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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.