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6 Worth Womans While Danger to Children From Negro Nurse Maids. The babies and children of the South are brought up largely by negroes. This is a statement we should not, like to be confronted with away from home. Neglect is a charge none of us like to meet, and for a mother to have to own that for .the first five or six years of its life her child was in the care of its negro nurse, with whom it was on far more famil iar terms than with herself, is a thing she would rather not do; she would rather evade it, and pre tend with herself that it is not true. It is a custom we have been so long given to we do not realize the extent of it until it is presented to us from without, yet when we come to think, no fact, no feature of our national life, is more patent. There are exceptional cases, of course, but as a rule no mother who can afford the expense of a nurse maid will be without one for the first several years of her child’s life; if she is in restricted cir cumstances she will have the servant only through the day, but if well-to-do, nurse is virtually bought and owned for the time being, sleeps in baby’s room, and has the complete care and nearness that Na ture gave to the mother. It must be owned that the devotion of some of these servants shines pre-em inently in their favor as it is compared with the in difference of the parents; but not all are good, and their ways are not ways of wisdom nor their teach ings such as would be chosen for the infant mind. But perhaps the one thing most objectionable in a negro nurse girl is her habit of kissing the baby— full upon its little mouth, its breath, its very life, covered with hers. Possibly you are too occupied to notice it much in the case of your own child and nurse, but observe when you are out upon the thor oughfare where the maids congregate with their charges, not only your servant, but her friends will kiss and caress your delicate baby girl in away that would horrify the great tuberculosis doctors, or any sane mother, as for that matter. We used to have great dread of consumption; now we hear little of that, but much of tuberculosis. Consumption was thought to be a fatal and incura ble disease confined to the lungs; tuberculosis (which is the same thing) may develop in any part of the body, and, taken in time, may be cured. The au thorities on this widespread malady claim that one out of every seven persons, dies of tuberculosis— the estimate does not include the eases treated and cured. Late investigations show that the ravages of the disease among negroes are such that with the present rapidity and increase it is only a ques tion of time when the race must disappear. Contagion being from the mouth it is plain what the danger to the young child is, held even while sleeping, in the nurse’s arms, and breathing her breath—many mothers even use the negro wet nurses. The other day a convention of medical men in Brooklyn discussed the question, “How can the physician and layman accomplish most in the fight against tuberculosis?” And Dr. S. A. Knopf pro posed a system to be taught children by their teachers, one rule of which says, “Don’t kiss any body directly on the lips, and don’t let anybody kiss you on the lips.” A most excellent direction, but beginning rather late. A great deal is left for the teachers to do—the doctor’s plan does not ask the co-operation of the parent, but appeals to the teacher, the faithful friend and guardian of child hood, without whose guiding hand its pathway would be far less smooth and rosy. There is no denying the teacher is to a certain extent a very savior after her jurisdiction begins, but there are the six or seven years before she comes into the child’s life, and even when the little one goes out from home the teaching he has had from his mother should be ever paramount in the little mind, over The Golden Age for May 17, 1906. By FLORENCE 'TUCKER any that the whole wide experience of life can offer. Children in the arms can be taught by the mother not to submit to being kissed. Fancy yourself be ing pounced upon perhaps twenty times a day and kissed by friend or stranger, and think what this indiscriminate attack must mean to delicate sensi bilities ( and even babies have sensibilities), to say nothing of just so many contacts with as many different diseased organisms. And suppose you had to be kissed by your own nurse, and not only that, but by her friends? Dr. Knopf is on the right track. The children should be taught not to submit to being kissed; and before they are old enough to understand they should be protected by their mothers from the menace of deadly disease in the breath and lips of the negro nurse maids. If Not Memory, Its Effects. The gift of memory is more coveted, perhaps, than any other. It is a gift; the faculty may be culti vated, but as with other talents Heaven has endow ed some where to others it gave but a meager por tion. The average mortal becomes greatly discour aged when his own forgetfulness, as he is apt to re gard it, is impressed upon him by contrast with one of the favored ones. He feels almost helpless be fore this superior mentality, and even wonders, per haps, if Nature has done all her duty by him, if all is his that should by right be. But the mother possessing diversity of gifts often makes up for the absence of one in the bestowal of another—the thing is that we just have the good sense to recog nize it, and to utilize it, and to utilize what is ours. A sound, wholesome philosophy stands us in as good stead oftentimes as a shining gift. As in the case of the Irish washerwoman. The priest, making her a visit on Monday morning, she told him she had enjoyed the sermon of Sunday. “Ah?” said his reverence much pleased. “Tell me about it—what do you recollect that impressed you most? Now, let us hear.” “Well,” replied Bridget, “I can’t say as I rick erlect onything at all. No, I can’t say as I do.” “The text, then—of course you remember that?” “Nayther the text. There’s ne’er a part of the sermon as I can tell the words of.” “What!” cried the irate priest, “you tell me that it was a fine sermon, that it did you good, and yet you cannot so much as give the text! How is that?” “Yer riverance,” said the imperturbable Bridg et, “it is like this: The water and soap that goes into these clo’es, none of em stays in, but ye sees fer yerself how clane and white they leaves the clo’es. The sermon nor the text would stick in my head, but my heart is the whiter for havin’ heerd em.—l am claner jist as the clo’es is clane.” And so, when we reflect, may we all comfort our selves. Nothing is lost; no impression ever made— no sentence read or word spoken—but has left its little dent in the mind, found its own little place of lodgment in the heart, and had its own influence ever after. We cannot quote long poems, perhaps, or recall readily passages that come to us only hazily and so seem no good at all, but if the reading has been good, if associations have been what they ought, like the water and soap, they have made us whiter and cleaner, and without even keeping them with us, we yet have the best that we could want of them; their effect upon us. Amid those whom many would give up as beyond reach and unworthy of effort, I have found generosi ty, unselfishness, patience and cheerfulness that would often teach people in happier circumstances a striking lesson. —-Maud Ballinger Booth. Respect For Elders. Two young women were walking on the crowded thoroughfare of a large city when an elderly lady in passing spoke pleasantly. “Who was that?” asked one of the other. “Oh, I don’t know, some funny old woman in St. Paul’s Church.,” her companion replied indif ferently. “Well, you didn’t trouble to be nice,” responded the first, “she is old, and if she is funny, too, there will be plenty of people will not be nice to her, you might have smiled.” What a pity young people cannot always remem ber “their manners,” as the old-time servants were accustomed to designate the courtesy which society dictates and kindness should prompt. A respectful salutation accompanied by a smile is as little as could be expected in recognition of the attention of an elder, yet so indifferently are young people the aged will often times go round them to escape open rudeness. A gentle little lady no longer young was wending her way homeward the other evening accompanied by a sweet young girl whose beautiful demeanor toward older people would perhaps bring upon her the epithet of old-fashioned, when they were met by four boys and girls walking solidly abreast and as though they possessed the right of way; not one inch of pavement did these young people give, and the gentle little lady walked outside, she was forced to, as they proceeded on their uncompromis ing way as regardless of her as though she did not exist. “Some people have a good deal to learn yet,” she remarked quietly, it did not occur to her to assert herself, she preferred getting off the pavement to being pushed off by youthful arro gance—as in fact, she was. It really is painful to see how regardless the world is of maturity, the fullness of experience which has learned all of life that each one in turn must make his by actual passing through, theripe age to which all alike look forward. Self-respect, even, is lost sight of in the want of respect for seniors. A careless, light-brained woman answered the tele phone; the call was for one who chanced to be out and was not reported to her. The matter was one of importance, and out of the failure to communi cate by ’phone arose complications confusing and disappointing before all was done. When the absent one, on returning and learning of the neglect, in quired into the cause, the excuse was: “Oh, I knew it was just the old professor!” The old professor! And because he was old she did not regard him or his message. She did not even comprehend that since that day she first put a telephone in her house no person, man or woman, of higher, loftier character, of wider culture, or broader kindliness, had ever held speech with her, asking so simple a favor. Because his years were many she failed to discern their fullness; she could not see that he was the more a man for them; she slighted him, caused disconcertment where it need not have been, and brought on herself the contumely of those who knew of her action. Carelessness, indifference toward age is one of the most deplorable signs of our times—it betoken a rottenness at the core, the heart of us; reverence has its exercise only in certain places and to certain extent, and veneration scarce anywhere at all. What are we coming to, when our elders are treated not even with common consideration? He who walks through life with an even temper and a gentle patience—patient with herself, patient with others, patient with difficulties and crosses— he has an everyday greatness beyond that which is won in battle or chanted in cathedrals. —Orville Dewey.