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I THE HOUSEHOLD &
A Department of Expression Tor Those Who Teel and Think.
ONE BOOK.
If all earth’s legion libraries
Were to destruction doomed.
To be by raging seas engulfed,
Or raging fires consumed;
Were but a single volume spared.
For human kind to share,
The Word of God —Immortal book,
Would save us from despair.
The word of God! how blest the name
To pilgrims on life’s road,
Who in the world's tumulous crowd
Have found no fixed abode.
It wakens hope within the breast,
And to the spirit eye
Presents an ever-widening range
Os joys that do not die.
Should direful destiny decree,
That all of human lore
Os law and order be destroyed,
And chaos reign once more;
Did not a single tome remain,
To teach us art and law,
From Holy Writ, the sum of it,
We might with safety draw.
The Word of God, how dear the name,
To souls by tempest driven;
It warns us in the stress of life
To seek the peace of heaven.
Without its hope, how 7 vain the toil,
How w r earisome the w r ay!
How starless the approaching night,
That follows Life’s brief way.
ARTHUR GOODENOUGH.
Brattleboro, Vermont.
r,
CHAT.
A little sketch in “The Circle” about
the “Sunday Stay-at-Home” is ex
tremely thought-suggesting and heart
searching. The writer confesses to
being one of the many Sunday stay
at-home men in his town of five
i
thousand inhabitants. Working hard
all the week, he indulged himself on
Sunday by lying in bed late, then
dawdling over the newspaper and
lounging about until the afternoon,
when he took a walk with his family
in the park. He believed that the
church and the Sunday school were
good institutions, with an elevating
moral influence, but he had a vague
idea they would be kept up somehow 7
by the members, and that he would
continue to have the benefit of Chris
tian civilization, with no trouble to
himself. In this he was very much
like most of his men friends.
One afternoon, late, when he had
just returned from his office, he
learned that a near neighbor had a few
minutes before been run over in the
street and fatally hurt. He hurried
to the house. The man, who was a
young and devoted husband, was con
scious that he was dying, and was
saying to his wife, who had asked if
he would see a minister, “Lassie, I’ve
no right. I’ve worshipped you and
our little home instead of God. I’ve
no right la a minister’s time. I’ve
never attended his church, nor given
it a dollar.”
The young wife looked so despairing
that the neighbor determined anyhow
to ask the minister to come to her
husband. He found the good man
just sitting down to his tea, but he
got up at once, saying that no apology
was needed for the interruption. He
went, and it was a marvel how he
eased the tension in the house, com
forting the dying with the assurance
that God was ready to wipe out the
past and provide for the future, us
soon as a man came to him in the
right spirit.
He remained wih the man until
his death, and in the morning hb ar
ranged his burial service, securing
some members if his church to sihg
and assisting the stricken wife, who
had no especial friends—only acquain
tances, with other details. After the
funeral, the neighbor sat on his steps
and did some thinking. He reflected
that he was living in h peaceful, safe
community) in the pursuit of business,
social enjoyment, and domestic hap
piness, and that if it were not for
the churches, these privileges would
hot be his. He told himself that the
majority of people he knew would not
live in a, place and bring up children
where there were no churches. Yet
what did they do to encourage the
churches and its ministers? They did
not even give the church the counte
nance of their presence on Sunday.
They accepted all the benefits accrue
ing from Christian influence without
making even a polite acknowledge
ment. He decided that it was unpar
donable selfishness and indifference,
and that he would no longer sit on his
veranda in summer reading the paper,
and toast his toes before the grate in
winter on Sunday morning, letting
the members of the church support it
by their time and presence while he
and his family reaped the benefits.
It was a convincing little story, and
it appealed straight to me, for I am
prone to betake myself to the Woods
Sunday morning and watch the play
of the young leaves and the ripple of
the brook, and the birds building their
nests, until the church bells rouse
me to the sense that I am a derelict,
and then to ease my conscience, I
quote,
“The groves were God's first tem
ples,”
and try to imagine that the “dim, re
ligions light” in the forest aisles
makes me feel quite as reverential
as though I were in church. These
well-believed woods held a queer den
izen this week One evening, I went
part of the way home with a friend
who had taken tea with us. It was
quite dusk as I returned home, and
as I came to the woods I saw two
vivid, shining sparks near the edge
of the bushes. I stopped and looked
at them, thinking they were the eyes
of a stray dog, and wondering that 1
had never seen a dog’s eyes shine of
themselves before. When I moved
on the eyes kept up with me, just
within the edge of the wood, until I
reached home. That night, as I sat
reading, I heard a strange wild cry
out in the yard. Three times after
wards. I heard the cry—a kind of
screaming wail—half fierce, half piti
ful. In the morning, we learned that
some strange savage beast had at
tacked and killed three of the village
people’s dogs, tearing them to pieces.
Parties hunted for the beast all day.
That night as we were at supper, we
again heard the wild cry outside, and
hurrying to the veranda, saw the two
burning eyes in front of the house.
A shot was fired at the eyes and they
disappeared. No hogs, calves or chick
ens had been devoured by it in the
neighborhood, and the dogs it had
probably killed in self defense. It
had a fine opportunity to attack and
make a meal of me, for not dreaming
that the eyes were those of a savage
The Golden Age for April 29, 1909.
beast, I had stood still and watched
them awhile.
11l th© woods I ain finding all kinds
of beautiful, wild flowhrS to plant in
my yard. We ought to cherish our
nature flower and tree friends, else
they will Soon be extinct. Ruthless
hands destroy them, break every
branch of the lovely, fragrant, wild
azaleas (we call them honey suckles),
and the sweet shrub, to take to town
and sell for a few cents. The holly
and cedar that have grown on the hill
sides, too steep and rocky to tempt
the axe of the land-clearer, have gone
for Christmas trees, and the peerless
crabapple and wild plum no longer
fill the air with fragrance.
A number of our new members have
replied to Ben Ivy’s question, whether
there is such a thing as undying love,
but we have not heard as yet from
Fineta, Tessa, S. T. P., Annice, or
Old Woman. The poets are good au
thority. Shakespeare tells us that
true love does not alter where it al
teration finds. The minor poets in
their sweeter mood, sing in the same
strain, and one —the greatest woman
poet the world has seen, Elizabeth
Browning—guages the deepest depth
of human IPv6 in one of those match
less sonnets, in which sbo describes
the growth of hfer love for the pobt,
Browhing, whom she married, despite
he delicate health, the opposition of
parents and the warnings of friends.
Those fOfty-four sonnets, strong pearls
of purest water, sound all the ganlut
of love, and then gather its harmonies
into this perfect chord,
“How do I love thee? Let me count
the ways;
I love thee to the depth and breadth
and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out
of sight;
For the ends of being and ideal grace,
I love thee to the level of every day’s.
Most quiet need by sun and candle
light;
I love freely, as men strive for right,
I love thee purely as they turn from
praise;
I love thee with the passion put to
use
In my old griefs and with my child
hood’s faith;
I love thee with a love 1 seemed to
lose
With my lost saints; I love thee with
the breath,
Smiles, tears of all my life, and if
Gad choose,
I shall but love thee better after
death.”
As every one knows, the marriage
of the Brownings was ideally perfect,
each developing the best there was in
the other. After the death of his
w fe. Robert Browning cherished her
memory sacredly until he passed from
earth to rejoin her in another life.
Dear friends. I hope you will not
let these bright, out of door days
make you wholly forget the House
hold. Send us a little letter, just to
say what you are doing, thinking or
reading, how your garden grows, and
whether you lost your temper over
spring cleaning, what chickens you
are raising and what breeds you pre
fer. If any of you have the black,
white-faced Spanish chickens or eggs
to sell, let me know, for the sake of
an old veteran who pines because his
hen, sent all the way from Louisiana,
hag no mate of her kind.
TWO KINDS OF LOVE*
Ben, my friend, I do hot pbeiehd
To be much of a poet,
As I needn’t tell, for the lines 1 send
Will cieably shoW it.
Still, I’ll add my word, and I know
what I say ;
There is a love that just combs to
stay,
And there is a love which is oft be
stowed,
That for shortness of life beats Jo
nah’s gourd.
Some of us often do get this kind,
For in seeking love we go it blind;
Nor look beyond the pink and white
face,
A killing smile, or a step of grace;
And we gain the casket, but not the
gem,
But because we are fooled let’s not
condemn
Love as false, but try to win it;
For unless we do, we are just not in
it.
I wore the pinch beck kind for a
while,
(I thought her angel devoid of guile)
But I found at length a jewel indeed;
So true love is lasting, is my creed.
sam burton.-
With siir (Jorrespondents
DOES LOVE GROW COLD?
Air. Ben Ivy, who it seenis is dn iri
nocent bachelor farmer, who has had
no experience of cupid’s Wil&s and
ways, asks the Householders to tell
him whether love endures through d
life time, or whether it is ail ephdmer
al emotion. It depends entirely oh
the kind of love. A mere mixture Os
passion and admiration is short lived;
An attachment of a nobler kind mky
be of limited duration, and die out
with absence or change, but there i£
a love which nothing seems to alter
or destroy. It is by no means com
mon. Many married people, who are
content and even happy with each
other, know nothing of this strong and
subtle tie that binds hearts and souls
•together. They have a sincere affec
tion for each other, or else they toler
ate each other from habit, and be
cause of mutual interests, but they
are not
“Two souls with but a single thought,
Two hearts that beat as one.”
This mind and heart affinity is quite
different. It is as tender and kind in
age as in youth. The two beings
seem to supplement each other. They
are unhappy when apart, but absence
brings no change in their devotion.
Theirs are the marriages that are
made in heaven.
ESTHER.
Hillsboro, N. C.
HOW HE WAS CURED.
The little story I am going to tell
you. dear Household friends, is en
tirely true.
Two brothers —Robert and Thomas
Bings—lived near each other on their
respective farms. Both were good
farmers and both were good men, but
there was this difference between
them. Tom had formed the fatal
drink habit, and when intoxicated he
was almost a madman. His good
wife and his brother, Robert, had tried
persuasion and expostulation—every
thing to break the unfortunate one o(
