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6
Worth Womans While
A Song to Brave Women.
They were married in the autumn when the leaves
were turning gold,
And the mornings bore the menace of the winter’s
coming cold;
Side by side they stood and promised, hand in hand,
to walk through life,
And the parson said, “God bless you!” as he nam
ed them man and wife.
They had little wealth to aid them; little of the
world they knew;
But he whispered: “Oh, my darling, I have riches
—I have—you.”
Then they vowed that, walking ever side by side
and hand in hand,
They would gain the distant summits of their far
off, happy land.
Side by side they walked together, lingering some
times for a kiss,
Dreaming of those far-off summits, of the future’s
perfect bliss;
But the battle-stress was on them, and the foeman
bade them yield,
And their onward steps were hidden by the smoke
upon the field;
And his heart grew faint within him as he murmur
ed: “I must fall,
For the foeman presses ever, and his cohorts con
quer all.”
But the woman, loyal ever, only whispered: “You
shall win!
You shall’ snatch the victor’s laurel from the bat
tle-strife and din.”
Then again he struggled onward, though his wounds
were gaping wide,
Listening ever for a whisper—“l am battling by
your side.”
Struggling onward, struggling ever, though the
mists were dark about;
Beaten downward by the foeman, lost in mists of
gloom and doubt;
Still he heard that gentle whisper that his spirit
must obey
Till he reached the golden summits past the border
land of gray.
Then the world, as wise as ever, said, “Behold a
conquering knight! ’ ’
For it never heard the whisper that had urged him
to the height.
Call it fable, fable only; 10, the world is full of
these,
Men who struggle onward, upward, till the splendid
prize they seize;
Men who stumble, stumble often, dazed or stricken
in the din,
But to rise and falter forward at the whisper,
“You shall win!”
And we name them knights and heroes of the bat
tle and the fray,
Knowing not that there behind each is the one who
showed the way;
Just some little, loyal woman forcing back the tears
that blur—
You may honor your brave hero; I will sing a song
to her.
—Alfred J. Waterhouse.
Love As a Tonic.
All through the Bible are passages which show
that love is a health-tonic, and actually lengthens
life.
“With long life will I satisfy him,” says the
Psalmist, ‘''because he hath set his love upon me.”
Tx>ve is harmony, and harmony prolongs life, as
fear, jealousy, envy, friction and discord shorten
it.
Who has not seen the magic power of love in
The \lolden Age for October 25, 1906.
By FLORENCE L. TUCKER
transforming rough, uncouth men into refined and
devoted husbands ?
There is no doubt that those who are filled with
the spirit of love, which is the Christ spirit—
whose sympathies and tenderness are not confined
to their immediate relatives and friends, but reach
out to every member of the human family—live
longer and are more exempt from the ills of man
kind than the selfish and pessimistic, who, centered
in themselves, lose the better part of life, the
joy and the strength that comes from giving them
selves to others.
The power of love is often illustrated in a deli
cate mother who walks the floor, night after night,
whose days pass without recreation or change, week
in and week out, and who feels more than compen
sated if she can only procure zelief for her suf
fering little one.
In no other way than through the marvelous pow
er of love can we account for the wonderful mira
cles of endurance presented by many mothers in
bringing up large families. Think of a mother
carrying about, perhaps for the greater part of a
day and the night following, the same weight, in
merchandise or other matter, as that of a sick
child! She could not stand the strain. She would
be ill in a short time. But love lightens her load
and makes self-sacrifice a pleasure. She can bear
any burden, even poverty, disappointemnt, or suf
fering, for tlie sake of the loved one. This sub
limely unselfish mother-love is a prototype of the
most exalted creative love that enraptures the uni
verse, that invites us to be partakers and dispens
ers of this world-tonic, this great panacea for all of
the ills of mankind.—Selected.
•
The Passing of the Uptons.
(Concluded from last week.)
“Yesterday evening at the home of Bev. J. L.
Lewis, Mr. Robei t E. I’pton was married to Miss
Marian Cecile Welch. The mariiage was a roman
tic one. Mr. I’pton coming from his home in W
County and Miss Welch from Pittsburg, Penn.,
they having agreed to meet in this city, and if mu
tually pleased, consummate in matrimony the in
terest ripened after a short but effectual corres
pondence. Mr. I pton is a man of means and con
nection, and of enterprise as well, for his bride
was won through the medium of an advertising
agency, she having replied to his ad. for a wife.
Ihe happy couple left immediately for the home of
the groom.”
The Colonel laid down his paper, but before Miss
Cornelia had found voice for her astonishment, he
spied a short figure coming up the walk.
“Yonder comes Mrs. Kemble,” he said. “How
long since she has been here?”
“Two years,” responded his sister absently as
she left the room.
There was a good deal of visiting done among
neighbors both near and far for the next few days,
though no one called upon Mr. Upton’s wife. Cu
riosity might keep them on the go visiting each
other, and in the hope of getting a sight of the
newcomer, but a woman like that—who had been
advertised for! They could not imagine how 7 such
a monstrous creature could appear. It was said
she kept quite busy the first two weeks going to
the merchants and dressmakers in town. Mrs.
Kemble thought she must have married “very sud
den,” to be so unprepared in bridal array. When
at last on a Sunday morning she appeared at
preaching they were all there to see her—a young
and very modern looking woman, robust, self-re
liant and very different from her into whose home
she had come, and whose rings already she wore.
Miss Jane had a good deal of jewelry left by those
who had been before her, pins and bracelets and
“op’ry chains and a whole galore of finger-rings,”
Partheny reported one day when curiosity had tak
en her down to the Marr place that she might
see for herself, and found the new Mrs. Upton
engaged in inspecting her lately acquired treas
ures.
“I tell you, Miss Cornelia, she ain’t got no mo’
right to them things than I is, nor as much, for at
leas’ I b’longed to de qualities’ family in de coun
ty, and dat white ’oman’s got ways ain’t much
better’n de real buckra, you hear me! Oh, she looks
well enough, dressed out in dem clo’es Mr. Upton’s
done bought her wid Miss Jane’s money, but blood
will tell!”
Regularly on Sunday she was at church, her
costumes growing in number and in color, daily she
came to be driving along the country roads or into
the town, sometimes with the silent Mr. Upton,
but oftener alone, for it was evident from the first
she was equal to taking care of herself. A month
passed, six weeks—she had become a familiar fig
ure, but no one called. So when Mr. Upton
was one night taken violently sick with pleurisy
and some of the neighbors were sent for, it was the
first real contact any had had with the new order
of things down there. In less than a week he was
dead. The widow sent to town for mourning for
the funeral. It was the latter part of May, and
getting warm. “Send a veil and bonnet,” she wrote
■to the milliner, “and have me a black mull waist
made with lace sleeves—l cannot wear anything
heavy, the heat makes me faint. I have a black
skirt that will do.” The milliner sent back post
haste to remonstrate on the impropriety of mull and
lace for such an occasion, and to suggest that she
be allowed to fix up what was suitable. But Mrs.
I pton had wish and will of her own, and the ob
sequies were celebrated with plump arms shining
through lace sleeves.
Mr. Upton’s death had been wholly unexpected
and unprovided for. Certain of his business col
leagues from town accompanied by his lawyer came
out the day after the funeral and found the wid
ow seated before his private desk, around her
spread letters in different styles of stationery and
of chirography, and standing in a row’ before her,
photographs to the number of eleven, women young
and not young, personable to a degree and to a less
degree. She was leaning on her arms studying them,
and turned as her husband’s friends entered.
“It is not hard to see why he should have taken
me, considering what he had to choose from,” she
said with a laugh. “And to think he had kept all
these thing’s!”
They found that day the will of Benjamin Marr
" hicii left to his daughter, Jane, his entire propertv,
real and personal, and in case she died without is
sue, to her brother after her, William Manson
Marr. The lawyer bethinking him at this junc
ture of a letter lying in his inner pocket, drew 7 it
forth.
“This,” he said to Mrs. Upton, “is a communi
cation received from William Manson Marr and
dated before the death of the late Mr. Upton, in
w hich he announced his intention of arriving’ here
on the 27th, which is tomorrow 7 . 111-health has de
tained him up to this time on the Pacific slope, and
being in no haste to burden himself with business
he has delayed until now 7 . He may, however, be
expected on the 27th.”
Ihe next morning Miss Cornelia, bearing the bur
den and heat of the day in her flower garden, was
hailed by Mrs. Kemble.
“Have you heard the new 7 s?” she called from her
buggy. “Mrs. Upton’s gone, and carried off all
she could with her—all Miss Jane’s jewelry and
silks and a lot of the old silver! She left in the
night—took that four o’clock train this mornin’!”
When her neighbor had gone Miss Cornelia went
inside to where he v brother was seated in the
hall.
“You heard what she said?” she asked. “Poor
Miss Jane! But what, haunts me is that feather
boa!”
FLORENCE L. TUCKER.