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A QUESTION.
Love is the sweetest bloom of earth,
Each human heart admits it worth —
But is it a perennial flower,
Or does it die when fate clouds lower?
Does it live on through changeful
years,
Undimmed by time or grief and tears?
Or is it but a summer flower,
To grace and charm youth’s transient
hour?
True love, ’tis said, comes from
above —
The gift of God, whose name is love.
If this is true, then change and time
Should not destroy the gift sublime.
I hope some of the Household clan
Will solve this question—if they caw;
Say, Julia, S. T. P., Fineta,
Does love grow stale —and cold —or
sweeter?
As years roll on, Old Woman, Tessa,
J long to be your heart’s confessor;
This question’s vital to all men,
And strongly so to Bach’lor Ben.
B. J. IVY.
Ivy, Alabama.
CHAT.
The beautiful Easter tide is at hand,
and I am lingering still beside the
blue Indian river. The churches here
are busy making preparations for Eas
ter; chorus songs and recitations are
being rehearsed by the children and
music on the air. There will >be
no lack of flowers for decoration.
Every tree and shrub, it seems to me,
is in blossom, and every fence and
old building is hidden by a wealth
of gorgeously blooming trumpet vines,
woodbine and honey suckle. In one
beautiful flower yard here there are
several trees and vines I have never
seen before—all natives of Cuba and
other West India Islands. Among
the vines is the Cuba jessamine, whose
bloom resembles the trumpet flower,
but is finer and more delicately col
ored. It blooms all through the win
ter in long garlands of clustering,
wax-like buds and flowers—the
wreaths measuring many yards in
length. “I sell them by the yard,”
said the lady, owner of the place. “I
made all my Christmas money for
charity by selling many yards of Cuba
jessamine for decoration.”
The Spanish paper flower vine was
in full blossom, and its cluster of
royal purple blooms were as large
as one’s head. They can be shipped
with little fear of withering, as the
flowers are of a texture resembling
finest silk paper. Another splendid
native of the Caribbean Isles is the
orchid tree, which, devoid of foliage,
is a mass of large flowers, shading
from rich purple to pale amethyst, of
the exact shape and color of the chat
tleya orchid. Many other beautiful
vines were here, but few more fra
grant and delicately lovely than the
snowy, beautifully foliaged Confeder
ate jessamine, which embowered the
wire fence.
One of the most beautiful things I
have seen here is the fernery of Mr.
Hendry, at City Point. It covers more
than an acre with the feathery green
mist of its abundant sprays. All
around it are flower beds, rows of
crimson fruited strawberry plants and
a forest of tall bananas, through
which meanders a sluggish stream,
THE HOUSEHOLD
A Department of Expression Tor Those Who Teel and Think.
dammed in one place to make the
tank in which lives an enormous cap
tive alligator, which had just broken
its winter fast by catching and de
vouring a fat young dog. A few feet
away, in a large tank, lives the rarest
and strangest of Indian river sea crea
tures, the manatee, or sea cow. It
is an immense, unwieldly, shapeless
creature, with a broad, flat tail, two
large flopper fins, a long tapering head
and a nose exactly like that of a cow.
It makes a noise like the moo of a
cow, and. like that animal, has no
teeth in its upper jaw. It is a vege
tarian, living, when free, on the sea
weed and grass in the bottom of the
river, and, in captivity, upon lettuce
and cauliflower leaves. It is extremely
gentle and affectionate, and tries, in its
awkward way, to play with its keeper
and his children. It is over eight feet
long, and of great bulk and weight;
has the thickest of skins, with scanty
hair on the back, yet the thick stkin
is sensitive to the slightest pin prick
and very ticklish.
Nothing so pleases this great sea
mammal as to be groomed and mas
saged. This grooming process is a
daily business. It was going on when
I paid a first visit to Mr. Hendry’s
grounds. Mr. Hendry himself, tall,
straight and fine looking, attended to
his manatee’s toilet. All the stale v,ni
ter in the tank was let out, and, stand
ing on a platform in the tank, Mr.
Hendry curried the creature from head
to tail with a long-handled iron comb
and brush, removing the scaly deposit
of the water and thoroughly washing
the skin. Occasionally, he would tickle
the manatee’s sides, much to its sat
isfaction. When the manatee’s toilet
was completed, fresh water was turned
into his tank and quantities of Cauli
flower leaves scattered over it for his
breakfast.
I was told of the difficulties attend
ing the capture of the manatee by a
lady, whose father secured the only
two manatees, I believe, which have
been sent North from Indian river—
one taken to Lincoln Park, in Chicago,
and the other to the Aquarium, in New
York.
In another letter, I would like to
tell you about the auto races on beau
tiful Ormond Beach, and the grand
pageant, attending the celebration of
the landing of Ponce de Leon at St.
Augustine.
Witb ©ur Correspondents
“A NEW COMMANDMENT.”
An Easter Story.
The pealing bells, the profusion of
flowers, the people hastening church
ward, on that cloudless morning, all
seemed to breathe the awakening
spirit of Easter. All save one, the
aged minister, but recently conva
lescent from the grippe, and he felt
strangely out of harmony with the life,
the joy, and brightness around him.
In his present mood, Dr. Belmont,
could echo the sentiment of the
preacher, who said, “All is vanity.”
It was as well that a visiting
minister was to fill the pulpit that
day. Dr. Belmont wondered at the
power of the young man. Never
during the years of his pastorate, had
the congregation been so thrilled
as by the eloquence of this stranger.
The boyish speaker had won a
response which the aged minister felt
The Golden Age for April 8, 1909.
he had never awakened. A vibrant
chord had been touched and spirit
ually uplifted, all hearts throbbed in
unison, bound by the magic sympathy
of love.
True, those familiar faces had been
turned to the pastor, Sunday after
Sunday, in strictest attention —but
among these acquaintances of years,
there were none to look upon him
with the loving approval that now
beamed from friendly eyes upon the
young preacher. And had he not
faithfully fulfilled his utmost duty in
warning the heedless against the
“wrath to come”? But today, he felt
gropingly' the lack of something
missed from the stern path of duty’s
lead. His own heart told him there
was something higher, and somehow
he had missed it, though striving
always conscientiously to do the right.
Desolate, isolated, alone, he felt
himself to be shut out from the hearts
of his people. ‘‘He who would have
friends, must show himself friendly,”
and in this he had failed. It was his
own fault, but the realization was
none the less bitter. The young min
ister’s reference to the congregation’s
dutiful solicitude during the pastor's
recent illness, was like a knife thrust
In a wound, to Dr. Belmont’s newly
aroused sensitiveness. No one really
cared for him, no one cared now.
Who among them could understand
his present utter heart-hunger for one
touch of human kinship with his
fellow man—for one assurance of
love?
His eyes drooped, wearied by the
glowing brightness that but deepened
by contrast his inner gloom. As he
looked down, he almost fancied that
his retina still retained the vision
of one of the sweet cherub heads
of the stained glass windows, and
then he recognized the earnest, little
face of four years old Edward Breame.
Before Dr. Belmont could divine his
intention, the child had mounted the
chancel rail, and bringing his face on
a level, the fresh young rose-bud of a
mouth was pressed to the withered
cheek, golden curls mingled with locks
of grey, and two soft arms lingered in
a moment’s caress. As quietly as a
sunbeam the little fellow slipped again
to the floor, and with the utmost
decorum returned to his mother’s side.
Few noticed the little drama, and
none could divine what it meant in
the old preacher's heart, where duty
was not forgotten, but where love was
resurrected, causing him to preach
henceforth not an avenging God, but
the Risen Christ, the Compassionate
Savior of mankind. When at the close
of services, Mrs. Breame hastened
forward with apologies for the child’s
unpremeditated act, Dr. Belmont
clasped her hand, and tears filled his
eyes, as he said:
“Pray offer no apologies. The
child was the Easter Messenger sent
to tell me, ‘A new commandment 1
give unto you, That ye love one
another’.”
FINETA.
Athens, Alabama.
•I
WHERE IT BEGINS AND ENDS.
les, Mr. Langley, I agree with you
that cigarettes and soft drinks often
lead to suicide or to crime, but I
believe a most fruitful cause of degen
erate boys and youthful criminals is
idleness —and a distaste for work.
Gustav Mart, one of the young "car
barn bandits,” who died upon the gal
lows in Chicago, declared, just before
the trap was sprung, “It wasn’t drink
that caused my downfall, nor cigar
ettes, nor bad companions; it was just
idleness. Idleness led me first to cigar
ettes, then io drink, then to bad com
panions, then to crime and the gal
lows. And I blame my folks. If they
had made me stay at work, I would
have been too busy to indulge in de
moralizing habits and to plan robbery
and murder.”
The Missouri state pardon attorney,
Thomas Mosby, says, “Many, many
times have the gray haired father or
mother stood before me, pleading for
the pardon of the wayward boy. The
story is always the same: ‘He had a
good home and Christian parents. We
gave him a fair education. There is
not a drop of criminal blood in our
family; he is the first to wear the
prison stripes. He is not a criminal
at heart; it was cigarettes, drink, bad
companions and bad women that
caused his downfall.’ ”
This plea, so often heard, is true,
but it is not all the truth. The boy
had never rightly learned to work. He
may have had a job, may have clerked
in a store, or worked in a shop, but
his heart was not in his work; he
hated it and was restless and dis
contented. There was on joy in his
task; he looked on it as slavery, from
which he was glad to escape. To such
a boy, drink, cigarettes and wild com
panions come as a temptation. He
will seek dissipation as a relief. He
will evolve schemes for making money
without drudgery-—gambling, cheating
and stealing. He will imbue himself
with the criminal’s creed, that the
world owes him a living. He does
not think, of what he owes the w-orld.
He may end in forgery, or embezzle
ment —if in nothing worse—but what
ever route he takes, the tendency is
downward and the penitentiary is
yawning for him.
“Tell me,” said an old church dea
con, his voice quivering with grief,
as he discussed the case of his con
victed son, “why it is that the sons of
Christian parents, who are carefully
raised, so often turn out badly”? It
is too frequently because the joy, the
EIGHT—AGE
beauty and glory of honest work and
the disgrace of indolence are not early
impressed upon the boy. The boy who
is taught ro love work for its own
sake, who learns to excel in it as a
matter of pride and who thinks more
of what he owes the world than of
what the world owes him, will not
long be without an honorable and
profitable occupation. The prisons are
not made for him, and you will net
find him there. Teach the child to
love his work, and when he once
realizes the honor and sweetness of
doing his task well and cheerfully,
the boy is safe —you have saved him
from crime.
MANLY OTTWOOD.
Alabama.
*
ON GARDEN CULTURE AND OTHER
MATTERS.
Recently our Household editor in
quired how the old bachelor at Ivey,
Alabama, was getting on with his
horticultural and garden work. Well,
we have had a cold and rainy spring
and gardens are more backward than
usual, but at this time, March 17, I
have growing nicely, corn, peas, rad-
