hunted fox flies into a trap. There is some chance for the fox that +flies to the hills, and for the bird that soars above the huntsman's +aim, but what better off is the fox in the trap or the lark in a cage? +There is a love so pure and ennobling that eternity shall not be long +enough to cast its blossom, nor death sharp enough to loosen the +foundation of its hold. Such love is born in the spirit rather than +forced in the hot-house of the senses. It is an impulse toward the +stars, a striving toward things that are pure and perfect and true. It +grows in the heart as a rose grows in the garden, first a slip, then a +leaf and finally the perfect blossom. No rose ever put forth a flower +first, and then bethought itself of rooting and budding. Pray, dear +girls, that this love may come to you rather than its poor prototype, so +current in a world of shams and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> pretenses, whose luster corrodes with +daily usage and turns to pewter in your grasp.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Once there was an old woman who died and went to glory. Now a great many +old women have died and gone the same way, but this one was very tired +and very glad to go. She had worked hard ever since she could handle a +broom or flirt a duster. She had probably washed about 91,956,045 dishes +in her life, had baked something less than a million of pies, and turned +out anywhere between a quarter to half a million loaves of bread, to say +nothing of biscuits. These figures are steep, but I am writing under the +invigorating impulse of the grip! She had darned socks and hemmed towels +and patched old pantaloon-seats between times, until her fingers were +callous as agate. She had borne and reared lots of children and tended +to their myriad wants. For forty-seven years she had done a big washing +every week, and laundried more collars than a Canada thistle has +seed-pods. At last she died. The tired old body burst its withered husk +and let the flower free. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> rusty old cage flew open and out went the +bird. And when they buried her I suppose they were foolish enough to +shed tears and put on mourning! As well expect all the birds to wear +crape when dawn sets out its primrose-pot on the ledge of the eastern +sky! But one friend of quicker perception than the rest, I am told, +placed the following inscription on the tired old woman's gravestone:</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Here lies a poor woman who always was tired,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For she lived in a world where much was required.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Weep not for me, friends," she said, "for I'm going</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where there'll be neither washing, nor baking, nor sewing;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then weep not for me; if death must us sever,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rejoice that I'm going to do nothing forever."</span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There is just one thing in the latter part of the nineteenth century +that never fails to bring success, and that is assurance. If you are +going to make yourself known it is no longer the thing to quietly pass +out a visiting card—you must advance with a trumpet and blow a brazen +blast to shake the stars.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> The time has gone by when self-advancement +can be gained by modest and unassuming methods. To stand with a lifted +hat and solicit a hearing savors of mendicancy and an humble spirit. The +easily abashed and the diffident may starve in a garret, or go die on +the highways—there is no chance for them in the jostling rush of life. +The gilded circus chariot, with a full brass band and a plump goddess +distributing circulars, is what takes the popular heart by storm. Your +silent entry into town, depending upon the merits of your wares to gain +an audience or work up a custom, is chimerical and obsolete. We no +longer sit in the shadow and play flutes; we mount a pine platform and +blow on a trombone, and in that way we draw a crowd, and that is what we +live for. Who are the women who succeed in business ventures of any +sort? Mostly the mannish, bold, aggressive amazons who are unmindful of +rebuffs and impervious to contempt. Who are the men who wear diamonds +and live easy lives? Largely the politicians who have made their +reputation in bar-room rostrums and among sharpers. Oh, for a wind to +blow us forward a hundred years out of this age of sordid self-seeking +and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> impudent assertiveness into something larger and sweeter and finer. +Give us less yeast in our bread and more substance; fill our cups with +wine rather than froth, and for sweet pity's sake hang up the great +American trumpet and let "silence, like a poultice, come to heal the +blows of sound."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Every day, for months, as I have taken my morning ride to town I have +noticed a dog who bounds forth from a dooryard that overlooks the busy +highway of the steed of steam and barks himself weak at the rushing +trains. He really accomplishes nothing, but do you suppose you could +convince his canine brain that he was not at once a reproach and a +terror to the numerous trains that disturb his rest? He reminds me of +certain people we meet all the way through life. They bark at trains +continually while the Lord prolongs their breath, and the faster the +train and the more it carries the louder they bark. They fondly imagine +that the voice of their ranting protest accomplishes a purpose in the +world. They are always barking at capital and at rich men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> and at +corporations. They bark at people of courteous manners, and all the ways +and customs of polite and gentle society, with fierce and futile +yelpings. They bark at the swift advancement of the world from ignorance +to enlightenment, from superstition to liberalism. They bark at the +churches because they are on a train that has sidetracked Calvin. They +bark at polite young men who wear clean linen, and call them dudes; they +bark at women who have one or two ideas outside of fashionable folly and +inane conventionalism, and call them cranks; they bark at everything on +wheels, where wheels typify strength and achievement. They will go on +barking, too, while the world finds room and maintains patience for them +and their barking.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I think I have said before that I loathe meek people. But even if I have +I am going to say it again. Your half-wits who sit and turn first one +cheek and then the other to be slapped are not the sort for me. The man +or woman, boy or girl, child or otherwise, that will endure direct +insult day after day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> without resenting it ought to sell themselves at +so much a pint for illuminating oil—that is all they are good for. I +love a fighter, provided he foils gracefully and does not snatch out his +sword in every brawling and unworthy cause. In the defense of woman, in +the cause of honor, purity and truth; in battle against sordidness, and +greed, and a lying tongue, let your blade flash like summer rain and +your white plume outdistance the plume of Navarre! For God and mother, +justice and honor, self-respect and the approval of our own conscience, +let us go forward then with a chip, if need be, on each shoulder and a +standard copy of the celestial army tactics in our side pocket! The Lord +loves a good many things, cheerful givers and self-sacrificing widows +with their mites, merciful men and sweet and noble women, but most of +all, I think, he loves a valiant fighter in the cause of right.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Now it came to pass that there dwelt in a certain city of the land of +the great lakes a woman called Lydia, sister to Simon, the shipwright. +And Lydia, being comely and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span> fair to look upon, was sought in marriage +by one John, a dealer in spices and fine teas. And the years of their +wedlock having outnumbered the fingers upon a man's two hands, it came +to pass that they dwelt together in exceeding prosperity in a town near +by the blue waters of a mighty lake.</p> + +<p>And Heaven sent unto them children to the number of three, so that their +hearts were exceeding glad, and the cords of their habitation were +stretched from year to year. And it came to pass that the home in which +they lived was spacious and full of salubrious air. Their beds, also, +were of curled hair, and all their bed-springs of beaten steel. And +bath-rooms made glad the heart of the dust-laden when summer dwelt in +the land. Also there were cunningly devised screens of fine wire in all +the windows, so that the marauding fly and the pestilential mosquito +might not enter.</p> + +<p>And the flesh increased from year to year upon the bones of Lydia and +the children that heaven sent her, while they remained in the home that +John, the tea merchant, had given them.</p> + +<p>But it came to pass that the neighbors of the woman Lydia closed up the +shutters of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> their dwellings, and one by one stole from town when the +heat descended upon the land.</p> + +<p>Then spake Lydia unto John, the vender of spices and fine teas, saying:</p> + +<p>"Arise, let us go hence and dwell within a farm-house, where the +children may leap together in the sweet-smelling hay, and I may comfort +myself with flagons of cream."</p> + +<p>But John, being a man among men, and accounted somewhat wise withal, +would have restrained Lydia, saying: "Not so; for verily I say unto you, +comfort abideth not in the dwelling of the farmer, neither does joy +linger in the shadow of his doorway."</p> + +<p>Now Lydia, being president of a Woman's Club and reputed of knowledge +beyond the generality of womankind, would not listen, but beat her hands +together, crying: "I prithee hold thy peace, for behold, I and the +children heaven sent me will depart hence by to-morrow's chariot of +steam, and will make our home with the gentle farmer and his +sweet-breathed kine."</p> + +<p>So John, being loth to war with the tongue, albeit he was heavy-hearted +and walked with a bent head, purchased tickets for Lydia and the +children heaven had given her.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span>And it came to pass that they left town by the train which men call "the +limited."</p> + +<p>Now the way of that train through the land is like unto the way of a +ship at sea, or of a strong eagle that never wearieth. And the +sufferings of Lydia were such that she sought relief in peppermint and +found it not.</p> + +<p>And the babes by reason of the swiftness with which they traversed a +crooked land, were made ill and languished like sea-sick rangers of the +deep.</p> + +<p>Yet, after many hours, their torment abated not, so that, reaching their +destination, the bodies of Lydia and her children were removed in a hack +and hurried to an inn that was built near by.</p> + +<p>And in the inn where they were fain to tarry until strength should be +given them for further journeying, it chanced that a young babe lay +sorely stricken with the whooping-cough.</p> + +<p>Now, when Lydia knew this, her heart fainted with fear, and she +prophesied evil.</p> + +<p>For well she knew that her own babes had not had the disease, and that +the time of their prostration was at hand.</p> + +<p>So Lydia, being president of a Woman's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> Club, and accounted without a +peer in the gift of words, sent for the keeper of the inn, that she +might rebuke him.</p> + +<p>And she opened her mouth impulsively and questioned him saying: "Why +broughtest thou me and the children heaven gave me into thine inn +knowing that contagious disease lurked within its gates?"</p> + +<p>And the keeper of the inn shot out the lip at her and was undismayed.</p> + +<p>And he cried, "Go to! And what wouldst thou of a public house? Thou +talkest like one with little sense!"</p> + +<p>And it came to pass that Lydia and her children departed thence by stage +and sought the farm-house. And, arriving there, they would have laid +themselves down to rest, being sorely bruised by reason of protracted +stage-riding.</p> + +<p>But the beds were made of straw and corded underneath with ropes. So +that lying upon them caused the children to roar loudly, and they found +rest from their lamentations, four in a bed, on the bosom of Lydia.</p> + +<p>And, supper being served, it consisted of tinted warm water and +gooseberries sweetened with brown sugar.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span>Now Lydia, by reason of her connection with the club, was enabled to +speak boldly, and she called for cream.</p> + +<p>But the wife of the farmer made answer, saying, "We have none."</p> + +<p>And Lydia spoke yet again, saying, "Why, O woman of many wiles, hast +thou no cream?"</p> + +<p>And the woman made way with an insect that swam gaily in a pitcher of +azure milk, and said gently, "Because we sell it to a neighboring +dairy."</p> + +<p>And Lydia said nothing, but remembering the words of John, the +tea-merchant, wept silently.</p> + +<p>And it came to pass that next morning the children went forth to leap in +the hay.</p> + +<p>And the farmer led them firmly away from the hay-mow by the tip of the +ear, saying, "I allow no children to spoil my fodder."</p> + +<p>And the morning of the second day, the woman Lydia, being starved for +nutritious food, wended her way with her babes across a stretch of +pasture land in search of wild blackberries.</p> + +<p>And a beast, whose voice was baritone and whose approach was like the +approach<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span> of a Kansas cyclone, bore down upon her and the children +heaven had given her, while yet they were midway in the meadow. Now only +by leaping could they save themselves.</p> + +<p>And it came to pass that they leaped mightily and flung themselves over +a five-barred fence.</p> + +<p>And a snake made free with the draperies of Lydia, so that her hair +whitened with fear, and between the beast with the baritone voice and +the serpent she knew not which way to turn.</p> + +<p>And the morning of the third day she wrote to John, the tea-merchant, +saying only:</p> + +<p>"My darling—Meet the first train that returns from this place to the +dear city by the lake, for behold! I and the children heaven sent me are +on our homeward way!"</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">IMPATIENCE.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +A sweet little crocus came up through the mold,<br /> +And hugged round her shoulders her mantle of gold,<br /> +While tears of distress fringed her delicate eye,<br /> +Like rain drops that start from a showery sky.<br /> +<br /> +"Where, pray, are those laggards, the violets blue?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span><br /> +The roses and lilies and daffodils too?<br /> +I really think it's a shame and a sin<br /> +This waiting so long for the spring to begin.<br /> +<br /> +"The first day of April and only one bird<br /> +Since I lifted my head has uttered a word!<br /> +And search as I may all over the meadow<br /> +Not even a cowslip has shown its bright head, O—<br /> +<br /> +"Misery me! Sure there's no use in waiting,<br /> +For something, no doubt, is the summer belating;<br /> +So I'll go back to bed, put on my lace night cap,<br /> +And snatch, for a fortnight, a nice little cat-nap!"<br /> +<br /> +Down went little Gold-head, back to her pillow;<br /> +When, all in a twinkling, up over the hill, O,<br /> +The wind-flower host, with rose-tinted banners,<br /> +Marched into the world; Queen Summer's forerunners.<br /> +<br /> +Her rose maids of honor, in filmiest laces,<br /> +Loitered and lingered in shy woodland places;<br /> +And white-vested lilies were ever at prayer;<br /> +Their vespers, the perfume that sweetened the air.<br /> +<br /> +The apple trees blushed into delicate splendor;<br /> +The blue birds hung over in ecstasy tender,<br /> +While the gold powdered bee with helmet all dusty<br /> +Kept watch over the flowers, a sentinel trusty.<br /> +<br /> +The robin sang love to his shy little sweetheart;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span><br /> +The orioles lashed their nests in the tree top;<br /> +The willows drooped low over swift water courses,<br /> +And murmuring brooks started fresh from their sources.<br /> +<br /> +But down in the gloom, on her dream-haunted pillow,<br /> +As pale and as cold as the moon on the billow,<br /> +Forgot and unmissed by bird and by blossom,<br /> +The crocus slept sound in the earth's faithful bosom.<br /> +<br /> +When at last she awoke, the spring had been banished,<br /> +Her forerunner flowers from the hillside had vanished.<br /> +And all of the bees had turned into stock brokers.<br /> +And even the birds had changed into croakers.<br /> +<br /> +'Tis only by waiting we find our fruition;<br /> +To learn how to wait is a needed tuition.<br /> +The faint-hearted people who go to sleep fretting,<br /> +Will wake up at last too late for the getting.</td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>If there is anything more utterly desolate than a poorly-conducted farm, +preserve me from it. There is an ideal farm familiar to the writers of +pretty tales, where everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span> is kept in apple-pie order throughout +the year, and where one can walk broadcast, so to speak, in a spick and +span white gown without attracting so much as the shadow of a shade of +minutest defilement. We have seen pictures of such farms wherein sleek +cattle stood around knee-deep in dewy clover, or lay serenely on +polished hillsides, or meandered dreamily by crystal streams; wherein +pale pink farm-houses with green gables and yellow piazzas, fairly +scintillated from behind decorous foliage, and peacocks, with tails +nearly as long as the Mississippi River, posed on the gate-posts; +wherein neat little boys in variegated trousers rode prancing chargers +down blooming lanes, and correct little girls in ruffled underclothing +fed well-mannered chickens from morning till night. But the actual farm +of the remote rural districts is about as much like its ideal picture as +Esau was like a modern dude. Not long ago somebody suggested that I go +and board for a fortnight at a farm-house. "You will have perfect rest," +said my friend, "and that is what you need." So I went, and rather than +again undergo the torments of the five days spent in that restful (?) +spot I think I would cheerfully hire<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> out with a Siberian chain-gang. In +the first place there was no such a thing as rest possible after the +first glimmer of each day's dawn. Every rooster on the farm, and there +were millions of them, was up "for keeps" long before sunrise. Their +united chorus smote the skies. One might as well have tried to sleep +through Gettysburg's battle. A score or so of bereaved cows lamented all +night for their murdered babies, and a couple of donkeys, kept purely +for ornamental purposes, made sounds every half hour or so that turned +my hair snow white with terror. After breakfast each day I used to walk +down the hill and fish for pickerel in a river that had no current, and +looked discouraged. "Walked," did I say? Nay, there was nothing so +decorous as a walk possible down the slippery, stony descent which led +to the haunts of the pickerel. When I didn't hurl myself down that hill, +I slid down, and between the two methods I wrecked both muscle and shoe +leather. The latter part of the way led through a pasture devoted to +several cows and a bull. As I am more afraid of the latter than of death +and all his cohorts, my morning walks ended in heart failures and had to +be abandoned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span> Occasionally I would take a book and go out and sit in my +hammock. Then the large roosters, each one of them at least seven feet +tall and highly ruffled about the legs, would come around and look at +me, so that I would have to go into the house to hide my embarrassment. +I know of nothing harder to endure than the stare of a Brahma fowl, +especially if one is a bit nervous and overworked. Nervous prostration +has sprung from lighter causes.</p> + +<p>Nothing happened while I was at the farm but meal time, and the +intervals were so long between those episodes that I used to wonder +daily at my own mission subsequent to the farm-life as one gropes for +prehistoric clues. There was a man about the premises who walked to and +from the village twice a day with a large brown jug. When I asked at +different times what he fetched in the jug, not because I wanted to +know, but merely to find a topic of conversation, I was successively +told that it was "kerosene," "maple molasses," "buttermilk," and +"vinegar." I wish I knew if I was told the truth every time, or if +somebody tried to impose upon me merely because I was town-bred.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span>Occasionally we took rides over stony trails where boulders and ruts +marked the way, and only the creaking of our bones broke the primeval +silence. These rides were supposed to be part of the generous plan of +contemplated rest, but a few more of them would have resulted in the +rest from which there is no awaking. No, my dear, I am an ardent lover +of the country, and I love it as the epicure loves a good dinner, or the +musician loves music, but I will take it, please, without the +accessories of a poorly-kept hoosier farm. I do not yearn for the +defilements of a barn-yard that is never cleansed, nor for the +frolicsomeness of pigs that wander at their own sweet will, nor for the +clamor of aggressively alert poultry, nor for piscatorial delights. I +love the country as God made it before greed and gain and all the +abominations of man entered into and spoiled it. I love it clean and +wholesome and sweet, as it was turned out of the workshop; its streams +untainted, and their banks unbereft of beautiful trees; its hills still +covered with verdure, and its winds uncontaminated with the scent of +defiling drains and waterways.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I have seen him! Actually seen him! Shall I say the coming man? No, +rather let us call him the vanished type, the stalwart, full-blooded, +glorious "might have been" of nature. Not an exotic, but the indigenous +growth of a soil fed by breeze and sun. No earmuffs about him; no +cringing withdrawal into mufflers before the advance of winter blasts. +No cowardly retreat into furry overcoats, mittens and gum shoes.</p> + +<p>"Amber," said a fellow traveler the other day, "yonder is a man after +your own heart. He has not worn an overcoat or heavyweight flannels for +six years. He never buttons up his coat save when it rains. What do you +think of him?"</p> + +<p>"Think of him!" said I; "were it not for a lingering regard for the +conventionalities, I should walk right over to that man and say: 'Sir, I +thank you for the sight of a man—not a human lily bud! You have struck +the right way of living, and you will be a hale and handsome man when +the enfeebled race that surrounds you have toddled into the +consumptive's grave or are sneezing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> upon their catarrhal pilgrimage to +the tomb.'" The man was worth looking at, hale and hearty, his chest like +the convex curve of a barrel, his eye like a falcon's.</p> + +<p>"But," said my friend, "were I to throw aside my overcoat and go forth +unprotected this freezing weather, the exposure would surely kill me!"</p> + +<p>"No doubt it would," was my cheerful reply. "There are always a host to +die before any reform is achieved or victory accomplished. You have +coddled yourself so long between blankets and absorbed red-hot furnace +heat until you haven't the stamina of an aspen leaf. Take a hot-house +flower out of doors and it soon wilts. But mark the beautiful Edelweiss +of the Alps—it thrives in the pure breath of eternal snow." But what is +the use of talking? Although my tongue became a golden bell and my pen a +gleaming flame, I could never convince you, my dear old, shivery, shaky +public, of the advantage of fresh air and plenty of it, and the +advisability of a generous cultivation of nature and her free gifts. As +well expect to be nourished by looking at your food through an opera +glass as hope to be strong and stalwart upon a homeopathic<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> allowance of +pure air and sunshine, or in spite of the devices you plan to shut +yourself away and hermetically seal your body, as it were, from the +sweet, health-giving influence of sun and wind and frost. Just stop a +moment before you turn away from this subject, my dear, and hear a +little story. I know the subject is a bore and that I am a crank, but +listen. Once there was a grand beneficent power—call it God if you +will—who planned a spot wherein to place some atom which he had shaped +out of dust and vivified with a spark of his own life. He looked about a +little, we will imagine, and finally settled upon a garden wherein to +place these precious pensioners on his care. A roofless, wall-less spot +full of draughts and dew, breezes and blossoms. He filled it with birds +and carpeted it with grass, set rivulets running through it for "water +works" and sunbeams and starbeams for "electric light" plants, etc. That +is all I have to say. Like the Mother Morey legend my story is done +before it is scarcely begun. But ask yourself the question, Why didn't +God put his well-beloved models of the forthcoming race into a more +sheltered place if there was so much danger in fresh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> air, draughts and +chilly weather? Why didn't he seal them up behind double windows in an +airless, sunless, hot and unhealthful home where the dear things could +keep warm? Because he was God and knew everything, and not man and knew +nothing.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Well, the old ship Time has put into port again to take on a new cargo +of good resolutions, earnest resolves and patented schemes, before +setting sail for the shores of a distant future. Ten to one she goes to +pieces on the breakers before ever sighting land again, and a hundred to +ninety-nine her cargo is thrown overboard before she reaches mid-sea. +The channel is narrow and the rocks lie thick as peas in a marrowfat +pod, and many more bales of choice merchandise find the bottom of the +sea each year than are ever delivered to the good angel consignee. "I am +going to be the best girl in all the world," says the poor little +Captain on New Year's eve. Behold! the hours have not swung around the +diurnal circle before there is a wild onslaught from shadowland, and the +brave captain is left<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> wounded on the field. Only a tender hand and +tireless patience can set her on her feet again.</p> + +<p>"I will eschew debt as I would poison, and starve before I will commit +an indiscretion," cries the Doctor as he sets sail for the untried sea. +Within the first watch he hauls down his colors from the mast head, +captured by a pirate extravagance.</p> + +<p>"I will be gentle of speech and courteous and sweet to all!" says the +Young Person, and gayly steers for the open channel. Midway she +encounters a rock of annoyance and the air is stormy with irritable +words that fly and beat like stinging rain. Ah, well, my dear, thank the +good Lord there are life-saving stations all along the shore, and no +wreck was ever yet so hopeless but Infinite Love could set it afloat +again.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>"There is just one person born who has a right to this thoroughfare, and +that is I!" muses the woman with the umbrella as she walks the crowded +streets on a rainy day. "I am in possession of that part of the universe +immediately contiguous to the spot on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> which I stand, and I shall make +myself just as much of a nuisance as I choose. I shall jab out your +eyes, and knock off your hat, and clip your ears, and stab your back +with my umbrella tip just as often and as violently as I choose. I shall +run into you from behind, and bump into you, and knock you down if I so +desire, and none shall say me nay. I am not very tall, but all the +better for my plans if I am not. If I were of the same height as you I +should not be able to take you under the hat-brim as I do, and jab you +in the nostril as I pass. If I choose to cut criss-cross through a +crowd, who shall forbid me, being a woman? I can be just as rude and +just as mean as I want to be, and who is going to hinder, so long as I +wear a gown and call myself a lady? If I were a man and manifested the +reckless thirst for universal carnage that I do you would call the +patrol and bear me away to the lock-up; but being a poor little, +innocent woman I have it all my own way."</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>I know a wife who is waiting, safe and sound in her father's home, for +her young<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span> husband to earn the money single-handed to make a home worthy +of her acceptance. She makes me think of the first mate of a ship who +should stay on shore until the captain tested the ability of his vessel +to weather the storm. Back to your ship, you cowardly one! If the boat +goes down, go down with it, but do not count yourself worthy of any fair +weather you did not help to gain! A woman who will do all she can to win +a man's love merely for the profit his purse is going to be to her, and +will desert him when the cash runs low, is a bad woman and carries a bad +heart in her bosom. Why, you are never really wedded until you have had +dark days together. What earthly purpose would a cable serve that never +was tested by a weight? Of what use is the tie that binds wedded hearts +together if like a filament of floss it parts when the strain is brought +to bear upon it? It is not when you are young, my dear, when the skies +are blue and every wayside weed flaunts a summer blossom, that the story +of your life is recorded. It is when "Darby and Joan" are faded and +wasted and old, when poverty has nipped the roses, when trouble and want +and care have flown like uncanny birds over<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> their heads (but never yet +nested in their hearts, thank God!), that the completed chronicle of +their lives furnishes the record over which approving heaven smiles and +weeps.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>There is one thing I learn day by day in my strollings about town, and +that is that nobody is going to give me dollar values for half-dollar +equivalents. In these days when the best of folks go mad on bargains we +seem to think it is an easy thing to get something for nothing, but I +have yet to see the day when we can. There are cheap restaurants where +they serve you roast turkey for a quarter, but don't fool yourself! It +is not the same kind of bird they serve in a high-class place for a +dollar. You look at your check when you come out from an economical +kitchen with a feeling of glee that you have got so much for so little. +But how about the flavor that lingers in your mouth? How about the +display of pine toothpicks and spotted linen? How about the +finger-marked drinking glasses and damp napkins? No, no; poor as I am I +would rather pay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> my dollar and get a dollar's worth of cleanliness and +daintiness and flavor than save seventy-five cents and do without them. +Sure as you live and sure as the world is operated on a +self-accommodative basis, you never will get a first-water diamond +without you pay first-water diamond equivalents.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>The other day there was a little girl, scarce 16 years of age, who +started away for the first time from home and mother. She was brave and +gay in a new suit, new boots and a new hat with a feather the color of a +linnet's wing. She carried a bunch of the loveliest sweet peas at her +dainty waist and on her face there played a sunburst of smiles. She had +not been five hours in the place appointed her to visit when her mother +received the following letter:</p> + +<p>"My Precious Mamma: I am writing this in my room before I am called to +breakfast. None but God can know what I suffer! Not until I am in your +arms once more will you know what I am going through! If you love me let +me come home. Don't tell anyone, but let me come if you love me! Don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> +send the shoes—I shall not need them—but let me come home! Think what +I must suffer so far away from you. I shall sell my ring and buy a +ticket if you do not telegraph that I may come!"</p> + +<p>And as I read the pathetic letter between my smiles and tears I thought +to myself, is there anything on earth so hard to bear as +homesickness—first homesickness, when the heart is new to sorrow? I +would rather have any disease the laboratory of evil keeps in stock than +one pang of what that little girl was suffering when she penciled that +letter.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p>Around in a picture store on one of the avenues I chanced upon a +painting that attracted not only myself, but a crowd of people from the +street. It represented a lion's cage barred with heavy barriers of iron. +On the floor of the den is the figure of a beautiful girl stretched in a +deathlike swoon. There are orange blossoms in her hair, and the flush on +her cheek has had no time to fade. Crouched by her side, one great paw +on her breast and another at her waist, is a wrathful lion whose evident +intention<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> is to tear his victim into bonbon fragments. I wish somebody +would explain that picture to me. I am tired conjecturing how the bride +strayed into the lion's quarters, and where her husband was that he +shouldn't be taking better care of her, and why there was nobody on hand +to help at this critical moment portrayed on the canvas. Young married +women are not supposed to be visiting zoological gardens when they ought +to be changing their white satin favors for their traveling gowns. The +picture seems a puzzler to all who watch it, and as the crowd is great +the confusion of wits is catching.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE TRYST.</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td> +Where a woodland path, like a silver line,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Winds by a woodland river,</span><br /> +And half in shadow, and half in shine,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The alders lean and shiver,</span><br /> +Where a forest bird has built him a nest<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Low in the springing grasses,</span><br /> +And all the day long, with her wings at rest,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His mate the slow time passes;</span><br /> +<br /> +Where a flood of gold through the forest dim<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tells when the noon is strongest,</span><br /> +And a purple fringe on the forest's rim<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proclaims when the shades are longest;</span><br /> +Where the dawn is only known from the night<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the birds that sing their sweetest,</span><br /> +And the twilight hush from the morning light<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the peace that is then completest;</span><br /> +<br /> +Where only the flood of silvery haze<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall tell that the moon is risen,</span><br /> +When down from the sky, like a meteor blaze,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall flutter her snow-white ribbon,—</span><br /> +I will meet you there, my lady love sweet,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the weary world is sleeping,</span><br /> +And the frets of the day, that tireless beat,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are hushed in the night's close keeping;</span><br /> +<br /> +Not missing the world—by the world unmissed—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We two shall wander together,</span><br /> +And whether we chided, or whether we kissed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There'll be none to forget or remember;</span><br /> +And when at the last asleep you shall fall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By the shore of the musical river,</span><br /> +Of the crimson leaves I will weave you a pall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And kiss you good-by, love, forever.</span><br /> +<br /> +But the stars up above, and the waters below,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall sing of us, over and over;</span><br /> +Of the tryst that we kept in the years long ago,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the woods by the beautiful river.</span></td></tr></table> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/iseparator.jpg" alt="" /></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="big">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:</span></p> +<p> </p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the original.</p> + +<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as follows:</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Page 35: <i>blase</i> changed to <i>blasé</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Page 53: <i>neighors</i> changed to <i>neighbors</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Page 98: <i>patroled</i> changed to <i>patrolled</i></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Page 129: <i>meed</i> changed to <i>need</i></span></p> + +<p>Punctuation has been corrected without note.</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rosemary and Rue, by Amber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSEMARY AND RUE *** + +***** This file should be named 36168-h.htm or 36168-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/6/36168/ + +Produced by D Alexander, David E. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/36168-h/images/icover.jpg b/36168-h/images/icover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b2ceb4 --- /dev/null +++ b/36168-h/images/icover.jpg diff --git a/36168-h/images/iseparator.jpg b/36168-h/images/iseparator.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8c770fe --- /dev/null +++ b/36168-h/images/iseparator.jpg diff --git a/36168-h/images/ititle.jpg b/36168-h/images/ititle.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f94711 --- /dev/null +++ b/36168-h/images/ititle.jpg diff --git a/36168.txt b/36168.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ab1ad5d --- /dev/null +++ b/36168.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6229 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rosemary and Rue, by Amber + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Rosemary and Rue + +Author: Amber + +Release Date: May 19, 2011 [EBook #36168] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSEMARY AND RUE *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + Rosemary and Rue + + By Amber + + + Chicago and New York: + Rand McNally & Company, + Publishers + + + Copyright, 1896, by Rand, McNally & Co. + + + + +PREFACE. + + +"Amber" was not to be classed with any society or any creed. In all +respects she was an individual. In good-humored contempt she held all +form, and with deep sincerity she revered all simple things. She smiled +upon error and frowned upon pretense. Her life was largely made up of +impulse and sacrifice. She was the constant "victim" of her own +generosity, needing the money and the time which sympathy impelled her +to give away. She was so devoted a lover of the moods of nature, noting +so closely the changing of the leaf or a new note sounded by the +whimsical wind, that her spirit itself must once have been an October +day. Year after year she toiled, and her reward was not money, but a +letter from the bedside of the invalid, telling of a heart that had been +lightened, of a care that had been driven from the door. None of the +newspaper writers of Chicago was more popular. Another column told the +news of the day; her column held the news of the heart. Her best +thoughts and warmest fancies are scattered throughout her prose. Her +verses are pleasant, and many of them are striking, but meter often +chained her fancy. But some of her unchained fancies, poetic conceits in +the guise of prose, will live long after the clasp, holding the +pretentious verses of a society laureate, shall have been eaten loose by +the constant nibble of time. + +When a church was crowded with friends, come to bid "Amber" good-bye, a +great thinker, a writer who knows the meaning of toil, said that she had +succeeded by the force and the industry of her genius. And so she had. +For others, influence searched out easy places, but "Amber" found her +own hard place and maintained it, struggling alone. Her words were for +the poor and the sorrowful, and they could but give a blessing. But in +the end, a blessing from the poor may be brighter than the silver of the +rich. + + Opie Read. + + + + +Rosemary and Rue. + + + + +I WONDER. + + I wonder, if I died to-night, + And you should hear to-morrow, + You'd mourn to think this one dear friend + Had bid good-bye to sorrow. + + I wonder, if you saw a bird, + The hunter's dart outflying, + You'd lure it back with loving word + To danger, pain, and dying. + + I wonder, if you saw a rose, + Plucked quick in June's surrender, + You'd wish it back upon the bough, + To wither in November. + + I wonder, if you watched the moon, + The tempest's rack outstripping, + You'd grieve to see its silver prow + In cloudless ether dipping. + + I wonder, if you heard a thrush + Laugh out amid the clover, + You'd weep because its cage door oped-- + Its captive days were over. + + I wonder, if, some happy day, + When you have found your haven, + You'll mourn to find this one dear friend + Had been so long in heaven. + + * * * * * + +When I die bury me by the sea. Let my first hundred years in the spirit +be spent on a sunny sand-bank watching the sapphire tides break over a +bluff of lifted rocks. What is any earthly trouble but a dissolving +dream, when one may bury the face in golden moss and sniff the salt +spume of the sea! Over the blue verge of the horizon lies Spain, and I +build its castles hourly here in my heart. A distant echo rings in my +ears of trucks driven over stony streets, of the crack of the cabman's +whip and the shout of profane teamsters, but the only semblance to cruel +driver and jaded beast of burden seen in the seaside paradise of which I +write is a fat huckster and a still fatter donkey who draws the large +man where he (the donkey) listeth. Here on this lifted moorland, if one +wishes to go anywhere he rises up and goes forth on a carpet of crimson +moss and yellow grass and is driven by a chariot of untired winds. +Behind us are miles of purple moss swept by ragged shreds of September +fog, and musical, here and there, with bells of grazing herds; while +before us, behind us, and all around us stretches the boundless, +unfathomable and mysterious sea. + + * * * * * + +Did you ever hear of the island of Avilion? That enchanted place where +"falls not hail, or rain, nor ever wind blows loudly," whose orchard +lands and bowery hollows lie lapsed in summer seas? I found it one day +when I was sailing on Casco bay in a boat hardly bigger than a peanut +shell. Tennyson found it long ago in a dream, and to it he sent the good +King Arthur that he might "heal him of his grievous wound" within the +balm of its heavenly peace. But I found it in reality, and to it I took +a care-worn lady and a work-weary brain, that I might perchance renew +under its sunny spell a strength that was well-nigh spent. I found my +island under another name, to be sure, but I rechristened it within the +first hour of my landing. It is not the place, my dear, for featherheads +and butterflies, this island of Avilion. It is not the place for the +descendants of Flora McFlimsy to go with their new gowns and their +French heels. All such would vote my little island a bore, and run up a +flag for the first inland-bound steamer to put into port and carry them +away. It has no ball-room, no promenade-hall under cover, no brass band, +no merry-go-round, but instead it has meadow-lands that are brimful of +bird songs; it has wild strawberries that bring their ruby wine to the +very lips of the laughing sea; it has such sunsets as visit the dreams +of poets and the skies of Italy; it has great rocks that are woven all +over with webs of wild convolvulus vine, whose airy goblets of pink and +blue hold nectar for the booming bee to sip; and it has marguerite +daisies by the tens of thousands, and wild roses that carry the tint of +your baby's palm and the honey of sugar-sweet dew within the inclosure +of their small curled cup. It is hardly bigger than a Cunarder, this +little Chebeague island, whose name I changed to Avilion, and from +wave-washed keel to flowery bowsprit the eye never lights upon a +defilement or a stain. It is the only place in all my wanderings where I +never found a peanut shell nor a tin can thrown out to defile nature's +beauty. + +There was not a single bad odor on my island during the whole ten days +of my tarrying, and I am told by those who are old inhabitants that +such a thing never was known to it. A soft wind is always blowing, but +the only merchandise it carries is wild thyme perfume and the fragrant +airs that waft from meadow-lands and old-fashioned gardens full of spice +pinks and cinnamon roses. Now and then a hunter's fog slips the leash of +its viewless hounds and with noiseless "halloo" scours the island for +the prey it tracks but seems never to corral. Now and then a sudden +tumult seizes the tides that climb and fall on the shiny rocks and the +air is full of the throb of soft drums and the music of flutes that are +beat and blown a moment, then die away as quickly as they came, like a +strolling band that marches through a village street, then over the +hills and far away. Now and then a troop of crows rise silently from out +the shadow of the pines and go sailing between the lazy eyes that follow +and the sun, until, settling down upon some meadow stacked with new-cut +hay, they break into clamorous laughter that taunts you with its shrill +derision. Always, from dawn to dewfall, the world about little Chebeague +is full of swallows that dart and soar and flit like shadows. They +seldom sing, and yet the few notes they thread upon the air sparkle like +diamonds where they fall. Some strange bird, with a low, sleepy song +like the crooning of a child that is half asleep, or like a shepherd +boy's pipe idly blown beneath the noonday willows, is always haunting +the groves of Avilion with an undiscovered presence. I have spent hours +looking for him, yet never found him. Sometimes I have been led to half +believe the fellow exists only in the fancy of a spellbound idler like +you and me. + +Just at sunset a little feathered violinist of the island whips out his +fiddle and draws the bow so delicately across its vibrant strings, while +the golden sun slips tranquilly beneath the tinted waters of Casco bay, +that the soul of the listener is fairly attenuated like a high C +diminuendo with the spell of so much beauty. I don't know the name of +the bird either, but he is going to sing for us all in heaven later on. +Such performers do not end all here any more than Beethoven did. + +It was my custom during the time I spent at Little Chebeague to devote +the entire day to strolling or lying at length upon the rocks-- + + Nothing but me 'twixt earth and sky; + An emerald and an amethyst stone, + Hung and hollowed for me alone. + +I grew to love the solitude with all my heart, and the thought of +returning to the mainland with its jargon and its bustle was like the +thought of tophet to the poor little peri for whom the gate of paradise +had swung. Sometimes I would board the small boat that two or three +times a day threads in and out of the blue water-way and visit adjacent +islands hardly less beautiful than my chosen home. + +There is Long Island, far more beautiful by reason of its East End, +where as yet the tide of a full-fledged summer resort has not come. +There is an old-fashioned country roadhouse, such as we knew before the +landscape gardener and the boulevard fiend were turned loose upon our +rural towns. To follow their windings is heaven enough for me. A fringe +of buttercups to fence the way, thickets of underbrush to darken the +near distance, constant little ups and downs where the road slips into +hollow to follow the call of a romping brook or climb a hill to watch +for the sea. Wintergreen berries and russet patches everywhere, and the +snow of blackberry bushes in bloom far as the eye can travel. + +"There is an old-time rail fence!" cried a visitor from the booming west +one day; "my God, let me get out and touch it! I haven't seen anything +but barbed wire since I left New England!" And he did get out of the +buckboard in which he was driving and chipped away a big brown fence +sliver as a memento. These roads I am talking about lead nowhere in +particular. They, as often as not, end in a fisherman's back dooryard, +but they are sweet as a young girl's caprice while they last. + +One day we strolled across one of the islands and found a battlement of +rocks on the seaside that it would have taken a solid month to explore. +Oh, there was enough on the bar at ebb tide at Avilion to while away an +age of idle time. + +Sometimes we took it into our heads to ride. Then the choice lay between +Charlie the Christian--so named for his good behavior and gentle +ways--and the one roadster the island produced, a nag in the rough, who +held his head high and cavorted with the stride of a jamboreeing boy. + +The choice made, the hour must be watched to catch the low tide over to +Big Chebeague, for there are no wagon roads in Avilion. Six hours of +safety, as to the low water mark, is the limit of one day's riding, and +much can be done in the way of riding in a half-dozen hours' time. A +spin across the bar, the climbing of a rocky road, a sweep of +seaward-facing pike, with dips into ferny hollows and ascents to +pine-crowned bluffs, make the trip worth recording, and if to the +exhilaration of the ride you add a dismount now and then to gather +wintergreen and pick roses, with a loiter through a church-yard where +many Hamiltons, both pre-Adamite and ante-historic, are sleeping the +sleep of the just, you have the whole meaning of an afternoon outing on +Big Chebeague. + +Every evening after supper there was a pilgrimage to the west side of +the island, not to be dispensed with by descendants of those remnant +tribes that once worshiped the sun. Ranging from north to south as far +as the eye can sweep, from westward, fronting little Chebeague, lies +Casco bay, the loveliest bit of water in all the world. I say +unhesitatingly the loveliest, because I do not believe that Naples, nor +Sorrento, nor any far-famed Italian watering-place can match the coast +of Maine for beauty. Into this bay, like petals from a wind-shaken +blossom tree, are dropped hundreds of islands. Far to the west the White +mountains melt upon the horizon in airy outline of blue, and over all +each day is repeated the ancient miracle of the sun's decline. Sometimes +a single cloud, like a tomb, receives the bright embodiment of day and +hides it from our sight behind such draperies as orient never wrought +nor monarch dreamed. Sometimes this fair god lies at length upon a bier +of purple porphyry, while flakes of crushed gems strew his couch with +rainbow dust, and all the air is full of rose-red censers, edged with +gold. Sometimes he drops below the verge, holding to the last a wine cup +brimmed with sparkling vintage that spills and trickles down the hills. +Sometimes he returns in an afterglow, as the dead come back to us in +dreams, the tenderer and the sweeter for their second coming. However +the sun may set in Avilion, each setting is the most beautiful and best +to be desired. + + * * * * * + +I heard someone bewailing the death of a friend the other day. The staff +on which he had leaned, the bread which had ministered to his needs, the +very light that had filled his eyes seemed caught away, and he mourned +as one for whom there was no comfort possible. I saw a mother leaning +above an empty crib, whose dainty pillow no nestling head should ever +press again. I marked the terrible yet voiceless grief that ate at a +bereaved father's self-control, until no wind-blown reed was ever so +shorn of self-reliant strength. I saw a wife whose love had sunk within +the grave where her young husband was laid, as the sun sets within a +cloud of stormy night. I saw an old man bow his snowy head because the +faithful one whose hand had lain in his for more than fifty years had +vanished from his sight forever. I heard a little child lamenting at +bed-time the lullaby song which its dead mother's tender lips should +never sing again. But sadder than all these things, more tragical than +any death which merely picks the blossom of life and bears it onward to +heaven, as the gardener plucks the choicest rose to grace some festival +of joy, is the scene when a trusted friendship dies; when faith which +has endured the test of years gives up the breath of loyal life and +sinks to hopeless unawakened death. Never think that you have shed your +bitterest tears until you have stood at such a death-bed. Think not the +measurement of any mortal grief has been found until you have sunk the +plummet-line of such a sorrow. That grave shall never burst its sheath +to let the soul of friendship's betrayal free, like a lily on the Easter +air. That door shall never swing like the bars of a cage to let a +murdered faith flash forth like the plume of a singing bird to seek the +stars. Over the grave of a dead and buried trust no resurrection-note +can ever sound like a bugle-call across the dewy hills to rouse the +sleeper from his couch. God pity all who linger by the heaped-up mound +where love's forgotten dreams lie buried, and grant oblivion as the only +surcease for their bitter sorrow. + + * * * * * + +The days and nights swing equally upon the golden balance of time. The +year is whitening with its crop of frost-blossoms from which no +harvest-home has ever yet been called. Like an unwritten page, the new +year lies before us in untrodden fields of shining snow. God grant the +footsteps of Death be not the first to track the unbroken path that lies +before us. May joy and peace and love, like the roots of the violets +under the snow, quicken and blossom for all of us as the year advances, +and may our progress be, like January's, right steadily onward unto +June! + + * * * * * + +As I write there is a sudden break in the hush of night, and faint and +clear and sweet upon the listening ear falls the sound of "taps" from +the camp in Fort Sheridan woods. I drop my pencil and listen to it, as I +always do, with almost a spirit of reverent awe. The hard day's work is +done, the time for rest has come, and over all the busy camp silence +falls like the shadow of a brooding wing. The new moon, half hidden by +drifting clouds sends a rippling play of silver through the woodbine +leaves, and from the top of the maple tree, a thrush dreams forth a bar +of liquid music in its sleep. All the world is going to sleep, and God +grant, say I, that when the time for the final good-night has come for +you and for me the call for "taps," blown from some celestial bugle the +other side the mystic gate may fall as sweetly upon our ears and find us +as ready to sink to slumber. + + * * * * * + +Did you ever hunt for eggs in a haymow? If you did you can remember just +how, with bated breath, you crept through the fragrant glooms of the old +barn and searched the dusty place for nests. You can recall, perhaps, +the shaft of sunlight that broke through the crevice of the door and +showed you old speckle-top in her corner. You can hear again her furious +cackle when you dislodged her from her nest and gathered the warm eggs +she had hovered under her wings. You remember the excitement of the +search and the perfection of content which settled within your soul as +you gathered the basketful of milk-white eggs upon your arm and picked +your way down the steep ladder which led to the main floor and "all out +doors." Scarcely any excitement or exhilaration of later years can +compare with the joy of hen's-nest hunting when you were young. + +Did you ever go berrying? With a tin pail swinging from your wrist and +your oldest gown upon your back, have you climbed the hill, jumped the +fences and sought the side-hill pasture where the blackberries grew +purple in the shade? Can you recall much, in all the years that thread +between that happy time and this, which can transcend the pleasure of +those wildwood tramps? Even now I seem to fix my eyes upon a clump of +bushes by the old rail fence. They are domed high with verdure and show +dusky hollows underneath, where, my skilled eye tells me, lurk spoils +fit for Bacchus and all his nymphs. I part the leaves, a snowy moth +flutters out of the green dusk and wavers like a snowflake in the warm, +sweet air. I carefully reach my hand away inside the fairy bower of +crumpled leaf and twisted vine and draw it forth purple with the juice +of overripe berries that dissolve at a touch. With these I fill my pail, +and all too often, I blush to own it, my mouth also, until twilight +sends me home saturated with sunshine, late clover blooms and berry +juice. + +Ah, my dear, all this was fun while it lasted, but there is a more +exciting quest than hunting eggs or finding berries, in which we all of +us engage as the years of our mortal pilgrimage go hurrying by. It is +the search for happiness--a search we never give up nor grow too old to +maintain. Forgetting the disappointments and the satieties of the dead +years, we look forward to the new as the hidden nestfull of unchipped +shells of fresh experience and untried delights. God bless us all, and +prosper us to find the eggs and the berries before we die. Perhaps the +service of love we do others shall prove the bush that bears the +sweetest and the ripest clusters, and the nestfull that shall develop +the whitest store of all life's opportunities. + + * * * * * + +A genuine mother could no more raise a bad boy into a bad man than a +robin could raise a hawk. When I say "genuine mother" I mean something +more than a mother who prays with her boy, and teaches him Bible texts, +and sends him to Sunday-school. All those things are good and +indispensable as far as they go, but there is a lot more to do to train +a boy besides praying with him, just as there are things necessary to +the cultivation of a garden besides reading a manual. To succeed with +roses and corn one must prune, weed and hoe a great deal. To make a boy +into a pure man, a mother must do more than pray. She must live with him +in the sense of comrade and closest friend. She must stand by him in +time of temptation as the pilot sticks to the wheel when rapids are +ahead. She must never desert him to go off to superintend outside duties +any more than the engineer deserts his post and goes into the baggage +car to read up on engineering, when his train is pounding across the +country at forty miles an hour. + + * * * * * + +A LITTLE GOLDENHEAD. + + Gay little Goldenhead lived within a town + Full of busy bobolinks, flitting up and down, + Pretty neighbor buttercups, cosy auntie clovers, + And shy groups of daisies, all whispering like lovers. + + A town that was builded on the borders of a stream, + By the loving hands of nature when she woke from winter's dream; + Sunbeams for the workingmen taking turns with showers, + Rearing fairy houses of fairy grass and flowers. + + Crowds of talking bumblebees, rushing up and down, + Wily little brokers of this busy little town, + Bearing bags of gold dust, always in a hurry, + Fussy bits of gentlemen, full of fret and flurry. + + Gay little Goldenhead fair and fairer grew, + Fed on flecks of sunshine, and sips of balmy dew, + Swinging on her slender foot all the happy day, + Chattering with bobolinks, gossips of the May. + + Underneath her lattice on starry summer eves, + By and by a lover came, with his harp of leaves; + Wooed and won the maiden, tender, sweet and shy, + For a little cloud home he was building in the sky. + + And one breezy morning, on a steed of might, + He bore his little Goldenhead out of mortal sight; + But still her gentle spirit, a puff of airy down, + Wanders through the mazes of that busy little town. + + * * * * * + +Where shall we go to find the fit symbol of Easter? To the encyclopedia +that we may post ourselves as to word derivations and root meanings? As +well send a child to a botanist to find the meaning of a rose! To fitly +understand the true significance of Easter time, find some slope in +early April that the sun has found a few short days before you. Lay your +ear close to the ground that you may hear the fine, soft stir within the +bosom of the warm earth. Note how the mold is filling with its new birth +of flowers. There is not a covert in all the awakening woods that has +not a little nestling head hidden behind the dead leaves. The breath of +a sleeping child is not more peaceful than the sway of the wind flower +upon its downy stem. The flush on a baby's cheek is not more delicate +than the tint of each gossamer petal. To what shall we liken the grass +blades already springing up along the loosened water ways? To fairy +bowmen, led by Robin Hood's ghost through winding ways from forest on to +the sparkling sea. To what shall we liken the violet buds spread thick +beneath the country children's feet? To constant thoughts of God that +bloom even in the grave's dark dust. To what shall we liken the +twinkling leaves that shine in the dim depths of the woods? To lights +at sea, that tell some fleet is sailing into port. To what shall we +liken the shy unfolding of the lilac buds? To the poise of a slender +maiden who leans from out her lattice to hearken to a lover's song. To +what shall we liken the cowslip's valiant gold? To the shining of a +contented spirit with a humble home. To what shall we liken the brooding +sky and the warmth of the all-loving sun? To the potency of a gentle +nature intent on doing good, and the yearning of a tender heart to bless +and save. Is there a nook so dark and forbidding that the beautiful +Easter sunshine cannot enter and woo forth a flower? Is there a rock so +impervious that the April wind may not find lodgment for a seed in some +crevice, and there uplift a bannered blossom? Is there a cold, resentful +bank wherein the late snow lingers that shall not finally cast off its +disdainful ice and flash into verdure in response to the patient shining +of the sun? Is there a grave in all the land so new and desolate that +Easter time cannot find a violet among its clods and paint a rainbow +within the tears that rain above it? To nature's lovers, then, as to the +truly Christian heart, the significance of Easter is found in the +reviving garden and in the awakening woods. It means resurrection after +death, blossom time after the bareness of woe, the cuckoo's cry after +the silence of songless days, and the smile of a pitying All-Father +after the orphan time of the soul's bereavement and seeming desertion. + +Another blessed thought to be gained in the contemplation of nature's +sure awakening from the long lethargy of her winter's sleep is that, +however fearful we may be that death's reign shall be eternal, as +constant as day dawn after midnight, or shining after storm, shall be +the Easter of the soul. We do not need to pray for April; it comes. Nor +do we need to pray for release from the first dark dominion of fear and +dread when our beloved are snatched from our arms. Such experience is +only the transient reign of winter in the heart, while yet the soft wing +of April stirs upon the horizon's misty verge and the promise of violets +is in the lingering darkness of the air. Remember this: The same power +that sends us November is planning an April to follow, and out of the +snowfall evolves the whiteness of the annunciation lily. + +It has always seemed to me that, beautiful as Christ's birthday ought to +be and full of tender significance as we may make the hallowed Christmas +time, a deeper tenderness attaches to these Easter days. The Sinless One +had lived out the span of his mortal years; he had suffered and been +betrayed; had struggled through Gethsemane, up to the thorn-crowned +heights of Calvary, and yet, through all, carried the whiteness of a +saintly soul, to cast its dying petals, like a white rose, wind-shaken +yet yielding perfume even in death, in the utterance of that prayer for +universal forgiveness, the most wonderful that ever ascended from earth +to heaven--"Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!" The +song that ushered in the birthtime of those sanctified years was an +invocation of peace and good will, beneath which the morning stars were +shaken like banners before the oncoming of a glorious prince, but the +prayer that ascended from Calvary was the plea of a betrayed and +anguished soul for universal charity and forgiveness from God to man. +Let us rejoice, then, when Christmas days bring gladness to our hearts +and homes, but let us forgive and bless when Easter lays its stainless +lily at our feet. There is constant need for charity and forgiveness in +a world so full of self-blinded and ignorant evil-doers. They do not +always know what they do, these rude and riotous betrayers of Christ; +and all the more need, then, for compassion, and that divine pity that, +even from the cross, could invoke heaven's pardoning love. + +If you have a friend who has wronged you, forgive him to-day, for +Christ's sweet sake. If you have a boy who has gone astray, reach out +your arm and win him back, while yet the Easter violets glow upon the +chancel rail. If you have a daughter who has been undutiful, take her in +your arms and ask God to forgive you both--you for your lack of +sympathy, as well as her for her waywardness. So shall you understand +the meaning of Easter, the resurrection time of love, the fulfillment of +its promise from out the icy negation of the grave. + +A few thoughts about death before we turn to other symbolizations of the +season. It is all a mistake, it seems to me, to make death a menace and +a dread in the minds of the young. Does the farmer go forth with tears +to plant the seed for the coming harvest? Does the scientist mourn above +the chrysalis that lets a rare butterfly go free? Does the navigator +rebel when a bark that has been tempest-tossed and storm-driven enters +port? Teach the children that death is all that makes life endurable; +that it is the sheaf of ripened wheat, or the budding flower, plucked +from the earth's dark mold; that it is the flight of the bird, the home +stretch of the yacht. We love each other, but what is it that makes +human love any nobler than the chirruping of birds if not its duration? +And it is only death that makes our loves immortal. Time enthrals them +with fear and environs them with alarms; death lifts them into the +region of eternal joy. Take away the reality of our faith in the life to +come and Easter would mean no more to us than it means to the browsing +cattle that munch the violet buds and trample the bright promises of the +year under foot. The comforting view of it all is, that here we are only +learning to love. We are like birds that sit upon the edge of the nest, +and flutter, and chirp, and dread to fly away. What shall the bough +whereon our nest was rocked with many a storm be when we have learned +to spread these tiresome wings and rejoice in the blue space of the +boundless air? The heroism of love, the faithfulness of love, the +grandeur, patience and magnificence of love shall only be revealed when +the soul has left the shadows and spread its wing in the empyrean of +heaven's blue. + + * * * * * + +There is a small boy who lives at our house with whom I wage an unending +warfare on the subject of clean hands. The sun never goes down nor yet +arises upon a harmonious adjustment of the mooted question. There are +more tears shed, more dire threats made, more promises broken, more +anguish endured on that one account than upon any other under the sun. + +The boy dwells under a ban as somber as the seven-fold curse of Rome. +His sisters nag him, his grandmother prays for him, his mother pleads +with him, his girl friends flout him, but in spite of all he continues +to wear his hands in half tints. But the other evening he made an +announcement that caused even the young person to remark: "Well, I'd +rather see you with your soiled hands than see you such a dude as that!" + +"Gee!" said the boy, "but some of the kids that go to our school are +queer ducks!" + +"Don't use so much slang," cried his mother; "why can't you call a boy a +boy as well as a 'kid' and a 'duck'; and whatever do you mean by 'Gee'?" + +"They bring little cushions to school," continued the boy with only a +swift hug in answer to his mother's question, "and they put 'em under +their hands when they play marbles, so's they won't get their hands +dirty. Gee whiz, but I'm glad I ain't such a fool!" + +And in spite of her desire to see him a bit more solicitous +as to personal elegance his mother could but echo the boy's +self-congratulatory remark. + +What on earth is going to become of us if this awful wave of effeminacy +which has struck the race does not soon subside? Earmuffs and galoshes, +heated street cars in April and double windows up to rose time have done +their best to make molly coddles out of men, but when we are starting a +generation of boys to play marbles with cushions to rest their hands on +the sex had better abolish hats and trousers and take to hoods and +shoulder shawls. Give me a boy and not a pocket edition of an old woman. +He need not be a tough nor a bully, nor need he be cruel nor untender +because he is a boy, but I want him jolly and brave and up to every +harmless prank that's going. I want him to use slang and wear muddy +shoes, slam doors and make all sorts of futile feints at keeping his +hands clean, provided, always, he appreciates the opportunity offered to +show the gentleman that's in him by never appearing at table looking +like a tramp. Even that is better, though, than being a "sissy." Give +him time and the untidiest boy in the world will develop into a +gentleman, but eternity itself could not evolve a man out of a boy who +plays marbles with a cushion! + + * * * * * + +As I was walking down Dearborn street the other day, close upon the +gloaming, I chanced to meet two pretty girls, not the only two in this +big city, perhaps, but two of the fairest. One had hair like the tassel +of ripe corn when the sunshine finds it; the other's head was crowned +with dusky braids, and the eyes of the two were brimful of laughter as a +goblet new-filled with wine. Surely such pretty girls should carry +queenly hearts, thought I, and with my old trick of catching topics in +the air, I loitered a little on my way to hear what such fair lips might +be saying. Said one: "I really don't care to marry him; he is such a +darned fool! but he will give me everything I want, and I suppose I +shall." I stayed to hear no more. If I had caught a yellow-bird +swearing, or seen the first robin appear in Joliet stripes, the +revulsion from pleasure to disgust could not have been more sudden. Is +this all the lesson the world has taught you, my pretty maiden? To soil +your lips with slang and sell yourself for fine clothes and the chance +of unlimited display! Forecasting the life of such a girl is like +forecasting an April day that dawns in tints of purple and gold, and +ends in tempest and the blackness of night. Beauty is a glorious +heritage, indeed, but to see it worn by such types as you, my pretty +dears, is like seeing a queen's crown on the head of a parrot, or a +royal scepter in the grasp of a monkey. + + * * * * * + +Niagara Falls! What heart is so stolid, what appreciative spirit so +calloused over with the hard crust of stoicism not to rise and shout +before the wonder of its magnificence? When a man or woman gets so blase +as to thrill no more over Niagara Falls, let them be salted down with +last year's hams and hung on a hook in the quiet seclusion of a +smokehouse. + +First we took our way over the bridge that leads to the beautifully kept +Goat Island and, alighting from the carriage, stood for a time with the +full splendor of the American fall in our faces. A fascination that +could not be shaken off held the eyes upon that never-stayed torrent of +sun-illumined jewels. Diamonds they were, and great uncut emeralds, with +here and there a rain of fiery rubies, that tumbled from off the lifted +ledge of imperishable rock. And where the volume widened, until it +became an avalanche of snowy foam, shot through and through with needles +of light, it seemed to us that the law of gravitation had been forever +abandoned, and falling tons of water, losing kinship drop with drop, +were floated skyward again to find a home in heaven. Down-shooting +rockets of silver foam unfallen, yet always in the air! Canopies of +cloud, dissolving into fine dust-like roadside pollen! Draperies of +spray unrolled in noiseless splendor from the blue background of an +endless day! Explosions in mid air of thunderous torrents that turned to +carded wool on the way from heaven to earth! While I stood and watched +it all somebody profaned the air with a vulgar word, and I looked for a +flaming sword from the omnipotent hand to smite him where he stood. To +swear, or even to think an unholy thought in such a holy of holies, +deserves the penalty of death as much as did the desecration of the +temple in ancient times. + +Shifting our place from point to point, we found ourselves at last +standing on the very verge of the Horseshoe falls, where, crowned with +living green, it slips over the crumbling ledge and loses itself in a +dazzling whirl of spray. Although I have stood in that same spot many +times I am proud to remark that I have never stood there yet without +saying my prayers. The sight is too much for the puny ego that animates +this little capricious whiff of dust we call our mortal body, and now, +if never before, the soul that retains one particle of the divine within +it turns to God as the sunflower follows the sun. While we stood +entranced by the sublime beauty of the scene a mighty wind arose +suddenly and great clouds were called across the sky to the sending of a +swift alarm. Before the breath of the wind the mists were tumbled far +and wide like feathers, and a rainbow that arched the whole was +demolished into nothingness only to be kindled again as a flame in the +whimsical breath of the riotous air. One moment the atmosphere was a +fairy flower garden, full of violets, roses, green feathery ferns and +passion-tinted tulips brimming over with gold. The next some giant hand +reached forth and plucked and bore each flower away. A suffusion of +color followed every flood of sunshine, as a pomegranate runs with juice +at the touch of a knife, only to be succeeded by pale wafts of +colorless, interminable spray, where a cloud caught the too eager sun +within its soft eclipse. + + * * * * * + +If the Lord left any snakes in Paradise after the settlement of the +primal fuss they took the shape of the man who is a confirmed cynic and +pessimist. The man who has no faith, no enthusiasm, no candor, no +sentiment. The man who laughs at the mention of good in the world, or +virtue in women, or honor among men. The man who calls his wife a fool +because she teaches his little children to say their prayers, and curls +his lip at any belief in the world beyond the grave. The man who never +saw anything worth admiring in the sky when the dawn touches it, or the +stars illumine it, or the clouds sweep it, or the rain folds it in gray +mists of silence. The man who lives in this sparkling, shining world as +a frog lives in a pond or a toad in a cellar, only to croak and spit +venom. The man who never saw anything in a rose aglint in the sunlight +or in a lily asleep in the moonlight, but a species of useless +vegetable, the inferior of the cabbage and the onion. The world is +overfull of such men, and if I had the right sort of broom I'd sweep +them away as the new girl sweeps spiders. + + * * * * * + +Once I was sailing in a yacht close to the rock-bound coast of Maine. + +It was presumably a pleasure cruise, but if ever a poor wretch in +purgatory had a harder time of it I am sorry for him. + +The fog was thick, the ground swell was enough to unsettle the seven +hills of Rome, and something was wrong with the boat's machinery, so +that for hours we lay in the trough of the sea, making no headway and +fearful that each moment would be our last. Added to all this there came +at short intervals a demoniac blast from a fog horn which rent the air +with the clamor of a thousand tongues. + +"Look out!" it seemed to shriek over and over again. "Look out, poor +fragile wisps of gossamer! The hour strikes for your destruction. +Another wave, a little higher than the last, shall suck you down like a +shred of foam into the blackness of the sea's dark vortex. Brace up and +meet your doom. Look out! Look out! Look out!" + +I listened to that fog horn for hours, until the soul within me lay like +a spent bird weary with futile beating of useless wings, and I came +within a hair's breadth of madness. In fact, I think I had commenced to +rave a bit when a brisk wind sprang up that blew the fog away, the crew +succeeded in righting the craft and onward we flew out of sound of the +terrible fog horn forever. + +There are many things in life that remind me of fog horns; there are +many occasions that beat upon the soul with just such vociferous clamor. + +There are those old-fashioned Bible texts, shouting "hell fire" and +"eternal damnation." What are they but fog horns warning us from off a +mist-enveloped shore? We cannot shut our ears to them while we lie a +furlong off the rocks and listen to their woeful reiteration. Perhaps +some chance wind may blow us out to sea, there to escape for the present +the unwelcome climax; but we know that underneath the shrouded stars and +through the hush of midnight forever and forevermore sounds the crash of +that brazen alarm. We may not heed it, but the fog horn is there, forget +and disown it though we may. + +Then there are our birthdays after we grow old enough to understand +their significance; what are they but fog horns that sound at intervals +to denote that we are drawing near to the final doom of all mankind? + +"Sport on," they seem to say, "a little longer; weave your garlands and +blow your pretty bubbles while you may, for to-morrow you shall surely +die!" + +Each year the fog horn blows a louder blast, until finally the softened +haze of creeping years, like a white fog in the sea air, muffles the +sound, and we sink to rest at last, some of us with the wild clamor +hushed to the measure of a good-night song. + +Then the holidays. Thanksgivings and Christmases with independence days, +like wine-red roses dropped between, what are they but fog horns on the +invisible shores of memory? How they mock us with the recollection of +vanished joys, and warn us of barren years yet to be. + +Gone forever are the dear ones who made gala times and festival +happenings bright, and still we linger like boats in the trough of a +sullen sea, our motive power wrecked, our sails rent, and listen, +listen, listen to the warning that sounds from far off the hazy shore. + +"Gone, forever gone," the fog horn cries; "gone down into the sea, the +boats that kept you company when the bright-winged fleet put out from +port! Lost forever, in storms it seems scarce worth the while to have +weathered, since here you toss, alone at last, like driftwood on the +chilly tide, and listen forever to the mournful warning of my voice from +off the sandbars, warning you that not even love can withstand the beat +of time's relentless years." + +Our desks are full of miniature fog horns in the shape of unanswered +letters. + +Our closets hang full of fog horns of varying fabrics. They warn us of +the folly of trusting to bargain sales of shoddy goods; they warn us +against extravagant tastes when times are hard; they warn us against the +lazy mood that neglects the stitch in time that saveth nine. + +Every time we are ill the occasion is a fog horn. + +Either we have disregarded some law of health and are in the trough of +the sea in consequence, or we are flying on to the breakers with ears +dulled to the fog horn's din. + +We speak with cruel harshness to the old mother who loves us, or to the +little child who trusts us. We are sorry for it afterward, and that +sorrow is the fog horn that warns us to keep off the reef of temper. + +"To-day may be the last day for the mother you have pained or the child +you have wronged," it seems to say; "the bed they lie down upon to-night +may be the bed of death. See to it, then, that you make each day of +life, if possible, the last day of love's opportunity." Did you ever +stop to think of what would become the instant concern of all this vast +human race if a sudden edict should go forth that only twenty-four hours +were left for each man to live? What if an angel should appear to-day at +sunset and proclaim in a voice that should reach from world's center to +world's rim, "To-morrow at set of sun this globe and all its race of +sentient life shall be folded up like a scroll and effaced from heaven's +chart!" + +What would we all begin to do then, I wonder? I think that everything +would be forgotten but love. Envy and hatred, covetousness, jealousy, +ambition, selfishness and cruelty would find no place in the hearts of +men. We would improve love's latest opportunity to be kind one to +another, tender-hearted and merciful. The husband would not be harsh +with his wife, nor the wife show waspish temper to her husband, if the +last day had come for both. The father would not strike his boy in +uncontrolled temper, nor the mother rebuke her careless child, if the +knowledge that the end of love's opportunity lay between the uplifted +hand and the culprit. We should all be loving and fond and sweet if we +only knew. My dear, this very thought, carried out, is but another fog +horn. Perhaps death is already near, and the brazen clamor in our hearts +which takes shape of an uneasy conscience or of a nameless dread is but +the warning in the fog that we are close upon the fatal reef. Ah, the +air is full of them! They sound in every waking moment, they mingle with +our dreams, they greet our opening eyes, they accompany us when the +tired lids fall in slumber. The shore is lined with them and their +warning is as ceaseless as the beat of time's receding waves. + +But of what use is a fog horn to a vessel that gives no heed? Why uplift +them on dangerous reefs if the ship's crew sleeps through their warning +and the unconscious captain ignores their hoarse note of alarm? + +An unheeded fog horn might as well be silenced, and so, I sometimes +think, if we allow our hearts to grow callous to the call that +conscience makes, why not be thankful when the warning ceases and +silence follows the useless repetition of an unavailing appeal? If I am +to be shipwrecked at last I think I would rather run upon the reefs +without warning than to drift to destruction to the mocking cadence of +an alarm I would not heed. To go down with the sound in my ears of an +admonition that might have saved me had I but listened would be the +hardest sort of dying. + + * * * * * + +HER CRADLE. + + There are tears on the gentian's eyelids, + As they lift them, fringed and fair. + Do they mourn for the vanished brightness + Of my baby's golden hair? + + There's a cloud a-droop in the heavens + That shadows their sunny hue. + Does it dream of the lovelight tender + In my baby's eyes so blue? + + The golden rod pines in the forest, + The aster pales by the brook. + Do they miss her fairy footfall + In each dim and flow'ry nook? + + Now, all through this beautiful weather, + Wherever I walk, I weep; + For I think of the desolate cradle + Where my baby lies asleep. + + * * * * * + +The other night, as I was listening to "taps" in a neighboring military +camp, a longing came over me for a silver bugle of my own, that I might +blow a message to the drowsy world. We all listen to that fellow up at +Fort Sheridan, when he gives the command for "lights out!" just because +he blows it through a bugle. He might come out and say what he had to +say in tones anywhere between a cornet and a clap of thunder, and the +effect would be nothing to what it is when the notes filter through a +silver mouthpiece. And how exquisitely the last strains of that nightly +call linger on the ear! They melt into the starry glooms, and throb +through the dim spaces of the woods like golden bubbles or the wavering +flight of butterflies. Whenever we hear them we think of Grant, asleep +in his grave by the mighty river, of his work well done, and the rest +that dropped upon his pain-racked life at last like a soft and rainy +shadow on a thirsty land. We think of hosts of brave men who fill +soldiers' graves all over this blood-bought heritage of ours. We think +of hearts that once beat high, for long years silent as stones to all +our cries and tears. We think of a host of things, solemn and hushed, +and sacred, and drop to sleep at last with an indistinct purpose in our +hearts to so conduct ourselves that when the Death Angel blows "taps" +for us, we shall leave a record behind us to be read through fond, +regretful tears, and enshrined in golden characters upon the tablets of +memory. + +Now, if I had a bugle instead of a pen, to work with, and if I could +stand out under the stars on a hushed summer night and deliver my +message through its silver throat, perhaps the world that reads me might +be thrilled into earnest purpose more readily than it is when exhorted +from a pencil point or a quill. The first message I should ring through +that bugle of mine would be the command, "Don't fret!" However +comfortless and forlorn you may be, don't add to your own and the +world's misery by fretting. There never yet was a sorrow that could not +be lived down; there never yet was one that could be cured by worry. +When the cows get into the corn and the chickens into the flower-beds, +the sensible man chases 'em out first, repairs the damage next, and, +lastly, fastens up the break in the garden wall by which the marauders +got in. What would you think of a farmer who went into his bedroom to +pray before he chased out the cows, or of a woman who threw her apron +over her head and wept long and loud because the hens were scratching up +her pink roots, instead of "shooing" them a half-mile away with a broom? +Most troubles come upon us as the cattle and the hens get into the corn +and the garden patch, through a broken fence or a carelessly unguarded +gate. It is our own fault half the time that we are tormented, and the +sooner we repair the damage and mend the fence, the better. Time spent +in useless bewailing, in worry and disquietude, is lost time, and while +we wait the mischief thickens. Take life's trials one by one, as the +handful of heroes met the host at Thermopylae, and you will slay them +all; but allow them to marshal themselves on a broad field while you are +crying over their coming or praying for deliverance, instead of arming +yourselves to meet them, and they will make captives of you and keep +you forever in the dungeon of tears. Is your husband too poor to buy you +all the fine clothes you want, or to keep a carriage, or to surround you +with pleasant society and congenial friends? Very well, that is +certainly too bad, but what's the use of being forever in the dumps +about it? Get up and help him keep the cows out of the corn, and perhaps +you'll have a golden harvest yet. A sullen, discontented wife is a +millstone around any man's neck, and he may be thankful when the good +Lord delivers him from her. Whatsoever is worth having in this world's +gifts is worth working for, and wedlock is like an ox-team at the plow. +If the off-ox won't pull with the nigh one, it has no claim with him +upon the possible future of a comfortable stall and a full bin. Out upon +you, then, Madam Gruntle, if you sulk, and pout and fret your days away +because your husband is a poor man and spends most of his time chasing +the cattle, calamity and failure out of his wheat patch. He may possibly +be one of fortune's numerous ne'er-do-wells, but in that case all the +more reason you should not fail him. Bent reeds need careful handling, +and smoking flax gentle tending, else they will perish on your hands +and disappoint both you and heaven. All the more reason that you should +be cheery and strong and ready to do your part, if the man you married, +because you dearly loved him (remember!) is unable to do all that he +promised. That is, always provided he is weak and unfortunate, rather +than desperately wicked. A woman has no call to stand by any man if he +is a wretch and shows no desire to be anything else. The Lord himself +never helped a sinner until he showed some desire to be saved. Less +repining, then, a little more forbearance with one another's +shortcomings, and a little more loyalty to the promise "for better or +for worse," will ease up much of the burden of dissatisfied and +disappointed wedlock. + +Another message that I should blow through that bugle, if I had it at my +lips to-night, would be: "Be true!" And I should ring it out so long and +loud, I think, that the moon would stop to listen, and the sleepy heads +in every home in the land would rise from their pillows like +night-capped crocuses out of the snow. For heaven's sake, if you have a +principle or a friend, be true to them. Make up your mind, whether or +no your principle is solid and has God and justice on its side, and then +be true to it right down to death, or, what is harder, through +misunderstanding and obloquy. And if you have a friend, such as God +sometimes gives a woman or a man, faithful through all betiding, staunch +in your defense and tender in your blame, stand true to that friend +until the grave's green canopy is spread between you. He may be +unpopular and unfortunate, and all the feather-headed crew of society +may ignore him, but if you have ever tested his worth as a friend, stand +up for him, and stand by him forever. The sun may go down upon his +fortunes, and calumny may cloud his name, and you may know in your heart +that more than half the world says about him is true, but stand by the +man who has once been your true friend. Ingratitude is the blackest +crime that preys upon the human soul. The forgetfulness of a favor, or +the effacement of a bond sealed with an obligation, is capable only to +weak and cowardly natures. + +If you have a conviction, and are conscientious in the belief that you +are right, be true to your professions. If you are a rebel, be a rebel +out and out, and don't be a goat to leap nimbly back and forth over the +fence. Never apologize for either your faith or your profession, unless +you have reason to be ashamed of it; and, if you are ashamed of it, +renounce it and get one that will need no apology. + +There are lots of other messages I would like to stand on a hill and +blow through a bugle, but the weather is too warm to admit of further +effort just now; so we'll postpone the topic for another hearing. + + * * * * * + +I sat in a fashionable church the other day and listened to a sermon on +"The Prodigal Son." How often I have heard the same old story told in +the same old way. How familiar I have become with the kind father, the +bad son, refreshingly human heir, the veal and the ring! But the last +time I heard the story I felt an almost uncontrollable impulse to rise +up in meeting and ask the question, "How does the treatment accorded to +the prodigal son match the treatment we mete out to the prodigal +daughter?" + +How far out of our way do we go to accompany his sister on her homeward +faring after a season spent among the swine and the husks? + +Do we put an 18-karat ring on her poor little soiled finger and place +her at the head of our table, even if by good chance she gains an +entrance to the home? Do we not more often meet her at the back door +when nobody is looking, rush her through the hallway and consign her to +the little third story rear room, taking her meals to her ourselves, on +the sly, that the neighbors may not find out the dreadful fact that she +is at home again? + +"Keep yourself very close," we say to her, "and by no manner of means be +seen at any of the windows, and you may stay here. You can wear some of +your virtuous sister's cast-off clothing, and sleep on the lounge in the +nursery, where the servants never think of going since the little folks +have grown up, but you must be very penitent, and very humble, and very +thankful to God for the mercy you so little deserve." + +I think somebody had better write a new parable and call it "The +Prodigal Daughter." Perhaps a sermon might be preached from it to touch +the unmoved heart. + +After all there are two sorts of prodigals--the prodigal who comes home +because the cash gives out, and the prodigal who comes because his heart +turns back to the old home with such longing as the thirsty feel for +water. Neither boy nor girl who comes back for the first-named reason +should find a maudlin love awaiting, nor partake of any banquet that the +old folks have had to pay for, but the prodigal who returns because +there is something left in his or her heart like the music in a shell, +which nothing can destroy or hush away to silence, be that prodigal +sinful man or erring woman, should find not only the home doors swung +wide in welcome, but every doorway in the land wreathed with flowers to +bid him enter. + + * * * * * + +How few people know when to stop. If the preacher knew when to stop +preaching, how much more satisfactory the result of his sermon might be. +If the genial fellow knew just when to stop telling his good stories, +how much keener their relish would be. If the moralizer knew just when +to stop moralizing, how much longer the flavor of his philosophy would +endure. If the friend knew when to keep still, how grateful his silence +would be. If the candid creature who so glibly tells of our foibles knew +when to hold his tongue, how much less strong our impulse to slap him +would be. If the high-liver knew when to stop eating, how much less sure +dyspepsia would be. If the popular guest knew when to withdraw, how much +more regretfully we should see him go. If the politician knew when to +retire into private life, how much whiter his record would be. If we all +knew just when to die, and could opportunely bring the event about, how +much truer our epitaphs would be. The court fool who prayed, "Oh God, be +merciful to me, a fool!" prayed deeper than he knew, and the man who +prays, "Oh God, teach me to know when I have said enough," prays deeper +still. + + * * * * * + +You may talk about California all you will, but match, if you can, the +beauty of spring as it comes to us in these northerly latitudes. There +is the coy advance and retreat of a woman hard to win; there is the +crescendo and diminuendo of heavenly harmonies; there is the dissolving +view that glimmers and glows like an opal, or like the mirage of a misty +sea. I was in California a year ago, in April time. I found the month +that poets love in full splendor, like a queen who never doffs her +crown. Violets, roses, lilacs and carnations came all together in a +riotous rush. One did not have to woo the season; it was already won. +Like a matron crowned with the mid-splendor of her years, the earth +received the homage that is due achievement. Nobody caught the sound of +the first robin on a rainy morning and heralded it with a shout; the +first robin, like the first principle in creation, never existed, for +the reason that he was always there. There were no foretellings of green +along the watercourses; no prophetic thrills of violets in the air; no +uplifting of the hypatica's downy head above the lattice of fuzzy +leaves; everything was right where you discovered it, and had been all +the year round. Without beginning and without end, spring exists +forever, like a picture bound within a book, in the lovely land of the +Gringos. But walk out some April morning in the suburbs that surround +Chicago. Catch the tonic of the air, like wine ever so delicately +chilled with ice. View the lake, like a gentian flower fringed with a +horizon fine as silk. Scrape away the leaves and hail the valiant Robin +Hood in his suit of green, leading his legion upward to the sun. Without +the sound of a footfall or the gleam of a lance, they come to take +possession of the earth. Woo the violet to turn her dewy eye upon you, +and listen to the minstrel in the tower, where the winds are harping to +the new buds. Mark the maple twigs, like silhouettes cut in coral, and +the sheath of the wood lily, like a ribbon half unrolled. Rejoice in the +flash of the blue bird's wing as it startles the still air, and then say +to me, if you dare, that you prefer any other climate to this one that +belts the zone of these northern lakes. + + * * * * * + +Thank the Lord, all ye who can call yourselves healthy. The day has gone +by for physically delicate women. This age demands Hebes and young +Venuses with ample waists and veritable muscles. Specked fruit and +specked people go in the same category in the popular taste. To the +question, "How are you to-day?" I for one, always feel like replying in +the words of an old Irish servant we once had (God rest her faithful +soul wherever it be this windy day!), "First-rate, glory be to God!" It +is such a grand thing to be well and strong, to feel that your soul is +riding on its way to glory in a chariot, and not in a broken-down old +mud-cart. Talk about happiness! Why, a well beggar has a better time of +it than a sick king, any day. If, then, like a bird, your strong wing +uplifts you above the countless shafts of pain which that grim old +sportsman, Death, is ever aiming at poor humanity, count yourself an +ingrate if the song of thanksgiving is not always welling from your +heart like the constant song of a bobolink singing for very joy above +the clover. + + * * * * * + +What would be thought of a ship that was launched from its docks with +flourish of music and flowing wine, built to sail the roughest and +deepest sea, yet manned for an unending cruise along shore? Never +leaving harbor for dread of storm. Never swinging out of the land-girt +bay because over the bar, the waters were deep and rough. You would say +of such a ship that its captain was a coward and the company that built +it were fools. + +And yet these souls of ours were fashioned for bottomless soundings. +There is no created thing that draws as deep as the soul of man; our +life lies straight across the ocean and not along shore, but we are +afraid to venture; we hang upon the coast and explore shallow lagoons or +swing at anchor in idle bays. Some of us strike the keel into riches and +cruise about therein, like men-of-war in a narrow river. Some of us are +contented all our days to ride at anchor in the becalmed waters of +selfish ease. There are guns at every port-hole of the ship we sail, but +we use them for pegs to hang clothes upon, or pigeon-holes to stack full +of idle hours. We shall never smell powder, although the magazine is +stocked with holy wrath wherewith to fight the devil and his deeds. When +I see a man strolling along at his ease, while under his very nose some +brute is maltreating a horse, or some coward venting his ignoble wrath +upon a creature more helpless than he, whether it be a child or a dog, I +involuntarily think of a double-decked whaler content to fish for +minnows. Their uselessness in the world is more apparent than the +uselessness of a Cunarder in a park pond. + +What did God give you muscle and girth and brain for, if not to launch +you on the high seas? Up and away with you then into the deep soundings +where you belong, oh, belittled soul! Find the work to do for which you +were fitted and do it, or else run yourself on the first convenient snag +and founder. + +Some great writer has said that we ought to begin life as at the source +of a river, growing deeper every league to the sea, whereas, in fact, +thousands enter the river at its mouth, and sail inland, finding less +and less water every day, until in old age they lie shrunk and gasping +upon dry ground. + +But there are more who do not sail at all than there are of those who +make the mistake of sailing up stream. There are the women who devote +their lives to the petty business of pleasing worthless men. What +progress do they make even inland? With sails set and brassy stanchions +polished to the similitude of gold, they hover a lifetime chained to a +dock and decay of their own uselessness at last, like keels that are +mud-slugged. It is not the most profitable thing in the world to please. +Suppose it shall please the inmates of a bedlam-house to see you set +fire to your clothing and burn to death, or break your bones one by one +upon a rack, or otherwise destroy your bodily parts that the poor +lunatics might be entertained. Would it pay to be pleasing to such an +audience at such a sacrifice? But the destruction of the loveliest body +in the world is nothing compared to the demoralization of soul that +takes place when women subvert everything lofty and noble within their +nature to win the transient regard of a few worthless men of the world. +They learn to smoke cigarettes because such men profess to like to see a +pretty woman affect the toughness of a rowdy. They drink in public +places and barter their honor all too often for handsome clothes in +which to make a vain parade, all to please some heathen man, who in +reality counts them a great way inferior to the value of a good horse. +The right sort of a sweetheart, my dear, never desires to bring a woman +down to his own level. He prefers to put her on a pedestal and say his +prayers to her. Never think that you are winning an admiration that +counts for much if you have to abate one whit of your womanhood to win +it. Every time I see a woman drinking in a public resort, making herself +conspicuous by loud talk and louder laughter, I think of some fair ship +that should be making for the eternal city, with all its snow-white +canvas set, rotting at its docks, or cruising, arm's length from a +barren land. We were put into this world with a clean way bill for +another port than this. Across the ocean of life our way lies, straight +to the harbor of the city of gold. We are freighted with a consignment +from quarter-deck to keel which is bound to be delivered sooner or later +at the great master's wharf. Let us be alert, then, to recognize the +seriousness of our own destinies and content ourselves no longer with +shallow soundings. Spread the sails, weigh the anchor and point the prow +for the country that lies the other side a deep and restless sea. Sooner +or later the voyage must be made; let us make it, then, while the timber +is stanch and the rudder true. With a resolute will at the wheel, and +the great God himself to furnish the chart, our ship shall weather the +wildest gale and find entrance at last to the harbor of peace. + + * * * * * + +When you look at a picture and find it good or bad, as the case may be, +whom do you praise or blame--the owner of the picture or the artist who +painted it? When you hear a strain of music and are either lifted to +heaven or cast into the other place by its harmonies or its discord, +whom do you thank or curse for the benefaction or the infliction, +whichever it may have proved to be--the man who wrote the score or the +music dealer who sold it? You go to a restaurant and order spring +chicken which turns out to be the primeval fowl. Who is to blame--the +waiter who serves it or the business man of the concern who does the +marketing? And so when you encounter the bad boy, whom do you hold +responsible for his badness--the boy himself or the mother who trained +him? I declare, as I look about me from day to day and see the men and +women who play so poor a part in life, it is not the poverty of their +performance that astonishes me so much as the fact that it is as good +as it is. + + * * * * * + +I did think I would keep out of the controversy on the low-neck dress +question. But there is just one thing I want to say. Did you ever know a +sweet young girl yet, one who was rightly trained and modestly brought +up, who took to decollete dresses naturally? Is not the first wearing of +one a trial, and a special ordeal? It is after the bloom is off the +peach that a young woman is willing to show her pretty shoulders and +neck to the crowd; and who cares much for a rubbed plum or a brushed +peach? I cannot imagine a sweet, wholesome-hearted woman, be she young +or old, divesting herself of half her clothes and thrusting herself upon +the notice of ribald men. I can sooner imagine a rose tree bearing frog. +The conjunction is not possible. The cheek that will blush at the story +of repentant shame, that will flame with indignant protest when the +skirts of a Magdalene brush too near, yet deepens not its rose at +thought of uncovering neck and bust in a crowded theater or public +reception is not the cheek of modest and natural womanhood. It is not +necessary to be a prude or a skinny old harridan either, to inveigh +against the custom. I know full well how contemptible the affectations +and hypocrisies of life are. Half that is yielded to evil was meant for +good. The high chancellor of Hades has put his seal on much that was +originally invoiced for the Lord's own people. But there are some things +so palpably shameless that to argue about them is like trying to prove +by demonstration that a crow is white. It needs no argument. + + * * * * * + +THE VETERANS. + + Scarce had the bugle note sounded + For the call of their last defeat; + And still on the lowland meadow + Lie the prints of their quick retreat. + + Above us the bright skies sparkle, + And around us the same winds blow + That rippled their golden banners + In that battle so long ago, + + When the southwind challenged winter, + And the rose-ranks routed the snow, + And the hosts of tiny gold coats + Sprang up from their campfires below, + + To charge on the insolent frost king, + And shatter his lance of ice, + While back to the desolate northland + They wheeled him about in a trice. + + The battle is hardly ended, + The victory only begun, + Yet I saw the gray-bearded vet'rans, + To-day, sitting out in the sun. + + They nod by wind-rippled rivers, + They shake in the shade of the oak, + And all the day long they murmur + And whisper, and gossip, and croak. + + And often in wondering rapture, + They recount the charge they made, + When down from the windy hillsides, + And up through the dewy glade, + + The sheen of their golden bonnets + Shone out from the green of the leaves, + Like the flight of a glancing swallow, + Or the flash of a wave on the seas. + + They muse in sleepy contentment, + Or flutter in endless dispute. + For this was a brave cadet, sir, + And that one a crippled recruit. + + Fight over again your battles, + O veterans, withered and gray; + For a band of northwind chasseurs + To-morrow shall blow you away. + + * * * * * + +Once upon a time it came to pass that a woman, being weary with much +running to and fro, fell asleep and dreamed a dream. + +And in her dream she beheld a mighty host, more than man could number. +And of that host, all were women, and spake with varying tongues. + +And they bent the body, and sitting on hard benches wailed mightily, so +that the air was full of the sound of lamentation, like a garden that +wooeth many bees. + +And the woman who dreamed, being tender of heart and disposed kindly +toward the suffering ones, lifted up her voice saying: + +"Why bendest thou the body, oh, daughters of despair, and why art thine +eyelids red with tears? + +"Yea, why rockest thou like boats that find no anchor, and like poplars +which the north wind smiteth?" + +And one from among the host greater than man could number made answer, +saying: + +"Wouldst know who we are, and why we spend our days like a weaver's +shuttle that flitteth to and fro in a web of tears? + +"Behold we are the faithless and unregenerate handmaids who have served +thee, and women like unto thee, bringing desolation unto thy larders, +and gray hairs among the braids with which nature hath crowned thee. + +"Yea, verily, by reason of our misdemeanors lift we the voice of +lamentation in a land that knoweth not comfort." + +Now, the woman who dreamed, being full of amazement, replied anon, and +these were the words that fell from her lips: + +"Sayest thou so? And dwellest thou and thy sisters in Hades by reason of +the evil thou hast wrought?" + +"Nay, not forever," replied she who had spoken. "We remain but for a +season, that our remorse may cleanse our record before we go hence to +sit with the blessed ones in glory. + +"Not from everlasting unto everlasting is the duration of the penalty we +pay for what we have done unto thee, else were there no peace between +the stars by reason of our torment and our tears." + +And the woman who dreamed beheld many whose fame yet lingered within the +shadows of her home. + +There was Ann, the fumble-witted, who piled the backyard high with +broken china, yet stayed not her hand when rebuked therefor. + +There was Sarah, the high-headed, who refused to clean the paint because +she had dwelt long in the tents of such as hired the housecleaning done +by other hands, that the labors of the handmaid might be few; + +Yea, verily, with such as believed that Sarah and her ilk might have +time wherein to be merry rather than toil. + +There was Karen, the Swede, who wrapped the bread in her petticoat and +refused to be convinced of the error of her ways. + +There was Jane, the Erinite, who broke the pump, and Caroline, the +Teuton, who combed her locks with the comb of the woman who dreamed. + +There was Adaline, the hoosier, who failed to answer the summons of the +stranger who knocked at the gates unless she were in full dress and +carried a perfumed handkerchief. + +There was Louise, who smote the youngest born of the household because +he prattled of her dealings with the frequent cousin who called often +and sought to deplete the larder. + +There was the girl who desired her evenings out and never came home +before cock crow. + +There was the girl who threw up her place in the family of the woman who +dreamed because she was asked to hurry her ways. + +There was the girl who wore the hose of her mistress, and took it as an +affront when asked to desist. + +There was the girl who swore when the chariot of the sometime guest drew +nigh, and likewise the girl who refused to remain over night in a +dwelling where she was summoned to serve by means of a call bell. + +There was the girl who found it too lonesome in the country and left the +garments in the washtub that she might hie her to the great city, the +social center of which she was the joy and the pride. + +There was the girl who was made mad by means of the request that she +wash her hands before breakfast. + +There was the girl who entertained her callers in the drawing-room while +the family was afar off, sojourning in the hills or by the waves of the +sea; + +Yea, who thought it no evil to bring forth the flesh-pot and the +brandied comfit, that the heart of the district policeman might leap +thereat, as the young buck leapeth at sight of the water courses. + +There was also the girl who wasted, and the girl who stole; the girl who +never tried, and the girl who never cared. + +And seeing the multitude the spirit of the woman who dreamed arose +within her and she asked of a certain veiled one who seemed to be in +charge: + +"Tell me, O shrouded one, is there never to be any diminution in the +throng that cometh to take their abode in these halls of penitential +regret?" + +And the spirit in charge made answer, saying: + +"No, nor never shall be while fools live and folly thrives. + +"It is by reason of the babbling of busy-bodies that havoc has overtaken +the land of thy forefathers. + +"There is honor in faithful service, and an uncorruptible crown awaiteth +the forehead of her who serveth well. + +"It is no disgrace to the comely daughters of men who toil and are put +to that they bring in the wherewithal to fill the mouths of the children +who call them father-- + +"It is no disgrace, I say unto you, if such maidens take unto themselves +the position of servants in the family of him who prospereth, + +"Remembering that one who lived long since and has slept these many +years in the tomb of his fathers, spake truly when he uttered these +words, albeit framed in rhyme: + + "Honor and shame from no condition rise; + Act well your part, there all the honor lies." + +And it came to pass that the woman who dreamed took comfort to herself +by reason of her dream. + +And she arose from slumber like a strong man who desireth to run a race. + +And buckling on more tightly the armor wherein she moved, yea, even with +a free hand buttoning the boot and drawing the string, she cogitated +unto herself, and these were the words of her cogitation: + +"Behold, I will learn a new wisdom that I may be unto my handmaids a +friend rather than a taskmistress, that in so doing I may win unto my +household the damsel who hath intelligence. And my treatment of her +shall be such that many wise ones who call that damsel friend shall +decide to do even as she hath done and choose domestic service with a +woman who is kind even to the showing of interest in her handmaid's +affairs, rather than linger in bondage with the shop girl and her who +rattles the tinkling keys of the typewriter machine. + +"So doing, my days shall increase mightily in the land, as also the days +of her who cometh after me." + + * * * * * + +Women are either the noblest creation of God or the meanest. A good +woman is little less than an angel; a bad woman is considerably more +than a devil. And by bad women I do not mean women who drink, or steal, +or frequent brothels. The chief weapon of a bad woman is her tongue. +With a lie she can do more deadly work than the fellow in the bible did +with the jawbone of an ass. Untruth is the fundamental strata of all +evil in a bad woman's nature, and with it she is more to be dreaded than +many men with revolvers. There is absolutely no protection from a lie. +The courts cannot protect from its venom, and to kill a defamer and a +falsifier is not yet adjudged as legalized slaughter. + + * * * * * + +There is one awfully homely woman in Chicago. I met her the other day +over in Blank's art gallery. Our acquaintance was brief but sensational. +I looked at her, tucked her into my handbag and wept. She didn't seem to +mind it, and when, a few hours later, in the seclusion of my chamber, I +took her out of the bag and looked at her again, she was more hideous +than before. + +"You horrible creature!" said I. "If you look like me, better that the +uttermost depths of the sea had me." + +"But I do look like you," said she, and her voice was weak and low by +reason of prolonged exposure to the sun and air, "and Mr. Blank says I +will finish up very nicely." + +"Do you mean to tell me," I asked, "that my nose is as big as yours?" + +"Of course it is," said she; "pictures cannot lie. But comfort yourself +with the assurance that a large nose is always an indication of +intelligence." + +"Intelligence be blessed!" said I, for I was getting excited; +"intelligence without beauty is like bread without butter, or a peacock +without a tail! If I possess such a nose as yours, madam, I shall take +to tract-distributing, galoshes and a cotton umbrella, and forget that I +was ever human." + +"You talk wildly, as all the rest of them do," said my thin companion. +"Listen, for my time on earth is short, I am rapidly fading away, and +what I say must be said briefly. If you look about you you will see that +there exists, more or less hidden in every breast, the belief of one's +own beauty. The mirror, although a faithful friend, can never quite +disabuse the mind of that belief, and when the honest camera holds up +the actual presentation of one's self as an incontrovertible fact, the +disappointment is keen and hard to bear." + +"All that may be true," said I, "but not all your assertions can ever +make me believe that that dusky mass of hair, brushed back so wildly +from those beetling brows, is like my own. You know that mine is soft +and brown, and yours looks like the bristles of an enraged stove brush." + +"That's the way they all talk," responded the dissolving view, "but you +do not stop to consider that under the artist's pencil the shadows will +all be toned and softened. And let me say right here, that that +'beetling brow' is a sign of rare intelligence, much more to be desired +than the lower and more----" + +"Stop, right there!" I interrupted. "It is not necessary to have a brow +like a plate-glass show-window, or like an overhanging cliff, or like a +granite paving-stone, to denote intelligence! No, my friend, do not try +to lift this shadow from my soul. That mouth that looks like a dark +biscuit, that nose that looks like a promontory overhanging an unseen +sea, that hair that looks like the ruff of an excited chicken, that brow +that looks like a skating-rink, all make me sad. I shall never have my +picture taken again. If I look like that it is time I died. In the round +of an eventful life I may forget that I even saw you, but until I do I +am a tired woman. My mirror may assuage my sorrow, for that either lies +or catches me from a different point of view. Vanish then, oh, yellow +shade of an unhappy reality. Back to oblivion with you, and heaven grant +I never look upon your like again!" So saying, I calmly held the poor +but hideous creature in the flame of a gas-jet and smilingly cremated +her. + + * * * * * + +A fairer day than last Sunday was never cradled to rest behind the +curtains of night. It began with a flute obligato of sunrise, orbed +itself into a full orchestra wherein color took the part of first and +second violins, and declined at last into the hush of sunset like the +mellow notes of a cello under old Paul Schessling's master touch. Such +days visit the earth rarely. They are advance sheets of a story that is +going to be told in heaven; preludes to a song that we shall hear in its +perfection only when we have got through with the clattering discords of +time. Thank God for all such days. They do us more good than we know. +The sight of the woods, adorned as only queens are adorned for the court +of the king, the sound of falling leaves and lonely bird songs, of +hidden lutes, of unseen brooks, tremulous and sweet and low under the +russet shadows, uplift our souls and help us to forget, for the time +being at least, how tired we are, how worn with the fret of sordid toil +and how tormented and misjudged and calumniated we are by those who fain +would do us harm. I think if I had time to do some of the things I want +to do the first consummation of that happy time would be to build me a +little cabin in the woods, where, in utter loneliness, I could forget +how full the world is growing to be of folks and how prone they are to +do each other harm and hinder rather than help each other on the stony +way to heaven. + + * * * * * + +The other evening, while sitting in the gallery of the Auditorium and +looking over the balcony edge at the crowd waiting for the curtain to +rise, a strange thought came to my mind. How could hell be more quickly +created than by the unmasking of such a crowd as this? Suddenly remove +from humanity all power of self-control and conventional dissimulation; +force men and women to be natural, and act out every evil impulse latent +in their souls, and could Dante himself portray a blacker Inferno? The +man whose heart is full of murderous hatred--tear off the mask that +hides his perturbed soul, and what a demon would look forth! The woman +behind whose amiable seeming lurks malicious envy and snarling temper +and crafty deceit--what a pandemonium would ensue when such passion +broke forth like straining dogs from the leash! The old man with the +saintly face and the crown of hoary hair--could an open cage of foul +birds send forth a blacker brood than should fly out from his soul when +some omnipotent hand unlatched the bars of its prison and let the +unclean thoughts go free? The young man with the perfumed breath and the +suave and courtly manner--does any storied hell hold captive blacker +demons than the cruel selfishness, the impurities and the secret vices +that walk to and fro in his soul like tigers behind their bars? The +young girl with face like a rose and the form of a Juno--could anything +that hades holds strike greater dismay to the hearts of men than the +unmasking of her hidden thoughts? Ah, when the hour strikes for +unmasking time in life's parade ball, when death steps forth and with +cool, relentless touch unties the knot that holds the silken thing in +place that has hidden our true selves from our beautiful seeming, we +shall find no more fiery hell awaiting us than that we have carried so +long in our hearts. + +I would not like to be regarded as a pessimist from the writing of such +a paragraph as the above. Sometimes I seek to turn my thoughts upon the +crowd and unmask the angel as well as the demon. But I find that the +angels, as a general thing, wear no face concealers. They go disguised +in poor clothes and scant bravery of attire, but the angel within them +is like a singing bird rather than like a silent and chained beast. It +reveals itself in songs, like a caged lark. It looks from out the window +of the eyes in loving glances and tender smiles; it manifests itself in +sweet and cheerful service, like the sunshine that can neither be hidden +nor concealed. + + * * * * * + +Of all the pleasant things to look upon in this fair earth, I sometimes +query which is the best, a little child, a fruit orchard in early June, +or a young girl. I think the latter carries the day. Did you ever watch +a flock of birds sitting for a moment on the mossy gable of a sloping +roof? How they flutter and fuss and chirp; how they preen their delicate +feathers and get all mixed up with the sunshine and the shadow, until +which is bird and which is sunbeam one can scarcely tell. There is a +flock of girls with whom I ride every morning, and they make me think of +birds and sunbeams. They are so bewitching with their changeful moods +and graces that I sit and watch them as one listens to the twitter of +swallows. They sweeten up life, these girls, as sugar sweetens dough; +they fill it with music as sleigh bells fill a winter night. God bless +the girls, the bonnie, sweet and winsome girls, and may womanhood be for +them but as the "swell of some sweet time," morning gliding into noon, +May merging into June. + + * * * * * + +There are so many things in this world to be tired of! The poor little +persecuted boy in pinafores, sent to school to get him out of the way, +doomed to dangle his plump legs all day long from a hard bench, rubbing +his grimy knuckles into his sleepy blue eyes and wondering if eternity +can last any longer than a public school session, grows no more tired of +watching the flies on the ceiling and the shadows on the wall than some +folks get of life. Let me mention a few of the things I, for one, am +horribly tired of, and see if before my bead is half strung you do not +look up from the strand and cry, "Amber, I am with you!" + +My dear, I am tired to-day of civilization and all modern improvements. +I am tired of the speaking tube within my chamber where the new girl and +myself wage daily our battle of the new Babel. She speaks Volapuk, and I +do not, consequently she takes my demand for coal as an insult or an +encouraging remark, just as the mood may be upon her, and pays no more +attention to my request for drinking water than the unweaned child pays +to the sighing wind. I am tired of sewer gas and what the scientists +call "bacteria" and "germs." I am tired of going about with frescoed +tonsils, the result of the three. I am tired of gargling my own throat +and the throats of my helpless babes, and the throat of the casual +visitor within my gates, with diluted phenic acid to ward off deadly +disease. I am tired of nosing drains and buying copperas and hounding +the latent plumber that he adjust the water-pipes. I am tired of boiling +the cistern water and waiting for it to cool. I am tired of skipping +from Dan to Beersheba daily for men to remove the tin-cans, the ashes +and the unsightly rubbish that have emerged from long retirement +underneath the snow. I am tired of imploring the small boy to keep his +mother's chickens off my porch. I am tired of digging graves upon the +common wherein to bury useless potato-parings, the unsightly +cheese-rind, and the shattered egg-shell. I am tired of being told that +my neighbor's calf and my neighbor's pet cat, and my neighbor's blooded +stock of poultry are dying because of the copperas I scatter broadcast +about the mouth of drains. I am tired of being a martyr to hygiene and a +monomaniac on the subject of sanitary science. I am tired of sharpening +lead pencils. I am tired of speaking pleasantly when I want to be cross. +I am tired of the ceaseless grind of life, which like the upper and +nether mill-stones, wears the heart to powder and the spirit to dust. I +am tired of being told that the mark on my left ear is a spot of soil, +and of being implored in thrilling whispers to wipe it away. I am tired +of last year's seed-pods in spring gardens and of all two-legged +donkeys. I am tired of awaiting a change in the methods of doing +business around at the postoffice, and for the dawn of that blessed day +when I shall be permitted to dance upon the grave of the aged being who +peddles stamps at the retail window. I am tired of hosts of things +besides, but have no time to enumerate them all to-day. + + * * * * * + +I have tested the rainy weather dress reform. It was pouring when I +started from my humble home in the morning, and in spite of the prayers +of the Young Person and the sobs of the "Martyr," I arrayed myself in my +new, highly sensible and demoniacally ugly suit and weathered the +elements. Within two hours it stopped raining; the sun came out and the +streets filled with festively attired men and women, and where was I? +Stranded on a clear day in garments befitting a castaway! My flannel +dress, short skirts and top-boots wasted on fair weather. "In the name +of heaven," exclaimed a friend, as I bore down upon him beneath a +cloudless sky, "what have you got on?" "Go home! for the love of +humanity, go home!" said another. And what was I to do? Await another +storm like a crab in its shell, or venture forth and become the byword +of an overwrought populace, the scorn of old men and matrons? Next time +I start out in a reform dress I will take along the robes of +civilization in a grip-sack. + + * * * * * + +There is something that is getting to be awfully scarce in this world. +Shall I tell you what it is? It is girls. That is what is missing out of +the sentient, breathing, living world just now. We have lots of young +ladies and lots of society misses, but the sweet, old-fashioned girls of +ever so long ago are vanished with the poke bonnets and the cinnamon +cookies. Let me enumerate a few of the kinds of girls that are wanted. +In the first place we want home girls--girls who are mothers' right +hand; girls who can cuddle the little ones next best to mamma, and +smooth out the tangles in the domestic skein when things get twisted; +girls whom father takes comfort in for something better than beauty, and +the big brothers are proud of for something that outranks the ability to +dance or shine in society. Next, we want girls of sense--girls who have +a standard of their own regardless of conventionalities, and are +independent enough to live up to it; girls who simply won't wear a +trailing dress on the street to gather up microbes and all sorts of +defilement; girls who won't wear a high hat to the theater, or lacerate +their feet and endanger their health with high heels and corsets; girls +who will wear what is pretty and becoming and snap their fingers at the +dictates of fashion when fashion is horrid and silly. And we want good +girls--girls who are sweet, right straight out from the heart to the +lips; innocent and pure and simple girls with less knowledge of sin and +duplicity and evil-doing at twenty than the pert little school girl at +ten has all too often; girls who say their prayers and read their Bibles +and love God and keep his commandments. (We want these girls "awful +bad!") And we want careful girls and prudent girls, who think enough of +the generous father who toils to maintain them in comfort, and of the +gentle mother who denies herself much that they may have so many pretty +things, to count the cost and draw the line between the essentials and +the non-essentials; girls who strive to save and not to spend; girls +who are unselfish and eager to be a joy and a comfort in the home rather +than an expensive and a useless burden. We want girls with hearts--girls +who are full of tenderness and sympathy, with tears that flow for other +people's ills, and smiles that light outward their own beautiful +thoughts. We have lots of clever girls, and brilliant girls, and witty +girls. Give us a consignment of jolly girls, warm-hearted and impulsive +girls; kind and entertaining to their own folks, and with little desire +to shine in the garish world. With a few such girls scattered around +life would freshen up for all of us, as the weather does under the spell +of summer showers. Speed the day when this sort of girls fill the world +once more, overrunning the spaces where God puts them as climbing roses +do when they break through the trellis to glimmer and glint above the +common highway, a blessing and a boon to all who pass them by. + + * * * * * + +Is there any flower that grows that can compare with the pansy for color +and richness? Others appeal more closely to the heart with fragrance +that like a sweet and pure soul more than compensates for lack of +exterior beauty, but in all the gorgeous category none rank this velvet +flower that lies just now upon my window-sill. There is the purple of +Queen Sheba mantled in its soft and shiny texture; the gold of Ophir was +not more sumptuous; the light that breaks at dawn across a reef of +dove-gray clouds was never more delicate than the violet heart of this +lovely blossom. When I want to think of the ideal court of kings, of a +royal meeting-place for blameless scions and unsullied princes of the +blood, I do not think of old-world palaces and coronation halls--I think +rather of a pansy bed in June in full and perfect bloom, a soft wind +just bending bright heads crowned with crowns that never yet were +pressed on aching brows, and fluttering mantles of more than royal +splendor that never yet were wrapped above a corrupt and breaking heart. + + * * * * * + +MY ROSE AND MY CHILD. + + I held in my bosom a beautiful rose, + All gay with the splendor of June; + Its dew-laden petals like sheen of soft snows, + Its blush like the sunshine at noon. + + But e'en as I held it, I knew it must fade; + Its bloom was as brief as the hour. + The dews of the evening like soft tears were laid + On the grave of my beauteous flower. + + I held in my bosom a beautiful child, + The splendor of love in her eyes; + No snow on high hills was more undefiled + Than her soul in its innocent guise. + + But I knew that my angel in heaven was missed; + I knew, like my rose, she must go; + So with heartbreak and anguish her sweet lips I kissed-- + She sleeps with my rose in the snow. + + * * * * * + +It was not so very long ago that I chanced to overhear a lively young +woman make this remark about her mother: + +"Oh, mamma is nearly always taken for my sister. She never seems like +anything more than one of my girl friends." + +Poor child, thought I, your state is only another phase of orphanhood, +for the young life that has no counsel of motherhood is bereft indeed. + +No girlish comradeship, however juvenile and delightful it may be, can +possibly take the place of protecting, counseling, mother-love. Not but +what the sweetest relationship possible exists where the mother keeps +her heart young and in sympathy with her daughter, but there is +something else requisite to mother-love. + +The best mothers are those who have roomy laps where the big girls love +to sit while they whisper the confidences they never could reveal to +sister-mothers. They have all-enfolding arms, these right kind of +mothers, wherein they gather the tired girl, yes, and the tired boys, +too, and rock them to rest and peace, long after their "feet touch the +floor." + +They used to tell me I must never sit on anybody's lap after my feet +reached the carpet, but, thank God, that rule never applied to my +mother. + +You are never afraid of disturbing mother's "beauty sleep" when you come +in late at night if she is of the good reliable sort, as far removed +from frisky girl companionship as the moon is from its reflection. + +No matter how tardy your home-faring may be she is always up with a +lunch and a warm fire in winter or a glass of something cool and fresh +in summer to soothe your overexcited nerves, a thing she cannot do if +she is forever dancing about with you in your youthful larks. She has a +way of calming your tempers with a joke and a caress, of which the +sister-mother never dreams. She has also a way of smoothing your hair, +which your girl comrade never caught the trick of, for the reason that +she is kept too busy curling her own love-locks. When your head aches, +the right sort of mother knows just how to pet you to sleep and leave +you in a darkened room with a rose on your pillow to greet your waking +eyes; if you have a bad cold she knows the cuddly way to coax you to +take bitter medicine. She bathes your feet and dries them on nice warm +towels. She keeps the younger children from guying you, because your +nose is red; in short, she does a thousand nice things of which the +sister-mother has no knack whatever. + +When great trouble falls to your share, when sharp betrayal pierces your +heart, and trusted affection turns to ashes in your hold of what good is +the juvenile mother with her girlish tremors and tears? You want +somebody next in tenderness to God, to hold you fast and tight. You want +somebody who has suffered and grown strong, to soothe your breaking +heart. Somebody who can be silent and brave and steady until your fever +is passed. The shipwrecked sailor wants a rope rather than a feint of +throwing one; the shipwrecked soul wants a heart like rock, rather than +a handclasp and a promise. The sister-mother may be all right to go to +parties with, but you want something stronger and more steadfast to lean +upon in time of perplexity. You want a mother in all the holy +significance of the name. However sweet the tie of sisterhood, it cannot +be so blessed as the bond of patient, long-suffering, sanctified +motherhood. + +Seek to keep yourself in sympathy with your girls, then, mothers, but be +content to occupy a generation removed from the path they tread. Don't +make up in emulation of their beauty; don't seek to win away their beaus +and outdress them. Don't go decollete to parties where your girls should +be the reigning belles; don't aim to vie with them in fascination or in +charm. Be guider and ready counselor, but don't try to be rival. If God +has given you a girl child, and that child has grown to womanhood, +accept the condition of things and give over being a society belle +yourself, abdicating your place for the infinitely sweeter one of +mother. You cannot be the right sort of mother and ignore your duty to +your child. That duty lies in giving her her rightful place in the line +of march from which you are crowded out. Let her carry the banner while +you fall back a little. Watch over her, make things easy for her, smooth +the little difficulties out of her way, be on hand when she comes home +tired and excited to soothe her to rest and calm; counsel her how to +pick her way through the snares that are laid for youth and beauty, be a +refuge where she can run when the rainy weather sets in, which is sure +to fall in the summer time of youth, somewhere and somehow. In short, be +just as sympathetic and chummy and sociable as possible, but at the same +time make your daughter feel that you are older and stronger and wiser +than she, by reason of your motherhood, and that next to God you stand +ready to shield her, to guide her, to receive her in time of trouble, to +forgive her if she needs forgiveness, and to shrive her if she needs +confessing. Teach her that your love can never fail, that your heart is +a rock and a fortress and a shield for her to seek in all life's +bewilderment, far surer and more steadfast than any other love beneath +the stars can ever yield. + +When I think of all it means to be a mother I tremble to think how far +short of the standard the best of us fall. I would rather have it said +of me when I die, "She was a good mother," than that men should get +together and exploit my deeds as poet, reformer, artist or story-teller. +I would rather feel the dewfall of a child's loving tear upon my face +than wear a laureate's crown. + +Don't be critical, or censorious, or reserved with your daughters; don't +hold them far off and cultivate respect and fear rather than love; don't +be self-assertive and cause them to feel their dependence upon you in an +unpleasant way; don't be too eager to keep them in the background in +little things relating to the home, such as giving them no voice in the +arrangement of the room and the domestic regulations. Indeed, I have +known more attrition caused in the home circle from this last mentioned +point of difference between mother and daughters than almost any other. +I know a family, presided over by a good, unselfish woman, who, as a +mother, is the most complete failure I ever ran across. Her daughter is +of mature age and pronounced opinions, but she is kept in the background +and her life rendered most unhappy by the dominant will of the mother +whose old-fashioned views as to running the house are directly opposed +to more modern customs. The two wrangle continually over the +establishment of a dinner hour, the disposal of a light, the drapery of +a window, the adjustment of furniture, until there is less harmony under +the roof than there is music in a hurdy-gurdy. How much better it would +be if that mother would yield a little to the wishes of her daughter; +give the latter a chance to display her own taste and carry out her +inclination. I don't believe in the mothers and fathers of grown-up +daughters always insisting upon the occupancy of the front seats and the +leadership of the orchestra. + +The mother who can preserve the respect of her children without chilling +their love; who can be one with them, and yet apart, in the sense of +guiding, aiding and consoling, who can hold their confidence while she +maintains the superiority of her wisdom, is the happy and successful +mother. The title is a sacred one, made by the chrism of pain and +suffering, sanctified by the humanity of Christ and set apart as one of +the three of earth's tenderest utterances: "Mother, home and heaven." + + * * * * * + +Now that the days draw nigh for the return of the birds to our northern +woods and dales it is borne in upon me to hold a little "love feast" +with the boys. You know what a love feast is, if there was ever a +Methodist in your family. It is a good, cozy talk among the brethren and +sisters in regard to the best way of putting down the devil, and giving +the good angels a chance. And if there was ever need of downing the +devil it is in the particular instance of a boy's inhumanity to birds +and beasts. I have expressed myself as to horses, and to-day I shall +talk about birds. On these spring mornings, when the world is enveloped +in a golden halo, from out of which, like angel voices from the quiet +depths of heaven, the birds are singing their impromptu of praise, +imagine a lot of half-grown men and brutal boys going forth with guns +and sling-shots to break up the concert and murder the choristers. I +would as soon turn a lot of sharp-shooters into a cathedral at early +mass to bring down the surpliced boys and the chanting novices. I tell +you, O race of good-for-nothing fathers and mothers, whom God holds +directly responsible for the bad boys who desecrate this beautiful +world, you are no more fit for the training of immortal souls than a +hawk is fitted to teach music to a thrush. You ought to have had a +bear-skin and been the trainer of cubs. That your boys develop into +brutes and go to state's prison, and perhaps die at the end of a rope +eventually, is nobody's fault but your own. If you chance to own a horse +or a dog you show some care in its training, but God gives you a boy and +you let him run wild. There is no more reason why a boy should be cruel +than that a properly-broken colt should kick. The tendency may have been +born with him, but good training eliminates it to a great extent, if not +entirely. When I was a woman and lived at home, in the happy days before +I entered the arena to fight for bread and butter, to say nothing of +shoe leather and fuel, I used to gather the village boys about me every +spring and try to sow the good seeds of tenderness with one hand, while +carefully eliminating the tares with the other. I offered prizes for +the best record at the end of the summer. I formed classes, the +membership of which pledged themselves, to a boy, to abstain from +sling-shots, to cultivate the birds' nests and to withhold their hands +from the commission of a single deed of cruelty. Many is the gallon of +ice-cream I have paid for to keep those youngsters in the narrow path of +rectitude, and many is the time that I have patrolled the woods with my +boy comrades, keeping watch over the family of a blue-bird or a robin, +when the alarm went forth that some unregenerate boy was on the rampage. +All the boys whom I could get to join the club I was sure of, for I know +the way to a boy's heart, if I can only get the chance at him. For what +other purpose did nature turn me out a born cook? And why did she make +me a master hand at doughnuts and turnover pies? I have a large and +undying faith in the boys, if you will only start them right. The first +thing a boy needs is a good mother. He can get along without a +father--and I was going to say without a God--for the first few years of +his life, but he needs a mother. Not a mere nurse maid to look after +his clothes and see that he has plenty to eat at the right intervals, +but a good, sweet, companionable mother, with a good, soft breast for +him to cry on and two arms to hug him with. He needs a mother who can +talk with him and answer his questions, who is not stern and severe, but +responsive and get-at-able. With such a mother our boys will be gentle +and our birds will be safe. + +Try to think, boys, what a world this would be without any robins, or +larks, or thrushes; without any songs in the apple trees getting all +tangled up with the sunshine and the blossoms; without any canaries to +sing in the window, or any meadow larks to whip out their flutes among +the clover heads. If you should wake up some morning and experience the +ghastly silence of a songless world you would want to hire somebody to +thrash you that you ever used a sling-shot. Do you remember the minister +down New York way whom they fined for shooting robins? I never wanted to +get up on a mountain top so much in all my life and shout glory as I did +over that verdict. I have heard of immorality among ministers, and I +have heard of hypocrisy and lying and all sorts of offenses against +good taste and morals, but I never heard of anything so contemptibly and +causelessly mean as for one of God's especial teachers to get up in the +morning, put on top boots, cross the river in the sunshine and dew of +early morning, lift his gun, take deliberate aim and bring down a robin. +If I was the Lord I would never forgive it. Men are not to blame +sometimes when their blood gets too warm and they do impetuous things, +but to deliberately descend to the ignominy of shooting a robin and +calling it sport is to sink too low for justification. + +Whatever else you be, boys, be brave. If you must sail in and fight, if +your superfluous zeal is too much for you, go out in the field and +square off at a bull. There is some glory in whipping anything bigger +and stronger than yourself, but to show fight to a bird is a little too +much like sneaking out and tripping up a cripple in the dark. I am going +to write down a verse for you to write in your copy books this very day, +and then good-night to you: + + "The bravest are the tenderest; + The loving are the daring." + + * * * * * + +Isn't it heavenly to see the primrose around again? And the daffodils? +And the hyacinths? Last night I went home with a rose in my button which +cost me just five cents. At that rate, by careful abstaining from +anything more expensive than a ten-cent lunch, one can go on wearing +roses until next November. The robins have come back, too, and this +morning a couple of them awoke me with their "Cheer-up" song. The +indications are that they are prospecting for spring housekeeping. If +the cat kills them I shall kill the cat. I shall close my eyes and do +the deed in the name of mercy, for I detest cats, both two-legged and +four-legged, and I love robins both feathered and human. + + * * * * * + +I wonder why it is that the average woman can walk and talk, breathe and +laugh, suffer and cry, and finally die and be buried, and all the way +through make such a botch of her life! Why is it that we fall in love, +so many of us, just on the verge of a life that opens like a summer's +day, and change that life thereby, as a June morning is changed when +great clouds rush into the sky and obscure the sun? Why are girls so +proud to parade an engagement ring upon their finger, when the diamond +is too often the danger-light thrown out above the breakers? Now and +then, about as rarely as one picks up a ruby on the highway, or finds an +enchanted swan circling over the duck pond, there is a happy +marriage--at least such is the popular inference--as to the absolute +certainty of the statement, ask the skeleton closet. I have lived a +varied sort of life. I have wandered to and fro over the earth to some +extent; I have known a great many people, and have found happiness in +many ways, but looking back over all the path to-night and turning my +little bull's-eye lantern of experience up to the present moment, I can +neither remember nor record a dozen truly happy marriages. What +constitutes happiness? Peace. What brings peace? Content. Who is +contented? Not you and not I. What man or woman of all whom we know can +we bring out into the full light of day and say of them, "Behold the +contented one! The restful one! The happy pair!" You, my dear, have +attained the ambition of your youthful dreams. You have married a man +who dresses you splendidly, who gives you diamonds and never murmurs +when the bills come in. But are you happy? Do you never walk to and fro +with the restless countess in the sad old ballad, dreaming of "Alan +Percy?" Do you never, when all is still, go down into that cemetery +where life's "might have beens" lie buried in graves kept green forever +with your tears, and walk and dream alone? And you, my friend, have +married the man of your choice. Is there nothing in the handsome +exterior that palls a bit now and then when you find how sordid and +meager the soul is behind the smile you used to think so charming? Do +you never find scorn creeping into your heart in place of adoration when +you mark the unpaid bills and the shiftless endeavor that strew his idle +way? And you, sir, have a merry and a pretty wife and the world calls +you a lucky fellow. How many know of the sharp tongue that underlies her +laughter and the feather-filled head that never yet has donated an +earnest thought to the domestic economy? And you, my good sir, have +married a blue stocking in the old acceptance of the term. She can +swing off a leader or make a speech on a rostrum at short notice, but +how would you like to rise right up here, poor dear, and tell just what +comfort lies in being mated to a superior being who busies herself with +work which shall be remembered perhaps when the dust on the center +table, the holes in your stockings, the discomfort of the larder, and +the untidiness of the household are forgotten? And you, my good fellow, +have married a woman of "good form." She never does an indiscreet thing. +She is "icily faultless" and splendidly stupid. She has the neck of a +swan, the arms of a goddess, the foot of a patrician, and the soul of a +mouse! The scent of a wayside lilac, perhaps, is sadder than tears to +you, old comrade, when you look back across the years and see again the +sweet dead face of one you trifled with, or whom you deserted for this +woman with heart and body of snow, a purse filled with gold and a brain +filled with feathers. + + * * * * * + +There is entire hopelessness to many women in the blank monotony of life +after youth is past. An emotional nature, mercurial and restless, full +of aspirations and longings, as the trees this perfect month are full of +blossoms, and, like the trees, bearing a thousand blooms to one +fruition, finds the destiny prepared for it almost unendurable, and +often longs for death that shall end all. Because poverty grinds and +hosts of menial duties accumulate, because the walls of an unquiet home, +made unlovely perhaps by skeletons that no skill can quite conceal, +close like a dungeon upon hope and all the sweet promises of youth, +bright natures grow morose and bitter, warm hearts chill into apathy and +gloom, and sunny brows darken under the cloud of almost perpetual +irritability and discontent. It is useless to preach sermons to such +cases--as useless as to read a book of etiquette in a prison ward or +comfort the victims of a railroad disaster with a treatise upon reform +in the management of roads. The worn, the wasted, the erring, and the +cruelly maimed lie thick about us. Our business is to encourage, to +love, to bind up, and cheer. God, in His own time, shall lift the +discontented head above the power of conspiring cares to vex. It is for +us to lend a helping hand down here where the "slough of despond" is +deepest. When tides forget to obey the moon, or leaves to answer the +will of the wind, then, and not sooner, shall these restless hearts of +ours learn to be still, whatsoever destinies confront, or limitations +thwart. In looking upon the lives of some women, the mother of six +children, for instance, who takes boarders and keeps no help; the widow +supporting her little brood by endless drudgeries; the big-hearted woman +in whom the frolicsomeness and wit of girlhood die hard amid the sordid +miseries of a poverty-stricken life; the sensitive, poetic soul, doomed +to uncongenial companionships and the criticisms and ridicule of the +unfriendly--I am reminded of the score of eagles I saw lately, chained +in a dusty inclosure of Central Park. With clipped wings, and grand, +homesick eyes, they sat disconsolate upon their perches, and moped the +hours away. Would any sane being have reviled those sorry beings for a +lack of spirit? Would not the gentle-hearted spectator have proffered a +handful of fresh leaves rather, and turned away in pity that sympathy +could do no more? + +For these unhappy sisters of mine, the discontented, yearning +"Marthas," troubled with many cares, wherever my letter may find them +between the great seas, I have a word of comfort in my heart to-day. In +the first place, do not think, because you so often fall into +irritability and impatient speech, that God despises you as a sinner. He +understands, if friend, husband, or neighbor do not. Strive not to yield +to fretfulness then, but, when overcome by it, remember always God +understands it all. You may be able to see no light in all the shrouded +way, no lifting of the shadow, no promise of the dawn; but rest assured, +however long the probation, the infinite content of Heaven awaits us +very soon, if we strive as much as lies within us to overcome the +infirmities of our temper, and keep our faces set towards the shining of +His love. I know, dear heart, indeed I do, that to-morrow and to-morrow +are just alike to hopeless fancy--full of dish-washing, and drudging, +and back-bending toil--that the sparkle and song of life were long ago +merged in the humdrum beat of treadmill years; but through just this +test is your character building--through just its hard process is +shaping the conqueror's crown flashing with splendid light. As the root +tarries in the dark mold to burst by-and-by into radiant bloom above it, +so your poor life is hidden now to bloom to-morrow. You are not wicked +because you sometimes murmur, but try and think so much of what is going +to be that you shall forget what is. The Tender Heart above absolves +your beaten spirit from willful sin, though you are sometimes swept away +on currents of doubt and unfaith; but try and keep your eye fixed upon +the headlight of His love, whatever currents drift you away. Remember +how human parents deal with their children, and learn a lesson of God's +dealings. If my little girl has the ear-ache, or any other tormenting +ailment of childhood, do I stand over her and exact songs and smiles? +And do you think that when God, for some good reason of his own, lays +heavy burdens upon a life, He is going to demand unswerving sweetness of +speech or ethereal mildness of temper? When I see one scrubbing who was +fitted to adorn the drawing-room, washing dishes who was created an +artist or a genius, darning small boys' linsey pants and homespun +stockings who was intended by nature to reign the crowned priestess of +some high vocation; when I mark the furrows and zigzag footprints that +an army of besieging cares have left on the cheek that in girlhood +outblushed the wayside rose, or note how the hands that once drew +divinest music from obedient keys have twisted and warped in the +performance of homely duties, I feel impelled to kiss the faded cheek +with a love surpassing a lover's, to fold the poor hands in a reverent +grasp, for I tell you, however often she may faint and falter by the +way, however "fretty," and worn, and peevish she may become, the woman +who perseveres in the performance of uncongenial duties, who struggles +through the flatness of monotonous drudgeries, conquering adverse +circumstances, poverty, and destiny, by patience, love, and Christian +faith, is a heroine fit to rank with martyrs and saints. Remember, I am +not talking to women who find the burdens hard to bear and do not bear +them; to mere whimperers, who, because the road is full of stones, sit +down and refuse to travel; but to the brave, true hearts who "press +onward" although no rose blossoms and no bird sings, content to +faithfully perform the task of life, hoping that the fullness of time +shall read the riddle of incongruous destiny. I have seen the time when +household work seemed newly cursed--the very dew of the primal +malediction upon it; when to charge upon the dinner dishes, attack the +lamps, or descend into the vortex of family patching, seemed to call for +greater courage than average human nature possessed. And when I imagine +that shrinking carried on through dry years of monotonous experience, +the same formulas to be observed, the same distaste to be overcome +throughout a lifetime of toil, yet no duty shirked, no obligation set +aside, I wonder if Heaven holds a crown too bright for such faithful +lives. + + * * * * * + +The time of the year for violets and also for tramps is drawing near. +Did you ever stop and think just what it means to be a tramp? It means +no work, no money, no home, no shelter, no friends. Nobody in all the +world to care whether you live or die like a dog by the roadside. It +means no heaven for such rags to crawl into, no grave to hide them out +of sight and no hand stretched out in all the world to give the greeting +and the good-by of love. It means nobody in all the world to feel any +interest in you and no spot in all the world to call your own, not even +the mud wherein your vagrant footprint falls, no prospect ahead, and no +link unbroken to bind you to the past. I tell you, when we sit down and +figure out just what the term means, it will not be quite so easy next +time the wretched tramp calls at our door to set the dog upon him or +turn him empty-handed away. Let them work, you say. Look here, my good +friend, do you know how absolutely impossible a thing it is getting to +be in this overcrowded country for even a willing man to find work? It +used to be that "every dog had his day," but the dogs far outnumber the +days in free America. I know well educated, competent men who have been +out of employment for months and years. I know brave and earnest women, +with little children to support, who have worn beaten paths from place +to place seeking, not charity, but honest employment, and failed to find +it. What chance is there for a ragged tramp when such as these fail? +Remember, once in a while, if you can, that the most grizzled and +wretched tramp that ever plodded his way to a pauper's grave was once a +child and cradled in arms perhaps as fond as those that enfolded you and +me. Remember that your mother and his were made sisters by the pangs of +maternal pain, and perhaps in the heaven from which the saintly eyes of +your mother are watching for you his mother is looking out for him. +Perhaps--who knows?--the footfall of the ragged and despised tramp shall +gain upon yours and find the gate of deliverance first, in spite of your +money and your pride. + + * * * * * + +THE BROOK. + + Lifting its chalice of sun-kissed foam + Far up the heights where the wild winds roam, + Weaving a web of shadow and sheen + In lowland meadows of dewy green. + + Murmuring over the mossy stones, + In cool green dells where the gold bee drones, + Sudden and swift the showery fall, + Startling the wood bird's madrigal. + + Orbing itself in a crystal lake + Set round with thickets of tangled brake, + In waveless calm, an emerald stone, + In the lap of the dusky forest thrown. + + Silver flakes of tremulous light + Showering down from the fields of night, + Where the great white stars like lilies glow-- + Tossed on its tide as feathery snow. + + Hastening onward through troubled ways, + Forgotten for aye its woodland days, + Sullen and silent its banks beside + The free brook wanders, a mighty tide. + + Beyond where the forest's purple rim + Belts the horizon, hazy and dim, + Thundering down from the frowning steeps, + Into the arms of the sea it leaps. + + * * * * * + +Did it ever strike you, I wonder, this marvel of our individuality? +Alone we are born, alone we live, alone we die, alone we pay the penalty +or reap the reward of our evil or well doing. In the troubles that +assail us we stand singly, however many councillors may flock to the +door of our tent. Not one in all the world, the nearest, the dearest or +the best, can bear one pang of life's experience for us, love us as they +may. We often hear a mother say: "My child is so headstrong; she will +not take my advice; she will go her own way." Of course she will, and +she will not, simply because individual tact is the law of all +experience. It is not being headstrong, it is merely fulfilling destiny. + +In the fight we wage we do not fight by platoons or squads, under a +common leader, a thousand at a charge. We enter the lists one by one and +fight single handed. We choose our own colors and there is little of +pageantry or show. When we fall we fall as travelers disappear who walk +across a coast that is honeycombed with quicksand. We vanish, not in +crowds like men who are jostled out of life by earthquakes or flooded +like rats by tidal waves, but we slowly succumb to the inevitable in +solitudes where only the stars watch us and the spaces of a dim, +unsounded sea catch the fret of our mortal moan. + +I have always thought that I should love to have the world come to an +end, with a grand final bang, while I was yet living and sentient on the +surface. I would like to be flashed out of being in the conglomerate of +a mighty swarm, like the covey of birds a huntsman's rifle brings down +or the multitude a Pompeiian doom overtakes. Such dying would be like +riding out of an electric-lighted station, by the car full, rather than +sneaking a place on the back platform like a tramp. But after all, death +would not lose its awful individuality even then. Marshal the whole +world, and aim a single bullet at a hundred million souls, with power to +still each pulse beat in the same rifle flash of time, yet each man +would die alone. + +There is one final lesson to be gained through the doleful contemplation +of the world's flood-tide of sorrow, and that is the lesson of how to +bear our troubles so as to react as little as possible upon those with +whom life throws us in daily contact. Because the goblin bee has stung +our own souls, shall we seek to share the pain of its stateless sting +with all we meet? No more than we should endeavor to carry contagion in +our garments or put poison in our neighbor's well. I knew a man once, a +gallant, light-hearted soldier, who honored the blue and brass of his +country's uniform by wearing it. An awful sorrow suddenly smote his +life, like an Indian sortie from an ambush. Wife and children were swept +from his arms by a swift disaster and he was left alone. His friends +said: "He is a wrecked man! He will never lift his head again!" How did +he fulfill this prophecy of woe? He entered the chamber of his darkened +home and denied himself to everyone. He neither ate nor slept. He fought +by himself a greater battle than call of bugle ever summoned to any +field. He mastered his own soul, and emerged from that chamber after a +certain number of days a conqueror over his own sorrow. His smile was as +ready, his heart as tender, his genial speech as welcome at home and +abroad as it had ever been, and only when the goblin bee of memory stung +him in the silence of the companionless night did he live over again the +experience of his sorrow. None knew when that sting came, or how it +tarried; he bore it silently like a soldier and a man. The trifling +world called him light of love and easily consoled, but I think he was a +grand, unselfish hero, a benefactor rather than a destroyer of mankind. + +When we get so that we can hide our sorrow in a smile we attain that +attitude that brings us closest to the divine. The man or the woman who +goes up and down the ways of the world with a groan on his lips and a +weed on his arm is an infliction worse than an out of tune hand organ. +If the bee stings, hold still and bear the hurt by yourself as best you +may, but don't talk it over with everyone you meet, like an old woman +petitioning a recipe for a bad cough and flaunting her physical ailments +forever in your face. When you have bright things to talk about and +comforting things to say, talk; otherwise hold your peace. The reason, I +think, why animals are never wrinkled and drawn of feature and gray like +mankind is because they cannot talk. If they had the power of speech +they would go around as humans do and disseminate unpleasant topics, as +idle winds start thistle pollen. Silence is golden when you can find +nothing better to do than to clamor your own troubles; speech only is +blessed when, like a bird, it evolves a song or wings a feathered hope. + +It seems hardly the thing to do, perhaps, to single out the unhappy +folks in a present world so full of jollity and talk with them awhile +to-day. This bright autumn weather is so crowded with sights and sounds +to dazzle and enchant that to obtrude the leaf of rue within the garland +or breathe a minor tone into the music seems almost out of place. And +yet, for some reason or other, as I sit here at my desk to-day, the +thought of the hearts that are heavy in the midst of all the world's +fair pageant, and the eyes that cannot see the banners by reason of +their tears, come to me with a strong and resistless force. + +Alas, for the goblin bee that stings, yet all too often may not "state +its sting"! We walk with a crowd, and yet are conscious that our way is +not theirs. It lies apart, we know not why, and evermore dips into +shadow and threads the dark defiles of gloom. There are so many more +reasons for being sorry than for being glad, we think. Try to count the +causes for laughter, and then, over against them, set the reasons for +sorrow and see which way the balance falls. I take my seat on a bench +out at the big show and watch the crowd for an hour. Do I see many faces +that do not bear the scar of the "goblin bee"? From the little +four-year-old who is bitterly crying because somebody has jostled its +toy from its hand, to the woman whose eyes are sunken with sorrow +because death has jostled the one whom she loved into his grave, +everybody who passes, with but few exceptions, shows the scar of that +stateless sting. + + * * * * * + +Look at my window-garden, yonder! The sunshine, stealing in from the +south, has wooed a dozen pansies into bloom--"Johnny-jump-ups," they +used to call them when I was a girl. How bright and cheery and chatty +they look. We have those sort of faces (some of us) every day about our +breakfast tables. The little folks, God bless 'em! with their shining +hair, their bright eyes, and the soft velvet of their cheeks, are the +blessed heartsease of our home. And there is a fuchsia, turbaned like a +Turk, behind the pansies. Just such sumptuous, graceful women we see +every day. Like the fuchsia, they are beautiful and that is all. They +yield no fragrance. They attract the eye but fail to reach the heart. +Who wouldn't rather have mignonette growing in the window? There is a +yellow blossom in the window that reminds one of the patient shining of +certain homely souls I know, making sunshine in humble homes; cheerful +old maid aunts, sweet-hearted elder sisters, yielding the honey of their +hearts to others. A cluster of fading violets sets me thinking of frail +invalids and the host of "shut-in" ones, whose delicate and dying beauty +fills our eyes with unstayed tears and our hearts with the shadow of +coming sorrow. + + * * * * * + +There are gates that swing within your life and mine from day to day, +letting in rare opportunities that tarry but a moment and are gone, like +travelers bound for points remote. There is the opportunity to resist +the temptation to do a mean thing; improve it, for it is in a hurry, +like a man whose ticket is bought and whose time is up. It won't be back +this way, either, for opportunities for good are not like tourists who +travel on return tickets. There is the opportunity to say a pleasant +word to your wife, sir, or you, madam, to your husband, instead of +venting your temper and your "nerves" upon each other. Love's +opportunity travels by lightning express and has no time to dawdle +around the waiting-room. If you improve it at all it must be while the +gate swings to let it through. + + * * * * * + +My dear, let me implore you, whatever else you let go, hold on to your +enthusiasm. Grow old if you must; grow white-headed and bent and +care-furrowed, if such must needs be the process of years, but don't +grow to be a stick. If you must pass on from the green time of your +freshness, change into sweet hay and keep your fragrance. If the cage +must grow rusty and lose its brightness, there is a bird within, that it +were a pity to strangle to keep it from singing to the end. I don't care +how successful, or rich, or learned a man becomes, if he maintains a +grim repression of all romance and enthusiasm, and what some hard old +"Gradgrinds" call the "nonsense" within him, he is nothing more than a +fine cage with a dead bird in it. When I hear a person say of another, +"Oh, he is a substantial fellow; no nonsense about him!" I picture a +gold-fish in a glass globe. A glittering cuticle that covers anything so +bloodless as the anatomy of a fish is not worth much. There are a good +many types of men to be detected, but the bloodless, emotionless, +heart-paralytic, is the worst. Polish up a golden ball all you like. It +may ornament your mantel, or serve as a useless bit of glitter in some +corner, but when you begin to feel hungry and faint, and in need of +solace and cheer, you will turn from the golden ball and pick up the +veriest old rusty coat apple from an orchard's windfall, that has +mellowed under summer noon, and sweetened in summer rains and dews, +praising God for its flavor and its juices, even if you can buy forty +bushels of its counterpart, for the price of one of your polished golden +balls. Cultivate the "nonsense" in you, then, if it tends to enthusiasm +of the right sort. It is the sympathy we get from people, the +heartsomeness and cheer that keep our souls nourished, rather than the +mere dazzle of intellectual attainment, or the greatness of any worldly +achievement. Heart rather than head; nature rather than art; genuineness +rather than pretense; romance rather than absolute realism; enthusiasm +rather than petrifaction, will make a man rather than a gold fish, a +juicy apple rather than a ball of metallic and glittering nothingness. + + * * * * * + +We were gathered at the Norfolk Station awaiting the train that was to +carry us over the marshes to Virginia Beach and the sea. The crowd that +surrounded us was very different from a Chicago crowd. There was no +pushing, no bold assertiveness, no elbows. There were lots of pretty +women, and as for me everybody knows I simply adore the open sky, a tree +in blossom and a pretty woman. There were young girls with velvety brown +eyes within whose dusky shadows one might look fathom deep as into a +well of limpid water; girls with blue eyes like fringed gentians; women +with grand free curves of figure that would have made Hebe look +commonplace; women with shapely shoulders and long, aristocratic hands, +tinted at the finger-tips as though fresh from picking ripe +strawberries; girls all in white (for the day was warm), like June +lilies; women with snowy teeth and adorable smiles to disclose them; +little tots of girls with braided hair and soft, questioning eyes; +queenly girls, like tulips in bloom, all chatting together in subdued +but merry tones and laughing as delicately and airily as thrushes sing. +Oh, I lost my heart to you, my pretty southern maidens, and count the +time well spent I devoted to the contemplation of your many graces away +down in that little station by the torrid bay. + + * * * * * + +If I was a liar and wanted to reform I shouldn't quit lying all at once. +I would start out with a covenant to occasionally tell the truth. By and +by this spasmodic truth-telling, like the grain blown by the wind among +stones, would, perhaps, yield sufficient harvest to send me not quite +empty-handed up to St. Peter's gate. If I drank whisky I would commence +to reform by swearing off on one glass out of three, and perhaps the +manhood within me, having so much more chance to grow, would elbow its +way into heaven. If I was a gossip I would try to hold my tongue from +speaking evil half the time, and in that blissful interval perhaps my +dwarfed soul would get a start skyward. It is not by sudden achievement +that we consummate a long journey. It is step by step and mile by mile +over a stony road that brings us to the goal, and it is not by mere +resolving that we renounce the old and attain unto the new. He who +travels but a few steps and keeps his face heavenward is on the way, +and every small decision for the right, faithfully adhered to, is a +notable step toward a consummated journey. + + * * * * * + +I am often struck with the selfishness displayed by people who are +fortunate enough to be provided with umbrellas in time of sudden +showers. They calmly behold hosts of unhappy beings battling their way +through the storm, drenched to the bone, and with ruined garments, yet +never think of saying, "Accept a share of my umbrella," or "Walk with me +as far as our ways lie together." If I should hear such a speech I might +drop senseless with surprise, but all the same I should hail it as the +bugle note that heralded a new era of courteous kindness. + +We are not put into the world to be suspicious of one another. We were +put here to make the world pleasanter for our tarrying, and to cultivate +a fellowship with souls. If the guests at a mountain inn, sojourning +together for a stormy night, spend the time in reviling one another, or +in calling attention to each other's blemishes, we write them down as +snobs; but what shall we call the tenants of transitory time who spend +the span of mortal life in doing all they can to make one another +uncomfortable? We have only a watch in the night to tarry together; let +us try to make that hour a profitable one and a pleasant memory for +others when we have journeyed on. + +I have often wondered how Christian people got round the gospel command, +"Love thy neighbor as thyself." It doesn't say love him (or her) after a +proper introduction, or if agreeable, or congenial, or of good family +and established reputation--it simply gives the command on general +principles. I don't pretend to be good enough to obey the mandate +myself, for I honestly think it is a species of hypocrisy to say you +love everybody. One might as well say one were fond of all fruit alike, +whether specked, wormy or rotten. But let my good orthodox professor put +this in his pipe and smoke it. Let him remember it next time he sees his +neighbor plunged into an extremity, or handicapped by an annoyance of +any kind. If we love our neighbor we are bound to help him, and neighbor +in this sense means anyone who chances to be near us, whether black or +white, raggedly disreputable or sanctimoniously frilled. + +There is more selfishness perpetrated in the world under guise of family +ties than in almost any other way. The man who does good and unselfish +deeds only for his own children and for the immediate circle housed +beneath his roof, forgetful of the claims of the great, tormented, +harassed and struggling world, is a selfish man and accountable to +heaven for a great deal of meanness. I don't care how much he puts on +his children's backs, or how many luxuries he surrounds them with, the +Lord will not hold him guiltless if he does nothing for the stranger who +tugs by him in the stress of life's uncertain weather, or for the +neighbor who sits disconsolate outside his gates. + +I wish that vagabond and his dog who were brought before a west side +justice yesterday for vagrancy would travel up my way. I like that sort +of thing that leads a man to be faithful to his dog. It goes without +saying that the dog is faithful to the man, but it is not often that the +master shows the same spirit to the fond and steadfast brute. If the two +should journey my way I think they would have one white day in the +calendar. Good heavens, my dear, do you ever stop long enough in the +midst of your golf-playing and your tennis tournaments, your yachtings +and your outings to think what it is to be a tramp? To be unable to find +a stroke of work; to be sick and starved and homeless! Like "poor Joe," +to be told to "move on" every time you stop to rest; to eat the +grudgingly given crust of charity, and have no friend under the sun, +moon or stars but a flea-bitten dog? Did you ever stop to think, my +Christian friend, that that tramp is a neighbor whom you are to love? +And if you are going to love him I will love his dog! No doubt the +latter is the better man of the two. + + * * * * * + +Did you ever read of a battle siege in olden times? There were the +full-armored warriors, resplendent in shining metal and plumed crests; +there were the mighty battering rams, and the flash of battle axes, the +thunder of advancing feet and the trumpet call before the gates. But +more potent than all else in the doomed city's destruction was the +secret work of the sappers and miners--the patient forces which wrought +their work out of sight and hearing. And I have been thinking to-night, +as I sit here, where the firelight weaves its delicate tapestry within +the beautiful walls of home, that it is not going to be the pompous ones +who shall march triumphant at last into the "City of Gold," but they who +have worked patiently and humbly out of sight and with no need of +praise. The man who has held to the dictates of his own conscience, not +conforming to the company he marched with; the man who has dared to be +himself in a world where men are labeled in lots; the man who has held +it high honor to suffer for a principle or to be loyal to an unpopular +friend or cause; the man who has erected a standard made up between his +own heart and heaven, and, independent of the world's verdict of praise +or blame, followed it to the end, is going to wear a crown by and by, +when the epauletted general and the pompous staff are forgotten. Prayer +is not always a genuflexion and an address. It is oftener hard work. The +farmer praying at his weeds, the pilot praying from every spoke of his +wheel, the mother whose daily life of unselfish toil and far-reaching +influence is a prayer, do more to stir the divine heart, to keep the +world's prow headed for heaven than half the solicitations or +apologetic addresses made in our churches under the name of prayer. + + * * * * * + +When you and I get rich, my dear, as some day we surely shall, what are +we going to do with all our money? We will hunt up some of the +improvident ones, those who could never make the two ends meet, those +who through good heartedness, or lack of forethought or unselfish desire +to make other folks happy, have never laid by a cent, and we will give +those silly people such a good time they will carry its impress all +through their after lives, as a pat of butter carries the print. We will +slyly pay the bills for improvident ones who have grown gray in the +effort to make a decent funeral for dead horses. They shall forget how +to spell "care" and their new and happy dialect shall know no such words +as "monthly payments," "righteous dues" or "can't afford it." I am +convinced that as a rule it is not the sweet-hearted people who take on +this world's gain. There is many a poor beggar with not a change of +linen to his back who would make a more royal host, had the smiling +face of fortune turned his way, than the rightful owner of the vast +estates at whose gate he stands and begs. The big hearts too often go +with the empty purse, and the little, wizened, skin-flint souls, that it +would take a thousand of to crowd the passage through the eye of a +needle, gain all the golden favors of the god of plenty. + + * * * * * + +After dinner I said to the little folks, "Behold, I will buy me a pair +of stockings and hire a bathing suit, and the afternoon shall be devoted +to frolic and thee." So we went to the small booth, where an exceedingly +meek young man sold ginger pop and fancy shells, and paralyzed him with +a demand for ladies' hose. He didn't know what we meant until I came out +boldly and unblushingly and asked for women's stockings. He said he +didn't keep 'em. "Have you a mother?" said I. "No." "Have you a sister? +Or is there a nearer one yet and a dearer, from whom I could buy or +borrow a pair of stockings that I may go in bathing?" He didn't +understand that either, but finally, with the aid of lucre, I made the +matter clear so that he got me a pair of canary-striped woolen hose, +evidently laid by for some farmer's winter use, and I bought them for a +sum that made his eyes grow dim with rapture. We went down to the beach, +and after a season of prayer with the young person to induce her to put +on some horrid tights, we all went in and enjoyed such a dip as only +salt water yields. In the midst of it we had to go on shore several +times to stand the boy on his head and pump the ocean out of him, as he +was constantly getting drowned in the surf, and one of my expensive and +expansive stockings was captured out at sea and brought back by a son of +Belial, who seemed greatly affected by its size, but in spite of such +small drawbacks we had a glorious time. + + * * * * * + +"What is the matter, my darling?" asked John, the newly married, to the +wife of his bosom. + +"Nothing whatever," replied Mrs. John. + +"But you look like a funeral," exclaimed he. + +"I am not aware that I look more than usually unamiable; I certainly +never felt better," replied his wife, placidly folding down meanwhile +the hem to a distracting little apron she is making. John seizes his +hat, pushes it down over his eyes and rushes forth distracted with the +conjecture as to what terrible thing he has been guilty of to make his +wife look so like an injured martyr. For the time being love is dead, +joy wiped from the face of the earth, hope crucified and peace +assassinated, all because of bottled thunder. A word would have +explained all, a look has ruined everything. + +"Don't put on your fresh muslin this afternoon," suggests the prudent +mother. + +"But why not?" replied the sprightly Jane; "it is the only endurable +dress this warm weather." + +"Oh, very well, do as you like, of course," meekly replied the parent in +a tone that suggests a serpent's fang, a hoary head and a broken heart +all in one. + +Now, in my opinion it is not conducive to domestic harmony to have too +much of this sort of repression. It is like living in an exhaust +chamber. One would be certain to choke up and burst very soon. +Self-control does not consist in forever keeping one's mouth shut, +alone. A look, a sneer, a drooping mouth, a tilted nose, will do as much +mischief as a loosened tongue. Why I should go about like a disagreeable +old martyr or like a sneering Saul of Tarsus, and call myself pleasant +to live with, simply because I don't talk, is something not easily +understood. + +I would far rather be a target for flying saucepans every time I popped +my head into the kitchen than have a cook there who never says a word, +but is sullen and ugly enough to carve me up like cold meat. I would +rather be a constant attendant at funerals, a nurse in a fever-ward, a +girl in a circus, or a street car horse, than live with proper folks who +never make blunders, or commit indiscretions either of speech or manner, +but look at you every time you sneeze as though your featherheadedness +was the only thing that made life unbearable. Out with it then if you +have cause for offense. Don't let the clouds hang a single hour, but +turn on the weather faucet and let it rain. If your neighbor has +insulted you, either ask her why or ignore it. Ten to one the fancied +insult is only a wind cloud, and sunshine will break it away. If you +feel mad sail right in for a tempest and have done with it. Thunder and +lighten, blow and hail if you want to, but don't be a non-committal +dog-day. Bottled thunder is a bad thing to keep on the family shelves. +It is likely to turn sour on your hands, and before you get through with +it, you will wish you had died young. + + * * * * * + +Yonder goes a small and worthless yellow dog. He is young; you can tell +that from the abnormal size of his paws, and a certain remnant of +wistful trust in human kind, which displays itself in the furtive wag of +his tail and the cock of his limp and discouraged ear. He is as +absolutely friendless as anything to which God has granted life can be. +Of his existence there is no thought in the mind of any man or woman +beneath the stars. The boys grow mindful of him now and then, though, +and their manifested interest has made of his life one terrible specter +of cringing fear. He hears the hurrah of their cruel chase in every tone +of sudden speech; he sees the menace of a blow in every shadow. Do you +know, my dear, that I never spoke a truer word in all my life than when +I say that underneath the hide of that forlorn and friendless little +yellow dog there is something more valuable than beats under the +broadcloth vests and silken waists of many of the men and women who pass +him by! A grateful heart mindful of the smallest kindnesses, a faithful +instinct which keeps dogs loyal even to cruel masters. I sometimes think +I would rather take my chances with honest dogs than with half the men +who own them. They may not be able to pass up the stamped ticket which +transfers the human passenger from the earthly to the celestial railroad +and carries him through on the passport of an immortal soul; but no +ticket at all is quite as good as a forged or fraudulent one, as some of +us will find out, I am thinking, when we hand up our worthless checks! + + * * * * * + +Which would you rather be in the orchestra of human life, a flute or a +trombone? To be sure, the latter is heard the farthest, but the quality +of the flute tone reaches deeper down into the soul and awakens there +dreams without which a man's life is like bread without leaven, or a +laid fire without tinder. I don't like noisy people, do you? People who +talk and bluster and swagger. People who remind us of bladders filled to +the point of explosion with wind. We like sensitive people, +quiet-voiced, deep-hearted, earnest people, with the quality of the +flute rather than that of the fog-horn in their make-up. And yet how +much greater demand there is for bluster than there is for force. +Sometimes I am inclined to think that life is a farce played with an +earthly setting for the delectation of the angels, as we serve minstrel +shows and burlesques. It isn't the shy and the timid who get the +applause; the clown in tinsel and the end man in cork divide easy +honors. And yet, thank God for flutes! Thank God the orchestra isn't +entirely composed of trombones and bass drums. + + * * * * * + +WHAT I MISS. + + I can get used to my darling's dress + That hangs on the closet door; + And the little silent half-worn shoes + That patter no more on the floor. + + I can get used to the hopeless blank + That greets my waking eyes, + As they meet the sight of the empty crib + Where no little nestling lies. + + I can get used to the dreary hush, + In the home which my darling blest + With her prattling speech and her rippling laugh, + Ere we laid her away to rest. + + But, ah! the touch of those little hands + That wandered o'er my face, + Like the wavering fall of rose-leaves soft, + In some sunlit garden place. + + Those dimpled caressing baby hands! + I feel them again at night, + And in dreams I gather them back again + From their harp in the City of Light. + + My hungry heart will claim them still; + I cannot let them depart. + So I gather them back again in dreams + To my desolate, breaking heart. + + * * * * * + +The other day my strolling took me into a second-hand furniture shop. I +wanted to find an ice chest. "Have you any second-hand chests?" I asked +of the hoary-headed son of Erin who tended the place and raked in the +shekels. He didn't answer a word, but silently arose and beckoned me to +follow. Through ranks of withered tables and blighted chairs I picked my +way until my guide dived down a gruesome stairway and then I stopped. +Presently his head emerged like a grimy Jack-in-the-box. + +"Is it an ice chist yez want?" asked he. There was mold on his faded +cheeks and a cobweb on his brow as he awaited my answer. + +"Must I go down there to find it?" I inquired. He replied in the +affirmative. + +"Old man, I will go no further," said I, "but come back here and tell me +the price of this lovely desk." So saying, I designated a delightful old +claw-handled, brass-mounted, spider-legged piece of furniture, which +might have been used by Adam to cast up his accounts on. There was a +suggestion of secret drawers about it that was quite ravishing. The +doors were oddly shaped little panes of mirror glass, within which I +gazed pensively at a soot blemish on my nose. "Is it the price of that +yez'd be afther knowing?" said the old man, in the tone of one who dealt +with a harmless lunatic. "I thought it was ice chists yez was afther." +"Yes," said I, drawing out two long slabs as I spoke, such as were used +to support the shelf of the desk I remembered in my grandmother's house. +"That bit of furnichoor," said the old-man, gazing sadly meanwhile at +the grime of ages which I could not rub from off my nose, "is more than +two hundred years old." He stopped for a moment to see if I would +believe him, then went on: "Yis, ma'am, that same is nearer three +hundred years old, all told." + +Here I gave him a look which stopped him at the threshold of the fourth +century. + +"Yez may have it for $25," says he. + +"I'll give you five," says I. + +He turned away as one who found his mother tongue inadequate to express +the deep-seated scorn of his soul. I followed. + +"Did yez say twenty?" he asked stopping abruptly and facing me with the +blurred photograph of what was once an engaging smile. + +"I said five," I answered. + +"Well, take it thin," said he, "but it would be dirt chape at fifty. +It's not a day less than four hun--" + +"Stop," said I, "if you add another century I'll only pay you two and a +half for it." + +And so to-night it comes to pass that I am writing at my new old desk. I +am half conscious, as my pencil glides along the paper, of a laughing +face, half-hidden by showers of falling hair, that flickers like a +shadow in and out of the soft gloom that enfolds me. Fingers, light as +air, seem to follow the motion of my own, and the ghost of the mistress +who thought and wrote at this same desk, one, two, three, four hundred +years ago, seems whispering in my ear. I wonder what will be the effect +if I read to that sweet, gentle woman of "ye olden time" a few bits from +the morning paper. + +Madam, are you aware that a man kicked his wife to death yesterday +because she failed to have his supper ready for him? Are you not to be +congratulated that you are out of reach of this latter day development +of the human brute? Do you know that the Blank concerts began this last +week, and that the melodies that throng the beautiful hall yonder on the +avenue are like bands of singing angels charming a world's sorrows to +rest? Do not the gentle caprices of the flutes and the swing of the +fiddles make even you, flake of airy nothingness that you are! dance +like a thistle-down in a summer breeze? Madam, do you know, and how +does it affect you to know, that there are bargain sales in town where +you can buy a gown for a song, and a pair of all-wool blankets for the +worth of a dream? In your long time disembodied state have you yet +reached a point, I wonder, when such news as this can no longer thrill a +woman's heart? If so, madam, you are truly and undeniably dead, and your +room is better than your company. I bid you a gentle good evening. + + * * * * * + +Among the many things I shall be glad to find out some day will be why, +in spite of heroic effort to keep it straight, my hat always gets +crooked and my hair becomes disordered on the march. I thoroughly detest +the sight of a typical "blue-stocking," or a literary woman who affects +a sublime superiority to appearances, and yet Mrs. Jellyby was nowhere +as to general demoralization of raiment compared to my unfortunate self. +Taking my seat in a down-town restaurant the other day, I found myself +surrounded by half a dozen girls as bright and pretty and jolly as +girls go. No sooner was I seated than the whisper went round that a +newspaper woman had invaded the party. "Looks like one," murmured the +plumpest one of the lot, and I could have cried. "Girls," I wanted to +say, "judge not by appearances. The best christians sometimes have red +noses, just as the jolliest literary folks have frowsy hair and +abandoned hats. They can't help it, my dears, any more than a black cat +can help being somber. It is never safe to condemn anybody, not even a +poor, miserable scribbler for the press, on circumstantial evidence. You +see a crooked hat, electric hair, and that is all. Put on Titbottom +spectacles and look deeper. Perhaps you will then see an +anguish-stricken woman rising at 5 a. m. to make herself smart for the +day. You will note how carefully she adjusts the feeble adjuncts to her +toilet, how she places her hat on straight and secures it with a +cast-iron cable! How she combs out her curls and sticks a feathery +kerchief within her belt. Two hours later the cable hat-pin has been +struck by a tidal-wave and swept from its anchorage; the curls have +degenerated into wisps of wind-tossed hay; and the kerchief? Gone as a +feather is gone when the summer tempest gets behind it! We mean well, +girls. We want to look trim and slick and span. All of us poor literary +people do, but we can't bring it about. Life is so everlastingly full, +anyway, that it seems preposterous to spend more than half one's time in +getting fixed up. Sometimes I am foolish enough to believe that good St. +Peter, when we come toiling up to his gate, won't look so much to the +condition of our hats and our hair as he will to the way we wear our +souls. If they are tip-tilted and frowsy it may go a little bit hard +with us. Of course, it is a good thing to be able to wear a hat +straight, and be remarked for your pretty hair and generally pleasing +appearance, but I declare to you if it comes to a question of mental +array and soul-correction as opposed to style and good form, I am +willing to choose the former and be laughed at now and then by saucy +girls." + + * * * * * + +That's right. Stand on shore and beat him back when he attempts to make +a landing. If necessary, club him under water and congratulate yourself +that you are so self-righteous and everlastingly holy that nobody can +get a chance to swing a club at you. What is this half-dead thing that +is trying to force its way onto dry land from the whelming waters of +temptation and misery? A rat? Oh, no; only a human creature like +yourself. Sin overtaken and subdued by evil. He is young, perhaps, and +never had a mother's care or a father's training. He has drifted with +easy currents into dangerous waters, and the devil, who lurks beneath +the flood, is trying to snatch him down to hell! Raise your club and +give him a clip! The audacity of such a boy trying to be anything with +such a record behind him! Oh, I am sick of you all, you omniverous +feeders on reputation, you unveilers of past records of shame! I hope in +my heart that if ever you get your own foot on the threshold of some +haven of relief, after a tight tussle with danger and death, an angel +will stand over against the doorway with a flaming sword and demand to +see your credentials. No hope of that, though. Angels are not up to that +sort of work; it is left to men, and sometimes--God pity us all!--to +women. + + * * * * * + +If you expect to escape criticism, girls, in this world, you will put +yourselves very much in the plight of flower-roots that expect to grow +without the discipline of the hoe. Before we can amount to anything +either in blossom or as fruit, we must undergo much honest criticism, +and of such we need never be afraid. A candid and above-board enemy is +of far more benefit, often, than a timid friend, who, seeing our faults, +is afraid to tell us of them. The fact that boys stone certain trees and +pass others by, is explained when we find that the stones are always +thrown at the fruit-bearing trees. And so with character; the fact that +we are criticized proves that we are something better than scrub-oak +saplings. But all criticism that does not make us grow, and put forth +fairer and richer blossoms, is like a hoe made of wood, or a cultivator +without power applied to cause it to destroy the weeds. If the unanimous +verdict of the community in which we live asserts that we are proud, or +ill-natured, or lazy, we may be pretty sure that there is some cause +for the application of that particular stroke of the hoe, and the sooner +we set about seeking to remedy the evil, the better for our next world's +crop of blossoms. Nobody (save One) was ever yet maligned without some +little cause. Those who come in contact with you at home may not see +little blemishes upon your conduct or character which those who meet you +in business may detect. For instance, to the folks at home you never put +on that indifferent and languid air to which you treat the customer who +drops in to buy ribbon, or the woman who asks you a question at your +office desk. The customer and the questioner go away with an estimate of +your behavior very unlike the one held at home, where you are frank and +cheerful, and willing to please. And, on the other hand, the party with +whom you associate casually in business, or with whom you ride daily to +and from your office and your home, has no conception how snappy and +snarly you can be when none but familiar ears are open to your surly +complaints. + +The statement from your little brother or sister that you are a "cross +old thing" would hardly be believed by those who meet you away from +home. And yet the hoe in the little hands strikes at a weed that +threatens to make havoc in the garden. Better look to it, dearie, before +the ugly thing quite overtops the mignonette and the pinks! Whenever you +hear of an adverse criticism set to find the weed somewhere in your +character. I believe firmly that every one of us was born into the world +with capabilities for almost every evil under the sun if environment +favors the development. Like a garden patch, the roots of the weeds lie +already deep, the flower seeds must be sown. And no gardener ever +struggled with "pusley" and burdock as we must struggle with the evil +crop, heredity-sown. Thanks be to the quick eye, then, be it of friend +or foe, who discerns the weed before we do, and whips out the hoe to +attack it. We are not exactly pleased when it is borne in upon us +through the criticism of some acquaintance or neighbor, that we are +selfish in little things. Our folks don't say so, and we try to believe +the charge is a libel. Next time you throw your banana skin heedlessly +on the pavement, or crowd into a seat without a "by your leave," or +refuse to move up in a crowded car, or open your window without asking +if it be agreeable to the person behind you, or eat peanuts and throw +the shucks on the floor instead of out of the window, or see a lady +going by with a disarranged dress and don't tell her of it, or return an +indifferent answer to a civil question, or refuse the sweet service of a +smile and a gentle look to the humblest wayfarer that jostles you on the +road, just remember the criticism, and see if there is not occasion for +it. Set about correcting the little faults, and the great ones leave to +God. He will keep you, no doubt, from theft, and murder, and perjury, +but you don't ask or seem to stand in need of His help in getting rid of +temptations to be mean and selfish, and discourteous and lazy. + +What would you think of a gardener who went about with a spade seeking +to exterminate nothing but Canada thistles, and let all the rest of the +weeds go? It is not often that so big and determinate a thing as a +Canada thistle gets in among the roses, and when it does it is quickly +disposed of. But oh, the wee growths! The tiny shoots that come up +faster than flies swarm in dog-days, and need to be forever stood over +against with a steady hand and a hoe. If my neighbor comes out and +charges me with stealing a barrel of flour from her storehouse, or +attacking her first-born with a meat-axe, I can quickly disprove that +sort of a charge; but when she says that I am unprincipled because I +steal in and coax her girl away from her with the offer of higher +wages--how is that? Or that I am selfish because she sees me let my old +mother wait on me to what I am able to get myself; or cross, because I +am untender to the children; or untruthful, because I instruct the +servant to say I am "not at home" when I am, how am I going to dispose +of those charges? Sure as you live, there are weeds in front of such hoe +strokes, and with heaven's help we'll get rid of 'em. + +Cultivate your critics, then, provided they be honest and fair-dealing. +Avoid only such as strike in the dark. The man who goes out to hoe weeds +in the night time is not to be trusted, and the enemy who resorts to the +underhand methods of backbiting and scandal to do his work, is not worth +talking about, much less heeding. Take criticism that is fair and open, +as you occasionally take quinine, to tone up the system and dissipate +the malaria of sloth and inertia. Only they shall come into the +festival by and by, bearing garlands of roses, and wreaths of hearts' +delight and balm, who have welcomed the strong stroke of the hoe at the +root of every blossom to bear down the weeds and loosen the tough and +sun-baked soil. + +As Charles Kingsley says: + + "My fairest child, I have no song to give you; + No lark could pipe 'neath skies so dull and gray; + Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you + For every day: + + "Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; + Do noble things, not dream them, all day long, + And so make life, death and that vast forever + One grand, sweet song." + + * * * * * + +See that half-grown man? He never will know as much again as he does now +at the ripe age of twenty. When he gets to be fifty, when his hair is +grizzled and his hopes are like the dead leaves that cling to November +trees, he will look back upon these years of rare wisdom and colossal +effrontery and blush a little, perhaps, at the recollection. Now he has +no reverence for a woman or for God. He sneers at good in a world whose +threshold he has barely crossed, as a year-old child might stand in the +doorway of his nursery and denounce what was going on in the +drawing-room. Most of the scathing things that are said about domestic +felicity, and the sneers that are bestowed on love, and the gibes that +are flung at purity, and the scoffs that are launched at established +religions; all the jokes at the expense of noble womanhood and the +witticisms that are lavished upon the old-fashioned virtues, spring from +the gigantic brain of the youth of the period. + + * * * * * + +Often as I pass along the streets of this town I notice certain places +which I do not burn down, nor tear down, nor otherwise demolish, merely +because of inherent cowardice and inadequate strength. If I had a +wide-awake, growing boy I would no more turn him loose in your town, Mr. +Alderman, than I would cut his throat with my own hand. Not, certainly, +if there was a spark of human nature within him, and a boy without such +a spark is hardly worth raising. And more than that, I will say this, +that what with your saloons and your wide-open gambling resorts, and +your doorways of hell, wherein sit spiders luring flies, it has come to +pass that every mother whose boy encounters harm thereby should be +entitled to damages at least as great as juries award a careless +pedestrian who gets his legs cut off at a railway crossing. You say that +laws are inadequate to cope with evils of this kind; if that is so, then +an outraged citizenhood should rise superior to law, and enter upon a +crusade to destroy the infamous dens that decoy our boys. On a certain +downtown street there is a newly opened resort, the windows of which are +closely draped, and before the door of which a placard is suspended +which invites only men to enter within. Now and then a hideously ugly +man, with a yellow beard, comes to the ticket window and looks out like +a tarantula from its hole, but in the main the place seems absolutely +unfrequented. + +Take your stand and watch for awhile, though, and you will see young men +and small boys, old men and slouching reprobates of all conditions and +colors going in and coming out by dozens. Why doesn't some good citizen +enter a complaint of that place and break it up? We would pounce upon a +smallpox case soon enough wherever it might lurk, but we are strangely +indifferent where the menace is only to the soul. + +How can we expect to keep our boys pure and raise them to lives of +usefulness when such iniquitous places are run wide open on public +streets at noonday, granting admission to all masculinity between the +ages of 7 and 70? + +A well-guarded youth is supposed to be at home in the night time and not +to be frequenting shy neighborhoods at any hour. So that we might feel +comparatively safe about the boy we send out into the world at an early +age to begin his career as errand boy or messenger if these pernicious +decoys were maintained only at night and in low vicinities. When the +trap is set, however, right in the business center of the town by +daylight, what safety have we? Whenever I look into the face of an +eager, bright, curious, thoroughly alive boy I feel like shaking every +other duty of life and going forth to do battle with the devil for that +lad's soul. + +Why should evil have so much greater chance than good? For one reason I +don't believe we make the good attractive enough. The devil has stolen +the trademark of light for half his wares. Why not have more fun and +frolic in the home? Why not add a gymnasium and dancing hall to the +Sunday school and filter some of the world's innocent sunshine inside +its gloomy walls? Why may not the eager, active heart of youth find its +good cheer and jollity somewhere else than in forbidden places and among +smooth and unscrupulous knaves? If we made our churches less austere and +their gatherings more alluring to the young, these low and vicious +resorts might close for lack of patronage. + +God bless the boys. I love them next best to girls, and sometimes even a +little better, when they are especially frank and brave and true. I am +not going to see them harmed without a protest, either, and I would be +one of a crowd this very day to march upon the resorts of evil that lie +in wait, all over town, to destroy the bonnie fellows. If I had my way, +every man or woman who makes money by pandering to the curiosity of a +boy's nature, inciting to unworthy passion by means of lewd pictures +and the like, should be consigned to instant perdition. The earth is too +hallowed to receive their vile dust! + + * * * * * + +Dear girls, if you would be beautiful with the beauty that strikes root +in heaven, first of all be natural. Be true to something within you +higher than any conventional code or worldly wise mandate. If it is your +natural impulse to be courteous, and sympathetic, and sweet (and blessed +be the fact, it is the natural impulse of most girls so to be!), don't +let miserable conformity and its tricksters exchange your genuine +blossom for a mere shred of painted muslin, fashioned though it be after +even so perfect a similitude of a rose. The birds of the air nor the +angels in heaven will ever be fooled by any artificial rose, let me tell +you, however much dudes and society feather-heads may pretend to desire +it. Grow for something better than this world; wear your sweetness in +your heart rather than on your pocket handkerchief. + + * * * * * + +The great drawback to domestic felicity often lies in the fact that we +get too familiar with one another. There should be a certain reserve in +the most intimate relationships. Sisters and brothers have no right to +burst into one another's private rooms without knocking. Wives have no +more right to search their husband's pockets than they have to do the +same little service for a distant acquaintance. I have no right to read +the Young Person's letters without permission, although I have a right +to win her confidence so that she shows them freely. The Captain has no +more right to visit the Boy's bank for pennies because he is her +brother, than she has to abstract money from the grocery-man's till. You +have no more right to obtrude your conversation upon your wife, nor she +upon her husband, when either is in the middle of a thrilling story, +than you or she would have to interrupt the Queen of England at her +devotions. An "excuse me," if a mother is obliged to interrupt her +youngest child's babble, is quite as good a way to teach the baby +manners as a course of lectures later on etiquette. The man who gets up +and slams shut the ventilator in a crowded car to suit his own +convenience, or the woman who throws open a car-window regardless of the +occupants of the seat behind her, is no ruder than Bess is when she +ignores brother Tom's comfort at home, or Tom is when he pounces for the +biggest orange on the plate when only Bess and he are at table. When +either makes rude remarks to the other, they sin against the true code +of etiquette more than when they are discourteous at a party or +boisterously unkind with a comrade, just as he is more criminally +careless who pounds a piano to pieces with a hammer than he who batters +the pine case it was brought in. The greater the value of the article, +the choicer we are supposed to be of it, and in the same line of +argument, the dearer and closer the tie that binds us, the more +considerate we should be in the handling of it. I may hurt the feelings +of a society acquaintance, and there is restitution and forgiveness, but +when I stab the dear old mother's heart with an unkind word, or wound my +child's feelings with an injustice or a cruelty, or ridicule the +sensitive feelings of a brother or a sister, not eternity itself shall +be long enough to extract the sting from my memory when my dear ones are +dead and love's opportunity is vanished forever. + +Study politeness, then, which is the bodyguard of love, and build up for +yourself the structure of a happy home. + + * * * * * + +Has it been borne in upon you what radiant mornings and September nights +the last two weeks have brought in? Have you stopped, Mr. Busyman, to +note the wonder of the skies, never so glorious as of late? Did you see +the sunset the other evening when a gigantic cloud stood almost zenith +high against the flaming west, and took on for a time the panoply of a +king? Did you notice the purple center and the dazzling edge, with the +rose blush that fringed its borders? Did you see it pale to gray and +vanish like a ghost into the starry night? Do you ever stop, Mrs. +Featherhead, to mark the beauty of our wayside clover or the sparkle of +a buttercup in the dew? Have you found the nooks where, like shy +children, the violets cluster? Did you mark a certain day, a week or so +ago, when the heavens were full of cloud battalions, taking new shapes +every minute, and often dissolving in long lines of purple rain, shot +through with stitches of golden light? Have you seen the lake lately, as +blue as a heather bell, as wild as a wood-bird, as peaceful as a +brooding dove? Where were you the other night when out of the sullen +storm cloud the "light that never was on land or sea" enfolded us, and +the world hung like an emerald in a topaz sky? + + * * * * * + +No law of morals should be less arbitrary for men than it is for women. +An impure heart, a riotous appetite, a profane tongue, are no more +excusable in a man than they are in a woman. If a man is supposed to +shrink from selecting his wife among the unclean in thought and immoral +of practice, why should not a young girl be allowed an undefiled +selection? When girls grow so queenly natured that they demand that +their lover should be of the royal stock and never demean themselves to +stoop to mate with impurity and profligacy just because it carries a +handsome face and a well-filled pocketbook, there will be some chance +for happiness in the married estate. It is this placing white flowers in +smutty buttonholes, or, in other words, the wedding of pure women to +blase and wicked men, that sows the seed of the tare in what was meant +by the primal law to be a harvest of golden grain. Do you pick +slug-eaten roses and wind-fall blossoms? When you go forth to buy +material for a new gown do you choose cotton warp fabrics and colors +that will fade in the first washing? Your answers to all these question +are prompt enough, but when I ask you what choice you make of gentlemen +friends, you are not quite so ready with a reply. Do you choose the +young man who has a clean record, who neither drinks nor wastes his +money in riotous practices? How about the tobacco chewers and the +swearers? How about the lewd jesters and the low-minded? Provided he +wears fine clothes, can dance well and make a good appearance in +society, and above all can give you a handsome diamond for an engagement +ring, are you not willing to accept a lover in spite of his known +reputation as a fast young man about town? Girls, you had much better +choose a specked peach for canning than such a man for a husband. Do you +imagine that by and by at the upper court, whither we are all hastening +as quickly as the old patrol wagon of time can carry us, there will be +any distinction made between men and women? Think you a man is going to +get off easier than a sorrowful and sinful woman merely because the +world falsely taught him that the exigencies of his nature demanded +greater latitude than hers? + + * * * * * + +You may retouch a faded picture, you may patch up an old piano, you may +mend a shattered vase, but you cannot make a plucked rose grow again; it +will wither and die in spite of every effort to restore it to the stem +from which it fell. And so with the heart from which a low desire in the +guise of an alluring temptation has snatched the flower of innocence. +That heart will fade into hopeless loss unless a greater love than yours +or mine intervenes to save. An impure soul never started out impure from +the first any more than a peach was decayed in the blossom. It is the +small beginnings, dear girls, that lead up to the bitter endings. The +impure book read on the sly, the questionable jest laughed at in secret, +the talk indulged in with a schoolmate or a friend which you would be +unwilling for "mother" to hear, the horrible card circulated under the +desk or behind the teacher's back, those are the beginnings of an ending +sadder than the blight of any desolation that storm or drought or frost +can bring upon the blossoms. If I only could, how gladly I would dip my +pen to-night in a light that should outshine the electric splendor of +our streets and write a message against the dark background of the sky, +to startle young girls into the realization of the danger that lurks in +the first indulgence of thoughts and companionships that are not pure. +Avoid all such as you would avoid the contagion of small-pox, and a +thousand times more. Small-pox, at its worst, can only mar the body, but +the friend who lends you bad books or tells you "smutty" stories +proffers a contagion to your soul which all the fountains of all your +tears can never cleanse away. + + * * * * * + +THIS BABY OF OURS. + + There's not a blossom of beautiful May, + Silver of daisy, or daffodil gay, + Nor the rosy bloom of apple tree flowers, + Fair as the face of this baby of ours. + + You could never find, on a bright June day, + A bit of fair sky so cheery and gay; + Nor the haze on the hills in noonday hours, + Blue as the eyes of this baby of ours. + + There's not a murmur of wakening bird-- + The clearest, sweetest, that ever was heard + In the tender hush of the dawn's still hours-- + Soft as the laugh of this baby of ours. + + There's no gossamer silk of tasseled corn, + Nor the flimsiest thread of the shy wood fern-- + Not even the cobwebs spread over the flowers-- + Fine as the hair of this baby of ours. + + There's no fairy shell by the sounding sea, + No wild rose that nods on the windy lea, + No blush of the sun through April's showers, + Pink as the palm of this baby of ours. + + * * * * * + +Don't you get awfully tired of people who are always croaking? A frog in +a big, damp, malarial pond is expected to make all the fuss he can in +protest of his surroundings. But a man! Destined for a crown, and born +that he may be educated for the court of a king! Placed in an emerald +world with a hither side of opaline shadow, and a fine dust of diamonds +to set it sparkling when winter days are flying; with ten million +singing birds to make it musical, and twice ten million flowers to make +it sweet; with countless stars to light it up with fiery splendor, and +white, new moons to wrap it round with mystery; with other souls within +it to love and make happy, and the hand of God to uphold it on its +rushing way among the countless worlds that crowd its path: what right +has a man to find fault with such a world? + +When the woodtick shall gain a hearing, as he complains that the grand +old century oak is unfit to shelter him, or the bluebird be hearkened to +when he murmurs that the horizon is off color, and does not match his +wings, then, I think, it will be time for man to find fault with the +appointments of the magnificent sphere he inhabits. + +"It is a fine day!" remarks Miss Cherrylips. + +"Too cold," says the croaker; "beastly wind, not fit for a dog to +breathe." + +Oh, yes, my dear, I heard him say it this very morning, and while I sat +and listened to him I could but think to myself, "What would become of +the croaker without the weather topic to fall back upon?" When all else +failed him, he is sure to have something to find fault with within the +range of this universal and inexhaustible topic. It is too warm or too +cold; there is too much rain, or there is a drought; the winters are +changing and microbes are on the increase; the peach buds are blighted +by a cold snap in spring, and the potatoes have failed or are about to +fail, owing to a wet June. + +That is the way the croaker holds forth whenever he can get anybody to +listen to him. I sometimes wonder what he would do if he really had +great things to fret about; if one of his beautiful children were to +die, or the faithful wife he loves so well in his heart, perhaps, but +never takes the trouble to acquaint with the fact, were to weary of his +endless faultfinding and steal away from it all into the quietude of the +grave. I wonder if he would not then look back upon these days of +"croaking" with amazement that he was ever so blind and stupid a fool. + +I knew a woman once who was very, very charming. She could sing "Allan +Percy" in a way that would melt the heart within you. She could paint on +china and decorate the panels of doors, and on the whole she was +calculated to enjoy life and make it enjoyable for others. But her home, +on the contrary, was utterly devoid of peace and comfort. Her husband +took no pleasure there, although he was lavish in the expenditure of +money to render the place attractive. Her children were glad to get away +from their home and find otherwhere the freedom and gaiety denied them +there. Why was all this, when the mother was so eminently fitted by +grace and accomplishments to create a beautiful and happy home? Simply +because she was always fretting and fussing about trifles. She was a +croaker and always finding fault. She fought flies until life was a +burden to everybody who watched her. She said that they would spoil the +paint, poison the food and ruin the curtains. She was after them at +early dawn nor gave over the chase until late at night. She would leave +the dinner table to chase a fly and kill it with a folded paper. She +would stop the lullaby song she was singing to her pretty baby, to get +up and call somebody to come in and hunt a stray blue-bottle that was +bunting its stupid head against the window screen. She said that her +life wasn't worth a farthing to her if the flies got into her home, and +she would sooner jump in the river than submit to the pestilential +infliction. Then she was forever prophesying some dreadful fate for +herself by reason of the muddy footprints that occasionally found their +way onto the carpets. + +"I declare," she would say, "if you boys don't stop tracking dirt into +the house I'll die before my time. If there is anything I hate it is a +careless boy!" + +And the boys took her at her word and stopped tracking mud. But they +were gradually lured to stay away from home, and the soil they took into +their hearts was perhaps harder to efface than the footmarks they left +upon the floor of mother's neatly kept hallways. + +She was always anticipating trouble that never came. She knew the girl +was going to leave. She was simply too great a treasure to keep. She was +absolutely certain that the milkman was watering his milk, and the baby +would get sick. She had no doubt whatever but what her husband was +going to ruin himself on 'Change, and then what would become of them +all? So she worried and fretted and fumed, until patience, like a hunted +bird, spread its wings and flew away, and what might have been a happy +home became a stranded wreck upon the rocks of contention. + +Oh, I tell you right now, girls, if you can only cultivate one +accomplishment out of the many that wait to crown a perfect womanhood, +cultivate a pleasant temper and cheerful disposition. The ability to +speak many languages, to paint, to dance, to sing, or even to wield a +graceful pen is nothing compared to the ability to make a lovely home. +Nobody ever yet succeeded in that noblest endeavor without abjuring +needless faultfinding, croaking and fretting. + + * * * * * + +As a general thing I don't believe in sermons served as restaurants +serve beef--in slices. I believe in teaching truths, rather, as one +whips cream, dropping in the moral as an almost imperceptible flavoring. +But I tell you there are times when I feel like mounting a pulpit and +thundering with old Calvin, until the air emits sulphur. Especially when +I see the inhumanities and outrages practiced upon children by witless +parents, do I feel stirred to my soul's depths. If we treated our flower +beds as we do our children there wouldn't be a blossom left in the +world. If we served our meals as we do our children, there would be +rampant indigestion and black-browed death at the heels of every one of +us. Now and then you see a wise mother and sensible father, but the +biggest half of humanity receive their children as youngsters receive +their Christmas toys, to be played with when in a good humor, and +bundled anywhere out of sight when out of sorts or engrossed with more +important matters. We forget, half of us, that a little child's sense of +injustice and sorrow and wrong is compatible with its own growth and +experience rather than with our own. What to us is a paltry trial is the +cause of keenest, unalleviated woe to the child of five. The possession +of uncounted gold at forty will not be more precious than the possession +at three of the apple or the book we so rudely snatch from the little +hands without a word of apology. Take the time to explain to the little +fellow why you deprive him of some cherished possession and you will +save the tender bit of a heart a vast amount of unnecessary aching. + + * * * * * + +I have many things to be thankful for this stormy winter night. One is +that the coal bin is full and the lock on the outer door secure. Another +is that the rooftree bends above an unbroken band, and that disease with +its fell touch lingers the other side of the threshold of the little +home. Another is that, as a family, we all have straight backs and +moderately developed intellects; that we are neither dime museum freaks, +lunatics, nor half-wits. Another is that none of us chew gum, carry +around dogs, nor make expectoration the chief business of a day's +outing. Another is that I am getting so used to the alarm clock that I +sleep through its wild clamor and escape the duties that fall to the lot +of that other member of the home circle whose ear and conscience are not +so sadly seared as mine. Another is that I know enough to detect butter +from oleomargarine, and am not roped in by Blank street vendors with +their dollar and a half tubs. Another is that I am not the sort of +fellow to be always hitting another fellow when he has been down and is +trying to stand steady again. Another is that I am modest enough to +question whether I could run a grip any better than he does? Another is +that I got one answer to the "ad." wherewith I sought to capture a gold +watch. It would have been an embarrassing thing to have received not one +solitary little nibble. Another is that the elevator boy who +occasionally carries me to the top floor and intermediate stations +around at Blank's is kind and does not treat me with the haughty scorn +he bestows on others. Another is that I have the serene equipoise of +nerve which renders me calm and even cheerful under the knowledge that +there is nothing in the house to eat, and two invited guests gently +sleeping the happy hours away in the chamber above, dreaming perchance +of toothsome viands not to be. Another is that in spite of weather I +take no colds, and am as impervious to catarrhal or pneumonic affections +as an eagle is impervious to the attack of tom-tits. Another is that I +live in a town where people sell no beer; they may steal and backbite, +and raise the old lad generally, but thank goodness the baleful glitter +of a glass beer bottle has never yet eclipsed the moral splendor of the +scene. Another is that I have been enabled to preserve a few staunch and +trusty friends through the evolution of that rainy-weather costume which +a few of my sex have joined me in essaying. I cannot speak for future +tests, but so far my henchmen have stood firm. And right here let me say +that any friend, man, woman or babe, who can remain loyal to you after +you have been seen in public in a dress-reform garment is worth +cultivating, and should be made the theme of special psalms of praise. +Another is that the picture I had taken the other day looks worse than I +do, and when I send it off to unsuspecting admirers I am not torn with +the thought that when they see the original they will drop scalding hot +tears of disappointment. This idea of raising false hopes in the minds +of confiding strangers savors too much of Ananias and Sapphira. Another +is that so far in life I have preserved a stern and unshaken resolution +not to wear a false front. A woman in a store bang is next worse to a +chromo in an art gallery, or a muslin rose among American beauties +fresh from the rose gardens. Artificiality, my dear, pretense and +assumption, are harder to put up with than anything else in the world, +unless it is corns. But far ahead of all the above enumerated causes for +gratitude is one which thrills me most profoundly, and which can be +summed up in half a dozen words, the echo of which, perhaps, will find a +lodgment in some other hearts. I am thankful, very, very thankful, that +I am not the mother, nor the aunt, nor the half-sister, nor the first +cousin, nor even the next-door neighbor, of the boy who kills sparrows +for two cents bounty on the little heads. If I had such a boy within +range of my voice to-night I should say to him, "Be poor, my man; be +unsuccessful in business, and not up to bargains all your life, but +don't be shrewd and sordid and cruel in seeking your gains. Better go by +the name of 'mollycoddle' and 'baby' among the other boys than get to be +a little ruffian with your arrow and your sling-shot, and the name of a +keen-killer tacked on to yourself. Let the sparrows alone, or if you +really feel that they are the nuisance they are made out to be, kill +them if you like, but do it in a gentlemanly way (if such a paradox is +possible), and don't take money for the job." The boy or the man who +will take a life for sordid ends, or, in other words, who will seek to +enrich himself on "blood money," is pretty low down in the human scale. + + * * * * * + +Laughter is a positive sweetness of life, but, like good coffee, it +should be well cleared of deleterious substance before use. Ill-will and +malice and the desire to wound are worse than chicory. Between a laugh +and a giggle there is the width of the horizons. I could sit all day and +listen to the hearty and heartsome ha! ha! of a lot of bright and jolly +people, but would rather be shot by a Winchester rifle at short range +than be forced to stay within earshot of a couple of silly gossips. +Cultivate that part of your nature that is quick to see the mirthful +side of things, so shall you be enabled to shed many of life's troubles, +as the plumage of the bird sheds rain. But discourage all tendencies to +seek your amusement at the expense of another's feelings or in aught +that is impure. It was Goethe who said: "Tell me what a man laughs at +and I will read you his character." + + * * * * * + +I'll take my chances any day to find heaven on earth, if I can have the +run of the woods up along our northern lake shore in early springtime. I +want no companions either, unless, perhaps, it be a child or a dog, for +artificial women and dudish men, let loose in the woods, are harder to +endure than gad-flies. It was scarcely more than sunrise, the other +morning, when I left the house and took my way toward the forest shrine +undesecrated as yet by surveyors or wood-choppers, the advent of either +of whom in a country town means good-bye to heaven on that particular +spot of earth! We found the air so full of sweetness, the instant we +struck the depths of the woods, that one could almost fancy the wise men +of the East had been there before us to greet the new-born Spring with +spices as they greeted another Heaven-born child a score of centuries +ago in Bethlehem. Every shrub held a softly-tinted leafbud half +unfolded, like a listless hand. The maple leaves were pink and glossy, +like rose petals wet with rain. The hickory trees were unfolding great +creamy buds that looked like magnolias. The hawthorns were all afloat +with silver blossoms, like loosened sails. The earth seemed singing to +the heavens, "God is here!" and from the blue depths of quietude, where +a few clouds spread their soft wings like brooding birds, came back the +answer, "He is here!" The lake claimed Him, and a thousand azure waves +murmured His presence on the deep. Wherever we looked, at our feet where +the June lilies whitened the ground like perfumed snow, and the moss was +bubbling like a wayside spring with sunshine in place of water; at the +misty foliage overhead, like shadowy spirit wings; at the circle of blue +that bounded the earth, or into the very heart of heaven above us, it +seemed as though God, visible and manifest, was there to give us +greeting. Finally, we found a point of high land, touched here and there +with shadows flung down from budding birches, and starred with +dandelions in flocks, like golden butterflies. Here, leaving the +material part of me leaning up against a tree-trunk to rest, as one +thrusts a cumbersome garment on a nail, my soul went wandering off into +Paradise, and forgot awhile its environment and its earth-born +responsibilities. Next time the world has failed to use you well and you +are smarting from the sense of injury undeserved, or the frets of +domestic life have worn you down to the minimum, like a blade that is +eternally upon the grindstone, start for the woods. Take a big basket +with you and fill it full of lilies, and, ten to one, before you get +home again the lilies will have taken root in your heart and your basket +will be full of contentment. + + * * * * * + +Educate the children to the expectation of sorrow, not as a monster who +is to devour them, but as an angel who is to meet them on the way and +lead them gently home to heaven. Teach them to hold themselves in +readiness for whatever life has in store, as soldiers are trained for a +battle whose end is certain peace. Teach them to endure all things, only +striving to sweeten and soften rather than to harden under the +discipline of sorrow. Unselfishness is the most rare and at the same +time the most Christian virtue possible for human nature to attain to, +but did anybody ever yet grow unselfish through a life of indolent +self-indulgence and ease? Did fruit ever amount to anything that was +left unacquainted with the sharp discipline of the gardener's shears? I +tell you, all the way up from an apple to a man it takes lots of pruning +and lopping off of superfluous branches to bring out the flavors and +sweeten the fiber of the fruit. + + * * * * * + +I can imagine a lot of way-worn pilgrims drawing up to heaven's gate. + +"What will you have?" asks old St. Peter, standing idle and calm in the +perpetual sunshine that lies beyond the swinging portal. + +"I will have my crown," says one. "I have earned it." + +"And I will have my harp," says another; "my fingers are eager to pick +out the heavenly tunes." + +"And I will hie me at once to my heavenly mansion," says a third. "Long +time I have plodded, foot-sore and weary, to gain the habitation of its +enduring rest." + +But if you can imagine "Amber" piping forth her small request, I think +you might hear her say: "Conduct me, oh, aged friend, to the nearest +sand-bank, where I may lie face downward in the sunshine for fifty years +to come, and hear the surf break on 'Sconsett's reef." That is what I +have been doing for the past fortnight, and both soul and body have +waxed strong in the process. + +What a tired passenger we carry around with us, sometimes, in this +marvelous Pullman coach of ours, wherein the soul takes passage for its +overland trip from the cradle to the grave. How restless it gets, and +how troublesome. How it turns from companionship, even that of books, +and finds no panacea for its torment, until some kind fate side-tracks +it and lets the noisy world rumble on with the clatter and clash of +conflicting cares beating the hours to dust beneath their flying wheels. + +When I went away for my yearly outing I was so cross that there was no +living within six miles of my own shadow. I hated everything on earth, +and everything on earth hated me. But I have come back as sweetly as the +breath of a rose steals through a lattice. That is the effect of a +jaunt, my dear; and let me say right now that if you are holding on to +your money in the hope of getting rich sometime, or if you are +traveling in a rut because you think you are too poor to avoid it, or if +you are grinding your soul into fine dust in the process of laying up +against a rainy day, just stop right where you are and listen to me. Any +money that is gained at the expense of health, either physical or +mental; any duty held to in the face of nervous breakdown; any gain +secured at the expense of peace of mind and growth of soul, is not worth +the holding. You cannot be of any use in the world if you are worn out +or sick. You may persist in holding on, but your grip is weak, and your +effect on affairs and people is simply that of an irritant. You owe it +to yourself, as well as to others, to go away and get rested. If it +costs money to do so, consider money well spent that gains so fair an +equivalent as rest and change, and renewed vigor. I tell you there are +few better uses to which you may put your dollars than in a yearly +outing. Your pockets may be lighter when you get back, but so will your +heart be, and the few sacrifices necessary in the way of less expensive +clothes and cigars, or less frequent gloves and bonnets, will be well +worth the making for the result gained. + + * * * * * + +I wish Columbus had never discovered us. I wish that he had never +steered his old bark westward and found the "land of the free and the +home of the brave." For with discovery came civilization, and I believe +we would have been better off without it. If we only could have been +left to ourselves and gone on sitting under lotus trees unaffected by +dressmaker and tailor bills, I believe the sum total of happiness would +have been far greater in the world than it is to-day. I would love to +return to my allegiance to nature and forever desert the haunts of +civilization and the marts of trade. I want to gather together a picked +band of kindred souls and go out and pitch tent by the Gunnison River. +Ever been there? Imagine a stream of gold flowing through hills colored +like an apple orchard in May, with a sky bending down above them like +the wing of an oriole. I want to forget the insolence of a class who may +be as good as I am in the eye of the law, but whom it would take a ton +of soap and God's grace to make my equal in point of cleanliness and +decency. I want to forget forever the clang of the cable car and the +rumble of its wheels. I want to return to the heathendom that worships +gods instead of dollars and loves mankind simply because it knows +nothing of faithlessness and fraud. + + * * * * * + +"Plaze, sor," said a servant to the head of a certain suburban household +the other morning, "the gintleman who sthole the chickens left his hat +in the hincoop." Just so, Bridget. And the lady who attends to the +affairs of the kitchen has her foot upon the neck of the miserable woman +who is nominally at the head of the house. Oh, no! I am not going to +enter into a disquisition upon the merits of the servant question. Years +ago, when I cantered lightly in my ride against windmills, I might have +undertaken it, but the question has grown too large to be settled by +talking. The state of things in this free country is growing just a +trifle too free. There are no longer any servants in this proud land. It +is not ladylike to serve. The person who superintends the domestic +affairs of our home merely condescends for a consideration. We no +longer have any rights as employers. The wind has tacked to another +quarter. Should we wish to discharge our lady cook or dispense with the +services of a gentleman artisan it stands in place for us to approach +them in a respectful manner, put the case before them clearly and ask +them humbly, without offense to their delicate sensibilities, if they +will kindly allow us to forego their so-called services. Question +yourself seriously, my dear; are you sufficiently considerate? Think how +these defenseless ladies and thin-skinned gentlemen who fill positions +of trust in your establishment must suffer sometimes from your boorish +impetuosity. Are you always cordial in your greeting when the worn face +of the cook appears at the delayed breakfast hour and she places before +you the hurried pancake and the underdone steak? Do you stop to think +how the poor creature has danced all night at a ball and has crept home +after your stiff-necked and rebellious husband has bounded away to catch +the early train, breakfastless and profane? And when the low-voiced and +timid second girl tells you that, as a lady who knows her place, she +really cannot demean herself to wipe off the paint or sweep the front +steps, do you take her by the hand and acknowledge the indiscretion of +your coarser nature in expecting her to do such menial service? How many +of us, clods that we are, have raged when the mild-mannered laundry maid +has appropriated our underclothing, or remonstrated when the number +seven foot of the blue-blooded cook has condescended to stretch our +silken hose? It behooves us to join the ranks of the "philanthropic +fiends" and look to it that we improve our methods of treating the +delicate gentry who tarry with us so briefly. + + * * * * * + +By the way, I think I occasionally hear a feeble pipe from a man to the +effect that the girls are responsible for all the tomfoolery in the +world. Don't you know that you are the very ones who tend to make them +so--you men? You follow after and woo and wed just that sort of girls. +You won't look at a sensible little woman who can make "lovely" bread, +abjures bangs, can't dance and has no "style." You laugh at and make sly +jokes at the expense of our big hats and our pronounced fashions, but +when you choose your company, and often your wives, I notice you pass +right by the home-keeping birds and take the peacocks. Of course, no one +lives in this age who doubts for a moment that woman's chief aim in life +and purpose of creation, as well as her hope of a blessed hereafter, is +to please the men and get a husband. If you won't have her modest and +simply gowned she is willing to make a feather-headed doll and a +travesty of herself to get you and win heaven! You know perfectly well, +you men, that you don't care half so much for brains as you do for +general "get-up," and the woman you honor with your choice is selected +for a pretty face and form, and a becoming costume rather than for a +clever head and an honest heart. I am not talking to old fogies who +cling to old-fashioned notions, but to young men who ridicule the +customs of their grandmothers, who shake their heads at salaries of two +and three thousand a year as inadequate to support wives; who rail +against woman's extravagance, yet do their best to maintain her in it. +When you, my fine and dapper gentleman, begin to seek out the modestly +appareled and the sedate girls, then shall folly and vain show fly over +seas for want of encouragement and the grand transformation of sawdust +dolls into women and pleasure-seekers into home-keepers take place. + + * * * * * + +TWO DAYS. + + I said to myself one golden day + When the world was bright and the world was gay, + "Though I live more lives than time has years + Either in this or the infinite spheres, + I will fear no blight and I'll bear no cross, + Against my gains I will write no loss, + But I and my soul, twin lilies together, + Shall whiten in endless summer weather!" + + I said to myself one weary day + When the world was old and the world was gray, + "Has God forgotten His wandering earth? + Are its tears His scorning, its groans His mirth? + There's no blue above where the torn clouds fly, + There's no bloom below where the dead leaves lie; + Would I and my soul were at rest together + Wrapped from the chill of this wintry weather." + + * * * * * + +There are some people who live in this world as a cucumber grows in a +garden. They cling to their own vine and serve no higher end than +rotundity and relish. There are others who live in the world as a summer +breeze lives in a meadow; they find out all the hidden flowers and set +the perfumes flying. There are others who live as the sea lives in a +shell; their existence is nothing but a sigh. There are others who live +as the fire lives in a diamond; they are all sparkle. And there are +others, and they outnumber all the rest, who live as a blind mole lives +in the soil; they see nothing, feel nothing, suffer and enjoy a little +now and then, perhaps, but know nothing to all eternity. Such people +walk through life as the mole walks through the glory of a summer day, +or burrows beneath the dazzle of a winter storm. They are as +irresponsive to the voices all about them as the mole is to the singing +of April robins. They are as untouched by the myriad influences of life +as the mole is by the light of a star or the flash of a comet. Their +only interest is in the question, "Wherewith shall we be clothed, and +what shall we have to eat?" They gather the ripened hours from the tree +of life as a child gathers fruit, merely for the gratification of an +instant appetite, not as the careful housewife does, who garners in a +store for wintry weather. Life to them is merely a fattening process. +They remind one of prize beef at a county fair; to-morrow brings the +shambles and the butcher's axe, but in the serene content of a +well-filled stall and a full stomach, they take no thought of the +future. We meet such people every day and everywhere. On the streets +they may see a brute tyrannizing over a helpless beast of burden, or a +mother (?) yanking a sobbing child along by the arm, as full of ugliness +herself as a thunder-cloud is of electricity, or a man following an +innocent young girl with the devil in his heart, or a big boy +tyrannizing over a smaller one; and they pass it all by as indifferently +as the mole would sneak across a battlefield the morning after a battle. +They have too much to do themselves to waste time in remedying other +people's grievances. They think too much of personal reputation to +involve themselves in an altercation with defilers of the innocent, and +tramplers of the weak. They are too respectable to get mixed up in +brawls, even if the disturbance is brought about by the devil's own +drummers looking up recruits among the championless and defenseless +working-girls, or the parentless and homeless children of a great city. +We meet them traveling through the mountains or loitering by the sea. +Their only use for mountains is that they may carve their precious +initials on the highest peaks, pick winter-greens and blue-berries and +display their fashionable suits and striped stockings. They look upon +the sea as a big bathing-tank, and the sky, with all its splendor of +cloud and its glory of sunrise and sunset, as a barometer to forecast +the weather. We meet them in business relations, and they never believe +that courtesy and business can go together. A merchant in his office or +a lady in her parlor will bluntly refuse to buy of a worn-out, +discouraged, heart-sick book-agent, ignoring the fact that a smile +accompanying even a refusal acts like a spoonful of sugar in bitter tea, +and costs less. Even a "lady" clerk, behind a counter, will be haughty +and unaccommodating and insolent to the woman who comes to buy, +forgetful that a customer will go a long distance out of her way to deal +with a polite and well-mannered clerk, and that, like honesty, +politeness is ever the best policy. And, on the other hand, a woman +shopper will be whimsical and captious and trying, forgetting that the +girl who serves her has human blood in her veins, and often carries a +troubled heart behind her smile or her frown. + + * * * * * + +They have come! Without the sound of a bugle, the bright hosts have +marched down and taken possession of the land. The southern slopes are +all alive with their wind-shaken tents, and when the sun comes out warm +and glowing from the cloudy pavilions of the April sky, he finds a +million blossoms on the hills that yesterday were white with snow. Some +of them are tinted like the flush that lingers in the evening sky before +the stars find it; some of them are stainless as unfallen snow; some of +them are purple as a nautillus sail adrift upon a twilight sea; and all +of them are joyfully welcome to hearts that are weary of Winter's long +reign. And after the hypatica shall come the violet, and after the +violet the trillium, and after the trillium the wild-rose, and after +the wild-rose the cardinal-flower and the wood-lily, and after them the +gentian and the golden rod, to mark the wane of the year. Oh, who would +not live in a world whose dial-plate is made of flowers and whose +circling seasons are told over with blossoming trees and gentian-buds? + + * * * * * + +I saw a great many things on the way this morning as I was coming to +town. Suppose, as the weather is too warm for preaching, I enumerate +them and let you strike the balance at the close, to see which way the +world is jogging. I saw a father, drunk, beside his little blue-eyed +daughter. His head was laid in maudlin sleep upon her shoulder, and with +blushes that came and went across her face like cloud shadows on the +slope of a hill, she sat and bore the burden of her childish shame like +a little angel. I saw a hard-faced, labor-grimed man step out of his way +to pick a wild rose that grew by the side of the road. I saw a young man +lash his horse because his own bungling driving came near colliding his +vehicle with a cable car. I saw a policeman spring to the rescue of an +old beggar woman who stumbled on a street crossing, and saw him fall and +trampled upon in the discharge of duty. I saw a pretty girl reach out +her white fingers and feed a discouraged street-car horse the banana she +was eating as she passed by. I saw a beaten dog turn and fawn beneath +his master's brutal kick, and I thought to myself, where is a more +faithful friendship than that? I saw a little golden-headed boy at the +window of a house as I rode by, and when I waved my hand he kissed his +in return. I saw a tired mother stoop to hug the child who fidgeted at +her knee in the tedious depot waiting-room, and I saw another slap her +baby because its sticky fingers sought to fondle her cheek. I saw a +little girl get up, without suggestion from her mother, and yield her +seat to an older person. I saw a lamed and dying bird just brought down +by a boy's sling-shot. (I saw that same boy in Sabbath-school last +Sunday!) I saw one woman in fifty thousand wearing the dress-reform. I +saw eleven girls out of nineteen with tightly-laced waists! I saw a hurt +kitten tenderly attended to by a soldier in blue, as I passed Fort +Sheridan Camp, and involuntarily I said to myself: "The bravest are the +tenderest; the loving are the daring." I saw a small boy beating his +mother with both fists because she carried him over the crowded and +dangerous way, and so, I thought, we treat the tender God who sometimes +lifts us, against our will, from evil ways. I saw a little coffin in an +undertaker's window, and thought, what child in this busy, bustling city +is doomed to fill that casket? What love-watched home shelters the head +that shall one day sleep upon that satin pillow? I saw a teacher in one +of our public schools and overheard a gross bit of slang as she passed +by. I see myself sending a child of mine to such a teacher if I knew it! +I saw a father wheeling his baby in a perambulator, with the sun blazing +straight into its blinking eyes. I saw one man out of every ten dodge +into a liquor saloon when he thought nobody was looking. I saw a homely +girl transformed into a beauty by a service of love accorded a stranger. +I saw a woman lean out of a Marshall Field 'bus to laugh at another who +wore shabby clothes and walked with a drooping head. I saw lots of +things besides, but how does the balance strike? + + * * * * * + +If we have been living on bad terms with a neighbor; if we have been +maintaining a chilling silence and a forbidding reserve with anybody +thrown often in our way, let us have done with such nonsense and live in +the world as God meant we should. + + * * * * * + +Out of the exuberance of a merry heart the housekeeper has loosened the +tacks in the parlor carpet, and the epoch of housecleaning begins. The +head of the family, pro tem. dweller in the land of desolation and +sojourner in the valley of wrath, hies him to town and wishes vainly for +the return of the days when he had no wife save in Spain and no family +outside of Elia's land of dreams. The calciminer comes and drops leprous +splashes all over the hallways and the bannisters. One paperhanger +taketh unto himself another, and the two scatter ringlets of snipped +paper all over the bed chambers, and cumber up the floors with sticky +paste-pots and brushes. The scrub woman breathes hard and devastates +the approaches of the front steps, while the hired girl skips playfully +here and there with damp cloths and bars of silvery soap. There is no +breakfast, no lunch, no dinner. We take what provender the gods deliver +to us in out of the way places, like stalled oxen or uncomplaining army +mules! We sleep by night in beds loosely put together and smelling of +soap. We awake betimes to the rattle of the scrubbing brush and the +sharp overthrow of stovepipes. We see the young person, like McStinger, +on the rampage from morn till night. We watch her hand to hand +encounters with the pictures that have been wont to hang upon the walls. +How she swoops upon them, bears them down, buffets them with dusters and +heaps them high like stumbling blocks in the path of the righteous! How +she sneers at our feeble, yet apt, suggestion, and pharisaically "thanks +goodness that she is good for something besides standing around and +giving unsolicited advice!" How she charges upon our cherished books and +whacks them together vindictively to loosen the dust and the bindings! +How she tosses the piano like a feather in her strength and probes its +sensitive heart-strings with a knitting needle in search of dirt and +pins! How she rebukes the Captain for idling away her time at +doll-playing while there is so much work to do, and drives that gallant +young field officer forth to do battle with the unresisting tomato can +in the backyard! What a pandemonium reigns over all the domain of +yesterday's content! Carlo, the dog, whose flippant youth is getting its +first severe taste of life's discipline, retires to an adjacent covert +and howls a fitful protest. The cat blinks sleepily in the sunshine and +dreams of a future unmarred by suds and a slippery foothold. When she +has occasion to walk across the kitchen floor she shakes her hind foot +gingerly, like a pilgrim delicately removing the dust of the enemy's +land from his members. The goblin brood of chickens chuckle with +amazement while the hired man beats the rugs like a snare drum and +charges upon the carpet that hangs like a vanquished foe across the +clothesline. But, like everything else, my dear, we take the trials of +spring housecleaning as the tourist takes the storms in the Alps or the +sailor meets the tempest on the sea. It has not come to stay; the +sun-lighted peaks of deliverance lie just ahead of us, and there is +fine sailing for another year when the squall is weathered. + + * * * * * + +I am tired of the endless dress parade of the great alike--aren't you? I +am tired of walking in file, as convicts walk together in +stripes--aren't you? I glory in cranks who have enough individuality to +refuse to be sewed up in the universal patchwork, like the calico blocks +we used to overcast with our poor little pricked fingers ever so long +ago when we were children--don't you? The onward sweep of progress in +this age has prepared the way for non-conformists, and, glory be to God! +they are swinging into line like beacon lights up the Maine coast. I +confess I have no heart-pining for emancipation that shall place me +alongside of Dr. Mary Walker or others of her ilk. I would like to +retain my womanliness, but I would like also to make a distinct mark +upon my times, be it ever so small and insignificant, as an individual +and an intelligence quite as distinct from the conventional masses as a +blackbird is when it leaves the flock and silhouettes itself in solitary +state against the deep blue sky from the top of a windy elm +tree--wouldn't you? + + * * * * * + +I want one good square fling on earth before I die. I want the chance to +know what it is to have enough money to be able to buy silk elastic +occasionally instead of cotton, and to have my teeth filled with gold +instead of concrete without feeling as though I had been robbing +hen-roosts for a month after. I want to go to the theater in a swell +carriage, and sit in the best box, with a pale pink ostrich boa draped +about my shoulders and the opera-glasses of the entire house leveled at +me for a stunning beauty. I want the sensation, for once, of knowing +that I am as handsome as I am bright, and as well-dressed as I am +virtuous. I want to have ice cream seven times a week and "Pommery Sec" +by the dozen in the cellar. I want to own a silk umbrella with a golden +crook, and wear a diamond ring on every finger. I want to buy candy +whenever I feel like it without having to register it in the family +account book under the head of "sundries" and "cough drops." I want to +see the time when I can call the average shop-girl out into the alley +and have it out with her with none to interfere. I want to settle with +her for the indignities I have long suffered with the pusillanimity of a +meek nature. I want to ask her between clips why she has always sold me +just what I didn't want, and sneered at me because I didn't buy more of +it. I want also to engage in hand to hand conflict with the female +gum-chewer. I want to convince her that I have endured all I will of her +facial contortions, and that the time has come for the extinction of her +type from the face of the blooming earth. I want the power to consign +every man who even mentions "nose bag" to a horse, to the guillotine, +and to imprison for life every brute who carries a snake-whip or uses a +check-rein. I want to solder the man or woman who objects to fresh air +inside a tin can and label them "sardines." I want to shoot on sight the +first human being who mentions the word "draught" in my hearing, and set +my dog on the fiend who blots the face of nature with his ear-muffs. I +want to live for a while in a country where there are neither +thunderstorms nor cyclones, but where I can sleep nights right through, +from March until November, without getting up to look for funnels or +shooing the whole family down cellar as a hen gathers her chickens from +the swooping hawk. I want to live in a community made up of people who +mind their own business. I want to be able now and then to receive a +letter from out of town (it is generally a bill!) without having the +village postmaster regard me as a burning fagot. I want to find a recipe +for making buckwheat cakes that do not taste like sand. I want to be +able to detect a hypocrite and a traitor on sight, without waiting for a +broken heart to evidence the fact that I am sold again. I want to rise +out of the range of small annoyances, and fly above the aim of inferior +people to disturb. I want to grow to be more like an eagle that wings +its way out of the habitat of gadflies, and less like a trembling hare +pursued by hounds. I want to take the lesson to my heart that the soul +that is constant to itself and aspires towards heaven shall never be +left a prey to care and unrest. I want to strike a dress reform which +shall make women look less like guys, and to encounter a rainy day in +which I shall not bite the dust, I and my umbrella, and my +flippety-floppety skirts, and my nineteen bundles. I want to cut down +the ballot privilege and make it impossible for an immigrant to vote +before he is a twenty-one-year resident of America. I want to convince +the woman suffragist that the greatest curse she can precipitate upon +her sex is the ballot. I want to teach my sisters that if they will pay +more attention to their homes and less to outside issues American +institutions will be more of a success. If the career of a politician +will spoil a man what would it do for a woman? On the principle that a +strawberry will decay sooner than a pumpkin, or that a violet is more +fragile than a sunflower, it would take about one election day to change +a woman into a harridan. I never knew but one out and out politician who +preserved intact the amenities of a gentleman, and he died early of +heart trouble. The thing killed him physically before it destroyed him +morally. If any politician reads this and wants to challenge the point I +want to meet him and either convince him or be slain. + + * * * * * + +If you are not glad to be alive such weather as this it is because you +are a clod and not a sentient being. Why, I never open my door these +radiant mornings and walk out into a world that is more golden than any +topaz and more radiant than any diamond that I do not hug myself for +very joy that I am alive! The grave has not got me yet! And, though I be +poor and quite alone and go hungry for the fleshpots that make my +neighbors great about the girth, I am happy as a queen and quite content +to cast my lot with clovers and birds and wayside weeds that feel the +vigor of summer weather in every fiber of prodigal life. To-night the +sky was like the flame of King Solomon's opal--did you see it? And just +as the glory was growing and deepening into an intensity of beauty that +made you want to shut your eyes and say Oh--h--h! as the little boys do +at the circus when the elephants go round, a thrush whipped out his +mellow flute and gave us a vesper song that made one think of heaven and +bands of singing angels! And yet we are discontented and feel ourselves +misused because we happen to be a little poverty-stricken now and then, +and it is hard work to find the plums in our pudding! + + * * * * * + +The other morning, before the town clock struck 7, I was riding over +country in a hack, driven by a courtly mannered colored boy and drawn by +a couple of discouraged mules. I was going over to Hampton and +Chesapeake City to see the sights. A robin was quarreling with a sparrow +for possession of a nest in a treetop hung with blossoms thick as +Monday's washing, and a small pickaninny stood in a doorway and held his +breath with terror as our driver slashed the air with his long whip. The +morning was superb. The sea lay like an opal with a dark setting of +hills shadowed like oxidized silver, the birds were out like blossoms of +the upper air with song in place of perfume, and the world seemed +altogether too jolly and bright a spot to link with thoughts of sorrow +and pain and death. We drove over to the soldiers' home, where from four +to five thousand veteran warriors have found shelter from the bombarding +storm of mundane care. Under the shadow of great willows in half-leaf +and still golden with April sap, in sunny corners of broad piazzas, on +benches by the slope of sluggish streams, or walking about the well-kept +paths, these old and battle-scarred warriors pass the time away. "What +a hero I might have been," says each one to himself, "if only----!" or, +"What a narrow miss I made of glory when that premature shell took off +my legs and stranded me here!" Peacefully they behold life's sun +decline, and peacefully in turn they take possession of the narrow beds +awaiting them in the near cemetery, where so many soldiers are sleeping +the unheeded years away. Without motive or purpose their life is +scarcely more eventless than their death shall finally be. Some way the +grounds where these patient old graybeards sit day after day with +nothing to do but muse upon the past remind me of the human heart with +its pensioned hopes, its stranded intentions and its crippled endeavors! +What heroisms, what subtle intents for good, what pretentious desires +were frustrated and made worthless by the destiny which changed life's +battlefield into a "soldiers' home" and the scene of action for the +shaded seat under the willows of a long regret! + + * * * * * + +I wonder if Eve, looking over the battlements of heaven now and then, +and seeing how tired we get down here and how discouraged and +broken-hearted we often are, is ever sorry for the heritage she left us, +all for the sake of an apple! Does she not curse the memory of the earth +fruit whose flavor has so embittered humanity! Think of it, oh +far-removed and perverse ancestress, if it were not for you we might +have lived in a world where dinners walked into the pot and boiled +themselves over fires that called for no replenishing; where rent +stockings lifted themselves on viewless hands and were deftly darned by +sunshine needles in the air; where last year's garments glided into this +year's styles without the snip of scissors or the whirr of sewing +machine wheels; where brooms swept and dust-cloths dusted unassisted by +human hands; where windows cleaned themselves as fogs lift from the +lake, and washing and ironing were spontaneous, like the growth of +flowers. I for one am heartily tired of having to suffer for Eve's +heartless stupidity. Hard work has too much of the blight of the primal +curse about it to suit me, and no matter what philosophy we call to our +aid the fact remains that labor of a certain sort is the heritage of +sin, and sin was, is and ever shall be accursed. But there is something +a great deal worse than hard work, and that is laziness. The man who +toils until the great muscles of his arm stand out like cords and his +broad shoulders are bent like the branches of a pine under the force of +a strong wind from the north is a king among his kind compared to the +shiftless do-nothings of life, between whose feet are spun the cobwebs +of sloth and within whose lily-white fingers nothing more burdensome +than a cigar finds its way. Give me a blacksmith any day rather than a +dude. Work is hard and sometimes thankless, but, like tough venison +served with jelly sauce, it is spiced with self-respect and smacks of +honest independence. + + * * * * * + +THE STORY OF A ROSE. + + A white rose grew in a garden place, + On a slender stem, with a royal grace; + The nursling of June and her gentle showers, + Fairest and sweetest of all her flowers. + + The south wind was out one day for a sail, + In a cloudy boat, so fleecy and frail, + And he chanced to spy, where musing she stood, + My dear little rose in her snowy hood. + + Oh, softly he whispered and tenderly sighed, + "Starry Eyes, Starry Eyes, I wait for my bride." + But she laughed in his face, and told him to go; + She didn't see why he bothered her so. + + A dewdrop fell in the starry hush, + Lured from heaven by her dreamy blush; + But the tender kiss of his balmy lip + She gave to a bee, next morning, to sip. + + A bobolink left the bloom of a tree + To tell her tale of whimsical glee; + The moon dropped a pearl to wear in her breast; + Dawn wove her a cloak of silvery mist. + + But her hard little heart was colder than ice, + She sent every suitor away in a trice; + Till the wind drew nigh, with a terrible roar, + And said: "Pretty Rose, your playtime is o'er." + + He shook her with might, and he drenched her with rain, + Till the poor little rose swooned away with her pain; + And her shiny crown, with its moonbeam glow, + He tossed far and wide, like the feathery snow. + + And all that is left of that splendid bloom, + The diadem gay, and the spicy perfume, + Is a handful of dust, that once was a rose-- + The sport of the wind, as it fitfully blows. + + * * * * * + +Once upon a time there lived a woman. She was not very young, nor was +she very old. She was neither handsome, homely, a genius, nor a fool. +She was just a commonplace, good-intentioned, fair type of the average +woman. This woman prided herself but little upon the various +accomplishments that contribute to the modern woman's popularity. She +could not dance a step, save in front of a northeast gale, or in a game +of romps with her little folks. She could not decorate a tea cup to save +her life, nor hand-paint a clam shell, nor embellish a canvas with +fleshy cupids and no less corpulent rosebuds. She could sing a few +insignificant ballads, such as "Annie Laurie," "Twilight Dews," and +"Nearer, My God, to Thee." These with a number like them, she was always +ready to furnish in a manner to bring down the house, but I doubt if she +would have been a success either in a comic opera or a church choir. She +could make bread and pieplant pie after a fashion that would make a man +wish that he had been born earlier to enjoy more of them. She could tidy +up a room quicker than a cat could wink its eyes, and in the matter of +housecleaning she was a regular four-in-hand coach and a tiger. If you +had asked her to lead a class in ethical culture or make a speech on +suffrage or score a point for reform, this woman would have ignobly +turned her back and run away, and yet perhaps she wielded an influence +in the world quite as strong as many a woman whose name is recorded on +the roll call of noisy fame. But there was one thing this woman abhorred +with all the might and strength of her soul, and that was slang. She had +been brought up to consider the use of anything more pronounced than the +"yea" and "nay" of the Quaker vernacular an outrage to refinement, and +although drifting far from her childhood's faith in many ways still +preserved an innate shrinking from the exuberance of vain speech. She +allowed no little boys to slide the cellar door with her own precious +yellow-heads who could be positively convicted of using naughty +language. Her husband left his worldly ways in town and only carried +home to this nice little woman the aroma of propriety and coriander +seeds. But who ever yet was assured of a firm foothold upon the pinnacle +of self-righteousness that the old boy did not whip out an arrow and +bring them low? It becomes my painful duty to chronicle the temptation +and downfall of the upright woman. + +It was a tempestuous day of early autumn. It not only rained, it poured! +It not only blew, but it tore, howled, twisted, cavorted! The woman had +to go to town. At the eleventh hour the family umbrella was kidnaped by +a demon. (When the prince of evil has nothing else to do he sends out +his imps to hide umbrellas, handkerchiefs, thimbles, scissors, and other +domestic essentials.) The woman had no time to track the umbrella to its +lair, so she pinned a newspaper over her bonnet and leaped for the +train. Arrived in town she bought a 50 cent umbrella from a man who was +peddling them on the street corner, and from that moment we date her +downfall. The umbrella proved to be fashioned of gum arabic and cobweb. +It leaked, it exuded, it faded away like a frost-flake in her hands, so +that ere half an hour had passed she gave it to a newsboy, and laughed +to see him kick it into an alley. Then she took off her plumed hat and +pinned it underneath her cloak, wrapped a lace scarf about her head and +proceeded on her way. Remarking the pleased expression on the faces of +all she met, she wondered at it, with an Indian outbreak so imminent. +Small boys danced by her in the rain to the sound of their own bright +laughter; strong men seemed overcome as she drew near, and even the +stern policemen at the street crossings turned aside to hide a 9x14 +smile. The woman lunched at a popular restaurant in the midst of a +mysterious carnival of glee, and finally took the train for home and, +leaving the city limits, skirted the northern shores of the lake to the +sound of muffled mirth. Reaching home and looking into the mirror she +was confronted by a countenance that bore all the seeming "of a demon +that is dreaming." The sea-green warp of cotton in the gum-arabic +umbrella had melted and run in long lines over brow and nose and chin. +For one moment the woman gazed at her frescoed charm, and as to what +follows we will drop the curtain. Suffice it to say, she fell, and the +shocked echoes of that little home put cotton in their ears and fainted +into lonely space at being called upon to repeat the strong language +that rent the air. Who shall blame the woman if she said "darn" with an +emphasis that might have made a pirate wan with envy? Who shall cast the +first stone at her until the day dawns that releases my sex from the +thralldom of its bondage to those demons who walk abroad and plot her +downfall in rainy weather? + + * * * * * + +Wear this bead upon your heart, girls; have nothing whatever to do with +so-called "fascinating" or "magnetic" men. Put no faith in mystery when +it comes to a question of the man you think you love. Rapt glances and +tender sighs that lead to nothing in the way of an honest declaration +are as despoiling to your womanhood as the breath of a furnace is to a +flower. There is no mystery in genuine love, and there is no +counterfeiting it, either. It is open-faced, ready-tongued and +clear-eyed. It is a virtue for heroes, not a platitude in the mouth of +fools. It is undefiled and set apart, like the snow on high hills. Allow +no man to make you a party to anything clandestine. A man who is afraid +to meet you at your own home, and appoints a tryst in the park, or a +down-town restaurant, is as much of a menace to your happiness as a +pestilence would be to your health. Remember, in all your experience +with so-called love, that the fewer adventures a young woman has, the +fewer flirtations and the fewer "affairs," the more glad she will be, by +and by, when she is a good man's wife and a brave boy's or sweet girl's +mother. A gown oft handled, you know, is seldom white, and each romance +you weave with idle fellows who roll their eyes and talk love, but never +show you the respect to offer you their hand in honest marriage--these +fascinating "Rochesters" and wicked "St. Elmos," already married, or +steeped to the lips in evil-doing--deprive you of your whiteness and +your bloom. + + * * * * * + +Do you ever get discouraged and feel like saying: "Oh, it's no use! I +want to amount to something! I have it in me to do great and grand +things, but the circumstances of poverty are against me. I can be +nothing but a drudge and the sooner I get over dreaming of anything +higher, the better!" Of course you have just such times of thinking and +talking, but did you ever comfort yourself with the thought that though +all these things you can not be, you are, really, in the sight of God? +A diamond is no less a diamond because it has been mislaid, and passed +off through ignorance as common glass. A tulip seed is no less the +sheath of a flower because through mistake somebody has labeled it as +common timothy. A silk fabric is no less the product of the +mulberry-feeding worm because somebody has wrapped it in a brown paper +parcel and valued it as domestic jeans. What you are, you are, and there +is no power on earth can gainsay it. Other folks may ignore it in you; +half the world, nay all the world, may fail to see it, but if nobility, +and strength, and sweetness are there you are worth just that much to +God! Blessed thought, isn't it, you poor, overworked clerk, with your +brain always in a muddle with the dry details of a business you hate! +Blessed thought, isn't it, you dear, tired woman with more burdens to +carry than a maple tree has leaves! No matter how impossible it may be +for you to live out what is in you, that something true and grand and +beautiful is deathless and shall have its chance of development by and +by. + +I shall never again meet the pretty maid with the larkspur eyes and the +corn silk hair who traveled with us a part of the way, but wherever she +goes, joy go with her! She was so modest and unspoiled and sweet, I +declare the sight of such a girl in this day of dancers and +high-steppers is like the sound of "Annie Laurie" between the carousals +of a break-down jig, or the taste of a wild strawberry after pepper tea. +God bless the old-fashioned girl with her helpful ways, her arch face +and her blithe and hearty laugh. May her type never vanish from the face +of the earth, and may the mold after which her soul was fashioned never +get mislaid and lost in the heavenly work-shop. + + * * * * * + +I think I shall be a little sorry when the commanding officer sends out +the word to break camp and leave this dear old earth forever. For I love +this world. I never walk out in the morning when all its radiant colors +are newly washed with dew, or at splendid noon, when, like an untired +racer the sun has flashed around his mid-day course, or at evening, when +a fringe of shadow, like the lash of a weary eye, droops over mountain +and valley and sea, or in the majestic pomp of night when stars swarm +together like bees and the moon clears its way through the golden fields +as a sickle through the ripened wheat, that I do not hug myself for very +joy that I am yet alive. The cruel grave has not got me! Those jaws of +darkness have not swallowed me up from the sweet light of mortal day! +What matter if I am poor and unsheltered and costumeless? Thank God, I +am yet alive! People who tire of this world before they are seventy and +pretend that they are ready to leave it are either crazy or stuck full +of bodily ailments as a cushion is of pins. The happy, the warm-blooded, +the sunny-natured and the loving cling to life as petals cling to the +calyx of a budding rose. By and by when the rose is over-ripe, or when +the frosts come and the November winds are trumpeting through all the +leafless spaces of the woods, will be the time to die. It is no time +now, while there is a dark space left on earth that love can brighten, +while there is a human lot to be alleviated by a smile, or a burden to +be lifted with a sympathizing tear. It will be time to die when you are +too old or too sick to be a comfort in the world, but if God has given +you a warm heart and a ready hand, look about you and be glad He lets +you live. Yesterday I was passing through the street and I saw a woman +stoop down and pick up a faded lilac from the middle of a crossing and +transfer it to a corner where it would not be trampled under foot. The +world wants such people alive in it, not buried under its green sods. +The heart that is not unmindful of a crushed flower will be a royal hand +in the ministrations of life. May the day tarry long on its way that +lays in the grave such helpful, tender hands that seek to do good. + + * * * * * + +The good book says, "Love thy neighbor as thyself," but it don't say, +Tell thy neighbor all thy secrets. We can love one another without +establishing an unsafe intimacy. In an age when so little remains set +apart and sacred, keep the treasury of your inmost heart intact. It is a +hard thing to believe that in every present friend is hidden a possible +future enemy, but it is safer to shape the conduct of our life upon that +belief than to live to see our inmost thoughts and the sanctities of +one's heart of hearts hawked about like green peas in a street vender's +basket by a spiteful and treacherous enemy. The safest course to pursue +in a world so full of unfaith and desertions is to be friendly and sweet +and helpful to all, but communicative and confiding to none. + + * * * * * + +Once when I was a child, with two long yellow braids down my back, and a +very great capacity for happiness in my heart, I lived in a remote +country with an aunt who didn't believe in any one having too good a +time here on earth. She thought they would appreciate the new Jerusalem +all the more, perhaps, for having a dismal experience here (there are +lots like her, too, in the world to-day). Well, once afterward when I +came home from school (and, ah! as I write how I can see the old road +where I walked, winding its way under silver birches by the side of a +trout-brook), somebody came out of the house and beckoned wildly, madly +for me to hurry up. It was my little cousin, and she looked as though +she had just skipped out of heaven! Her cheeks were all aglow and her +eyes were shining like stars. "Oh, come! Come quick!" she shouted. +"There's something in the parlor." I made haste to enter, and there +before me sat a doll, the biggest and most splendid it had ever entered +my young heart to imagine. It was dressed in pink tarletan, and had a +pair of jeweled earrings in its exceedingly life-like ears. At once I +became embarrassed. Self-consciousness sprang into full being. I was +painfully aware that my own dress and general appearance suffered by +contrast with the doll. Nor have I ever since experienced a keener +sensation of embarrassment than overcame me as I faced that gaudy image +in wax. My aunt's sarcastic remark, "No wonder that child's mother can't +lay up a cent for a rainy day when she throws away her dollars on a doll +like that!" gave me the sad impression that my darling mother was a +spendthrift, something after the pattern of the prodigal son. From the +first moment the doll was a source of disappointment and sorrow to me. I +never could play with it with any comfort because I was afraid of +soiling its splendid clothes, losing its earrings, or feeling myself and +my calico and homespun abashed by its superior attire. That doll did me +no good, and just what it did for me its costly and extravagantly +dressed sisterhood is doing for hundreds of little girls to-day. Too +fine to be played with, rigged out in all its paraphernalia of empty +headed flesh and blood women, with powder, puff and bustles, real +jewelry and costly lingerie, the modern doll is a demoralizer, a +torment. + + * * * * * + +Protracted broiling is, I think, on the whole, more wearing to the +sensibilities than sudden conflagration. A lightning stroke is soon +over, but who shall deliver us from the torments of dog-days? A bull of +Bashan encountered in a ten-acre lot may be outrun, but who shall escape +from a cloud of mosquitoes on a windless night? Give me any day a life +to live with a tempestuous, gusty sort of person, and I can endure it, +but deliver me from existence with one who bottles up his thunder and +looks like a storm that never breaks. A hearty shower, beating down the +flowers to call them up again in fresher beauty, brightening the hills +and swelling the brooks, treading with musical footfall the dusty +streets, and lashing the violet-tinted lake into a foam-flecked sea, +veining the hot air with sudden fire, and calling out a thousand echoes +to answer the thunder's call, is it not far better than lowering skies +that look rain and won't yield it, dragging, sultry days of neither +sunshine nor storm? + + * * * * * + + +LINES TO MY LOVE. + + When the salt has left the ocean, + And the moon forgets the sea, + When with gay and festive motion + Ox shall waltz with bee, + + When we wash our face in cinders, + And bake our meat on ice, + When tender mercy hinders + The cat from eating the mice, + + When gray heads grace young shoulders + And icicles form in June, + When Quakers all turn soldiers, + And bull frogs sing in tune, + + Then, and not till then, my treasure, + My darling, tender and true, + My heart shall claim the leisure + To think no more of you. + + * * * * * + +The other morning, lured by the splendor of a golden day, I started to +walk to town, a distance of twenty-four miles. But after the tenth mile +the truth was so forcibly and increasingly borne in upon me that "all +flesh is grass," and that the strength of a man (or woman either) "lieth +not in his heels," that I postponed the finish until another day. But +who shall take from me the glory of the start? Shall anybody forget that +a sunrise was fair and full of promise because the noon was clouded and +the evening declined into rain? Although my twenty-five-mile walk ended +at the tenth in a rocking-chair, yet those ten miles were beautiful and +full of glory. + +"It will certainly kill you!" wailed the martyr as I bade her good-bye. +"Oh, will it kill her?" echoed the poor little Captain, and lifted up +her voice in lamentation as I vanished from her sight and struck for the +bluff road. The morning was so beautiful that I could imagine the world +nothing but a big bunch of tulips standing within a crystal vase in the +sun. The maples glistened like gold, and were flecked with ruby drops +that burned and glowed like spilled wine. The oaks were russet brown and +dusky purple, cleft here and there with vivid green, like glimpses of a +windy sea through shadowed hills. The leaves that had fallen to the +earth were musical underneath the foot, and gave forth a faint fragrance +that made the air as sweet as any bakeshop. The odor of fallen leaves +and wood shrubs sinking into decay is not like any other fragrance so +much as the scent of well-baked bread, browned and finished in summer's +ruddy heat. + +The lake--but what can I say to fitly describe that translucent +sapphire, over which a mist hung like a gossamer web above a blue-bell, +or the haze of slumber upon a drowsy eye? As I stood upon the bluff, +before the road struck landward through the woods, I could but extend my +arm to the glorious expanse of waters and bless the Lord with all my +soul for so lovely a place to tarry in between times. If this world is +only a stopping-place, a country through which we march to heaven, as +Sherman marched overland to the sea, then thank God for so glorious a +prelude to eternity; and what shall the after harmonies be when the +broken sounds of idly-touched flutes and harps are so divine? + +After leaving Ravinia I proceeded to get lost in the woods. A very +small boy and a very large dog were standing by a fence. "Does that dog +bite?" I asked. "Yes'm," promptly replied the sweet and candid child. So +I climbed a fence and struck for the timber. I soon found that all +knowledge of the points of the compass had failed me. "If I am going +east," I mused, "I shall soon strike the lake; if west, the track; south +will eventually bring me to the Chicago River; but a northerly direction +will restore me to the sleuth-hound. I will say my prayers and endeavor +to keep to the south." The way grew denser. My hat gave me some trouble, +as it insisted upon hanging itself to every tree in the wilderness. The +twigs twitched the hair-pins from my hair and poked themselves into my +eyes. A few corpulent bugs toyed with my ankles and a large caterpillar +passed the blockade of my collar-button and basked in the warmth of my +neck. I nearly stepped on a snake and was confronted by a toad that +froze me with a glance of its basilisk eye. So I changed my course and +suddenly entered a little woodland graveyard--a handful of neglected +mounds of earth and silence. No tombstones marked the graves. A +rudely-constructed cross of wood, gray with lichens, alone told of +consecrated ground. There, away off from the road in the silence of the +woods, a few tired hearts were taking their rest. Silently I stood a +moment, then stole away and left the place to its hush of lonely peace. +What right had I, with my frets and feathers, my twig-punctured +eye-balls and my toad-perturbed nerves, to bring an unquiet presence +within this abode of silence and of rest? I sat down on a fence-rail a +moment while, like Miss Riderhood, I deftly twisted up my back hair and +mused briefly. When the time comes, oh, intensely alive and happy Amber, +for your feet to halt in the march, ask to be buried in the woods, where +your grave will be forgotten and the constant years with falling leaves +and driving snows may have a good chance to obliterate the earthly +record of your misspent years. + + "Sooner or later the shadows shall creep + Over my rest in the woods so deep; + Sooner or later--" + +But enough of this, my dear. I did not intend to incorporate a whole +cemetery, an obituary discourse, and "lines to the departed" in my +"Glints." After leaving the little graveyard I allowed my instincts to +carry me in a new direction, and soon a rustling among the dead leaves, +and the sound of hushed breathing, convinced me that I was approaching a +living presence. I felt for my revolver. It was there, but unloaded. (I +would sooner walk arm in arm with death than carry loaded firearms.) I +advanced bravely and became speedily aware of a score or so of large and +startled eyes, all fixed upon me. A half-score of woolly heads were +lifted, and a flock of sheep stood ready to take instant flight if I +showed sign of battle. "My dear young friends," said I, "it is a relief +to meet you, and I give you good morrow. I fully expected to encounter a +band of cutthroat tramps who should toss pennies for my heart's blood. +The blessings of a rescued woman rest upon your crinkly coats, my +beauties." A half-hour's walk through the woods brought me to a clearing +where a flock of bluebirds were holding council together among the +falling leaves. They seemed inclined to start southward, but tarried for +one last frolic. How beautiful they were as they flitted in and out +among the golden underbrush no eye but mine shall ever know. Bluebirds +have always been associated with thoughts of spring and apple-blossoms +heretofore. I could hardly believe my senses to find them here amid the +late and falling leaves. For a while I loitered in their midst and +wished for a fairy to change me into one of their winged company, that I +might forget care and find no need of revolvers; but time, as sternly +announced by my exquisite Waterbury, admitted of no delay, so I hied me +onward. At this point in my walk I approached a broken gate and a +stretch of shockingly muddy road. The vanity of confidence in any +strength that emanates alone from the "heels of a man" was by this time +beginning to make itself felt. I longed to sit down in the miry way and +go to sleep. A child could have played with me despite my revolver, and +a day-old lamb have gained the victory in a personal encounter. At this +moment, while I lingered, picking my way daintily from tuft to tuft of +the swamp, I was confronted by a tall, gaunt woman. Of course you don't +believe this; it reads too much like a dime novel. You think I am +painting my picture in lurid tints for public exhibition, but in spite +of your incredulity I repeat that I was confronted by a tall, gaunt +woman, who appeared as suddenly as though invoked by an evil spell from +the mud. The woman was shabbily dressed and wore an old-fashioned scoop +bonnet. She had a bundle on her arm, and was dragging by the hair of the +head, as it were, an indescribable umbrella. My voice sank out of sight, +like a stone in the sea, and my feet grew too heavy to lift. I stared in +silence. "Is your name Maria Hopkins?" asked the woman. + +"Indeed it is," I replied, prepared to get down on my knees and swear to +the truth of what I said, if need be. "I thought so," said my companion; +"let us pray." But I didn't stop for prayers. Convinced that my time had +come, and that I was in the presence of a lunatic, I fell over the fence +and ran. When I was out of breath I looked over my shoulder, but the +woman was nowhere in sight. To pursue my walk seemed unnecessary, +especially as I was nearing the house of a friend, so summoning what +strength was left me I toddled onward, completing my tenth mile in five +hours from the starting. After my sympathizing friend had emptied her +camphor bottle upon me I asked her if she knew a party of the name of +Hopkins anywhere in town, and if there was any resemblance between such +a person and myself. I saw she thought I was delirious, and no +explanation has ever dispelled that belief. Some day I shall complete +the walk and write up the finish. + + * * * * * + +Said some one to me the other day: "Amber, you have lots of good friends +among the girls." "Good," said I; "then I am all right." Anybody who +gains the friendly approval of the right sort of girls has a passport +right through to glory! I mean it. There is nothing on earth I love +better than a good, sweet girl. I would rather watch a crowd of them any +day than all the pictures Fra Angelica ever painted of saints in +paradise. But there are girls and girls. There is as much difference +between them as there is between griddle cakes made with yeast and +griddle cakes in which the careless cook forgot to put the leaven. Shall +I tell you the kind of girl I especially adore? Well, first of all, let +us take the working girl. She is not a "lady" in the acceptance of the +term by this latter day's hybrid democracy. She is just a blithe, +cheery, sweet-tempered young woman. She may have a father rich enough to +support her at home, but for all that she is a working girl. She is +never idle. She is studying or sewing or helping about the home part of +the day. She is romping or playing or swinging out of doors the other +part. She is never frowsy nor untidy nor lazy. She is never rude nor +slangy nor bold. And yet she is always full of fun and ready for frolic. +She does not depend upon a servant to do what she can do for herself. +She is considerate to all who serve her. She is reverent to the old and +thoughtful of the feeble. She never criticises when criticism can wound, +and she is ready with a helpful, loving word for every one. Sometimes +she has no father, or her parents are too poor to support her. Then she +goes out and earns her living by whatever her hands find to do. She +clerks in a store, or she counts out change at a cashier's desk, or she +teaches school, or she clicks a typewriter, or rather a telegrapher's +key, but always and everywhere she is modest and willing and sweet, +provided she doesn't get that meddlesome little "bee" of "lady"-hood in +her bonnet. If she tries to be a lady at the expense of all that is +honest and frank in her nature, she is like a black baby crying for a +black kitten in the dark--you can't tell what she is exactly, but you +know she is mighty disagreeable. She has too much dignity to be imposed +upon, or put to open affront, but she has humility also, and purity that +differs from prudishness as a dove in the air differs from a stuffed +bird in a showcase. She is quick to apologize when she knows she is in +the wrong, yet no young queen ever carried a higher head than she can +upon justifiable occasions. She is not always imagining herself looked +down upon because she is poor. She knows full well that out of her own +heart and mouth proceed the only witnesses that can absolve or condemn +her. If she eats peanuts in public places, and talks loud, and flirts +with strange boys, and chews gum or displays a toothpick she is common, +even though she wore a four-foot placard emblazoned with the misnomer, +"lady." If she is quick to be courteous, unselfish, gentle and retiring +in speech and manner in public places, she is true gold, even though her +dress be faded and her bonnet be old. You cannot mistake any girl any +more than you can mistake the sunshine that follows the rain or the +lark that springs from the hawthorn hedge. All things that are blooming +and sweet attend her! The earth is better for her passing through it and +heaven will be fairer for her habitation therein. God bless her! + + * * * * * + +Some day I am going gunning. In a reform dress suit, with the right to +vote in my pocket, and a shotgun delicately poised upon my enfranchised +shoulder, I shall start forth on my "safety" and proceed to lay low for +a few victims. The first to perforate with my murderous bullet shall be +the fiend in human guise who toys with my "copy" from time to time and +makes me spell whether without an "h," or so distorts the sense of what +I write that my best friends wouldn't know me from Martin Tupper. I +shall show no mercy to him. I shall continue to shoot until he is +perforated like a yard of mosquito netting, and I shall leave a little +note pinned to the lapel of his coat saying that I have more bullets +left for his "successor in trust." If there is one thing that has +survived the buffetings of a harsh and somewhat disconcerting bout with +fate it is the knowledge that I know how to spell. But even of this the +fiend in question would deprive me. He has brought his fate upon himself +and will excuse me if I remark that I thirst for his gore. + + * * * * * + +Dominated by that superfluous energy which has, so far, rendered my +earthly career cyclonic, I called together a confiding band during the +height of the recent snow carnival for the purpose of a sleigh ride. The +opening up of that sleigh ride was propitious. The caravan moved due +north, bound for a destination that shall be nameless. We tried to look +upon the attention we attracted as a public ovation, but it was far more +suggestive of the way they used to accompany outlaws beyond the limits +of a mining town, or of the children of Israel chased by Pharaoh's +mocking hosts. It was cold. Our noses, in the light of a wan old moon, +looked like doorknobs. Our ears cracked to the lightest touch, like harp +strings in the wind. Patient, long-suffering "doctor!" Shall I ever +forget how, turning to him when the carnival of sport was at its height, +I murmured: "Are you enjoying yourself, dear?" And he replied, with +ghastly sarcasm: "Tumultuously, my love!" So might an arctic frigate, +ice-bound, have hailed a polar bear. Suddenly, when all seemed +progressing serenely, we came to a standstill, something like what might +be expected from a runaway horse checked by the newly patented electric +button. What was the matter? Bare ground. Now, under ordinary +circumstances, the term "bare ground" is not synonymous of disaster. But +if ever in the dispensation of providence it falls to your lot to be one +of a band of sleigh-riding imbeciles then shall those two words be to +you what snags in the channel are to seaward-hastening keels. The driver +shouted and became distinctly profane. "Would you please get out and +walk over this bad place?" said he. With such speed as our petrified +members would allow we all got out, and the women sat on a wayside +fence, while the men "heaved to" and dragged the chariot over about a +mile and a quarter of bare ground. + +"Shall we make for the nearest line of street cars?" asked one of the +party, whose well-known position as Sunday-school superintendent kept +him in a state of abnormal calm. "What will become of the sleigh and the +poor, tired horses?" asked that one of the party directly responsible +for this mad jubilee. + +"Oh, you women can lead the horses while we men carry the old band wagon +on our shoulders back to shelter." "It is no time for jokes," cried one, +"I am going home," and we all followed suit, to vow later, in the +shelter of our happy homes, that our future attempts at sleigh riding +should be confined to wheels and the time of roses. + + * * * * * + +I think I would rather lose this serviceable old right hand of mine than +have it write a word that could be construed into defense or +encouragement of loud and blatant women. The over-dressed and slangy +sisterhood who parade in public places and storm the land these latter +days will meet with nothing from Amber and her pen but wholesale +denunciation while the lamp of an insignificant life holds out to burn. +I hate them as a Quaker hates gunpowder, and I am more than half +inclined to believe that the total extermination of the stock would be +one of the supremest blessings that could be vouchsafed to man. The +tendencies toward boldness and effrontery which characterize the present +day, the unabashed speech and action and the manifest lack of +old-fashioned courtesy and the reserve that springs from gentle breeding +are evils that grow rather than diminish. A gentlewoman, a pure, correct +and lovely gentlewoman, occupies a loftier place than any throne, and +wields an influence more potent than the swing of a jeweled scepter. Yet +it is never by vulgar assumption that she enters into her kingdom. The +parrot is not a bird we prize, although its plumage is resplendent with +green and purple and gold. In the proud breast of the homely and +unpretentious thrush is hidden the heavenly song. Wherever gentle +forbearance is found, wherever patience and tenderness and love idealize +and sweeten life, there you will find woman as heaven meant she should +be--the crowned queen of hearth and home. And in saying all this I do +not wish to be understood as advancing the idea that a woman has no +wider scope than home, or that she must be all sugar, without any spice. +Next to the loud and bold-mannered woman as a specimen to be detested I +would put the meek Griselda, with less spirit than a boneless herring +and less sparkle than tepid tea. There is no charm left to femininity +when you add idiocy to a pretty woman's make-up. A fool may be very +docile, but a fool is not good company. Of the two, perhaps, if a man +were forced to choose a comrade to share a life that was to be cast on a +South Sea island, he would do better to take the "loud" type. Either +would drive him to the "cups," if such relief were to be found upon an +island of the sea. But who would not rather go to wreck in a storm than +founder in becalmed waters? Or, to bring it nearer home, who would not +rather be drowned away out in the middle of Lake Michigan in a howling +gale than in a gentle 7x9 cistern? If circumstances call a woman out +into the thickest of the old bread-and-butter fight that has been waging +ever since Eve ran afoul of the apple, it is to her credit if she rolls +up her sleeves and goes into the thickest of the scrimmage and holds her +own with the pluckiest of them all. It is no disgrace to her to be +quick to seize an opportunity and shrewd to find a point of vantage. Let +her rank with the men, and make ever so fine a name for herself in +whatever business vocation she chooses to make her own, it will not +detract one whit from her womanliness, provided she keep herself +unsullied of soul and tender of heart. The moment she lends herself to +practices that lead men to forget to touch their hats when she passes by +she becomes unsexed, and a sexless woman is worse than a pestilence, a +cyclone and a strike condensed into one vast calamity. No sensible man +will think any less of a woman if she has spirit enough to get downright +mad at injustice, insult or iniquity. I don't know, though, why we women +should always get together and compare notes as to what course of +conduct will best please the men. They don't lie awake nights to conform +their behavior to ways and manners that shall please us; but, even +putting our argument on the basis of what shall win approval from men, I +repeat that I don't believe that there are many of them who would object +to a woman knowing how to use a pistol or to her carrying one in case of +an unprotected walk, or a night spent in an unguarded home. There would +be fewer tales to tell of assaults and woful disappearances of young +women if all our girls were versed in the ethics of the revolver. Ah, my +dear, you can never get a more adorable portrait of a woman to hang upon +the walls of glorified fancy than the pen-portrait drawn by the master +hand of Robert Browning when he wrote of beautiful Evelyn Hope: "God +made her of spirit, fire and dew." There is the swiftest and most +splendid stroke of the artist's brush ever given to literature. And yet +half the world would substitute "putty" for "spirit," "feathers" for +"fire" and "dough" for "dew." + + * * * * * + +The only way to rid the world of bubble-marriages--marriages that turn +out emptiness with one drop of water as the residuum, and that drop a +tear--is to educate our girls and boys to something higher than playing +with pipes and soapy water. Give them something more earnest to do, and +see that they do it. Compel men and women to choose their life +companions with at least a tithe of the solemnity they bring to the +selection of a carriage horse or a ribbon. Legislate laws against early +marriages. "I can't tolerate children," said a little idiot to me the +other day, "but I adore dogs!" And yet that girl had an engagement ring +on her finger. There should be a special seclusion for such girls until +they develop some instinct of womanliness, and they should no more be +allowed to marry than a Choctaw chief should be allowed to take charge +of a kindergarten. You nor I can hope to turn a bubble into substance +after it is once blown. + + * * * * * + +Last week I moved. At least I tried to, but I haven't fully accomplished +the feat yet. If it costs one woman a desk and an umbrella, the pangs of +a seven-horse torment to move one block, what must it cost a family of +fourteen to move seven wagonloads a mile? There is a problem that will +keep you awake nights. When they said to me: "Oh, it will be nothing for +you to move!" When they pointed with derision at my few belongings I +said to myself: "All right; perhaps it will be easier than my fears." So +I packed up my penknife, my mucilage pot, my paper cutter, my eleven +dozen pencils and my assortment of stub pens, my violet ink, my clock, +pictures, calendars, Japanese fans, scraps of poetry, magazines, books, +lemons, buttercups, blotting pads, and sundry trifles it were waste of +time to enumerate, and sallied forth to find a son of wrath to transport +them to new quarters. "How much will you charge to move two articles of +furniture one block?" I asked a guileless Scandinavian teamster. "Three +dollars," replied he with touching promptitude. I passed him by, and +after two days' search found a down-trodden African who said he would +undertake the job for $1.50. I wish you could have seen the look in the +darky's face when he tried to lift the desk. "Gor-a-mighty, Missus, +what's in that ar desk?" cried he. I had to unpack every blessed article +but the penknife and a postage stamp before he would move the thing, and +all the long day I trotted back and forth with market baskets full of +the original contents of that desk. When at last I had them moved I +couldn't find anything. I wanted my pencils, but haven't seen 'em yet. +The paperweight had smashed the ink bottle, and the mucilage had formed +a glassy pool in which my buttercups were anchored like islands. The +frizzes and hairpins and other little what-nots that I kept in the right +hand drawer had dabbled themselves in the ink and mucilage and fused +themselves into one indistinguishable horror. I haven't been able to +find one thing that I wanted since I moved but a toothpick, and that +don't look exactly natural. The overshoes, and gossamer, and jersey +waists, soap and chamois skins that I secreted in the left hand drawer +haven't been seen since they left in the market basket under convoy of +the Ethiopian. He has probably opened a costumer's shop on Halsted +street with them. When I move again I shall carry my pencils behind my +ear and my penknife between my teeth. I'll never be found a second time +stringing my beads with a toothpick and relying for time upon a clock +with the hour hand missing. When next I move may it be straight through +to glory, where the lease is long and the landlord never sublets. + + * * * * * + +Let anybody in this world really undertake to thoroughly do his duty; to +do it in the face of opposition, prejudice and the meddling +interference of fools, and he becomes a target set upon a hill for the +convenient aim of popular scorn. It is harder for a man to be true to a +principle than it is to face a gun. If an employe in the daily discharge +of duty aims to be prompt, faithful and fearless he is boycotted by his +associates in almost as conspicuous a way as was poor little David +Copperfield with the pasteboard motto on his back. We all of us have +known in early life the "pet scholar" of the school, the dear little +virtuous prig who never did anything out of the way, who never played a +prank or accomplished anything but a pattern pose. Small wonder that we +hated him! Good behavior, which has for its aim merely the disconcerting +of others and the aggrandizement of one's self, is snobbery and should +be loathed as such. But there is a courage of over-conviction which +leads a man to hold himself honest among thieves, pure among libertines +and faithful among time-servers and strikers. It was such a spirit as +this that made dear little "Tom," at "Rugby," loyal to his mother's +teachings, and led him to kneel amid a crowd of jeering boys to say the +prayers she taught him. It is such a spirit as this that holds a man or +woman true to the sense of justice in an unjust world, and keeps them +undaunted in the midst of enemies, who hate them for doing their duty +and caring as much for the work as they do for the wages that work +commands. The man who can hold himself beyond the reach of bribery, +uncorrupted in corruptible times, and sure to keep his colors flying, +with never a chance to trail them in the dust for politic purposes, is a +greater hero than many a blue-coat who marches to battle. Give us a few +more such heroes, oh, good and merciful dispenser of destinies, and +sweep off the track a hundred thousand or so of the eye-servants, +time-servers and money-graspers who keep the profitable places of the +world's giving away from honest men and faithful women. + + * * * * * + +A BOBOLINK'S SONG. + + The earth was awake, and like a gay rover, + His knapsack of sunshine loose strapped on his back, + Through mists, and through dews, and through fine purple clover + Was faring his way down the summer's green track. + + I sat all alone 'neath the shade of a willow, + And saw the old earth blithely jogging along, + While over the fields, like the foam on a billow, + The morning was breaking in blossom and song. + + O, list! and, O, hear! like the wing of a swallow, + Updarting from fields that are golden with corn; + With the ring and the swing of a huntsman's "view hallo," + Some fairy is winding his sweet elfin horn. + + Now up like a flame, and now down like a shower; + Now here and now there in its sparkle and gloom; + It rings and it swings like a bell in a tower, + Wide casting its notes as a wind-flower its bloom. + + 'Tis a bobolink singing among the sweet clover; + A bobolink whimsical, happy and free, + And its voice like new wine makes earth, the old rover, + Half tipsy with jollity, clean daft with his glee. + + * * * * * + +It fell to my lot the other day to witness a scene that I shall not soon +forget. Death has myriad ways of coming to the sons and daughters of +men, and it chanced that death had drawn near to a certain dear woman in +a way that well might blanch the cheek of the bravest hero. As surely +condemned to die as is the murderer when he hears the judge's sentence, +with absolute hopelessness of any cure, and with the certainty of no +more than a brief span of weeks wherein to live, this brave woman faced +her doom with all the condemned man's certainty, and yet without his +shame. Grown old in a life of peculiar usefulness, with not a single +abated enthusiasm and with a heart as keenly attuned to nature's as is +the flute to the master's touch, this dear old heroine calmly renounced +the world she had so loved and turned her face direct to "headquarters," +with no friend to interfere between herself and God. For one bitter +hour, perhaps, she wept and watched alone in her Gethsemane, then turned +about to await the chariot wheels of her deliverance with a heart as +glad and a faith as warm and bright as a little child's who waits in the +shadow the coming of a loving father to lead her home. Taken to the +hospital to die, knowing that those doors swung for her last entrance +within any earthly home, fully realizing that from beneath that roof +her soul should ascend to its home beyond the stars, bidding good-bye +forever to the sunset skies and the rural walks that she had so loved, +to all the bright company of wild flowers she had known by name, to the +pomp of seasons and the communion of happy homes, she took up her abode +in the ward of the incurables. Every day she sits in the sunshine and +reads her books or indites letters to her friends. Every day she +struggles with devastating pain, and every day she grows a little +thinner and a little weaker in the body, while her soul springs +heavenward like a white flower from the dust, which no earthly blight +can reach. As I sat by her side the other morning and held her wasted +hand in mine it seemed the most natural thing in the world to send a +message by this sweet soul to the unseen land, and we almost forgot the +pain of parting in the bright anticipation of the many who would throng +to meet the gray-headed voyager when at last her sail should beat across +the blue waters into the heavenly harbor. And as we talked there came a +message that a very old friend had called to see the sufferer; one who +had been the closest comrade of her brilliant youth and the companion +of her maturer years. Slowly the guest entered the shrine wherein a soul +awaited the sacrament of death, silently she stretched out her arms and +gathered that wasted frame within their close embrace. As a mother +comforts the baby at her breast, so they comforted one another with +tender words. The years of their life fell away from them as petals from +a rose which the wind lightly rocks, and they were girls again. "Oh, my +dear child, how sweet, how brave, how grand you are!" said the guest. +"My precious girl, my poor, dear one, how can I bear to see you here!" +she cried again and yet again, while her tears fell like rain, and the +turmoil of her sobs rent her very inmost heart. I shall live long before +I see so touching a sight again. In the presence of a love so perfect +and so true I felt to be almost an interloper and an alien, so I quietly +stole away and left these two old women, bowed with the weight of many +years, sustaining and sustained by the trust that the portals of the +tomb, within whose shadows they stood, were but the gates that usher the +soul into the full affluence of life and love. + + * * * * * + +It is almost impossible to get the average young person past the +florist's window nowadays. She has a way of clasping her hands and +pursing her lips over the roses that would make the average young man +shed his last dollar, as the almond tree shakes its blossoms. I am +always sorry for a poor young man in love with a pretty girl. He longs +to buy the world for her and she longs quite as ardently to receive it +as a gift, and so he is hurrying along his bankrupt career until +matrimony or estrangement checks him. Have you not a pitying remembrance +in your own heart of a certain youth of the long ago who deluged your +house with roses, confectionery and novels until his salary was wildly +wasted in the unequal contests? Girls, be a little less receptive, as it +were; be just a bit more thoughtful and delicate in your orders at the +restaurant and your selection from the florist's window, and I think +your matrimonial chances will be the better for it. How often have I +seen a young woman order a costly dinner when some young man whom she +well knew to be the recipient of a small salary was to foot the bill, +yet when ordering for herself I am told she never goes higher than +beans and bread and butter. Now, girls, don't think Amber is an +everlasting old grandmother! Not a bit of it, but she has tossed about +the world so much and heard so many "little birds" telling their secrets +that she has taken unto herself quite a pack of knowledge of the ways +and manners of mankind. I positively adore a young girl, and always +have, and, what is more, expect I always shall. But admiring and loving +them as I do, from the tip of their bangs to the click of their boot +heels, I cannot bear to see them do unlovely things. I want to see them +helpful, lovable, sweet. I want to see them slow to wound another's +feelings, and quick as sunshine after rain with tender smiles and +womanly ways. I want to see them brave, yet gentle; gay, yet kind; +fun-loving, yet never loud and rude. I want to hear the young men in +speaking of them speak of something besides their extravagance and their +greed. I want the very air to be the sweeter for their passing, as when +one carries roses through a room their fragrance lingers. And what shall +make you sweet, dear girls? Not fashionable gowns and dainty clothing; +not beauty nor grace nor wealth so much as womanliness and unselfish +thought for others. + + * * * * * + +The woman who can wear an arctic overshoe over a No. 5 shoe and make no +moan ought to have been born a Joan of Arc or a Charlotte Corday. She is +made of the "dust" that heroines have a corner on. At one time in my +life I owned a dog--a guileless pup--whose darling aim on earth was to +drag my colossal arctics before admiring gentlemen callers and lay them +by the fireside, where they overshadowed the big base-burner with their +bulk. I was rid of the dog long before I was rid of the feeling that it +was a disgrace for a woman to wear the feet God gave her. The most +colossal overshoe is neither so big nor so objectionable as an early +grave, and that is just what lies before some of you girls if you don't +quit wearing French heels and going about in damp and chilly weather +without protection for your feet. Burn up the high-heeled slippers, +then, with their atrocious shape; cultivate health and common-sense +rather than the empty flattery of a world that cares nothing for you. So +shall you be as beautiful as houris, as healthy as Hebes, as long lived +as Sarahs and as light-footed as the shadow that dances to a wind-blown +Columbine. + + * * * * * + +A graveyard never saddens me. It seems nothing more than one of the +flies behind the scenes when the actors have gone on in front. What +matters the room where we doff our toggery when we are once out of it? +So, not long since, when in rambling about one of the Apostle Islands, +away up in Lake Superior country, I ran across a sunshiny little +graveyard, and I was glad to loiter about for an hour and read the +inscriptions on the age-worn stones. It was a blue day--blue in the sky +above and blue in the haze on the hills, blue in the sparkling waters of +the lake and bluer yet in the far distance that marked a score of miles +from shore. Before the gateway of the graveyard a clump of golden rod +stood, like an angel barring the way with a sword of light. A tangle of +luxuriant vines had curtained most of the graves from sight A few, more +carefully tended than the rest, stood bravely out from behind fences of +ornamental woodwork, but most of them were sheltered and peaceful +within their neglected bowers of green. When my time comes to lie down +in my narrow home, I pray you, kind gentlefolks, grant me the seclusion +of an unremembered grave rather than the accentuated desolation of a +painted fence and a padlocked gate. There is rest in neglect, and +nature, if left alone, will never allow a grave to grow unsightly. She +folds it away in added coverings of mossy green from year to year as a +mother when the nights are long will tuck her sleeping children under +soft, warm blankets. She appoints her choristers from the leafy belfry +of the woods to keep the chimes ringing when the days are long and slow +and sweet, and lights her tapers nightly in the wavering shimmer of the +stars. In a secluded corner we found a handbreadth space where a baby +was laid to rest many a year ago. No chronicle of the little life +remains, and yet a stranger stands beside its grave and drops a tear. I +don't know why, I'm sure, for why should we cry when a baby dies? So +roses are picked before the frost finds them! Another stone was erected +to a young bride who died at twenty. Looking about at the +stoop-shouldered, care-lined and prematurely old women who toiled in +those island homes, we could not feel very sorry for the young bride who +died, perhaps, while life still held an illusion. With lingering step at +last we left the graveyard, repassed the golden sentry at the gate and +sought the little boat that awaited us on the beautiful bay. Long after +other details of that pleasant outing are forgotten the memory of that +blue day among the quiet graves on the island of the great lake shall +linger like a song within our hearts. + + * * * * * + +"If I had two loaves of bread," said Mahomet, "I would sell one of them +and buy white hyacinths, for they would feed my soul." I came across +that delightful saying the other day, and I thought to myself: There is +another one to be hunted up when I get over yonder! I shall have to make +the acquaintance of a man, prophet or not, who gave utterance to such a +sentiment as that. How many of us, poor earthworms that we are, would +rather spend our dollar for white hyacinths than for a big supper? How +many of us ever stop to think that there is something under the sleek +rotundity of our girth that demands food quite as eagerly as our stomach +does, and fails and faints and dies quite as surely without it? Take +less of the food that goes to fatten the perishable part of you, and +give more sustenance to that inner guest who, like a captive, sits and +starves with long and cruel neglect. Buy fewer glasses of beer and more +"white hyacinths." Smoke less tobacco and invest in a few sunsets and +dawns. Let cheap shows alone and go hear music of the right sort. So +shall your soul lift up its drooping head and grow less and less to +resemble one of Pharaoh's lean kine. I adore a man or a woman who has +enough sentiment to appreciate what dead and gone Mahomet said, and +hereafter will make it a point to buy less bread and more hyacinths. + + * * * * * + +I wonder if, when we get to the other world, we shall not occasionally +stroll into some sort of a celestial museum, where the relics of our +foregone existence, its wasted days and misspent years, may stare back +at us from glass cases where the angels have ticketed them and put them +all neatly on exhibition! There will be necklaces of ill-spent moments, +like the faded brilliants exhumed from old Pompeii, with lots of broken +hopes and thwarted destinies. There will be odd little freaks and +unreasoning caprices, like the "What is it?" and foolish deeds of daring +to turn our pulses faint with the old-time terror. There will be those +tendencies which kept us heavy-footed like the fat woman, and others +that made us blind, although the world was full of light. There will be +the disloyal deeds that made us a constant source of care and wonderment +to the angels who watched us, and the cowardice that kept us in leading +strings to conformity. There will be shelves full of the little white +lies we have told, all labeled and dated, like pebbles from the +Mediterranean or bits of shell from the sea. There will be fragments of +blighted lives ruined by wagging tongues and shafts of tea table gossip. +There will be the old-time masks wherein we masqueraded, and the flimsy +veils of deceit behind which we hid our individuality. There will be the +memories of little children we might have kept had we been wiser, and +snatches of lullaby songs. There will be jars full of love glances and +pots of preserved and honeyed kisses. There will be whole bales of +mistakes, a Gobelin tapestry to drape the world, and stacks of dead and +withered "might-have-beens." There will be peacock feathers of pride +tied together with faded ribbons of regret, and whole cabinets full of +closet skeletons and family contentions. There will be pedestals whereon +shall stand the "white days" we can never forget, and panorama chambers +wherein shall be unrolled the pictured scroll of our journey heavenward. +In cunningly devised music boxes we shall hear again the melody of our +youthful laughter and the patter of life's uncounted tears. I think the +shelves of that celestial museum would yield some odd surprises to the +most of us, like the finding of a bauble we counted worthless and threw +away glittering in the diadem of a crown, or the prize we bartered honor +for turned to worthless glitter and tinsel paste! + + * * * * * + +There is no use sitting here by this window any longer and trying to +believe that life is worth living. If I looked for five minutes more at +this November landscape I should shave my head and hie me to a Carmelite +convent. Dame Nature has forgotten her housewifely duties and gone off +to gossip with the good ladies who have charge of the other planets. +Where but yesterday the late asters bloomed in long rows of splendor, +and the chrysanthemums fringed the sunny borders with feathers of white +and gold, the unsightly stalks grovel in the clayey mold, and the +frost-nipped vines drop their dismantled tendrils in the chilly wind. +Fragments of old china lurk in the discovered spaces underneath the +denuded lilac bushes, and out by the oleander tub a cruel cat is +worrying a large and discouraged rat. That oleander tub reminds me of an +ordeal that is ushered in with every change of season. Twice a year we +are compelled to carry that large vegetable in and out of its winter +lair. About the last week of September we begin to wrap it in bed-quilts +every night, and from that time on until late autumn no delicate babe +was ever more tenderly guarded. Then, as there is no man in the country +who for love or lucre will condescend to the job, we begin to worry the +Doctor. We tell him the oleander will be blighted by the frost, and he +pays no heed. Then we ask him if he would just as lief bring in the +oleander after supper. He sneaks off and is gone until the 11 p. m. +train. Next we take to tears, and declare that we love that oleander as +one of the family, and it breaks our heart to see it perish for want of +care. We grow pale and wan and gray-headed as the days go by, and +finally with flashing eyes and muttered oaths the Doctor yanks the tub +and its colossal growth into the cellar, and we rest on our arms until +the advent of another spring. + + * * * * * + +Well, the summer has gathered up her corn-silk draperies, put on her +rose-trimmed hat, and tripped over the border land at last. From the +bend in the road that shall hide her from our view forever she lingers a +moment to throw back a sunny glance at September, as he comes whistling +down the lane, with plume of golden-rod in his hat. A glad good-bye to +you, long-to-be-remembered summer of 1890! We are so glad to see you go +that we are willing to forego your blossoms and your bird songs to be +well rid of you. For three long months we have endured heat without +precedent, drought and discomfort, flies and mosquitos, threatened +thunder gusts and devastating cyclones, and we are so tired that we feel +like shaking a stick at you now, to see you lingering to coquet with +September. Hasten on, oh bright autumn weather, with your comfortable +nights for sleep, and your royal days of sunshine and frost. We are +longing for the time to come when the lamps shall be lighted early in +the parlor, and the fire-glow shall once more shed its glory upon +grandma's lovely hair and upon the gold of the children's restless +heads; when the cat shall have leave to lie on the best cushion, and the +voice of the tea-kettle, droning its supper monologue, shall alternate +with the efforts of the older sister at the piano. By the way, do you +know there is lots of solace to be found in an old music book of twenty +years ago? Don't tell me that the music of to-day is as sweet all +through as the melodies of long ago. Who sings such soul-ravishing duets +to-day as "She Bloomed with the Roses," "Twilight Dews," or "Gently +Sighs the Breeze"? I declare to you, my dear, that although I shall be +considerably older some day than I am now, and although I have not +fallen so far into the "sere and yellow" as to count myself among the +old-fashioned and the queer, yet any one of those songs just mentioned +will start the tears from my eyes as showers start from summer clouds. + + * * * * * + +Two little motherless children! Do you know the thought of a baby +without a mother to cuddle it always brings the tears to my eyes? +Traveling to distant New England with a father who, although kind, +seemed some way unfitted to his duties, as a straight-legged chair might +if used for a lullaby rocker, were two bits of folks, a boy and a girl, +one four, the other two years old. The careful father brushed their hair +very nicely and washed their mites of faces with great regularity. When +he told them to sit still they sat still, and nobody was annoyed by +their antics, but, oh, how it made my heart ache to watch the motherless +chicks! If mamma had been there they would have climbed all over her, +and bothered her a good deal, perhaps, with their clinging arms and +kisses (it's a way babies have with their mammas!), but in the presence +of their dark-eyed and quiet papa they behaved like little weasels in +the presence of a fox. "Papa says we mustn't talk about mamma any more," +lisped the boy. "'Cause she's gone to heaven." In the name of love, +whose apostle I humbly claim to be, I longed to gather those little ones +in my arms and have a dear, sweet talk about the mamma who had left them +for a little while, and I wanted to say to the proper and punctilious +papa: "Good sir, if you attempt to bring up these motherless mites +without the demonstration of love you will meet with the same success +your gardener would should he set out roses in a pine forest. Children +need love as flowers need the southerly exposure and sunshine. When that +boy of yours bumped his head, sir, it was your place to comfort him in +something the way his dead mother might have done, rather than to have +bade him 'sit up and be a man.'" + + * * * * * + +SLEEP'S SERENADE. + + In cadence far, + From star to star, + Sleep's mellow horns are faintly calling; + Through dreamland halls + Sweet madrigals, + In liquid numbers drowsy falling. + + Noiseless and still, + O'er star-watched hill, + Beneath the white moon's tender glances, + A host of dreams, + By wind-blown streams, + March on with gleam of silver lances. + + A captive thou; + Then, yield thee, now, + While mellow horns are nearer calling; + And ringing bells, + And poppy spells, + Thy senses all in sleep enthralling. + + O, hark; O, hear, + My lady, dear, + O'er woods and hills and streamlets flying, + The winding note + Of horns remote, + In softest echo dying--dying. + + * * * * * + +I had a dream the other night which was like, and yet unlike, the vision +of fair women of which a poet once wrote. I dreamed that I sat within a +court-room. Before me passed the meanest men and women God ever +permitted to live, and upon them I was to pass the verdict as to which +should carry off the palm. The scandal-monger came first, he or she who +sits like a fly-catcher on a tree, snapping up morsels of news. He or +she who is swelled full of conjecture whenever anybody commits an +innocent indiscretion, as an owl blinks and ruffles up its feathers when +the bobolink sings. He or she who goes about the world like a lean cat +after a mouse. He or she who is always looking for clouds in a bright +June sky, and slugs in roses and flies in honey. He or she whose heart +is made of brass, and whose soul is so small it will take eleven cycles +of eternity to develop it to the dimension of a hayseed. I was about to +hand this specimen the banner without looking further when a being +glided by me with a noiseless tread. She wore felt shoes and a mask. She +spoke with the voice of a canary, yet had the talons of a vulture. She +wore a stomacher made from the fleece of a lamb, and between her bright +red lips were the tusks of a wolf. I recognized her as the hypocrite, +the false friend; she who hands over your living bones for your enemies +to pick, while you believe she is your champion and your defender. +Following her came the man who keeps his horse standing all day with its +nose in a nosebag. There was a groan like the sighing of wind in the +poplars as he went by. Then came the merciless man who oppresses and +torments the helpless and grinds the faces of the poor; and following +him I beheld yet another monster--the worst of all in male attire. He +came sneaking around a corner, with a smile on his lips and a devil in +his eye, seeking to entrap innocent girlhood and unsuspecting womanhood. +Then came the woman who gives her children to the care of servants while +she goes downtown with a dog in her arms. Then came a lean-faced, +weasel-eyed creature with the general expression of a sneak thief. I +discovered her to be the representative of that type of women who coaxes +her neighbor's hired girl away with promises of better wages. Then came +the envious person whose evil passions are kindled like the fires of +sheol at the prosperity of others, and who, because his own cup of life +holds vinegar, is determined no other shall contain wine. I suddenly +awoke without having bestowed the palm on any. Perhaps some of my +readers may find it easy to do that for themselves. + + * * * * * + +Do you know which, of all the sights that confronted me yesterday in my +rambles through the rainy weather, I pigeon-holed as the saddest? Not +the little white casket, gleaming like the petal of a fallen flower, +through the undertaker's rain-streaked window; not the woman with the +lack-luster eye and the flippety-floppety petticoats who went by me in +the rain silently cursing her bundles and the fact that she was not +three-handed; not the poor old cab horse with his nose in a wet bag, and +his stomach so tightly buckled in that he couldn't breathe below the +fifth rib; not the man out of a job, with his gloveless hands in his +pockets, trying to solve the problem of supper; not the little child +under convoy of a stern and relentless dragon who yanked it over the +crossings by the arm socket; not the starved and absolutely hopeless +yellow dog, who sat in a doorway and wondered to himself if there was +indeed a canine life that included occasional bones and no kicks; no, +not any of these impressed me as the most gruesome of a great city's +many sights. As I passed the corner of Washington and Dearborn streets I +came face to face with a red-cheeked, wholesome boy of barely twenty +years of age. He was leaning upon the arm of an elderly man, and at +first I thought him ill, but it took but a second glance to see that he +was drunk. Now, I consider that the very saddest sight a great city has +to offer. When the old men are wicked there is some comfort in the +thought that their day is nearly spent, and their worthless places may +be soon filled with a nobler and a better stock, but a drunken and +dissolute boy means just what it means for the fruit harvest when the +blight gets into the blossom. The gathered apple that rots in the bin is +bad enough, but the worm that destroys the fruit in the germ makes +greater loss. Be thankful that the grave has taken to its protecting +shelter the boy you loved so dearly, and of whom you were so proud, +rather than that he should have grown to be a drunkard before his +twentieth birthday. + + * * * * * + +We are each of us missing constant chances to bestow a kindness upon +some needy soul for the reason that we dread being imposed upon by a +case of causeless complaining. Is it worth while to keep our hearts +stolid merely because we may be cheated in the bestowal of a nickel's +worth of alms? I think not. You looked up from your work a few minutes +ago and saw a little boy not much bigger than your thumb looking through +the open doorway. He began at once a sing-song tale of woe about a sick +mother and a father out of work--or in his grave, it doesn't much +matter. At the same time he held out a paper of cheap pins to tempt a +nickel from your store. + +"I have no time to bother with such as you," you said, and turned your +eyes back to your ledger. But still the boy droned on. You looked at him +again and noticed that the small hand that held the pins was well kept +and very, very thin. Then your eyes followed the diminutive form down to +the feet; they, too, showed signs of somebody's care, although the shoes +were shabby and the stockings thin. + +"He is not an ordinary little beggar," you said to yourself. And then +your gaze traveled upward again until it met his long-lashed Irish eyes, +so full of trouble and of entreaty that they looked like twin Killarney +lakes getting ready for rain. + +"Poor little chap," you said, "of course I'll buy a paper of pins," and +in so doing you stooped over and patted his head, perhaps, or called him +"dear," so that he went away with the twin Killarney lakes all ready for +a sunburst to follow the rain. That was an opportunity you nearly +missed, but it brought a blessing sweeter than a Crawford peach. You +didn't want the pins, but the little desolate heart wanted the kind word +bestowed along with your nickel, and perhaps its bestowal shall be an +impulse toward the light to a soul that cross words and constant +refusals had already given a downward trend. + + * * * * * + +There stands a very young girl at the door of a drug store. She +hesitates a moment and enters. "May I sit here and wait for a friend?" +she inquires of the dapper clerk. "Certainly," he answers, and places a +chair for her near the window. + +That girl's father told her last night to have nothing more to do with +young Solomon Levi. "He is a worthless fellow," said he, "and I have +forbidden him the house." "Very well," said she, and this morning she +has made the excuse to go to the grocery for yeast, and is waiting here +for the graceless Solomon. By and by he will come, and she will listen +to him and form plans for clandestine meetings. My dear, there is a +stairway whose top lies in the sunshine, but whose lower steps lead down +to endless shadow. Your pretty foot is poising on the upper +stair--beware! And yet I think the father has been to blame also. These +stern, non-explanatory parents are responsible for much of the ruin +wrought in young people's lives. If the old rat would go with the young +one now and then to investigate the smell of cheese, his restraining +presence would do more good than all the warnings and threats +beforehand. Temptations are bound to besiege the girls and bewilder the +boys. Don't let us make a pit-fire out of moonshine and forbid every bit +of innocent fun and frolic because there is a gayety that takes hold on +death. Give the young folks a little more license, mingle with them in +many amusements which you have been wont to frown upon, do not be so +frightened if their light feet go dancing off the path now and then, and +ten to one the end of the journey will be Beulah Land and peace. A good +deal less faultfinding and a good deal more sympathy would be better all +around. + + * * * * * + +There is no lot on earth so hard to bear as the lot of wedlock where +love has failed. The slave's life is not comparable to it, for the +manacles that only bind the hands may be laid aside, but those that +fetter the heart not death itself holds the key to loosen. It fairly +makes me tremble when I see the thoughtless rush young people make to +enter what is by far the most solemn and responsible relation of life. +They are like mariners who put to sea in flimsy boats, or like explorers +who fit themselves with Prince Albert suits and buttonhole bouquets. +Before you get through the voyage, my dears, you will encounter tempests +as well as bonnie blue weather, and God pity you when your pleasure +craft strikes the first billow, if it was made of caprice and put +together with mucilage instead of rivets! As for the explorer and his +dress suit, where will he be when the tigers begin to scent him and the +air is full of great sorrows and little frets like flying buzzards and +cawing crows? + +Be an old maid in its most despised significance then; be a grubber and +a toiler all the days of your life rather than rush into marriage as a +hunted fox flies into a trap. There is some chance for the fox that +flies to the hills, and for the bird that soars above the huntsman's +aim, but what better off is the fox in the trap or the lark in a cage? +There is a love so pure and ennobling that eternity shall not be long +enough to cast its blossom, nor death sharp enough to loosen the +foundation of its hold. Such love is born in the spirit rather than +forced in the hot-house of the senses. It is an impulse toward the +stars, a striving toward things that are pure and perfect and true. It +grows in the heart as a rose grows in the garden, first a slip, then a +leaf and finally the perfect blossom. No rose ever put forth a flower +first, and then bethought itself of rooting and budding. Pray, dear +girls, that this love may come to you rather than its poor prototype, so +current in a world of shams and pretenses, whose luster corrodes with +daily usage and turns to pewter in your grasp. + + * * * * * + +Once there was an old woman who died and went to glory. Now a great many +old women have died and gone the same way, but this one was very tired +and very glad to go. She had worked hard ever since she could handle a +broom or flirt a duster. She had probably washed about 91,956,045 dishes +in her life, had baked something less than a million of pies, and turned +out anywhere between a quarter to half a million loaves of bread, to say +nothing of biscuits. These figures are steep, but I am writing under the +invigorating impulse of the grip! She had darned socks and hemmed towels +and patched old pantaloon-seats between times, until her fingers were +callous as agate. She had borne and reared lots of children and tended +to their myriad wants. For forty-seven years she had done a big washing +every week, and laundried more collars than a Canada thistle has +seed-pods. At last she died. The tired old body burst its withered husk +and let the flower free. The rusty old cage flew open and out went the +bird. And when they buried her I suppose they were foolish enough to +shed tears and put on mourning! As well expect all the birds to wear +crape when dawn sets out its primrose-pot on the ledge of the eastern +sky! But one friend of quicker perception than the rest, I am told, +placed the following inscription on the tired old woman's gravestone: + + Here lies a poor woman who always was tired, + For she lived in a world where much was required. + "Weep not for me, friends," she said, "for I'm going + Where there'll be neither washing, nor baking, nor sewing; + Then weep not for me; if death must us sever, + Rejoice that I'm going to do nothing forever." + + * * * * * + +There is just one thing in the latter part of the nineteenth century +that never fails to bring success, and that is assurance. If you are +going to make yourself known it is no longer the thing to quietly pass +out a visiting card--you must advance with a trumpet and blow a brazen +blast to shake the stars. The time has gone by when self-advancement +can be gained by modest and unassuming methods. To stand with a lifted +hat and solicit a hearing savors of mendicancy and an humble spirit. The +easily abashed and the diffident may starve in a garret, or go die on +the highways--there is no chance for them in the jostling rush of life. +The gilded circus chariot, with a full brass band and a plump goddess +distributing circulars, is what takes the popular heart by storm. Your +silent entry into town, depending upon the merits of your wares to gain +an audience or work up a custom, is chimerical and obsolete. We no +longer sit in the shadow and play flutes; we mount a pine platform and +blow on a trombone, and in that way we draw a crowd, and that is what we +live for. Who are the women who succeed in business ventures of any +sort? Mostly the mannish, bold, aggressive amazons who are unmindful of +rebuffs and impervious to contempt. Who are the men who wear diamonds +and live easy lives? Largely the politicians who have made their +reputation in bar-room rostrums and among sharpers. Oh, for a wind to +blow us forward a hundred years out of this age of sordid self-seeking +and impudent assertiveness into something larger and sweeter and finer. +Give us less yeast in our bread and more substance; fill our cups with +wine rather than froth, and for sweet pity's sake hang up the great +American trumpet and let "silence, like a poultice, come to heal the +blows of sound." + + * * * * * + +Every day, for months, as I have taken my morning ride to town I have +noticed a dog who bounds forth from a dooryard that overlooks the busy +highway of the steed of steam and barks himself weak at the rushing +trains. He really accomplishes nothing, but do you suppose you could +convince his canine brain that he was not at once a reproach and a +terror to the numerous trains that disturb his rest? He reminds me of +certain people we meet all the way through life. They bark at trains +continually while the Lord prolongs their breath, and the faster the +train and the more it carries the louder they bark. They fondly imagine +that the voice of their ranting protest accomplishes a purpose in the +world. They are always barking at capital and at rich men and at +corporations. They bark at people of courteous manners, and all the ways +and customs of polite and gentle society, with fierce and futile +yelpings. They bark at the swift advancement of the world from ignorance +to enlightenment, from superstition to liberalism. They bark at the +churches because they are on a train that has sidetracked Calvin. They +bark at polite young men who wear clean linen, and call them dudes; they +bark at women who have one or two ideas outside of fashionable folly and +inane conventionalism, and call them cranks; they bark at everything on +wheels, where wheels typify strength and achievement. They will go on +barking, too, while the world finds room and maintains patience for them +and their barking. + + * * * * * + +I think I have said before that I loathe meek people. But even if I have +I am going to say it again. Your half-wits who sit and turn first one +cheek and then the other to be slapped are not the sort for me. The man +or woman, boy or girl, child or otherwise, that will endure direct +insult day after day without resenting it ought to sell themselves at +so much a pint for illuminating oil--that is all they are good for. I +love a fighter, provided he foils gracefully and does not snatch out his +sword in every brawling and unworthy cause. In the defense of woman, in +the cause of honor, purity and truth; in battle against sordidness, and +greed, and a lying tongue, let your blade flash like summer rain and +your white plume outdistance the plume of Navarre! For God and mother, +justice and honor, self-respect and the approval of our own conscience, +let us go forward then with a chip, if need be, on each shoulder and a +standard copy of the celestial army tactics in our side pocket! The Lord +loves a good many things, cheerful givers and self-sacrificing widows +with their mites, merciful men and sweet and noble women, but most of +all, I think, he loves a valiant fighter in the cause of right. + + * * * * * + +Now it came to pass that there dwelt in a certain city of the land of +the great lakes a woman called Lydia, sister to Simon, the shipwright. +And Lydia, being comely and fair to look upon, was sought in marriage +by one John, a dealer in spices and fine teas. And the years of their +wedlock having outnumbered the fingers upon a man's two hands, it came +to pass that they dwelt together in exceeding prosperity in a town near +by the blue waters of a mighty lake. + +And Heaven sent unto them children to the number of three, so that their +hearts were exceeding glad, and the cords of their habitation were +stretched from year to year. And it came to pass that the home in which +they lived was spacious and full of salubrious air. Their beds, also, +were of curled hair, and all their bed-springs of beaten steel. And +bath-rooms made glad the heart of the dust-laden when summer dwelt in +the land. Also there were cunningly devised screens of fine wire in all +the windows, so that the marauding fly and the pestilential mosquito +might not enter. + +And the flesh increased from year to year upon the bones of Lydia and +the children that heaven sent her, while they remained in the home that +John, the tea merchant, had given them. + +But it came to pass that the neighbors of the woman Lydia closed up the +shutters of their dwellings, and one by one stole from town when the +heat descended upon the land. + +Then spake Lydia unto John, the vender of spices and fine teas, saying: + +"Arise, let us go hence and dwell within a farm-house, where the +children may leap together in the sweet-smelling hay, and I may comfort +myself with flagons of cream." + +But John, being a man among men, and accounted somewhat wise withal, +would have restrained Lydia, saying: "Not so; for verily I say unto you, +comfort abideth not in the dwelling of the farmer, neither does joy +linger in the shadow of his doorway." + +Now Lydia, being president of a Woman's Club and reputed of knowledge +beyond the generality of womankind, would not listen, but beat her hands +together, crying: "I prithee hold thy peace, for behold, I and the +children heaven sent me will depart hence by to-morrow's chariot of +steam, and will make our home with the gentle farmer and his +sweet-breathed kine." + +So John, being loth to war with the tongue, albeit he was heavy-hearted +and walked with a bent head, purchased tickets for Lydia and the +children heaven had given her. + +And it came to pass that they left town by the train which men call "the +limited." + +Now the way of that train through the land is like unto the way of a +ship at sea, or of a strong eagle that never wearieth. And the +sufferings of Lydia were such that she sought relief in peppermint and +found it not. + +And the babes by reason of the swiftness with which they traversed a +crooked land, were made ill and languished like sea-sick rangers of the +deep. + +Yet, after many hours, their torment abated not, so that, reaching their +destination, the bodies of Lydia and her children were removed in a hack +and hurried to an inn that was built near by. + +And in the inn where they were fain to tarry until strength should be +given them for further journeying, it chanced that a young babe lay +sorely stricken with the whooping-cough. + +Now, when Lydia knew this, her heart fainted with fear, and she +prophesied evil. + +For well she knew that her own babes had not had the disease, and that +the time of their prostration was at hand. + +So Lydia, being president of a Woman's Club, and accounted without a +peer in the gift of words, sent for the keeper of the inn, that she +might rebuke him. + +And she opened her mouth impulsively and questioned him saying: "Why +broughtest thou me and the children heaven gave me into thine inn +knowing that contagious disease lurked within its gates?" + +And the keeper of the inn shot out the lip at her and was undismayed. + +And he cried, "Go to! And what wouldst thou of a public house? Thou +talkest like one with little sense!" + +And it came to pass that Lydia and her children departed thence by stage +and sought the farm-house. And, arriving there, they would have laid +themselves down to rest, being sorely bruised by reason of protracted +stage-riding. + +But the beds were made of straw and corded underneath with ropes. So +that lying upon them caused the children to roar loudly, and they found +rest from their lamentations, four in a bed, on the bosom of Lydia. + +And, supper being served, it consisted of tinted warm water and +gooseberries sweetened with brown sugar. + +Now Lydia, by reason of her connection with the club, was enabled to +speak boldly, and she called for cream. + +But the wife of the farmer made answer, saying, "We have none." + +And Lydia spoke yet again, saying, "Why, O woman of many wiles, hast +thou no cream?" + +And the woman made way with an insect that swam gaily in a pitcher of +azure milk, and said gently, "Because we sell it to a neighboring +dairy." + +And Lydia said nothing, but remembering the words of John, the +tea-merchant, wept silently. + +And it came to pass that next morning the children went forth to leap in +the hay. + +And the farmer led them firmly away from the hay-mow by the tip of the +ear, saying, "I allow no children to spoil my fodder." + +And the morning of the second day, the woman Lydia, being starved for +nutritious food, wended her way with her babes across a stretch of +pasture land in search of wild blackberries. + +And a beast, whose voice was baritone and whose approach was like the +approach of a Kansas cyclone, bore down upon her and the children +heaven had given her, while yet they were midway in the meadow. Now only +by leaping could they save themselves. + +And it came to pass that they leaped mightily and flung themselves over +a five-barred fence. + +And a snake made free with the draperies of Lydia, so that her hair +whitened with fear, and between the beast with the baritone voice and +the serpent she knew not which way to turn. + +And the morning of the third day she wrote to John, the tea-merchant, +saying only: + +"My darling--Meet the first train that returns from this place to the +dear city by the lake, for behold! I and the children heaven sent me are +on our homeward way!" + + * * * * * + +IMPATIENCE. + + A sweet little crocus came up through the mold, + And hugged round her shoulders her mantle of gold, + While tears of distress fringed her delicate eye, + Like rain drops that start from a showery sky. + + "Where, pray, are those laggards, the violets blue? + The roses and lilies and daffodils too? + I really think it's a shame and a sin + This waiting so long for the spring to begin. + + "The first day of April and only one bird + Since I lifted my head has uttered a word! + And search as I may all over the meadow + Not even a cowslip has shown its bright head, O-- + + "Misery me! Sure there's no use in waiting, + For something, no doubt, is the summer belating; + So I'll go back to bed, put on my lace night cap, + And snatch, for a fortnight, a nice little cat-nap!" + + Down went little Gold-head, back to her pillow; + When, all in a twinkling, up over the hill, O, + The wind-flower host, with rose-tinted banners, + Marched into the world; Queen Summer's forerunners. + + Her rose maids of honor, in filmiest laces, + Loitered and lingered in shy woodland places; + And white-vested lilies were ever at prayer; + Their vespers, the perfume that sweetened the air. + + The apple trees blushed into delicate splendor; + The blue birds hung over in ecstasy tender, + While the gold powdered bee with helmet all dusty + Kept watch over the flowers, a sentinel trusty. + + The robin sang love to his shy little sweetheart; + The orioles lashed their nests in the tree top; + The willows drooped low over swift water courses, + And murmuring brooks started fresh from their sources. + + But down in the gloom, on her dream-haunted pillow, + As pale and as cold as the moon on the billow, + Forgot and unmissed by bird and by blossom, + The crocus slept sound in the earth's faithful bosom. + + When at last she awoke, the spring had been banished, + Her forerunner flowers from the hillside had vanished. + And all of the bees had turned into stock brokers. + And even the birds had changed into croakers. + + 'Tis only by waiting we find our fruition; + To learn how to wait is a needed tuition. + The faint-hearted people who go to sleep fretting, + Will wake up at last too late for the getting. + + * * * * * + +If there is anything more utterly desolate than a poorly-conducted farm, +preserve me from it. There is an ideal farm familiar to the writers of +pretty tales, where everything is kept in apple-pie order throughout +the year, and where one can walk broadcast, so to speak, in a spick and +span white gown without attracting so much as the shadow of a shade of +minutest defilement. We have seen pictures of such farms wherein sleek +cattle stood around knee-deep in dewy clover, or lay serenely on +polished hillsides, or meandered dreamily by crystal streams; wherein +pale pink farm-houses with green gables and yellow piazzas, fairly +scintillated from behind decorous foliage, and peacocks, with tails +nearly as long as the Mississippi River, posed on the gate-posts; +wherein neat little boys in variegated trousers rode prancing chargers +down blooming lanes, and correct little girls in ruffled underclothing +fed well-mannered chickens from morning till night. But the actual farm +of the remote rural districts is about as much like its ideal picture as +Esau was like a modern dude. Not long ago somebody suggested that I go +and board for a fortnight at a farm-house. "You will have perfect rest," +said my friend, "and that is what you need." So I went, and rather than +again undergo the torments of the five days spent in that restful (?) +spot I think I would cheerfully hire out with a Siberian chain-gang. In +the first place there was no such a thing as rest possible after the +first glimmer of each day's dawn. Every rooster on the farm, and there +were millions of them, was up "for keeps" long before sunrise. Their +united chorus smote the skies. One might as well have tried to sleep +through Gettysburg's battle. A score or so of bereaved cows lamented all +night for their murdered babies, and a couple of donkeys, kept purely +for ornamental purposes, made sounds every half hour or so that turned +my hair snow white with terror. After breakfast each day I used to walk +down the hill and fish for pickerel in a river that had no current, and +looked discouraged. "Walked," did I say? Nay, there was nothing so +decorous as a walk possible down the slippery, stony descent which led +to the haunts of the pickerel. When I didn't hurl myself down that hill, +I slid down, and between the two methods I wrecked both muscle and shoe +leather. The latter part of the way led through a pasture devoted to +several cows and a bull. As I am more afraid of the latter than of death +and all his cohorts, my morning walks ended in heart failures and had to +be abandoned. Occasionally I would take a book and go out and sit in my +hammock. Then the large roosters, each one of them at least seven feet +tall and highly ruffled about the legs, would come around and look at +me, so that I would have to go into the house to hide my embarrassment. +I know of nothing harder to endure than the stare of a Brahma fowl, +especially if one is a bit nervous and overworked. Nervous prostration +has sprung from lighter causes. + +Nothing happened while I was at the farm but meal time, and the +intervals were so long between those episodes that I used to wonder +daily at my own mission subsequent to the farm-life as one gropes for +prehistoric clues. There was a man about the premises who walked to and +from the village twice a day with a large brown jug. When I asked at +different times what he fetched in the jug, not because I wanted to +know, but merely to find a topic of conversation, I was successively +told that it was "kerosene," "maple molasses," "buttermilk," and +"vinegar." I wish I knew if I was told the truth every time, or if +somebody tried to impose upon me merely because I was town-bred. + +Occasionally we took rides over stony trails where boulders and ruts +marked the way, and only the creaking of our bones broke the primeval +silence. These rides were supposed to be part of the generous plan of +contemplated rest, but a few more of them would have resulted in the +rest from which there is no awaking. No, my dear, I am an ardent lover +of the country, and I love it as the epicure loves a good dinner, or the +musician loves music, but I will take it, please, without the +accessories of a poorly-kept hoosier farm. I do not yearn for the +defilements of a barn-yard that is never cleansed, nor for the +frolicsomeness of pigs that wander at their own sweet will, nor for the +clamor of aggressively alert poultry, nor for piscatorial delights. I +love the country as God made it before greed and gain and all the +abominations of man entered into and spoiled it. I love it clean and +wholesome and sweet, as it was turned out of the workshop; its streams +untainted, and their banks unbereft of beautiful trees; its hills still +covered with verdure, and its winds uncontaminated with the scent of +defiling drains and waterways. + + * * * * * + +I have seen him! Actually seen him! Shall I say the coming man? No, +rather let us call him the vanished type, the stalwart, full-blooded, +glorious "might have been" of nature. Not an exotic, but the indigenous +growth of a soil fed by breeze and sun. No earmuffs about him; no +cringing withdrawal into mufflers before the advance of winter blasts. +No cowardly retreat into furry overcoats, mittens and gum shoes. + +"Amber," said a fellow traveler the other day, "yonder is a man after +your own heart. He has not worn an overcoat or heavyweight flannels for +six years. He never buttons up his coat save when it rains. What do you +think of him?" + +"Think of him!" said I; "were it not for a lingering regard for the +conventionalities, I should walk right over to that man and say: 'Sir, I +thank you for the sight of a man--not a human lily bud! You have struck +the right way of living, and you will be a hale and handsome man when +the enfeebled race that surrounds you have toddled into the +consumptive's grave or are sneezing upon their catarrhal pilgrimage to +the tomb.'" The man was worth looking at, hale and hearty, his chest like +the convex curve of a barrel, his eye like a falcon's. + +"But," said my friend, "were I to throw aside my overcoat and go forth +unprotected this freezing weather, the exposure would surely kill me!" + +"No doubt it would," was my cheerful reply. "There are always a host to +die before any reform is achieved or victory accomplished. You have +coddled yourself so long between blankets and absorbed red-hot furnace +heat until you haven't the stamina of an aspen leaf. Take a hot-house +flower out of doors and it soon wilts. But mark the beautiful Edelweiss +of the Alps--it thrives in the pure breath of eternal snow." But what is +the use of talking? Although my tongue became a golden bell and my pen a +gleaming flame, I could never convince you, my dear old, shivery, shaky +public, of the advantage of fresh air and plenty of it, and the +advisability of a generous cultivation of nature and her free gifts. As +well expect to be nourished by looking at your food through an opera +glass as hope to be strong and stalwart upon a homeopathic allowance of +pure air and sunshine, or in spite of the devices you plan to shut +yourself away and hermetically seal your body, as it were, from the +sweet, health-giving influence of sun and wind and frost. Just stop a +moment before you turn away from this subject, my dear, and hear a +little story. I know the subject is a bore and that I am a crank, but +listen. Once there was a grand beneficent power--call it God if you +will--who planned a spot wherein to place some atom which he had shaped +out of dust and vivified with a spark of his own life. He looked about a +little, we will imagine, and finally settled upon a garden wherein to +place these precious pensioners on his care. A roofless, wall-less spot +full of draughts and dew, breezes and blossoms. He filled it with birds +and carpeted it with grass, set rivulets running through it for "water +works" and sunbeams and starbeams for "electric light" plants, etc. That +is all I have to say. Like the Mother Morey legend my story is done +before it is scarcely begun. But ask yourself the question, Why didn't +God put his well-beloved models of the forthcoming race into a more +sheltered place if there was so much danger in fresh air, draughts and +chilly weather? Why didn't he seal them up behind double windows in an +airless, sunless, hot and unhealthful home where the dear things could +keep warm? Because he was God and knew everything, and not man and knew +nothing. + + * * * * * + +Well, the old ship Time has put into port again to take on a new cargo +of good resolutions, earnest resolves and patented schemes, before +setting sail for the shores of a distant future. Ten to one she goes to +pieces on the breakers before ever sighting land again, and a hundred to +ninety-nine her cargo is thrown overboard before she reaches mid-sea. +The channel is narrow and the rocks lie thick as peas in a marrowfat +pod, and many more bales of choice merchandise find the bottom of the +sea each year than are ever delivered to the good angel consignee. "I am +going to be the best girl in all the world," says the poor little +Captain on New Year's eve. Behold! the hours have not swung around the +diurnal circle before there is a wild onslaught from shadowland, and the +brave captain is left wounded on the field. Only a tender hand and +tireless patience can set her on her feet again. + +"I will eschew debt as I would poison, and starve before I will commit +an indiscretion," cries the Doctor as he sets sail for the untried sea. +Within the first watch he hauls down his colors from the mast head, +captured by a pirate extravagance. + +"I will be gentle of speech and courteous and sweet to all!" says the +Young Person, and gayly steers for the open channel. Midway she +encounters a rock of annoyance and the air is stormy with irritable +words that fly and beat like stinging rain. Ah, well, my dear, thank the +good Lord there are life-saving stations all along the shore, and no +wreck was ever yet so hopeless but Infinite Love could set it afloat +again. + + * * * * * + +"There is just one person born who has a right to this thoroughfare, and +that is I!" muses the woman with the umbrella as she walks the crowded +streets on a rainy day. "I am in possession of that part of the universe +immediately contiguous to the spot on which I stand, and I shall make +myself just as much of a nuisance as I choose. I shall jab out your +eyes, and knock off your hat, and clip your ears, and stab your back +with my umbrella tip just as often and as violently as I choose. I shall +run into you from behind, and bump into you, and knock you down if I so +desire, and none shall say me nay. I am not very tall, but all the +better for my plans if I am not. If I were of the same height as you I +should not be able to take you under the hat-brim as I do, and jab you +in the nostril as I pass. If I choose to cut criss-cross through a +crowd, who shall forbid me, being a woman? I can be just as rude and +just as mean as I want to be, and who is going to hinder, so long as I +wear a gown and call myself a lady? If I were a man and manifested the +reckless thirst for universal carnage that I do you would call the +patrol and bear me away to the lock-up; but being a poor little, +innocent woman I have it all my own way." + + * * * * * + +I know a wife who is waiting, safe and sound in her father's home, for +her young husband to earn the money single-handed to make a home worthy +of her acceptance. She makes me think of the first mate of a ship who +should stay on shore until the captain tested the ability of his vessel +to weather the storm. Back to your ship, you cowardly one! If the boat +goes down, go down with it, but do not count yourself worthy of any fair +weather you did not help to gain! A woman who will do all she can to win +a man's love merely for the profit his purse is going to be to her, and +will desert him when the cash runs low, is a bad woman and carries a bad +heart in her bosom. Why, you are never really wedded until you have had +dark days together. What earthly purpose would a cable serve that never +was tested by a weight? Of what use is the tie that binds wedded hearts +together if like a filament of floss it parts when the strain is brought +to bear upon it? It is not when you are young, my dear, when the skies +are blue and every wayside weed flaunts a summer blossom, that the story +of your life is recorded. It is when "Darby and Joan" are faded and +wasted and old, when poverty has nipped the roses, when trouble and want +and care have flown like uncanny birds over their heads (but never yet +nested in their hearts, thank God!), that the completed chronicle of +their lives furnishes the record over which approving heaven smiles and +weeps. + + * * * * * + +There is one thing I learn day by day in my strollings about town, and +that is that nobody is going to give me dollar values for half-dollar +equivalents. In these days when the best of folks go mad on bargains we +seem to think it is an easy thing to get something for nothing, but I +have yet to see the day when we can. There are cheap restaurants where +they serve you roast turkey for a quarter, but don't fool yourself! It +is not the same kind of bird they serve in a high-class place for a +dollar. You look at your check when you come out from an economical +kitchen with a feeling of glee that you have got so much for so little. +But how about the flavor that lingers in your mouth? How about the +display of pine toothpicks and spotted linen? How about the +finger-marked drinking glasses and damp napkins? No, no; poor as I am I +would rather pay my dollar and get a dollar's worth of cleanliness and +daintiness and flavor than save seventy-five cents and do without them. +Sure as you live and sure as the world is operated on a +self-accommodative basis, you never will get a first-water diamond +without you pay first-water diamond equivalents. + + * * * * * + +The other day there was a little girl, scarce 16 years of age, who +started away for the first time from home and mother. She was brave and +gay in a new suit, new boots and a new hat with a feather the color of a +linnet's wing. She carried a bunch of the loveliest sweet peas at her +dainty waist and on her face there played a sunburst of smiles. She had +not been five hours in the place appointed her to visit when her mother +received the following letter: + +"My Precious Mamma: I am writing this in my room before I am called to +breakfast. None but God can know what I suffer! Not until I am in your +arms once more will you know what I am going through! If you love me let +me come home. Don't tell anyone, but let me come if you love me! Don't +send the shoes--I shall not need them--but let me come home! Think what +I must suffer so far away from you. I shall sell my ring and buy a +ticket if you do not telegraph that I may come!" + +And as I read the pathetic letter between my smiles and tears I thought +to myself, is there anything on earth so hard to bear as +homesickness--first homesickness, when the heart is new to sorrow? I +would rather have any disease the laboratory of evil keeps in stock than +one pang of what that little girl was suffering when she penciled that +letter. + + * * * * * + +Around in a picture store on one of the avenues I chanced upon a +painting that attracted not only myself, but a crowd of people from the +street. It represented a lion's cage barred with heavy barriers of iron. +On the floor of the den is the figure of a beautiful girl stretched in a +deathlike swoon. There are orange blossoms in her hair, and the flush on +her cheek has had no time to fade. Crouched by her side, one great paw +on her breast and another at her waist, is a wrathful lion whose evident +intention is to tear his victim into bonbon fragments. I wish somebody +would explain that picture to me. I am tired conjecturing how the bride +strayed into the lion's quarters, and where her husband was that he +shouldn't be taking better care of her, and why there was nobody on hand +to help at this critical moment portrayed on the canvas. Young married +women are not supposed to be visiting zoological gardens when they ought +to be changing their white satin favors for their traveling gowns. The +picture seems a puzzler to all who watch it, and as the crowd is great +the confusion of wits is catching. + + * * * * * + +THE TRYST. + + Where a woodland path, like a silver line, + Winds by a woodland river, + And half in shadow, and half in shine, + The alders lean and shiver, + Where a forest bird has built him a nest + Low in the springing grasses, + And all the day long, with her wings at rest, + His mate the slow time passes; + + Where a flood of gold through the forest dim + Tells when the noon is strongest, + And a purple fringe on the forest's rim + Proclaims when the shades are longest; + Where the dawn is only known from the night + By the birds that sing their sweetest, + And the twilight hush from the morning light + By the peace that is then completest; + + Where only the flood of silvery haze + Shall tell that the moon is risen, + When down from the sky, like a meteor blaze, + Shall flutter her snow-white ribbon,-- + I will meet you there, my lady love sweet, + When the weary world is sleeping, + And the frets of the day, that tireless beat, + Are hushed in the night's close keeping; + + Not missing the world--by the world unmissed-- + We two shall wander together, + And whether we chided, or whether we kissed, + There'll be none to forget or remember; + And when at the last asleep you shall fall, + By the shore of the musical river, + Of the crimson leaves I will weave you a pall, + And kiss you good-by, love, forever. + + But the stars up above, and the waters below, + Shall sing of us, over and over; + Of the tryst that we kept in the years long ago, + In the woods by the beautiful river. + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + + + Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from + the original. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected as follows: + + Page 35: "blase" changed to "blase" + Page 53: "neighors" changed to "neighbors" + Page 98: "patroled" changed to "patrolled" + Page 129: "meed" changed to "need" + + Punctuation has been corrected without note. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rosemary and Rue, by Amber + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROSEMARY AND RUE *** + +***** This file should be named 36168.txt or 36168.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/6/36168/ + +Produced by D Alexander, David E. 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