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THE FLESH POTS OF EGYPT.
(Khem is the ancient name by which Egypt was
known.)
Os old when the sentence was spoken
Which fated the Jew to be free,
Os old when the bondage was broken
And Israel fared to the sea;
There came from the nations a murmur —
Nor prophet nor priest could it stem —
But still it grew louder and firmer,
A cry for the flesh pots of Khem.
God’s manna was graciously given
In plenty and wholesomely sweet;
It fell from His hand out of heaven
And gathered like snow at their feet.
But yet, they were sore discontented,
His wisdom they dared to condemn,
And loudly and long they lamented
The loss of the flesh pots of Khem.
The past had been bitter and hateful,
The future lay smiling before;
They should have been hopeful and grateful,
Instead, they were sullen and sore.
He clothed them with marvelous clothing,
His bounty He meted to them.
And still they received it with loathing,
And mourned for the flesh pots of Khem.
And ours is the very same nature,
Till Death has unbolted the gates,
The short-sighted mind of the creature
Is thankless to Him who creates.
The children of Heber lamented,
And we, in our day, like to them,
Though God has in mercy relented,
We yearn for the flesh pots of Khem.
ARTHUR GOODENOUGH.
Brattleboro, Vermont.
CHAT.
A pretty little woman (she is both pretty and
little, as her picture she has sent to me proves)
has contributed a too spicy letter to the House
hold, in which she declares that “Old Woman’’
slanders the cats when she compares them with
men. The things this little blue-eyed, fair-haired
woman says against men would never do to put in
the Household, though they are piquantly and wittily
said, and no doubt contain a spice of truth. But
their view point takes in a narrow range, and in the
average they are unjust and unkind. “Lottie P,”
as she signs herself, has been unfortunate in hav
ing known so many worthless men. Father, brother,
uncles, were all, she says, “unworthy to be looked
up to by a woman, and a woman likes to look up to
the man she stands in close relation to.” Perhaps,
Lottie, you put your standard too high. Human nature
growing; the moral stature of men and women is
is increasing, but ideals —particularly women's ideals
—are often higher than ordinary humanity can reach.
The only way to make them seem loftier, is to throw
about them the roseate mist of love, which gives
a pleasing indefiniteness to outlines, and softens
hard angles and points. “Be to their faults a little
blind; be to their virtues ever kind,” says the an
cient wise little rhyme, and very good advice it is.
It is not an easy matter to live in close relation to
another, for perfect congeniality is seldom found.
There will be differences of taste, and opinion; there
will be natures too exquisitely sensitive, and others
too blunt and frank, and we are prone to forget the
every day truth that “more offend from want of
thought than from any want of feeling.” Mr. James,
the famous author, holds that the quality most indi
cating refinement, good blood and morality in wom
en is tact. It is the quality most necessary at home
and in society, and it should be cultivated, should
be taught by mothers and teachers. Tact, when
analyzed, is nothing but the golden rule, which is
more ancient than the days of Christ, since it is
among the sayings of Buddha. To do to others as
you would have others do to you, is the root from
which flower the finest manners, the most gra
cious conduct. Perfect tact requires imagination.
We must be able quickly to put ourselves into an
other’s place that we may understand just what
would please and what would be disagreeable to
him. Imagination is a noble gift, a quality that
should be cultivated rather than discouraged, as it is
in most school training. It is necessary in nearly
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression For Those Who Teel and Think.
The Golden Age for April 9, 1908.
every business in life, though an excess of it, as an
excess in everything, is injurious, leading to a vis
ionary, unpractical habit of thought.
The voice of Dr. Botts coming from the fields
and meadows of his poultry and dairy farm is most
welcome to those who are delighted with his witty
(and wise) retorts on Annie Valentine's frankly
radical views as expressed in the Sunny South. We
hope to hear from him often. “The Flesh Pots of
Egypt” is one of the best poems Arthur Goode
nough has sent us. It is certainly a curious ac
count of the ways our forefathers had of building
churches, which Mrs. McDaniel has kindly copied for
us from the State Historical records, to which she
has access. She sends other items which our read
ers will find interesting. We hope this bright
balmy weather will inspire many of our readers
and members to write for the Household.
THE GOLDEN AGE HOUSEHOLD.
In justice both to Mrs. Bryan and the editor of
The Golden Age, it should be said that the editorial
reference to hex* as the head of our Household, was
an inadvertent expression possibly capable of mis
interpretation. Since the marriage of her grand
daughter, Miss Ada Louise Bryan, who was editing
the Household, Mrs. Bryan has been assisting in
this department, but she is not the head of it in the
sense in which she edits The Open House in Uncle
Remus’s. We will rejoice to have her often in this
delightful realm where she is so much loved. —The
Editor.
A WORD FROM MRS. BRYAN.
In an editorial in The Golden Age last week, Mr.
Upshaw complimented the Household in his usual
whole-souled fashion, mentioning as its head —“Moth-
er Meb” —an affectionate name given me by the
readers of the Sunny South Household. While
greatly appreciating praise from my genial friend of
lang syne, I must disclaim the pleasure of being
permanent head of The Golden Age Household. 1
have been temporarily looking after its interests
since the retirement of Miss Ada Bryan after her
marriage, but it is quite impossible for me to take
editorial charge of it, since I am conducting The
Open House in Uncle Remus's Magazine, the de
partment which took the place of the popular House
hold of the Sunny South. The Golden Age Household
will not, however, lack an efficient head. I am in
formed that it will shortly be presided over by one
whose qualities of mind and heart will ensure your
interest and affection. Meantime, 1 will not say good
bye, as 1 shall be looking in upon you occasionally,
and shall always bear you lovingly in mind.
Clarkston, Ga. MARY E. BRYAN.
Ufflitb ®ur Correspondents
A BRAVE LITTLE SHUT-IN.
Dear Householders: Here is a letter which
touches me very deeply. It conies from one of the
bravest little creatures in all the land. I know her
personally, and have been to her home. Although
she is forty-three years old, she has never walked a
step in her life. Not larger than a good-sized baby,
almost deaf for years and very helpless, she has
been brave enough and industrious enough to learn
and to work, and the book she has given to the
world, “A Little Sunbeam,” is a household treas
ure to all who love a tender story, and a fine col
lection of poems and sketches. The worst thing I
knew about the book, is the fact that your “humble
servant" wrote the introduction to the first edition,
and the “foreword” to the second.
“A Little Sunbeam” has a number of pictures in
it, and is quite attractive. I hope that every one
who reads her touching letter will sit down right
straight and write this brave little shut-in a letter
of good cheer, and send for her book. It will cost
you so little and mean so much to her.
WILL D. UPSHAW.
LONGING FOR LETTERS.
My Dear Friends: I lie here in bed and long for
letters. Have been in bed since last June unable to
sit up or leave my room. It has been so hard for
me to give up my wheel chair for the bed, and being
unable to do anything, the days seem long and lope-
some. This beautiful spring weather makes me
long to be up at work; my once busy hands are now
idle; but, “all things work together for good to
those that love the Lord,” so I can only trust in
Him and Him alone. I still sell my book, “The
Little Sunbeam,” the story of my life, at SI.OO in
cloth, and 50 cents in paper, postpaid. I would be
so thankful for orders. 1 may never be able to sit
up and work again.
1 wish you all a happy Easter. Remember, I need
much cheer and sunshine. Would like some post
cards.
With love to all, Your little invalid friend,
MOLLIE E. WILLIS.
R. F. D. 3, Barnesville, Ga,
*
NO CAT-MEN IN OUR TOWN.
What is the matter with our sweet Old Woman 9
I know she is sweet, for I have seen her lovely
picture in the old Sunny South. Such a benignant,
kindly face! And yet, here she is, scoring the men
folks and saying they are Tom Cats in nature.
Well, I know my John is not a bit tomcatty —an
I don’t think any of my neighbors’ husbands are
dined that way. True, one of them has a hub 1
who is a little bearish now and then, or rather f
had cross spells, but they have disappeared since
prohibition came in. Then, there is a little woma
living on the edge of town, whose husband (it V'
said) spanked her once upon a time, but nob
blamed him, for she was an inveterate gad-abc’ “
She went visiting every day and all day, leavm t
the big Newfoundland dog to take care of the bab v
and not coming back in time to get her llard-w
ing husband a decent meal. One day when ■4 <H
turned from the field, he found the baby’s crib ov<
turned and the baby under it, nearly smothered
death, and the other little girl with her
most burned off her. Luckily she had jumped inn
the big wash tub full of water and put out t v
flames. She had been trying to make a fire to coo.
something to eat for her father. . Well, that time,
neighbor Jasey spanked his wife Nellie. She tol<
everybody, of course, and she did not get any real
sympathy, for in their hearts, her listeners all said
“Served you just right.”
I think most women who have tom-cat husbafiu.
make them cross by the way they treat them,
you rub a cat’s fur the wrong way it is sure to ir
tate the nervous creatures and often make the
snarl and scratch. Some women have aggravati)
ways at home, keeping all their sweet tempers,
they do their preserves, for company. Women can say
such mean little irritating things so can men, but 4
women have a better knack at it. They find all ~r ,
cracks in a man’s armor and run little pin pou.
through that prick and worry as the tiny Lilliputian
worried Gulliver with their small, needle-like dag
gers. I don't say there are not tom-cat men, Old
Woman. 1 have heard and read awful tales about
tyrannical husbands and poor cowed, discouraged
wives, but it has been my good fortune not to know
any of these feline-natured masculines though I may
have met them socially, when they had put on their
good behavior with their good clothes.
HAPPY WIFE.
MY CHILD GARDEN.
“Let me forget in time,
Folly of dreams that I had;
Give me my share of a world most fair —
Let me work and be glad.”
Being “a stranger in a strange land,” lonely, and
for the time practically friendless, I began to look
about me to find how I could employ my time to
the greatest advantage, in away that would develop
my own nature and afford pleasure to others. I
gathered about me a small number of little ones,
and so began, in a humble way, my discipleship of
Froebel, that educator and child-lover.
Even among the few children in my child garden,
there are presented many phases of child nature, ex
tremes of difference existing, each requiring consid
eration and care as markedly different as the sepa
rate individualities of the children; there are the
shy, the reserved, and the pert, the forward, the wil
ful and the good; but I love them all. Daily associa
tion the more endears them as it brings to my notice
some touch of pathos or of humor. How greatly I
feel my responsibility to God anQ to the parent, that
