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ETERNAL PROGRESS.
As the bud that unfolds into bloom,
As the brook that runs down to she river,
Through seasons of gold and of gloom,
We broaden and brighten forever.
Go look in your child's little face.
It bears still a stamp that is holy.
God yet has some hope of the race.
We progress—be’ it never so slowly.
The fact is as fixed as the stars;
The archives of destiny prove it;
The Infinite plan nothing mars.
And mortal is powerless to move it.
ARTHUR GOODENOUGH.
Brattleboro, Vermont.
CHAT.
When the sitting room is small, the inmates gather
all the more closely about the fireside, so now, that
our space is temporarily restricted, we will draw to
gether more closely and chat more intimately.
Charles Harrell and Firefly, I, too, believe that the
move of The Golden Age farther to the sunset will
be for the best. It will give a wider field of useful
ness, a more inspiring outlook. And it is not so
far. Science has. almost annihilated space. Steam
and electricity will link the Texas and the Georgia
offices of The Golden Age so closely you will not be
aware of the difference.
Yellow Jessamine, I, too, believe it, would be best
for every state to have a law forbidding boy and
girl marriages. Not long since I saw a girl who had
been married, divorced and married a second time
before she was eighteen. Some early marriages prove
happy, but the risk is too great. One outgrows the
crude fancies and likings of youth. The ideals of
the boy or girl do not measure up to the ideals of the
mature man and woman. “Woll o’ the Wisp." the
novel “Wild Work.” though, as you say, intensely dra
matic, is a true presentation of life during the wild,
whirling days of the reconstruction in the most op
pressed of all the states —Louisiana. The chief inci
dents and character in “Wild Work” are real. “How
many books have 1 written, and where can you find
tnem?” you ask. 1 have published fifteen novels and
one volume of verse. The novels may be had from
George Munro, Vandevales street, New York. Mr.
Munro bought the copyrights of the books from the
Appleton Brothers, who were my first publishers.
You have tne key to the problem, Young One.
When we hesitate where the ways diverge and can
not decide which course is right, “a little talk with
Jesus” will wonderfully help us to decide which road
is the one to take. Conscience is an unfailing prompt
er in the matter of duty, though sometimes its still,
small voice is drowned by insistent wishes or fears.
Tennesseean has had some revealing peeps behind
tne curtain of every-day domestic life, and tells real
istically about the wives and husbands who are honey
abroad and gall at home. I once knew a man who
would say, “Yes, sweetheart,” to a proposition of his
wife when they were in company, but say it with
a snap of the eye that told “sweetheart” what she
might look for when they were alone. And I have
known wives whose temper seemed as bland as a May
morning abroad, while at home they were regular
Zantippes only, as you remember, the wife of the
great philosopher was not a hypocrite. She blessed
out her distinguisned hubby right before his adoring
young men followers, and when Socrates, who never
retorted, could stand it no longer, and said to his
pupils, “Let us go to the grove; it is very warm here.”
“Warm, are you!” cried Zantippe. “Then I will cool
you,” and she threw over him a bucket of water.
“After the thunder there cometh the rain.” said the
wisest of the Greeks, as he quietly wiped the water
from his face. Small wonder he did not complain
when he was made to drink the bowl of deadly hem
lock. Yet Zantippe had some rigat on her side. So
crates was a genius, and genius is often too busy
with its dreams and theories and speculations to
hear the scraping at the bottom of the domestic flour
barrel.
Socrates was one of the world's pathfinders —the
first to point out the path of that eternal progress of
which Arthur Goodenough sings today.
Who should walk in upon me in tne dusk of a
lovely starlit evening this week, but two of the best,
known favorites of our old Household —Italy Hemp
erly and F. L. Orton—all the way from New York.
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of "Expression For Those Who Feel awl Think.
The Golden Age for October 1, 1908.
Mr. Orton has been making his first tour of the-
South, taking in the homes of a number of the House
holders, whom he had learned to know and love
through their published and their private letters. He
had paid a visit to our dear Annice—an opportune
one, as he could give her tne comfort of his sym
pathy and friendship in her recent great loss. Then
fie visited Fineta in her Alabama home, out-staying
h s time there, held by the charm of the dark-eyed
young novelist. His stay in Atlanta included some
delightful hours with Italy, who is a very spirit of
grace and loveliness; a flying, and I fear a disillusion
ing, visit to my summer “camp.” in which I am still
lingering, and a visit to sweet “June Rose,” of the
Household, who is here in a sanitarium, to which
she came from her beautiful but malarious home in
far south Florida, on a big plantation of orange,
banana and guava. To-night Air. Orton leaves for
Newberry, South Carolina, on purpose to see Mar
garet Richard, our own dear “Maid Margaret,” whose
exquisite poems you have read with delight. Mr.
Orton is not at all like I had pictured him. He is
quite youthful looking, jolly, informal, the best of
company, thoroughly Southern in type and manner.
He read The Golden Age with interest, and will con
tinue to write for it.
Wtb ®ur Correspondents
HO FOR TEXAS!
But Is It Good-bye, Household?
And so The Golden Age is to be transplanted to
Texas. Seems to me all the best things go to Texas.
Once that big, vigorous young state was regarded as
a kind of dumping-ground for the other states, and
its name was accounted for on this wise:
“When each other state rejects us.
There is one that gladly takes us (Texasi.
out now —my! What a change the last half cen
fury has brought to Texas! What a grand marching on
she has done! She has within her mighty borders
every kind of climate, every kind of industry, ami
all kinds of people, but mostly hustlers, honest and
courageous. And now she is going to have The
Golden Age. Well, we of Georgia will hate mortally
to give it up, but if it keeps the Household and the
Voices of Youth and Mr. Upshaw’s ringing editorials,
we will follow it to Texas with our hearts ami our
subscriptions and await with thrilling interest the
great fignt that Captain Willie is going to begin
against King Alcohol and his cohorts. The fignt will
be a big one. When you cut off the head of the ter
rible Python —whiskey—another springs out to take
its place. But ue is bound to be Killed some day
soon, and all honor to those who have the moral
courage and faith to attack him now in his hour of
lustiest strength. God speed the good work.
Thomasville, Ga. CHARLES HARRELL.
HOW TO KNOW.
I have often heard lhe question, “How am I to
know what is my duty in cases where there are two
ways in which to act, and I must choose between
these two ways?” 1 have found an answer to this
question by my own experience. The way to know is
to ask God. Some of you may smile at this, but it is
true; and remember, it was the Savior Himself who
told us to ask and our petition would be granted. I
ask with all my heart. “Enlighten and guide me in
this. Father. Show me the right way.” And 1 lift
my head feeling confident I shall be guided aright.
Sometimes the way in which I am directed seems
the wrong course. Aly faith falters, but in the end
it is all right. The still, small inward voice has
guided me right.
There is one duty we too often neglect —our duty
to others. No man lives to himself. All of us are
our brothers’ keepers. We are bound together by
a bond of spirit kinship and to help and comfort ami
uplift each other is our duty. There is a couplet
which conveys a wrong impression:
“I slept and dreamed that life was beauty;
1 woke and found that life was duty.”
This is not the way to think of duty. Rightly
looked at, it has a true and fine beauty which may
be veiled at first, but will be revealed farther on.
Happiness is beauty; a glad or peaceful face is a
lovely one, and there can be no true happiness save
in the performance of duty. Love is beautiful, and
if we did our whole duty, this world would be full
of love. YOUNG ONE.
LACK OF POLITENESS AT HOME.
I was much impressed by what was said in last
week's Golden Age about the lack of kindness and
courtesy in the home circle. I have often observed
this lack and deplored it. The children usually copy
the manners of their parents, however, and where
you find children rude and inconsiderate of the feel
ings of their home people, you will find that the
parents are wanting in politeness to each other.
Children are as imitative as monkeys, and by imitat
ing what they daily see and hear, habits are formed
and grow into their natures. I have known a dainty
looking little woman, who was all amiability abroad
and a perfect shrew at home, and I have known a
man who was a Chesterfield of politeness when you
met him in society, but at home, when there was no
company, no bear was ever so rough. Why is this?
I would like to know. Why should so many persons
drop tueir mantle of good breeding as soon as they
cross the threshold of their own homes —the very
place that they should be most concerned to keep
peaceful and beautiful with an atmosphere of kind
ness ami love?
I think M. E. B.’s suggestion is correct. It is
the unloving, misinated couples who have chi.TTren
that disregard the feelings of their parents. This
brings us to the root of the matter —hasty and ill
judged marriages. A woman, or a man either, makes
or mars his or her life by marrying. If the pair are
mismated everything in their wedded life is out of
tune. They never know the sweetness of perfect,
sympathetic comradeship. They go through life yoked
together by a bond that has no sacredness in it —no
joy, no helpfulness, no mutual development. Yet how
vital it is to make a congenial, well-considered mar
riage. Everything depends on it. The consequences
of mismating are far-reacaing through succeeding
generat ions.
TENNESSEEAN.
A WELCOME TO TEXAS.
It seems too good to be true that a new paper is
coming to us Texas folks from Georgia, my father’s
native state. A friend sent me a copy of last, week’s
Golden Age, saying : “It. was twice this size, but it
has swunk up, preparatory to swelling out big in
T?.\as, where it goes to fight the saloons.” Harrah
for that! The Golden Age is most welcome. We wili
rally around it as the upholder of temperance and pure
lit ('rat ure. The friend, who sent me the paper was.
like myself, a former member of the Sunny South
Household, so long and splendidly conducted by Mrs.
Bryan—M. E. B. I had not heard of her connection
with The Golden Age, but have been reading two of
her books, one a historical novel of the Reconstruc
tion, “Wild Work,” which is thrillingly dramatic, fl
was the more interesting to me because I have been
told that the chief incidents are true, and that one of
the characters is a kinsman of mine. I would like
to ask Airs. Bryan, how many books she has written,
and where 1 can get them.
WILL O’ THE WISP.
Dalias, Texas.
THE RIGHT AGE TO MARRY.
1 agree with you who have sai 1 that young men
and women who marry should be of reasonable age.
And the age of reason does not. come until the twen
tieth mile-stone is passed. A woman of twenty-five
is better able to form a correct idea of a. man’s char
acter than a girl of eighteen, and she is capable of
a deeper and more lasting affection. She knows how
to express her love —not by pet phrases and baby talk,
but by acts, by a sympathy with and understanding
of her husband’s pursuits, his responsibilities and his
ambitions.
And a man of thirty is far more capable of appre
ciating a wife than a boy of twenty-one. He is capa
ble of realizing that, a wise, tender friendship is far
better than gushing sentiment, or hot-hearted pas
sion. Such a friendship lasts. It doesn’t give out in
middle life—the very time when it is needed —for
psychologists tell us that the woman at thirty-five
craves affection more than at any other period, and
is better competent to give love and to appreciate its
return. Airs. Wilcox says, “The middle-aged man
may be satisfied with his business and his ambitious
aims, but the middle-aged woman craves to be loved,
and is capable of giving affection in fullest measure.”
YELLOW JESSAMINE.
South Carolina.
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