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10
TT TT? T T TTCIT I T TTA Conducted by
11 XL XJL kJ VJ O XL fl I j Xz Ada Louise Bryan
A Department of ‘Expression Tor Those Who Teel and Think.
THE LOST ARGOSY.
It was summer time when it sailed away,
Ah, me! I fancy I see it now,
With its snowy sails and its pennants gay
And the sunshine gilding its pointed prow!
And my bosom swelled with happy pride,
As mutely looking across the sea,
Over the waters I saw it ride
And dreamed of the good it should bring to me.
I stood at the sunset shore and waved
The swift, white flight of my sea bound bird;
And low, but clear, in my willing ear
The voices of siren hopes I heard!
Many a beautiful dream I dreamed;
Many a castle I planned in Spain;
And I thought of the wonderful things I’d do,
When th** ship I sent should come home again.
It is winter now and the skies are dull,
And the air is cheerlss, and raw and bleak;
And wolfish waves as they strike the shore,
Often of death and of ruin speak.
And ever the home bound ships I scan,
For the hope of one that I long to see;
But the craft that I sent comes not again
And the dream is still but a dream to me.
Some say it is safe in a far off port,
And some it is sunk in a far off sea;
But spite of evil or good report
I know it will never come back to me.
ARTHUR GOODENOUGH.
R
CHAT.
That was a lively, interesting argument which Eu
gene’s “Pa” and “Ma” had on the question, Can love
exist without respect? Much truth was said on
both sides, but, Eugene, don’t you think Pa’s declar
ation that a man is made or marred by his wife
is an admission that man is the weaker vessel? Mind.
I agree with your Pa that a wife —even an unlove I
wife —has great influence over her husband. He
unconsciously adopts her opinions, her tastes, her
likes and dislikes. I have seen a big, broad shoul
dered man completely (though unwillingly) led by
an energetic mite of a woman, reminding one of a big
ship towed by a little tug. Os course women are
shrewd enough to know that they influence the men
who love them, but does this lower their respect for
the lover or husband? It doesn’t, and for the reason
that the love of every womanly woman has in it a
strong element of maternal affection, which as M. E.
B. says, doesn’t need a root of respect. Then trust
us women for knowing in our hearts that men gener
ally possess qualities that command respect —qual-
ities in which we are lacking—good judgment, execu
tive power, and plodding perseverance, for instance.
Ben Ivy’s idea of a model housekeeper is high. Well,
we like high standards, it is good to look up, but
sometimes are not those model house keepers too
much like Martha of old? The broom and dust pan
are so much in evidence in their homes and every
thing is so spick and span that one longs to put
a chair out of place or upset a work box. A neat
house is necessary and pleasant, but it is also neces
sary that a wife keep her mind as well brushed as
her floor that she may be a companion for her
husband. Can she do this and perform all hei’
thousand and one household tasks in the bargain?
Tell us, dear Household housekeepers, and if you
have succeeded, let us know how you managed it.
Gray-haired Mother, I hope you will after awhile
feel as much at home in our Golden Age Household
as in that of the lamented Sunny South. I am glad
you are finding some old friends. There are some,
too, whom you do not recognize under their new
pen names.
I think Leo of Tennille, Ga., proposes the right
solution of the problem how to keep the girls at
home. Pay them for their house work. This is
undoubtedly just and right. But suppose there is
no money with which to pay? And unfortunately
this is generally the case when the girl seeks employ
ment outside her home.
Most frequently, she goes that she may lessen
family expense, and often her wages help mother
The Golden Age for September 5, 1907.
and the young sisters, procuring the greatly needed
dress, hat, gloves or shoes. I know many such in
stances.
Cordially we greet Margaret Graham one of the fa
vorites in the Sunny South circle who tells us of
her trip to White Springs—the heart of the famous
old Sewanee river. Often when the train brings me
back at dusk from the hot and noisy city and I sit
on the veranda watching the moon through the
boughs of the great oak and listening to the
katydids, I wonder how many of my Househould
friends are enjoying the moonlit coolness of the hour.
I hope all are feeling brighter and better now that
the days are cooler and the nights and early morn
ings are fresh with the dews and the west winds.
ADA L. B.
z
tmiitb ©uv Correspondents
WHAT “MA” AND “PA” SAID ABOUT IT.
I am glad that Miss Bryan “slipped the little
sketch ‘Can Love Exist Without Respect?’ from M.
E. B.’s desk.” It opens up a topic of general interest,
and one upon which every one has an opinion, and,
possibly, some an experience. The suggestion of the
topic has created quite a stir in our house, and Ma
and Pa have had some heated conversations over it.
Ma saw the paper first, and when she had read
the articles touching on it, she said, “Can love exist
without respect? Sometimes it does, and sometimes
it don’t. I knew er woman one time what had the
no-countest husband thet ever lived, and yet she
lied ther utmost respect fer ’im. He’d get drunk, an’
sometimes he’d beat ’er like she wus er dog, and
she’d wait on ’im and look after ’im jest like he
wus er king. I tell yer ’fore I’d put up with er man
like that, I’d snatch ’im bald-headed. Respect such
er man! Never so long as I live.”
“He won’t need yer respect aft’r you er dead,”
Pa humbly replied.
“No, an’ he won’t get it while I live, sure as you
erlive,” replied Ma.
“Well, you need’n be telling me that, fer enybody
vho knows you as well as I do, knows it without you’
tellin’ ’em,” replied Pa, as he walked around the cor
ner of the house to get out of Ma’s way.
I followed Pa to see if I could console him some.
He seemed to appreciate my boyish sympathy, and
we had a long talk together—or, at least, Pa had an
opportunity to talk to me.
“I tell yer, my boy,” said Pa, “it doesn’t matter
where you hear it, or from whom it comes, it is
always ther man what is ther dog. Now, here it is
that er way in ther paper. Ther is no mention made
uv how er husband love er wife who does so-and-so.
and so-and-so. It is always ther man what is to
blame. Ther man is ther dog, he is ther one what
gets drunk, he is ther one who says hard things,
he is the one who doesn’t deserve ther respect uv
enybody. Ther woman is always sweet. If yer read
the poets what I has got accumulated on ther shelves
in ther house, you will see that, they ’plaud ther
women to the skies; one would think that ther women
what they know’d were not of this earth. If yer
go ter church on er Sunday mornin’, you will hear
ther parson talk erbout ther men as if they were
devils, and ther women as if they were angels. If yer
spend er dollar to hear some man talk what haint
got nothin ter do but ride eround ther country and
spout erbout things that he has read in ther books,
but don’t know nothin erbout, you will hear him
throw bouquets at ther wome nand brick-bats at ther
men. Ther men are all devils, they are always ter
blame they are cruel, and it is er wonder that any
body at all has any respect fer ’im. Now, let me
tell yer, my boy, you are young yet, and you has
er lot ter learn, but as you grow older in years
an’ experience you will find that there is about
as many women who are to blame as there are
men. It’s an old sayin’—l’m sure you hev heard
me say it, “Ther han’ what rocks ther cradle rules
ther world.’ And it’s so. Ther power behind ther
throne is always ther woman what’s in ther house
and her character and ther atmosphere of her soul
is reflected in every member uv the household, even
to her husband.
“Let me tell year this in er new par’garph, my
boy—nine out uv ten men who go ter ther dogs gq
there because ther woman who ought ter have made
’em unmade ’em. On ther other hand, ther men who
succeed and make good husbands are ther ones who
had wives what had some sense.”
“You mean women what went oft ter college, Pa?”
“Not necessarily so. I mean women what had
some common, every day, horse sense. Women who
knew how ter make er man er home; how ter save
his money; how to turn er corn pone and fry ther
ham so that ther gravy would be red; women who
would not fret ther life out uv 'em every time they’d
fail ter come up to the’r expectations. I’ll tell yer,
my boy, ther wonder ter me is that more men is not
without ther respect uv the’r wives than what is, be
cause so many uv ther wives act in away ter make
ther husbands lose heart and self-respect and self
confidence. I wouldn’t be hard on ther women, but
ther wonder ter me is that so many uv ther men
have any respect at all fer the’r wives. No, my boy,
I don’t mean that ther women are downright mean,
and vile, and vulgar, like so many men are, but I
do mean that they are peevish, and fretful, and nag
ging, and little and in this way they don’t give er
man eny peace and he gets discouraged and goes
off to ther bad. Any ways, I’d like ter see ther
papers and ther preachers placing some uv ther
responsibility on ther women, and quit speaking
as if ther men were the only ones who are ter
blame. Most men are very much like dogs—they
respond ter kind treatment, and if yer heap the oth
er kind on them it simply sends ’em on down ther
hill. No, I don’t think er man can love er woman
what he doesn’t respect, but if she has eny sort
uv gumption, and that thing what some folks calls
‘tact’ sh’e’H act in er way, not only to retain his
respect, but to make him love her more and more, and
more and more. And if more women would act that
er way there’d be fewer men going ter ther dogs and
ther devil, and, consequently, more men to deserve
ther respect and love uv ther women.”
About this time Ma came around ther corner —
well, you can imagine the rest.
EUGENE EDWARDS.
•e
A DAY AT WHITE SPRINGS.
We went down on the morning train, sister and I,
and the two little girls. A foot ball team was on
the train and they kept up a racket —whistling,
singing, talking, and laughing. They were a jolly
crowd and kept me smiling all the way. In due time
we arrived at our destination. One of the little
girls left her umbrella on the train and when we re
proved her for being so careless she tossed her head
and said, “I don’t care. My papa’ll get me another
one. ’ Oh, the sweet, trusting faith of children. To
them papa and mamma are able to gratify every
wish. But alas, the swe°t illusion goes with the
years. After resting awhile at the hotel we went
down to the spring. The bathing pool is
a large one. The spring bubbles up from
the ground and runs out into the famous
Suwanee river. The water is impregnated with sul
phur, iron, magnesia and other minerals. But the
sulphur predominates to such an extent one can smell
it for quite a distance, the water is clear as crystal
and the rocks upon the bottom of the spring look
as though several tons of lump copperas had been
dumped in and settled there. I saw some excellent
swimming. Two gentlemen, especially, were lithe and
graceful, jumping from lofty heights and diving to
the bottom of the pool picking up pennies, turning
somersaults and floating on their backs. I admired
their activity. Some of the men and women were
too large to be graceful but they seemed to
enjoy themselves as well as the rest. The gentle
men and ladies go in bathing together although they
have separate hours, too. Some of the ladies swim
beautifully. There were not so many bathers in
the afternoon. It was sun down when we left the
spring and went over into Hoboken crossing the little
foot bridge that spans the Salmaree, and went down
to the river, beautiful Suwanee, famous in song and
story. Perhaps White Springs is the place Ponce
de Leon came searching for. Anyhow the people
flock here as though it were the of youth”
and a veritable “cure all.” And mine host told me
that one of Ponce de Leon’s old shoes had been found
there a few days before. But when I asked for a
peep at the rare relic, the shoe was not forthcoming,
and I won’t vouch for the truthfulness of the story i
Hoboken is a dense growth of live oaks, magnolias,
sweet gums, hickorys, running vines and underbrush,
where the mocking birls sing sweetly and the squir
rels play hide-and-seek. It is a beautiful place for
